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kottkrig · 6 months

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From The Ashes

A Darkfallen night elf experiences Hallow's End for the first time, and witnessing the burning wickerman makes her question her place with the Forsaken.

World of Warcraft / Original Characters

Hurt/Comfort, Found Family

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It was the first proper Hallow’s End after the Desolate Council had been reformed and Lordaeron was reclaimed by its people. The Forsaken’s prime holiday marked the day when they broke free from the Scourge, celebrated with the symbolic burning of a giant wickerman. It was built on an older human iteration, which represented change and ushered in the darkest months of the year. Shorter days and longer nights were fortunate for the undead, even more so for those who followed the Cult of Forgotten Shadows.

Zala, an undead night elf, was only introduced to the holiday when she was taken in by the Cult a few years ago. Holidays had been something she shied away from, even back on Kalimdor where she certainly wasn’t observing anything practiced by humans, nor would she have cared for its revival when the Banshee Queen ruled. To her relief, that woman’s reign was no more.

The Capital City courtyard was packed around the wickerman. This year, the Desolate Council would hold a speech to inaugurate a new era for their people. Zala was initially just interested in the trick-or-treat festivities – it was an excuse to prank people and to gorge on so much candy it made even the dead sick – but this ceremony had her curious. During Hallow’s End, you would cast a branch into the wickerman’s flames and let it burn away the sorrows that the branch represented. You painted your face with its ashes, and in that moment, you sent a message to the world that you would not cower for anyone who called you a monster. You are not a mindless ghoul; you have free will, you embrace the Shadow, you are Forsaken. Zala wondered how people felt about that sentiment in the modern era, considering the things she knew about the overthrown Queen who first preached those words. Tonight, she had the opportunity to witness the reception herself.

There were many other undead elves – Darkfallen, as they were collectively called – who waited for the ceremony. Half of them were rangers patrolling up on the city walls. Zala considered watching with them, as the battlements up there were a good vantage point for watching the courtyard. But she was not enlisted with the rangers, and did not dare disturb them.

She didn’t particularly enjoy masses of strangers, and chose to stay near the Forgotten Shadow. The Cult kept to the side on a higher step, where they could clearly be spotted by those who sought the Shadow’s embrace. Now and then, people came up for blessings, but Zala preferred that others do the preaching. She sat in the back with one of the cultists she knew best; Brother Lafayette.

“There are more Darkfallen up there,” Zala described for him and pointed at the patrolling rangers. ”Maybe six or so are Kaldorei… or were. I think I saw a few more in the crowd.”

“Oh, how good of them to join us. Do you see anyone you know?”

“No… maybe some. I’m gonna stay here though.”

Lafayette was small and frail, and had to rely on just sensing the wickerman’s warmth if the cultists in front of them didn't move. He was too meek to force his way through, but Zala didn’t mind sitting with him. He had a calming aura that she appreciated.

She was curious about other Darkfallen, having spoken to a few when she chose to join the Forsaken, but she stayed with the Cult so much that she rarely met with outsiders. Besides, she knew she was difficult company as a troublemaker to both the living and the dead, with an ingrained fear of rejection that was hard to shake. Still, she couldn’t help but wonder what they thought of the meaning of this day.

She and most others like her never were mindless undead of the Scourge, and instead fell to the war machine of the very people they now stood amongst. The Forsaken of today openly rejected the person who orchestrated the worst of the war, but even if they did, Zala avoided the military who once followed the Banshee Queen. Merely the mention of the infamous name made her tense. Other fallen night elves all had different reasons for choosing to shun Elune and join the Forsaken, and Zala had only barely overheard their stories. Her own was conveniently about fleeing a loveless life and showing spite against a deity who never answered any of her prayers. The Shadow, on the other hand, she could tap into through strength of will and without begging for attention.

The Desolate Council finally made their appearance. Zala and Lafayette listened to their grand speech about survival, about free will and family, about a future together in a world where the living outnumbered the undead. They had survived yesterday, they were still here today, and they would survive tomorrow no matter what. As they set the wickerman ablaze, the crowd erupted in cheers.

“For Lordaeron! Power to the Forsaken!”

