#she's beautiful azeroth is so beautiful | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

redisaid · 9 months

Text

Beneath the Blue Moon - Chapter 8

Full

Oh hi. I missed the girls. I’m back on the train of this bullshit again.

Expect a new poll for choices on chapters 9 and 10 in a few days.

7052 Words

Read it on Ao3!

When the wind bends the branch to softly touch me, When the band plays your song, I feel strong enough to keep dreaming, Even when I'm all alone, Our love goes on and on.

Sylvanas decided that there was no worse idea ever had than that of trying to host a luncheon across the span of two ships tethered to one another. And as painful as the creaking of rope and wood and canvas against one another was to her elven ears, the fact that Jaina was just a gangplank away from her, and had been this entire time, yet still would not look at her, was far worse.

Otherwise, the summit was going well. As well as could be imagined, really. Horde and Alliance alike were enjoying tea and finger sandwiches on a sunny day in the harbor of an offshore island deemed too far away from Dazar’alor to pose a threat. Both of them were digesting Sylvanas’ words with their food, her explanation of the threat that faced them all, and the price she feared the world would pay for the theft of her soul.

Her selfish dooming of Azeroth. Nothing unusual, really. Old news before it was even news.

Just as the situation was with Jaina. The only time she’d looked into her eyes in over a decade was across the throne room in Lordaeron—when Jaina had come to save the Alliance’s bid to take her city from her.

And succeeded.

She was powerful, a ball of stress that was honestly only more beautiful for it. She looked incredible in her Kul Tiran uniform, even today, sulking with a greatcoat draped over her shoulders, unbuttoned otherwise for the heat of the Zandalari sun.

Just because she wouldn’t look at Sylvanas didn’t mean Sylvanas couldn’t look at her.

And honestly, over the years, in the scant times that they’d shared space since, all she could ever do was look at her. To look at her, going on, changing, becoming something without her. In the absence of her.

Sylvanas wondered if the emptiness had gnawed at her? The lack of what once was? Their connection, bone deep, severed even as Sylvanas still walked this world. Maybe it was the years of having had time to process it properly, as Sylvanas didn’t, that had hardened Jaina to her. To this need.

It was a need. Like the living needed water and air and food and shelter. Sylvanas was dead, still, and needed none of these. But she needed Jaina. She needed her like withered elves needed mana. Like—

“Warchief, a moment of your time?”

Anduin Wrynn. A lad of annoying height that he’d only gained in the last few years, loomed over her in his ceremonial lion armor, a polite smile tugging at the corner of his beardless lips. Last she’d seen him wear that armor, it was when she’d run from him, defeated at Lordaeron, wondering after the apology that seemed to echo in Jaina’s eyes.

Still too broken to understand it, but questioning all the same.

“By all means, High King,” she said with a nod.

In all her life and thereafter, Sylvanas had never imagined she would be nodding to a king. A boy king besides that, but even so, she had thought she would remain nothing more than a General, still giving a full bow to Anestarian, hoping he’d hold on a few more centuries and spare her from doing the same to Kael’thas.

Anduin came to stand with her on the aft deck of the Banshee’s Wail, mounting the stairs with a plate of tiny sandwiches still in hand.

“I have to admit I was rather fascinated by your tales of the Shadowlands,” he told her. “And what you’d experienced there. I was hoping you might answer some questions for me, about the nature of death.”

He would be disappointed to know how little she knew. How little she cared to know. Sylvanas could tell him exactly what death was. Unfair. Broken. A thing that ground one down, bones to dust. Souls to anima. A transformation to smaller parts, in which, along the way, the whole was lost forever.

A thing that made the decay and disgust of decomposition seem kind.

But instead, she said to him, “You may ask what you wish. I will share what I know, but I would hardly call my knowledge of the Shadowlands encyclopedic.”

“You mentioned there being other realms of death, besides the place you called the Maw. I was wondering…”

Wonder away, she almost wanted to tell him. Sylvanas herself had only seen glimpses of them as the Jailer’s servants had escorted her through a tour of the unfairness of death—the great separation and unending that awaited all living things.

Beautiful Bastion, its angelic embrace a front for a great lie—consuming the souls of heroes to turn them into willing servants and ferriers of yet even more souls. Malevolent Maldraxxus, where the souls of the warlike could play at war for the rest eternity, never satisfied with an end to their violence. Repentant Revendreth, whose aesthetic honestly didn’t miss, but otherwise enslaved the souls of the evil to extract from them in exchange for the slim hope at a better fate.

There was no better fate. Not even in Ardenweald, among the eternal forest, caring for slumbering gods. The Jailer had taunted her, telling her this was where she’d been headed before Arthas had rent her soul in twain and damned her to undeath and her eventual bargain. But even in her kindest end, Sylvanas now knew she would have become nothing more than a nymph of the woods that did not remember herself.

Or Jaina.

Or Lirath. Or Mother and father. Their souls too, were already lost in this machine of death. One that still very much deserved to be broken.

But not at the costs she had already paid.

