marquis-teren-kiden

[marquis-teren-kiden]

It Shouldn’t Be Like This

March 19th

I am happy that my Pixie has found love to overflow her fragile soul.

I am content that she is at peace and is well taken care of.

I trust that my future son-in-laws know the honor of holding her heart.

I am proud that she is beginning the life she wants and on her terms.

But…

 …it shouldn’t be like this.

Today, I should have my Candaris on my arm as we reminisce about the night of our Pixie’s birth. We’d recall with perfectly clarity the storm that had blown in as she her 19 hour labor was coming to an end and how she didn’t at all appreciate Odyn’s loud arrival. Her red hair would be bound in knots and her smile bright enough to shame the sun…my Candy should be here.

I should be wiping happy tears from her cheeks as she thinks on how small Adilynia had been when first placed against her chest. She’d been a tiny thing weighing in at no more than a bag of sugar with true Silverfall coloring in her hair and clear eyes that mirrored the lightning cast across an eternally spring sky. My Candy would have poked fun at my expense in saying Eonar won a battle against Odyn in claiming and marking our daughter as one of hers in the constellation of freckles just beneath her right eye. We should be together watching our daughter get married…even if she doesn’t have a clue it is about to happen.

My hand shouldn’t be empty of hers, and the wedding band she once wore on her third finger, now hanging on a chain around my neck.  

It shouldn’t be like this.

Today, my Pixie should have her sister. It should be Vynalia who joins her in her suite to laugh and carry on as distraction while the efficient work of the Nishanians can take place. My Vinnie should be the one to weave her hair into traditional braids built in Trinity knots and secure the etched metallic beads that hold the Praetorium blessings for the future.  My eldest daughter should be at her Twin Flame’s side as she takes these next steps and helps her find the courage to stand up and seek her unbridled happiness.  

Raelin should have his Rose by his side. She’d have put on a dress for this. For him. Green, it’s his favorite color. Their fingers should have been long imprinted with the bands of their own marriage, and they well on their way towards a family full of wild little heathen grandchildren for me to dote on.

They shouldn’t be absent of her light in their lives. But it now glows in the Shadowlands where her spirit stands eternal vigil.

It shouldn’t be like this.

Today, Lord Kiden should be taking comfort in the company of his sister, Lochlyn. She should be here to celebrate his happiness and be with her family to start this new chapter.  

The irony is that if she was here…we would not be having this day. It was her sacrifice that made this possible. That fact isn’t lost on me, and I don’t know how to sort through those feelings without a hammer in my hand, so they must be buried.

Today, I feel these losses more so than I have in a long time, but I am not alone. Even as I get ready to stand my final watch as Adilynia’s sole-protector, my spirit is soothed and comfort found in those I have brought with me to Nishan. They, like me, are the pieces of the new family we have formed in the wake of our tragedies, as blood is never a requirement among the Praetorium.

Brilaria Suncrest, once my wife’s most cherished pupil and Vynalia’s best friend, will serve in their stead and see that our Pixie is donned as she should be for her wedding day. No, Pixie hasn’t a clue that she will be taking the first steps towards her future, but if anyone can keep a secret from her, it’s the Hellcat, who has served as Confessor and Keeper since the Praetorium was formed.  I would trust no other with such a role, as both those she stands in for would have surely approved of my choice.

The honor of placing her circlet will fall to the orphaned boy from Westfall that Addie befriended and took under her wing, Tanner Michaels. Not only is he still officially her squire, but no day would be complete without the young man who has become cherished family, regardless of blood. He was shocked when I asked him to attend, and wiped away his tears when I requested he play a part in giving away our Pixie. I think, maybe, he finally understands that we do not intend on sending him away.

Raelin is the last part of our small entourage, as none would not be here were it not for him. The Ironfist is the only reason we are capable of seeing this happy day come to pass, as without him, Addie would have faded when we lost Vinnie and she lost her Twin Flame.  He could have drowned in his own mourning, for I know it was great. Yet he never left her side and nearly sacrificed himself in making sure she saw another dawn. It only seems fitting that he join me in giving her away to the Lord Kidens safe keeping, as I am the one who gave her life… and he is the one who saved it.

Together we will ensure our traditions are woven seamlessly with those of Nishan, and welcome the future that our Pixie has ahead of her. They will keep me strong to give my little girl away and we will hear the halls of Valhalas roar in celebration and know that those who are not with us are still a part of this day. Today, we will bury our sorrow and let our hearts be lifted in knowing a new life has been started, and revel in a trinity of hearts that will be bound as one.  

It shouldn’t be like this…

…but it is.

….and that’s okay.

(( @marquis-teren-kiden @marquis-lycan-kiden @ironbound-praetorium @lochlyn-kiden @adilynia for all the mentions!))

#The Trinity Wedding SL #Adilynia x Maladir

[marquis-teren-kiden]

The Wedding Braids

March 19th

The Suncrests and Silverfalls go way back. Together with the Dawnsorrows, we founded the Nine Houses that hold one of the longest running treaties in Thalassian history. So, it was no surprise when one December night, my mother, Lady Elasha Suncrest, was called to see another life ushered into this world as the resident midwife.

I was still training under her careful guidance on the night Pixie was born, and was excited to help in my first delivery. Our people still talk about the storm that blew in from the coast with all of Odyn’s fury and battered the windows of Silverfall Manor; as such an occurrence is rare in a place known for its eternally spring like weather.