The cultists in front of them joined in praising when the enormous fire cast even greater shadows behind every soul around. Lafayette clapped his skeletal hands for the ceremony, preferring to make little noise when participating. Zala, however, was distracted as she watched the burning. It was a monumental sight and its warmth reached every corner of the courtyard. Her thoughts went back to the Fourth War.

Zala never saw the world tree burn. She died by the Darkshore border before she could witness it, and awoke to a val’kyr flying above her with the corpse of Teldrassil looming behind it. After that point, she remembered only rage over the injustice of life; she lived as a lonely, burdensome Kaldorei, who enlisted with no motives other than desperation for belonging. She had no family, no friends, no one who wouldn’t become fed up with her issues. No one would miss her if she died, and when she did die, what she then became was reviled by all of Kalimdor and the goddess that loomed over its forests. She was so resentful, and so alone. What care did she have if she was made into an abomination against life? Their prejudiced deity never favored someone as unimportant as Zala in the first place. If she was killed again, she still had nothing to lose. Until she was found by the Cult of Forgotten Shadows.

She glanced up at the other Darkfallen. How many of them had witnessed the world tree’s fall? What were their reasons for shunning Elune? How did they feel about standing by the Forsaken and witnessing this smoldering spectacle? Zala was frustrated with the lack of closure. Not all of them could have related to her specific circumstances, and what their faces said was too difficult for her to read at that distance, but she did see a few rangers whispering to each other. One left their post. Many questions popped up in Zala’s head, all of them heavy, and she felt frustrated when she couldn’t pass the load on. The shouting around her made it difficult to concentrate.

Lafayette seemed to have noticed her lack of input on the ceremony, as he tapped her arm and asked her if everything was okay. She leaned down so he could hear her.

“I’m okay, but… can I leave? I feel weird.”

“I think we can get a permit to leave as we’re not doing much,” Lafayette replied, “do you want me to go with you?”

Zala nodded before she could think about it. They excused themselves, with her elbowing them through the crowd and out of the city. Only when they stopped downhill, away from the guards stationed at the gates, did she feel relief. It was strange, as she didn’t believe it was related to the burning. Why would it be? And yet… Lafayette waited for her to start, but when she didn’t find any words, he took the initiative.

“It’s okay if you changed your mind. Crowds are often overwhelming… is that what it is?”

It was also true, but Zala shook her head. Her unease couldn’t be because of guilt. There was nothing to feel guilty about, and Lafayette knew why it was the case for her, but she couldn’t shake the thought of the other undead night elves. They stood out here. They had their high elf cousins among the Darkfallen, but they were not the same.

“I feel out of place,” she said, “everyone is cheering about being free and united, and all of those things, but it wasn’t like that for me. We’re different from you guys.”

“You mean other night el–... Darkfallen like you?”

She nodded. Lafayette went quiet for a minute and mulled over his response, as it would probably be a delicate one. He was such a careful little dead human, slight of frame and more than a foot below her. He hid behind the black mop on his head and avoided the gaze of the scads of people who towered over him. But when Zala came to him, he always smiled at her. Whenever she got riled up and teased people a little too far, he was someone who seldom retorted and instead tried to withdraw, and that did make her feel guilty. She didn’t enjoy wrestling with someone who wouldn’t fight back, and he was kind to her when she was upset, even when she shouted mean things at him. Zala feared that he would eventually get fed up with her mood swings, like everyone before him.

“This is pretty new to you, isn’t it? Maybe you are feeling disconnected because it's a holiday with human origins.” Lafayette fiddled with his sleeves. “But the symbolism of Hallow’s End should apply to any Forsaken. The Darkfallen are outcasts like you, like all of us here in the grand scheme of things. None of us asked to become undead and dwell in the Shadow, but here we are, embracing it.”

“Yeah, but you weren’t killed and raised by people who are now just walking around you.”

Zala didn’t mean for it to sound harsh when that fact didn’t make her as distressed as it probably should have – the exceptions were for Banshee loyalists who might yet hide in public, as well as her fear of orcs. Being around orcs would take time to get used to, and she was glad that the Cult rarely visited Orgrimmar. Zala couldn’t claim to see eye to eye with those who might recall Teldrassil at the sight of the wickerman, who might bemoan their undeath, when her own life had ironically become better after she died. She knew she was an outlier, and this was a bigger deal for others who lived as night elves.

Lafayette took more time to give her another response. He didn't seem upset, nor did he reach out to try and reassure her. This wasn’t something he could relate to, and she believed that he respected their differences. Or he was anxious, which was just as likely.

“You’re right,” he said, “how does it make you feel? What are you thinking of?”

Urged to keep on digging, Zala groaned at what she had to do. She was never good at identifying her feelings, instead suppressing them under anger until it swamped her and she broke down. Their mentor taught them to face and utilize their emotions, but Zala often struggled and backed out before she might start screaming. It was dangerous for someone who embraced the Shadow to lose control, as they risked falling into the Void below it. She sat down with her back thumping against a sign post behind her, and Lafayette knelt down nearby.

“I’m not like most of you guys–... like other Forsaken, or other Darkfallen. I don't know if they miss Kalimdor, or what they feel about Elune.” She frowned at her own conclusion. “That pain I already felt ages ago. I should relate to them if they feel it now, right?”

“Yes, that sounds reasonable. Have you asked them how they feel?” Lafayette’s tone was as compassionate as ever. “There must be reasons why they’re with us, and why they chose to attend the ceremony tonight. You didn’t stay with the rangers for very long, so you wouldn't know if you don't talk to them, right?”

Zala felt a knot in her dead stomach, and it wasn’t from eating candy. Shunned, criticized, belittled. Discarded for being nothing but a burden, a pest, a mistake. It always ended that way, so she hid from confrontations before it happened. She hid from most of the Forsaken, from the Darkfallen, from the rest of the Horde. She hid from the Alliance, from the Kaldorei, from the goddess who never heard her pleading. The Cult would reach that point with her some day, like everyone else did, and she would be alone again.

“I’m afraid of rejection.”

“I don’t reject you.” Lafayette reached out, but didn’t touch her yet. “You don’t mean to disrespect if you approach with good intentions to connect… and you can always apologize if it doesn’t go as planned. Me and our other Siblings in the Shadow, we’re here to fall back to.”

“They always reject me! They’re going to think I’m annoying and loud, and… I’m making all of this about myself when it was supposed to be a celebration for everyone!” The knot in her stomach grew and she bent up her knees.

“You won’t know if you don’t try, right?”

“Stop asking me all these stupid questions!”

Lafayette flinched when she snapped at him, and Zala froze. She did it again. He’s going to pull away and leave her out here until she’s become exhausted from wailing, and comes back home with her tail between her legs. How many chances did she have before she was cast out from yet another home?

“I’m sorry,” Lafayette said, “I want to help you, but I can only do so much when this is unique to you as an elf. If it’s frightening to approach the rangers, I can go with you if you want. They’re not as scary as they seem, just reserved.”

Zala was still stiff as a board, her red eyes wide, long ears tilted up.

“What if they recognize me? Will they want me there after I ditched them?”

“They might ask about it. I will support whatever you want to do, and like I said, they’re reserved when they're a minority within a minority. Don’t take it personally if they seem cold.” Lafayette then gestured to himself. “Besides, I’m also curious about the ones who were night elves. Having you next to me would ease my own jitters.”

“Because we’re bigger and stronger than you?”

“Yes.”

"I can throw you over the wall if I feel like it."

"Yes, I know. Please don't do that." He cleared his throat, and finally placed his bone hand on her arm. "Zala, you know more about their circumstances than I do, and we could help each other.”

Even when she yelled at him, he was still kind to her. Zala wondered if was sincere, or if he did it out of fear; Lafayette was known to do both to de-escalate any tension he’s part of. Either way, it worked to pacify her, and she knew deep down that what she wanted was connection, which was what he offered to her. Zala rested her arms over her knees. She looked him over; this skinny dead human, who would fall if you clapped his shoulder too hard, who spoke to her like he would take an arrow for her. He smiled, black eye sockets creasing at the sides; there were no eyeballs left in his skull, but he always saw her when she came to him.

“I just want to know why they chose to stay here,” she finally said, “if they felt forgotten by Elune, like I was my entire life.”

“If they also felt… Forsaken?”