Cursing and laughing in equal measure, Candaris Silverfall had labored beautifully, all while railing against a Titan’s invasion into her delivery. Anytime the thunder rattled the panes of glass, she’d laugh and tauntingly ask if that was the best Odyn could do. The lightning strikes would garner chiding ‘tsks’ of sound in chastising his use of Thorim to gain ground in trying to claim the child being brought into the world. He’d won in claiming her eldest, but not this one…this one would sets in Eonar’s light and have not fury in her veins, but peace.

But what I remember most from that night…was the moment that Vynalia and Adilynia set sights on one another for the first time.

I remember the way their eyes shifted immediately to mirror one another’s color exactly…and I felt the first spark of their Twin Flame take form and resonate in my own primal fire. I remember how deafening the silence was when souls met and bonded in a single glance. I was there when the realization hit me like a pack of kodos; Adilynia may have been marked by Eonar, but she was Vinnie’s.

Is it any wonder that my heart now hurts in knowing that all the women who were in the room the night Pixie was born…are gone?    

Is it any wonder that my hands shake now when I am asked to step into the shoes of the woman who labored to bring her into this world, while defying the Titans themselves? That I second guess each placement of etched Praetorium bead, as they should be placed by Vynalia’s worthy hand, and not that of a second cousin?

I’ve stood before princes and kings, knights and lords, political figures and the palaces of both Silvermoon and Stormwind. I’ve been to countless affairs where one wrong word will see your social standing placed in the gutter, and played lady in the court of Kael’thas Sunstrider where your head could be removed as easily as a warm knife through butter and on the whim of a crazed tyrant.

…and yet I’ve never been so nervous in my entire fucking life than when sitting here braiding Pixie’s hair.

I have been asked to be both mother and sister to a woman who has lost both, and the gravity of that role is not lost on me. I had sisters…and were the roles reversed and I had taken my place in the Shadowlands…I would have wished Vynalia to carry out the same thing that is being asked of me now.  But it does not make it any easier…

I need to carry out this honor in such a way that Vynalia and Candaris smile from their places in the Shadowlands and Vallahas. I need to make sure that, even though they are gone, their memories are honored and laced in every strand of onyx hair that slips through my finger.  I need them, and Pixie, to be proud that the few traditions we keep are in place when the secret of the day is revealed and she set with the mantle of bride. I need Maladir to understand that he trusted the right person to watch over his Pixie as Anou’e Nillion sets her skin with sacred Nishanian inks that will lay the foundation of her future with the Lord Kiden’s. I need them all to know that, to me, that this is one of the greatest honors of my life and that I will cherish and uphold my duties as they would have.

It is only when my weaving has finished and the last of the gold thread tucked in among Adilynia’s dark strands do I sit back and admire my work. I almost don’t recognize what I see until my eyes focus and my hands go still in realizing what I have created while my thoughts wandered.

I realize the knots I have been working on are the same ones that Candaris used to put in Vynalia’s hair when she took to battlefield. They are identical to ones that Vinnie put in mine before we braved the Halls of Ulduar in seeking to cleanse the corruption from its depths.  These are their knots…eternal knots. Braids given only to the most loved and cherished. Knots of protection that will see the foundation of any blessing made strong and true.

Only now do I realize that the task I was entrusted to was never one that I would face alone. They are with me.  It was my hand that made it a reality, but together with the fragments of Candaris and Vynalia’s hearts that still exist in mine, we have plaited Pixie’s hair in such a way that is worthy of her wedding day.

Together, we the women who first witnessed her first breath, have given her braids worthy of a Valkyr and blessed by a beloved mother…and my heart is ready to revel in the love and celebration of the day in knowing that I have fulfilled my duties and done right by those that have guided my hands.

(( @marquis-teren-kiden @marquis-lycan-kiden @silverfall-patriarch @adilynia for the mentions!))

#The Trinity Wedding SL #Adilynia x Brilaria

[marquis-teren-kiden]

“My First and My Last...”

March 19th

The Eye; Nishan 5:42 a.m.

    The craggy surface of the cavern which forms the lids of this most sacred destination within the Nishan Marche used to cut the bottoms of my feet. Despite having been raised on outdoor activities with my family, I’d never once thought to do so unfettered by propper footwear. In the Federation, however, we Reqs are expected always to be tempering our bodies. Against heat. Against. Against loss of one or sense or another. Always.

    So it is that I am able to endure the frigid waters casting their mists out along these bitter stones. It’s bracing in a way which more than meets my every expectation. The deep sea blue waters below, however, are no doubt far more potent with respect to their bite.

Keep reading

#The Trinity Wedding SL #Teren x Lycan x Adilynia #Teren x Elif

[marquis-teren-kiden]

Guardholm

March 19th; 3:27 a.m. Guardholm; Nishan Marche; Lordaeron

The first time I stepped into this place, I was wearing a much younger version of my current face. I hadn’t earned an ounce of recognition or respect and I felt it every single fucking day.

An hour a day of push-ups. Another hour on pull-ups. Another hour on squats. Another hour on lunges. Another hour on crunches. Another hour on planking. Six hours a day of running.

Until you have twelve hours a day of misery and push-through to your credit, no one in Guardholm is going to give you the fucking time of day. Took me a full-six months to cross that line for the first time. On my own. It was just a list at the front door labeled ‘entrance exam.’ If you’re going to become one of Nishan’s soldiers, you have to want it. You have to want it more than all of the pain and misery you’re putting yourself through. You have to want it a whole hell of a lot more than you want sleep. 

Why?

I’ll tell you: Because that ‘entrance exam’is the daily conditioning regimen for a Squire. That’s on top of the military history, tactical, strategic and weapons training. It’s on top of the grueling beatings that make you wonder which side of the war you want to be on. It’s on top of scrubbing this place down with your bare hands long after the skin has blistered and been rubbed raw. 

Why?

Because nothing else in your entire life can ever matter more than keeping the Sacred Charge out of enemy hands. Certainly not how you feel that day. Not how you feel about anyone else. Protecting Nishan is either part of your soul, or its not, and that’s just how it is.

Things are a little different now. I still work out for a good ten to twelve hours a day. Just, most of my regimen involves highly active sexual escapades; and I don’t mind suffering for that at all.

These days, me stepping through the doors of Guardholm is a genuine event. Pedestrian traffic stops and all eyes turn to me. I don’t normally come here unless it’s time for a major tactical endeavor. My duties as a Guardian have long-since taken precedent over acting as part of our extensive military phalanx.

The disciplined equivalent of a mad-scramble begins the moment I’m recognized. Calmly, the Officer’s use our intricate and highly complex expression of sign language to execute orders to their sub-ordinates. before moving to their inspection tiers as casually as we most soldiers might meander up to a romantic interest. 

Palms and brows sweating. Butterflies in their stomachs. Calm and cool on the outside. They obviously thought I’d have far more important things to do on my wedding day than coming here to crack the proverbial whip.

That whip isn’t proverbial for me, though. Eight to ten thousand Nishanians are going to gather at the Mansion by the time the first cock crows or the sun begins to rise. I’m damned sure not going to leave our perimeter unsecured.

It’s not that I expect our people to attack Teren. But, Addie is still an Outsider, and until our first child is born, she’ll remain one. She’s also not Human; and while I’ve got a long-standing history of fucking almost all of the non-Human women to make it into Nishan, I’m planning to keep this one going until long after Teren and I are dead. The last thing I’m going to do is let some pure-blood with a chip on their shoulder take a shot at our wife. 

Light-damn, that sounds good. Rolls right off the tongue: ‘Our wife.’

People often feel a sense of entitlement or dominion over the people that they love, and Teren and I have enjoyed a whole lot of love and affection from the people of Nishan over the years. 

Not that most of them would have admitted it about him a year ago. It’s easy to mistake Nishanian xenophbia for a sense of superiority; but it’d be a mistake. We’re xenophobic out of an over abundance of caution in protecting the Sacred Charge artifact; our reason for being. And…our reason for being so ostracized from the rest of Azeroth.

The fewer people who know about it, the less the people who know about it know, the safer all of Azeroth - and the worlds beyond it - are.

Three minutes, and the Nishan Phalanx is ready to receive their orders. When our phalanx hit the ground running at the battle for Lordaeron, we were nearly four-thousand strong. That’s not the Federation. Just us here in the Marche. We’ve had the largest standing military force in the region since before the Fall.

We’re just shy of thirty-two hundred at the moment, but conditioning takes time. There’s sure as hell no shortage of men and women willing to take up arms in place of those who’ve fallen. Once the rest of the Federation’s people are back up to muster, we’ll start regular sweep-and-clear maneuvers; try and clear out the rest of the Forsaken, Scarlet and Cultist filth scattered across our homeland. 

Lordaeron belongs to its people; and the Forsaken stopped being ‘ours’ the moment they began hunting us. Fuck them, and every deed of land they ever owned here.

Once the clink and whisper of armors - plate, chain, leather and cloth - comes to a stop, I address the most disciplined army ever assembled on Azeroth with the pride of a Father, the determination of a Husband; and the potential wrath of a Sayaad if one fucking hair on either Teren or Adilynia’s heads is disturbed by anyone but us today, or any day hereafter.

I give everyone in the room a thorough once over. Stroll by in my suit at a casual gait. Muscle a Knight who arrived still rubbing her eyes with slack posture. Kick the boot on a Squire who hasn’t put a proper amount of elbow grease into keeping his own armor as well-oiled as his Knight’s. 

That’s right: Our squires get their own armor. They learn to suit themselves up. We don’t all get the luxury of little babysitters cinching up our gear every time we go to war.

These are small corrections, but every Knight and Squire in Guardholm polices every inch of their gear and posture in response. I didn’t need to say a word. If this machine is operating the way it’s supposed to, I shouldn’t have to.

Time for this morning’s public service announcement, and I don’t have to raise my voice to get my point across. You can hear a fucking pin drop in this place right now.

“Ladies and gentlemen. Today, we’re going to war. We’re going to go to war for our Marquis.”

The soft sound of hands falling to rest over weapons breaks through the room briefly, then its back to the silence of night without crickets. 

“Our enemies are going to be fear; hatred; and misunderstanding. Our own low expectations of the Outsiders we have learned of over the years. Today, another Outsider will be entering Nishan on a permanent basis, and you will protect them. You will protect their guests. You will protect their family. You will do this, because in doing so, you will be securing the futures of both House Kiden and House Nishan. Is that understood?” They’d damned sure better have. 

With one voice, more than three thousand people give me my answer. “Sir! Yes, Sir!”

“Then let’s get started. Today is my wedding day!” Given all the cheers that follow that announcement, I may have to read Teren and Addie’s lips in order to now when to say my vows. I could be deaf by day break.

#The Trinity Wedding SL #Teren x Lycan x Adilynia #Lycan x Guardholm

[marquis-teren-kiden]

The Squire’s Honor

March 19th, Nishan

Three years ago I was mucking out stables and helping my Da plow fields to get ready for the planting season. I was just a kid in Westfall trying to help my parents make ends meet, as gold was scarce and while we had food in our bellies and a roof over our heads, we still struggled to save for the ‘rainy day’ that we all knew would come.