“Yeah!” Zala grinned. “Except you are all small and slow, and don’t even have any fangs or claws to climb with.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be short for a night elf?”

She could have hissed at him if she were in a feisty mood, but Zala just cackled. It was so rare that he fired back at her teasing, and her reaction seemed to please him in turn. The racket up in the courtyard had calmed down, but the wickerman was still burning. Zala got up and offered Lafayette a hand to spare his creaky joints the effort. They faced the hill leading up to the gates, him waiting for her to decide, and her decision was to check with him first.

“We could do the branch thing,” she said as they began walking uphill, “and burn up bad memories. Also do the ashes.”

“I would like that. They’re serving drinks after, and there are buckets of candy around if you can stomach any more.”

“As long as food is free I can always eat more!” Zala patted her stomach. “The question is if you can before I get everything.”

“Oh, no, I can't,” he laughed, “I don’t have a whole stomach left. More for you, Sister.”

#world of warcraft #undead #forsaken #darkfallen #undead night elf #character: zala #character: lafayette #hallow's end #kott writes #aka I try to make a nelf darkfallen concept that works #meanwhile the others are still ???? to both me and her #either way I love her and him they are my darlings

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elewynd · 6 months

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We ran around in circles casting spells all night Terrorizing kids and causing a fight I put a spell on you, you put a spell on me

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aidan-hartwood · 6 months

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Hallow's End Memories

(TW: suggestive themes and toxic/abusive relationship)

Aidan laid on his bed taking in the events of the day. Turning his head to look out the window, night had come and with it the flickering lights of pumpkins, one in particular sat in a windowsill across from the window of his inn room. Hallow's End had come. The citizens of Stormwind having pulled out all their decorations and costumes to celebrate. A smile slowly etched across his face before turning his head back and chuckling as the holiday's festivities made him think of home.

Vilthea laid beside him, resting on her side one leg draped across his lower half with her head held up by one hand. Gently she traced her finger up and down his shirt, across his chest just watching him, her brow furrowing at his sudden chuckle as she asked, "What's so funny?"

"Nothing." Aidan responded with a shake of his head.

Her finger traced up his shirt to his jawline and stopping at his chin as she turned his head to look at her, "Tell me." She gave her gentle command before lowering her hand back to his chest.

"This time of year, seeing the people decorate and dress up for Hallow's End, it reminds me of home. All the pumpkins and witch hats, the leaves changing, I can't help but think of Fallhaven. It used to be my favorite time of year back when wearing a witch's hat was innocent. I used to love dressing up, I can remember one year I was a knight, then another a pirate, and one time I was a tidesage. I had a lot of good memories around this time of year growing up." He let out a deep sigh, "I just miss home. I haven't been there in awhile to see my parents."

"Why don't you go visit them then?" Vilthea traced a circle around where his heart would be. "Celebrate Hallow's End with your family."

"Really?" Aidan asked in disbelief, turning his head to look at Vilthea, "But what about your search for Jedelan's grimoires? I thought you needed my help? Surely, I can't just leave to go back home.."

"All my current leads have dried up." Vilthea let out an exaggerated sigh before beginning to move. In one swift maneuver she slid atop Aidan straddling him and then leaned forward to rest her arms across his chest and placing her chin on top of them as she looked down at him. "So you're free to go see your family. Besides, it will take a load off my mind knowing you aren't in the city with all these sudden 'repentant' Man'ari running around. I can't afford to have another filthy demon seduce you, and take what is mine." Her tail swayed and moved to run along his leg.

Aidan scoffed and rolled his eyes, "I doubt any Man'ari would try to seduce me, and are you sure that's what you are seeing? Or is it just people dressing up like a succubus for Hallow's End?" A low chuckle rumbled through his chest before he added in a more serious tone, "And I'm not yours.."

"I'm quite sure. I can tell the difference between a real demon and some random mortal who is just dressing up in some suggestive succubus outfit for attention. They will never be the real thing." Vilthea smiled, "And you are mine, or have you forgot I left my mark on you?" She sat up and brought one hand up to pull the collar of his shirt to the side before tapping at a bite mark where a pair of fangs bit into his shoulder.

He shook his head in response to her and playfully pushed her hand away, "That doesn't mean I belong to you. It just means you are into biting."