But that day turned out not to be live giving rain, but a storm of fel that fell from the skies and took my family with it when the Burning Legion came to Azeroth.

Not gunna lie, there are still nights I struggle to sleep. I don’t like to dwell on it, but with Bri’s help I’m working through those bad memories and learning to live without them. She helped me realize that I have serious fears of abandonment and something called survivor’s guilt. So, it’s been a struggle to move past all that negativity and heal from my losses.

But see, three years ago…I also met the Praetorium. My new family. And that’s been the best treatment so far.

I really don’t know how I got so lucky. Man, kids like me end up in shitty orphanages with Matrons that beat them for asking water. They know poverty and the feeling of nobody caring as much as they know the feeling of air in their lungs, and that’s awful…

But me? I fell in with a bunch of elves that have taken me in and made me one of their own. They’ve trained, fed, clothed and loved me when I couldn’t love myself. No, I don’t have pointed ears or their long life spans, but I’m one of them and Addie had a large hand in making me realize that.

There are plenty of other knights that have known Pixie longer than I have. Some remember her as the little girl with costume wings that flung herself off roofs in order to fly. Others had a hand in making her the woman she’s become today and understand the depth of her losses, as they too remember when she was never seen without the Praetorium Rose, Vynalia Silverfall, her sister.  

I remember Addie as the friend who put a wooden sword in my hand and let me wail on her shield when my anger got the better of me. She’s the person who came to my rescue when the night terrors had me screaming at all hours and soothed me back to sleep with stories of the Titans. She made me her squire when I had half the talent of any other recruit, and gave me a purpose in serving her as honorably as she did the rest of the Praetorium.

But more than all that, she shared her family with me.  She didn’t think twice about opening her proverbial home to some no-name kid from Westfall and sharing her best friend, her knights… and her father.  She tucked me under those awesome wings of hers and made my life better.

Keep reading

#The Trinity Wedding SL #Adilynia x Tanner

[marquis-teren-kiden]

An Answered Prayer

March 18th, Icecrown.

“Rosie, posie, puddin’ pie! Kissed th’heathen and made him cry!”

Ya know what really sucks for a Valkyr serving an eternal watch in the Shadowlands? Being bound to a smart mouthed asshole who’s still living and has a habit of pushing her buttons across planes of existence.

I might not be able to see and touch my Rose at the moment, but I can feel her annoyance as I stand at the Wrathgates entrance where she fell and sing-song my way to drawing her energy to mine.  See, we might not have been soulmates (that honor goes to Pixie) but Vinnie and I bound ourselves in life magics that should have died when she did, but they didn’t.  She’s always with me in the strand of hair braided into mine that served as a catalyst for our binding…

And thus… my Rose gets the eternal pleasure of my dumb, ginger self interrupting her duties whenever I damned well please. And I get to know she is safe in the Shadowlands, and still waiting for me.

“Get used to it Vinnie! Got a whole eternity with my hot ass!” Yes, I make a point of wiggling said body part at the empty space in front of me. Hey, even the dead can appreciate my finely crafted backside.  I got it from my Mama.

She can’t answer me back, which is likely a good thing, cause I’d have gotten two earfuls with my little greeting…maybe even earned myself a good ol’ fashioned sparring match I could turn into a hot and heavy make out session. Damn I miss those.

FOCUS, RAE. You didn’t come here to flirt with your Rose…okay, I did… but that’s a given. I actually have a purpose beyond annoying her today.

Keep reading

#The Trinity Wedding SL #Adilynia x Raelin x Vynalia

[marquis-teren-kiden]

Reaching into a satchel at his side, Teren responds to the Ren’Dorei’s offering by producing an ebony tome which radiates with powerful void energies. “I’d certainly have an interst in examining the item in question. However, at present, what I most desire, as I have stated, is an exchange of knowledge. Literal knowledge.” 

Passing the book across the table, the symbols forming it’s title ‘Void Cosmology’ and attribution - Lord Teren Kiden - are written in Shath’yar; skittering across the surface like living ashes, only to disove once the nobleman’s hand is removed from it’s surface. “My gift to you. And in exchange, I hope that you will agree to join me elsewhere in the near future to refresh my memory for a related skill the likes of which I believe you will have a natural affinity. You see, a cherished figure in my life will require it of me, and I must not be found wanting. ”

Only when the Ren’Dorei’s touch sets upon the book would the speckled pattern scattered in ebony across it’s surface, and the pages bound within, form words once more; and only for as long as that touch or another would endure. 

Relinquishing his hold on the tome, Teren offers an affable expression to his companion. “Regardless, I offer you the book in good faith. One friend to another.”

[ @monster-of-master ]

A sealed envelop with stamps marked by both Dalaran and Stormwind mail service carriers has been deposited into Castinus's dilapidated apartment in Stormwind. There's no information tied to a sender. No magical signature or mundane scent to mark the cover. Within, is a black & gold invitation which reads: "From one new friend to another. Dalaran. 4th bell at evening. 4.6." Coordinates stipulated in Shath'yar lead to a towering businss at the center of town identified only as T.C.O. Industries."

“Very impressive.”

His heart isn’t quite in the words that tumble free from thinning lips, as Castinus /stalls/ there in the middle of the street, admiring the scope of the building ahead. He’s just another soul that chokes the throughfare, albeit far better dressed, in his own opinion. The invitiation is still snug in his hand, with fingers maipulating the thing. Twisting and rolling it within his grasp and, on ocassion, Castinus lifts parchment to eye level for a second, or third once-over—as if the first twenty minutes that he’d spent studying the words printed upon its surface wasn’t a rigorous enough examination.

Seconds pass first, and then minutes, and after that Castinus has lost track of how much time has been wasted scouring the faces of his company; other citizens of Dalaran that dutifully turn their eyes to the skies and obse—no none of that thankfully.

“In we go, then..”

He’s resigned himself to this fate and forward his stride takes him, nearing closer to the towering building ahead and eventually, through many steady steps, he’s at the door—wrenching it open and disappearing inside.

#Teren x Castinus

[marquis-teren-kiden]

The Ren'dorei’s blatant disbelief in the nature of those around him speaks perfectly well to the Priest’s understanding of Outsiders. Not unsurprisingly, therefore, Teren is openly amused by his companion’s slack jawed expression; taking in Castinus’s amusement thereafter with his own when it arrives at last. 

“While most consider the user of such linguistic knowledge the purview only of the initiated,” the nobleman replies with subtle emphasis on the last word. “I purpose it for a myriad of uncommon expressions. In this case, simple obfuscation. Your nature informed me that you would comprehend the knowledge intended specifically for you, whereas most others would not.” 

Castinus’s final inquiry elicits a tantalizing grin from the Priest sat before him as Teren learns forward in return, speaking in a sensously husky undertone. “I suppose, the answer to that particularly salacious inquiry depends largely on how you feel about.. forbidden knowledge.” Discreetly, the Priest gestures meaningfully between them with his index finger. “And the exchange thereof.”

[ @monster-of-master ]

A sealed envelop with stamps marked by both Dalaran and Stormwind mail service carriers has been deposited into Castinus's dilapidated apartment in Stormwind. There's no information tied to a sender. No magical signature or mundane scent to mark the cover. Within, is a black & gold invitation which reads: "From one new friend to another. Dalaran. 4th bell at evening. 4.6." Coordinates stipulated in Shath'yar lead to a towering businss at the center of town identified only as T.C.O. Industries."

“Very impressive.”

His heart isn’t quite in the words that tumble free from thinning lips, as Castinus /stalls/ there in the middle of the street, admiring the scope of the building ahead. He’s just another soul that chokes the throughfare, albeit far better dressed, in his own opinion. The invitiation is still snug in his hand, with fingers maipulating the thing. Twisting and rolling it within his grasp and, on ocassion, Castinus lifts parchment to eye level for a second, or third once-over—as if the first twenty minutes that he’d spent studying the words printed upon its surface wasn’t a rigorous enough examination.

Seconds pass first, and then minutes, and after that Castinus has lost track of how much time has been wasted scouring the faces of his company; other citizens of Dalaran that dutifully turn their eyes to the skies and obse—no none of that thankfully.

“In we go, then..”

He’s resigned himself to this fate and forward his stride takes him, nearing closer to the towering building ahead and eventually, through many steady steps, he’s at the door—wrenching it open and disappearing inside.

#Teren x Castinus

[marquis-teren-kiden]

Teren nods to the Ren’Dorei several times as he listens to the other man speak. The shift of thoughtfulness and consideration of each word spills across Castinus’s features without guile, and it is all the Priest really wishes to know. 

“Based upon such a thorough intent, then I shall offer my own in turn.” The Priest replies, relaxing only slightly into his seat as his right ankle rises to rest across his left knee; held suspended in pace by his left hand. “As for the wine, well, I’ve never been known to turn down a bottle of wine.” He chuckles softly before reaching for his cup of tea with a wide grin. “Here is fine. Very rarely is mail addressed for me elsewhere. I’m the C.E.O. of T.C.O. Industries, and it has always faired best with one end of the rabbit hole set in a public forum.” 

Sipping from his tea, he takes a moment to appreciate the subtle notes before asking, “What of yourself? What is it you do by way of vocation, my friend?”

A sealed envelop with stamps marked by both Dalaran and Stormwind mail service carriers has been deposited into Castinus's dilapidated apartment in Stormwind. There's no information tied to a sender. No magical signature or mundane scent to mark the cover. Within, is a black & gold invitation which reads: "From one new friend to another. Dalaran. 4th bell at evening. 4.6." Coordinates stipulated in Shath'yar lead to a towering businss at the center of town identified only as T.C.O. Industries."

“Very impressive.”

His heart isn’t quite in the words that tumble free from thinning lips, as Castinus /stalls/ there in the middle of the street, admiring the scope of the building ahead. He’s just another soul that chokes the throughfare, albeit far better dressed, in his own opinion. The invitiation is still snug in his hand, with fingers maipulating the thing. Twisting and rolling it within his grasp and, on ocassion, Castinus lifts parchment to eye level for a second, or third once-over—as if the first twenty minutes that he’d spent studying the words printed upon its surface wasn’t a rigorous enough examination.

Seconds pass first, and then minutes, and after that Castinus has lost track of how much time has been wasted scouring the faces of his company; other citizens of Dalaran that dutifully turn their eyes to the skies and obse—no none of that thankfully.

“In we go, then..”

He’s resigned himself to this fate and forward his stride takes him, nearing closer to the towering building ahead and eventually, through many steady steps, he’s at the door—wrenching it open and disappearing inside.