Vilthea sighed and playfully pouted. Leaning forward again she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled Aidan up so that they were face to face, "Oh, my dear, sweet, Aidan." As she spoke one hand ran through his hair while the other slid down to his chest, "You should feel honored. You're the only man I've ever marked as mine.. I like you, Aidan. I need you." Her voice grew ever softer, more sultry, with each word and as it did his heart beat a little faster until it was nearly bounding out of his chest. Then came the soft whisper, "I only want you."

With her confession she pressed her lips to his, using her innate supernatural power of seduction she placed him under her charm. His body grew lax as any fight or thought of rebellion left him, he simply melted into her embrace, into their kiss.

When his heart skipped a beat Vilthea pulled back, the slightest hint of a smug smirk playing on the corner of her lip, "Who do you belong to?"

"You." Aidan responded in barely a whisper.

"Good boy." Vilthea slid her hand on his chest up to caress his cheek, "Tomorrow we can leave for Kul Tiras so you can see your parents for the holiday."

Aidan nodded in response and smiled, thought of going home made him happy, however, such thoughts were pushed aside as his mind seemed to focus only on Vilthea.

#ic #Vilthea the Succubus #Hallow's End #Poor Aidan

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krisseymage · 6 months

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me, patiently waiting through Headless Horseman queues

#hallow's end #headless horseman #loooooong queue time #wow

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late-to-the-fandom · 1 year

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Hallow's End Ember Court is fancy dress. There's some confusion about who's who. There's no prizes for guessing, but I'd still love to know if you do! Rated G for Happy Hallow's End Drabble. Read here on Ao3 for triggers and tags

"I confess, I am rather shocked," said the Maw Walker, her expressionless face belying her words. "I didn't expect Revendreth to embrace Hallow's End so readily."

"Oh, we Venthyr welcome any excuse for celebration!" exclaimed Duke Theotar. The candlelight emanating from the enormous carved pumpkins behind the Duke threw the shadow of his exuberant gesticulation across the uneven ground. "And any excuse for fancy dress!"

The "Mad" Duke fixed his comically large hat more securely atop his carefully arranged hair, and the Maw Walker smiled fondly. The expression cracked the perfect up-turned lines of painted black stitches that extended past her lips.

Renathal, watching, took another sip of tea. He was still deciding how he felt about her whole ensemble.

Costume courts were a beloved tradition in Revendreth, but they were usually an excuse to comport oneself as a dashing hero or specimen of exquisite beauty. Impressions of the Master were always popular, as a prime example of both*; although, Renathal noticed, with a critical glance around the courtyard, none of the Ember Court guests had been so bold. But apart from this obvious missing fixture, today's court contained the usual assortment of regally attired royalty and armored warriors customary to any Revendreth fancy dress event.

None whatsoever had chosen a disguise as unsettling as the Maw Walker's, with its eerily realistic stitches crisscrossing the planes of her exposed flesh. And it was causing a visible stir among the guests, many of whom stared openly at her whenever they passed Theotar's shaded tea corner.

"We seem to have quite a bit of lore in common," commented the Maw Walker, joining Renathal in surveying the rest of the courtyard over the rim of her undrunk tea. "I believe I recognise many of the costumes. Including yours."

She ran an appraising eye over the Dark Prince's uncharacteristic black clothes. Renathal, momentarily distracted, swept his cape out with a melodramatic flourish that made Maw Walker laugh behind her cup.

"So, you are familiar with the story?" said Renathal smugly.

"Yes, it was very popular at one time. Someone even set it to music, I think, although I never saw it performed. And .... I confess, I can't remember your character's name."

"Really? But he is the protagonist!" declared Renathal in mock offense. "The brilliant musician who, in spite of his disfigurement, wins the heart of the realm's most talented ingenue, and spends his mortal life together with her creating the music of the night!"

It was a well-practiced little soliloquy. Renathal had worn this costume - or a more elaborate version - many times before. Behind him, the Duke had the good grace to applaud appreciatively.

The Maw Walker blinked.

"Are you sure that's how it ends?" she asked.

"Quite sure," sniffed Renathal. "The story is a personal favourite of mine. I have read it many times." He sipped thoughtfully at his tea before venturing, "Why do you ask?"