#Teren x Castinus

[marquis-teren-kiden]

“Quite well.” The Priest responds, receiving the offered hand with a firm grasp before relinquishing it back to it’s owner. What passes for casual in the nobleman’s closet appears to be a high-collared navy suit in silk, perfectly tailored to his frame. Taking note of the compliment of the tea, he simply bows his head. “Compliments of one of our more recognizable patrons. The Barony of Silverlight. The tea leaves are picked at peak and rarely dried. Rather they impart their earthy intonations by virtue of how they are kept; wrapped about one another in stone casements. I’d be happy to grant you a few for your home if you wish.” 

Gesturing to Castinus’s own vacant seat, Teren nods in acceptance of the one offered him in return. Settling himself comfortably, he waits until the barista has delivered him a cup of golden tea before smiling politely to the man and returning his focus to the Ren’Dorei once the young man has let them. “I’ve a desire to learn more about you, Mate. My itinerary will soon become quite limited by the constraints of family and duty. Both of which, I confess, I favor over most other endeavors. Nonetheless, you have left me with interest to settle a question in my mind, and it can only be addressed through discourse at present.” 

Knowing already that the obvious question would need to be spoken, Teren expresses it with a wry smile. “You see, I was once offered a friendship with a rather unique and - in my opinion - interesting fellow I chanced upon in the past. At that time, my obligations prevented me from assessing his generosity further. That is, presently, not the case. And, here we are. So, my question to you is: When you offer friendship; is it a relationship you wish to see forged in fire or ice? Active participation in one another’s welfare, or the comfortable distance of discourse and occasional writs?”

[ @monster-of-master ]

A sealed envelop with stamps marked by both Dalaran and Stormwind mail service carriers has been deposited into Castinus's dilapidated apartment in Stormwind. There's no information tied to a sender. No magical signature or mundane scent to mark the cover. Within, is a black & gold invitation which reads: "From one new friend to another. Dalaran. 4th bell at evening. 4.6." Coordinates stipulated in Shath'yar lead to a towering businss at the center of town identified only as T.C.O. Industries."

“Very impressive.”

His heart isn’t quite in the words that tumble free from thinning lips, as Castinus /stalls/ there in the middle of the street, admiring the scope of the building ahead. He’s just another soul that chokes the throughfare, albeit far better dressed, in his own opinion. The invitiation is still snug in his hand, with fingers maipulating the thing. Twisting and rolling it within his grasp and, on ocassion, Castinus lifts parchment to eye level for a second, or third once-over—as if the first twenty minutes that he’d spent studying the words printed upon its surface wasn’t a rigorous enough examination.

Seconds pass first, and then minutes, and after that Castinus has lost track of how much time has been wasted scouring the faces of his company; other citizens of Dalaran that dutifully turn their eyes to the skies and obse—no none of that thankfully.

“In we go, then..”

He’s resigned himself to this fate and forward his stride takes him, nearing closer to the towering building ahead and eventually, through many steady steps, he’s at the door—wrenching it open and disappearing inside.

#Teren x Castinus

[marquis-teren-kiden]

The Fractured Soul’s interior is softly lit and decorated in neutral hues. At the center of the bustling space is a table with a card labled ‘reserved’ on one side, and ‘Starhaven+1′ on the other.

Castinus’s tea is multi-tonal, possessing leafy and floral accents in several layers, and earthy enough to entice the most refined of Elven pallets; despite it’s unidentified source. Coins refused, the gentleman at the service counter murmurs softly. “Already paid for, Mister Starhaven. Your table lies ahead. If you’d care for any further refreshments, you have but to ask.”

Nearly ten minutes pass, during which tables are sat at and vacated at unhurried paces. The conversations curiously silent, even from one nearby table to the next. If the astute Ren’Dorei were to take a moment to examine the floors, he’d find each set with runes enriched with a curiously constructed spell. If Castinus is capable of reading arcane and draconic runes, he’ll learn that they prevent sound within the circle from reaching beyond the runes.

Sounds outside the circle appear to travel inward unobstructed. A discovery easily made as a vaguely familiar figure steps into the restaurant and, with casual strides, makes their way to join Castinus at his own table. Once within the circle of runes etched into the surrounding floor, Teren asks: “Is this seat taken?”

[ @monster-of-master ]

A sealed envelop with stamps marked by both Dalaran and Stormwind mail service carriers has been deposited into Castinus's dilapidated apartment in Stormwind. There's no information tied to a sender. No magical signature or mundane scent to mark the cover. Within, is a black & gold invitation which reads: "From one new friend to another. Dalaran. 4th bell at evening. 4.6." Coordinates stipulated in Shath'yar lead to a towering businss at the center of town identified only as T.C.O. Industries."

“Very impressive.”

His heart isn’t quite in the words that tumble free from thinning lips, as Castinus /stalls/ there in the middle of the street, admiring the scope of the building ahead. He’s just another soul that chokes the throughfare, albeit far better dressed, in his own opinion. The invitiation is still snug in his hand, with fingers maipulating the thing. Twisting and rolling it within his grasp and, on ocassion, Castinus lifts parchment to eye level for a second, or third once-over—as if the first twenty minutes that he’d spent studying the words printed upon its surface wasn’t a rigorous enough examination.

Seconds pass first, and then minutes, and after that Castinus has lost track of how much time has been wasted scouring the faces of his company; other citizens of Dalaran that dutifully turn their eyes to the skies and obse—no none of that thankfully.

“In we go, then..”

He’s resigned himself to this fate and forward his stride takes him, nearing closer to the towering building ahead and eventually, through many steady steps, he’s at the door—wrenching it open and disappearing inside.

#Teren x Castinus

[marquis-teren-kiden]

The front reception area is curiously designed with shadows and lance set to dance across the interior through pinhole skylights and obsidian glass. As Castinus enters, he’s greeted by the fragrant commingling of aromas. Rich black coffees and deep earth-toned teas each percolating nearby within the confines of a discreet cafe dubbed ‘The Fractured Soul.’ 

The well-heeled receptionist rising from her seat is Human. Diminutive by even the most generous of standards. Were it not for her lithe limbs and shapeliness, she could easily be mistaken for a child. Glancing at the invitation in Castinus’s hand, she offers a proper greeting alongside an astute observation.“Welcome to T.C.O. Industries. Mister Starhaven, I assume?” Stepping out from her desk, the tiny woman moves with the grace of a doe, despite the six inch heels which have only made her small stature the more unusual as she offers up her hand upon nearing the Ren’dorei. “My name is Timzi Dommahn. It’s an honor to meet you.”

Gesturing with her other hand to the nearby benches, and then the cafe she asks. “Would you care to wait for your appointment here, or in the Fractured Soul? I’ve already taken the liberty of informing our C.E.O. of your arrival.” How that could be possible in the brief time they’d exchanged seemed highly dubious; but the small woman had no reason to lie. Or, to tell the truth for that matter. 

Still, the way all reference to the origin of the invitation slipping so effortlessly between Castinus’s fingertips managed to avoid being spoken was a testament to discretion few establishments of the modern age seemed capable of. If nothing else, the Elf is in for an interesting experience.

One might have noticed, however, that Pandaren’s considered the words ‘may you live in interesting times’ an unmitigated curse.

[ @monster-of-master ]

A sealed envelop with stamps marked by both Dalaran and Stormwind mail service carriers has been deposited into Castinus's dilapidated apartment in Stormwind. There's no information tied to a sender. No magical signature or mundane scent to mark the cover. Within, is a black & gold invitation which reads: "From one new friend to another. Dalaran. 4th bell at evening. 4.6." Coordinates stipulated in Shath'yar lead to a towering businss at the center of town identified only as T.C.O. Industries."

“Very impressive.”

His heart isn’t quite in the words that tumble free from thinning lips, as Castinus /stalls/ there in the middle of the street, admiring the scope of the building ahead. He’s just another soul that chokes the throughfare, albeit far better dressed, in his own opinion. The invitiation is still snug in his hand, with fingers maipulating the thing. Twisting and rolling it within his grasp and, on ocassion, Castinus lifts parchment to eye level for a second, or third once-over—as if the first twenty minutes that he’d spent studying the words printed upon its surface wasn’t a rigorous enough examination.

Seconds pass first, and then minutes, and after that Castinus has lost track of how much time has been wasted scouring the faces of his company; other citizens of Dalaran that dutifully turn their eyes to the skies and obse—no none of that thankfully.

“In we go, then..”

He’s resigned himself to this fate and forward his stride takes him, nearing closer to the towering building ahead and eventually, through many steady steps, he’s at the door—wrenching it open and disappearing inside.

[marquis-teren-kiden]

This is supposed to be to your muse, but I wanted to give you a kind word out of character. This will be in parts, because limited writing space. 1. You are incredibly different. I say this, and it is the highest compliment that I could ever gift to you. I have been away for quite sometime, but I check in on you ever so often. To read your writings, and love each interaction you have. I adore all of you, I must say.

2. You, whom I have never met, or had the honor of role-playing with. Why you may ask, does this complete and total stranger check in on me? I shall answer in my most simplistic ways. Thank you for noticing me, thank you for taking the time to read my humble writings.

3. So when someone says to you, “You are wonderful, you’ve made a difference in my day, you’ve made a difference in my week, you’ve changed my life, thank you for noticing!” Really breathe that in and experience that, because there is something really amazing about you. You are incredibly different, you are valuable, worthy and cherished. Thank you.

[OOC: 

I received the above ask in three parts quite some time ago, and have kept them for several reasons; not the least of which was inspiration on days when I had none. 

Because Sunday, April 07, 2019 will be my last day on Tumblr, I want to make certain that whomever took the time to share these deeply held and appreciated thoughts and feelings with me will know and understand how cherished they have been from the time they were sent until today.

I am quite at peace with my decision to depart from Tumblr. I have always said it is important to stand on one’s morals and take root. To not allow another’s morality to supercede our own. For me, absenting myself from Tumblr is in keeping with a long-standing tradition I have held to put my money and my integrity on the line, even - perhaps especially - when it hurts to do so.

To that end, I use Credit Unions instead of banks. I shop local stores and produce rather than Wal-Mart. And, it is why I am leaving Tumblr. Even thought it means leaving family, friends, and fans. I cannot in good conscience continue to invest in a platform I do not, myself, endorse the product of. 

Unfortunately, that means I have no other opportunities before me to communicate with this wonderful Anon. So, I am communicating here, now with this reply. 

Thank you. I have a profoundly warm place in my heart born entirely of the time and consideration you shared with me on a random day with no greater meaning than that you chose to inspire me.

You’ve done that, Anon. You’ve inspired me often, deeply, and very well. To seek after new Muses and mysteries. To discover the secrets in the worlds they walk in, and to continue to create new opportunities for improvement - personally and literarily. My appreciation for you is profound and I hope that every kindness and opportunity for joy meet you in return. 

Warmest regards and best wishes, my mysterious friend, 

Teren-Mun.]

[marquis-teren-kiden]

[marquis-teren-kiden]

“My First and My Last...”

March 19th

The Eye; Nishan 5:42 a.m.