"I've just .... never heard it told that way."

"How have you heard it?"

"Well..." The Maw Walker wet her lips in hesitation. "I thought .... the masked man - whoever you are - kidnapped the girl. And then she was rescued by her true love and left the masked man to die in a fire."

There was a gasp and a splash of liquid from behind them as Theotar fumbled the milk jug.

"Surely not!" he cried, his pinched face even more ashen than usual.

Renathal, too, looked shocked.

"I am afraid you must be mistaken," he said firmly, adjusting his white half-mask to sit better on his face. "He would never have done such a thing, I am certain. He was the hero of the story, after all."

"Perhaps I'm thinking of a different tale, then," the Maw Walker conceded. She glanced quickly around at the Duke for a change of topic. "But I'm sure I know who you are. I would recognise the top hat anywhere."

"Well, I should hope, he is quite the well-known figure," said Theotar, dabbing spilled milk from his bare chest with a white handkerchief. "The wise counselor who, through his clear wit and good sense, helped the little lost girl Alex find her way back to her own realm." He deposited the handkerchief onto Gubbins' tray and smiled. "After treating her to a delicious tea, of course."

The Maw Walker tilted her head, brow now furrowed. An unusual show of confusion on her typically blank face.

"I don't think that's right either," she said, shaking her head. "The girl's name wasn't Alex. And your character wasn't wise, he was -"

Renathal interrupted before the Maw Walker could finish.

"If it is a story, then how can it be right or wrong?"

"Because it didn't happen that way!"

"It didn't happen at all," Renathal countered. "They are stories. How can one depiction of a fantasy be more or less right than another?"

The Maw Walker opened her mouth to argue further, paused, then closed it abruptly. Her eyes glazed over in thought, and she brought her teacup to her lips vaguely. Renathal watched her fight back a grimace at the taste.

"I suppose you have a point," the Maw Walker said finally. She gave Renathal a deep nod as if conceding victory, her loose and oddly coloured hair swinging forward across her face.

"Of course!" said Theotar, approaching with the sugar bowl. "Why, there are as many interpretations of stories as there are souls who tell them! And you must tell us your versions in full, sometime."

The Maw Walker smiled - that warm, affectionate smile she saved for the 'Mad' Duke - and dutifully bent her knees so the smaller Venthyr could stir sugar into her cup.

"I think your versions sound better, to be honest."

Privately, Renathal agreed, but thought it bad manners to say so out loud. Instead, he indicated the Maw Walker's ragged dress with a wave of his hand.

"But who are you supposed to be? I am afraid I do not recognise your ..." He searched for an appropriate word. "Attire."

"Oh, let me guess!" said Theotar excitedly. He thrust the sugar bowl at the waiting Gubbins, then stepped back to take in the full effect of the Maw Walker's disguise. "You are ... a Maldraxxus abomination?"

"What? No!" The Maw Walker tugged self-consciously at her patch-work dress. "I am -" She paused for a moment, then continued more firmly. "I am the brave and intelligent heroine of an old, beloved story, whose advice to her realm's leader was immediately heard and obeyed, and through which she managed to stop her realm from invading several others."

Her little speech did not have quite the effortless delivery of Renathal's, but Theotar still made a point of clapping politely.

"Oh, well done!"

The Maw Walker accepted his praise with a self-mocking curtsey.

"And will your hair return to normal once court is over, or is it ... red for the foreseeable future?" Renathal inquired as casually as he could manage.

"It's just an illusion," assured the Maw Walker. "Unless you'd like me to keep it like this longer?"

She caught Renathal's eye and gave a small wink.

"I think I prefer its natural shade," murmured Renathal. He hadn't meant the words to come out so low, not while anyone else was present, but he did enjoy watching the Maw Walker eyes darken.

"Ah, just look at us," said Theotar fondly, stepping between his two dear friends and cutting neatly through the developing tension. "Three exceptional heroes! Exquisite examples of lives well lived and happily ended!"

The Maw Walker smiled wistfully. "On Hallow's End, at least."

* Shout out to my mate @shipping-through-eternity for inspiring this particular little head canon and letting me use it!

Read Part 12: Keys for All Occasions: Cicatrix | Visit the Masterpost

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