    The craggy surface of the cavern which forms the lids of this most sacred destination within the Nishan Marche used to cut the bottoms of my feet. Despite having been raised on outdoor activities with my family, I'd never once thought to do so unfettered by propper footwear. In the Federation, however, we Reqs are expected always to be tempering our bodies. Against heat. Against. Against loss of one or sense or another. Always.

    So it is that I am able to endure the frigid waters casting their mists out along these bitter stones. It's bracing in a way which more than meets my every expectation. The deep sea blue waters below, however, are no doubt far more potent with respect to their bite.

    This doesn't stop me from free diving from several hundred feet above to meet my fate below; with remarkably little water rising left to rise and fall in my wake. For many, it's an inconveivable place to being one's wedding day. Many, however, do not know what lies beneath these hidden waters. Many never will. But, my heart - constructed as it is from dust and shards of fire and blood - will not permit me to attend the matters of this most precious of days without beginning here.

    Circumstances permitting, I visit this sacred space once per week. Sometimes more. Rarely less. Like salmon, I am drawn from the warmth of my bed and the Lovers I share it with, always to return to the Eye, and onward into the Gateway.

    The Gateway is the memorial for those who perished during the Fall of Lordaeron, after the Scourge had turned our kin into their mindless fodder. Now, when any citizen of the Federation perishes, their bodies are burned on a pyre, and their funerary ashes are turned into these... statues. Rememberences of those who have come and gone before.

    Visiting any loved one within The Gateway is a surreal experience. One must bring their own air supply. In my case, Lycan presciently elected to deposit a water breathing potion with my belongings before we'd left yesterday evening. Of course he did. Know one knows me better, or knew better the need I would feel to return to the genesis of my life as a Nishanian.

    So many innocent men, women and children lost in the wake of the Scourge. Nishanians who's sins at the time were largely having gone to care for the ill and to fend off the unfettered undead they could not have imagined were once more distant loved ones. Thousands of my people's lives were stolen for the sin of attempting to 'save' the souls of their Forsaken kin. Our trusting children chief among them.

    Arising from those first few experiences, the phrase, 'If it turns, it burns.' was coined. No matter what a person's rank. No matter how dear he or she may have been. If a Nishanian is turned into one of the Undead, they are immolated. Their souls freed, and their ashes used to construct their funerary statue here in the Gateway.

    Among the thousands here are the ashes of my first friend within Nishan. My first hug. My first kiss. My first explorations through the world of physical intimacy. My first wife: Elif Nishan.

    *Good morning, my Love.* I don't know if her spirit has ever found it's rest. I was too nascent in my craft to search for it, and by now it has far from flown. *You once said to me, that I must never forget how much I love you...*

     It's a bittersweet memory that takes root in my heart and soul as I coil around her with my arms and legs; just as I had when we would entwine atop our mattresses to discuss the worries of the day. *You said that it would be the one sin you could never forgive me for.* Throughout most of Azeroth, there's an expectation that at least the majority of mated pairs will consist of two individuals. It's a little different in my homeland. Polyamory is as common as remaining uncommitted entirely. Certainly among we nobles, a second wife taken for political reasons is not uncommon. Not that I'd ever intended to participate in such an act when I held the most cherished love I'd ever known already. *Far be it from me, that I should ever forget you, or the love that we have known. That day will never come.*

    The stone statue towering above us belongs to Elif's Father, my predecessor as the Marquis of Nishan. Sitting here, I hold all that remains of his daughter dearly as I continue offering my heart and soul to her with unfettered honesty. *As you learned previously, Lycan and I eloped last year. But, tonight, we are going to--* The thougth makes me laugh. She'd been so adamant about our ceremony being a perfectly Nishanian affair with not one word or hair out of place whatsoever for my person. Yet, already I know, I'd have bollocksed this second sojourn. *--we are going to acquiesce to the will of the people and formalize our vows here in the land of your ancestors, and our legacy.*

    Our legacy. Once lost to us, our children survived the callous murder she had suffered at the hands of Baron Lapte Manowar. Nearly twenty years later, his own Son, Hamid, returned them to me. To us. *--I want you to know that we will help them to heal from their ordeals. I. Lycan. Adilynia.*

    It occurs to me that I should have brought Adilynia here before today. Introduced her to my sweet Elif. Sweet, strong, maddeningly stubborn Elif. *I think you will like her very much once the two of you have met. She's shown great care and consideration for Annest and respect to Methuselah, though he frightens her senseless and has for some time. She's shown a great deal of maternal instinct as well toward Eirlya and Taj; though clearly she has yet to discern how a Light-Wielder might be of any aid to either of them. Her heart will be in it. I've no doubt of it.*

The most difficult part of this rather one-sided conversation is now at hand. *We're...we're going to marry Adilynia this evening as well, my Darling. I pray you are moved to offer your blessing upon our union. I will never forget my love for you. Nor will it ever diminish. I only hope you understand that I must continue to love or wither. I am choosing life. I am choosing love. And I am choosing Adilynia.*

    I feel the power of the potion beginning to fail. I need to take my leave, but not before I set my request before Elif's memory. *Please, permit me this. Permit me the Love of my first and my last wife as I rebuild the life we once dreamed of with another.*

#The Trinity #My First and my Last #Elif x Teren x Adilynia #Teren x Lycan x Adilynia

[marquis-teren-kiden]

[OOC: When was this little gem posted? How did I miss it? Also, thank you for the lovely compliment.]

If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that everyone deserves the right to free healthcare and @marquis-teren-kiden absolutely crushes #feelstrain.

[marquis-teren-kiden]

“Well, I would if it ewre that @justusreece fellow...”

Rb if you would smooch an Orc