Sylvanas waited for him to seem to finish his question, though she did not truly listen to the rest of it. “I’m afraid I’ve seen little outside of the Maw.”

She lied through simplicity. Much as she wished Anduin to enjoy his little sandwiches and hear out her request for peace, she was not here for him.

She was here for the woman who wouldn’t so much as set foot on the Horde side of the ships, and had all the reasons in the world to stay where she was. The Alliance side was made up of one of her ships, actually. Her flagship was larger, but sat lower in the water overall to the point where such side by side anchorage was possible for them. Still, it made Sylvanas nervous. All canons and teeth.

Jaina had a right to every one of those guns.

“I just wondered if you might know where my father went. Where a man like him would go to his eternal rest?” Anduin asked.

The porcelain plate in his hands reflected sunlight dully up at her amidst an array of cucumber, mayonnaise, and white bread. King Wrynn could not look her in the eye as he asked.

Bastion? Perhaps. Varian was a hero, certainly, and Sylvanas remembered well the time they fought side by side, deck to deck on different ships in the sky and not at sea. The way it made her thick black blood seem to race again to fight beside a warrior of equal skill, despite their opposite factions. It was only recent, very recent to one with both an elf and an undead’s lengthy perception of time. She would not soon forget the feeling.

But Varian was headstrong. Willful in the way Alliance men seemed to excel at. A warrior through and through. Perhaps he fought in the endless battles of Maldraxxus.

But death was infinite and terrible. Its realms expanded on and on, like the twisting tower of Torghast. It was not for mortal comprehension. It was not meant to make sense, or to be fair.

“I’m afraid I don’t know,” was the most honest answer she could give him. “But, as you do, I would hope he rests peacefully, and remains as such. I cannot recommend the alternative.”

Anduin Wrynn had never heard her make a joke before. That occurred to her as he stared at her, one bushy blonde eyebrow cocked in disbelief.

Not many people from the other ship had heard her make a joke before, actually. Or even on her side of the gangplank.

Among the many disservices of her death and the loss of her whole soul was that the world had forgotten she was funny.

She used to be very funny.

“Right,” Anduin eventually said, catching the gape that his mouth was starting to form and closing his teeth with an audible click. “Perhaps I might draft up a letter with a list of questions, or put you in contact with a scholar to chronicle your knowledge.”

“No doubt many will be interested. I’ve already been approached by the Reliquary and my own Apothecaries since my announcement to the Horde,” Sylvanas informed him.

She had no doubt that she would be made to recount her singular experiences a hundred times over. If Azeroth survived to care about them, that is.

“But,” she continued. “My priorities at the moment are ensuring that we work together to protect the world of the living and my people alike from that which may threaten us.”

Diplomacy never felt right to her. Even as successful as she had been at it here and there. She was a creature of trails and trees, not of contracts and meetings.

Or graves and the ink darkness of night. Lingering fog and dripping horrors. Teeth gnashing at rotting flesh.

Reconciling the two was still too difficult to keep in the forefront of her mind. Both parts of her had known a life of duty and objectivity coming first. That, at least, Sylvanas could focus on.

Even as her eyes tracked the deep blue of Jaina’s greatcoat from across the deck.

“Right,” Anduin said again, nodding along and picking up a tiny sandwich in meaty hands that must have come from his father. “If you want to discuss anything in specific about the draft agreement I’ve put forth, before we bring it to the table here, let me know.”

It was good, for a draft. Sylvanas had nothing to bring up. She knew that the other leaders of the Horde would be happy to squabble about the particulars and pick it apart. She was only concerned with setting a limit on the time they could do so. Dread and anxiety were her constant companions, even as she didn’t settle her thoughts on her disparate existence. Time, she felt, was a borrowed luxury they did not have to throw around, though she could not say why exactly.

She hadn’t bothered to go into descriptions of the Jailer’s forces to great degrees. “The Scourge, but worse,” was approximately what she had told the Alliance to watch out for. But her vision had been clouded by the black feathers of Mawsworn. The dull gray metal of armored constructs. The sharp bone of skeletal horrors.

“It is a fine agreement for the time being,” Sylvanas told him. “One that I will work to ensure the Horde honors as we face this threat.”

“I will tell you there is some skepticism on my side that there is a threat at all,” Anduin said, still holding the sandwich. “Not from my part. You are quite obviously changed to my eyes, if you don’t mind me saying so. Something has happened to cause that, and I believe you there. But others aren’t so quick to trust.”

No, they would not be. Not Genn Greymane, his silvered fur bristled as he stalked the deck of Jaina’s ship, one of the many not to leave it. In fact, the only ones to cross the gangplank thus far were Anduin and Baine.

As Sylvanas’ eyes flitted briefly away from Jaina, they noted her sisters were nowhere to be found on the Alliance ship. Neither, it seemed, had the courage to face her, or represent their factions of stolen elves. Stolen names.

“I honestly hope that I’m wrong, Wyrnn,” she told him. “I hope that nothing happens. But I fear that we will feel the Jailer’s wrath and fear we will feel it soon. My promise remains regardless of whether that happens or not, though. Azeroth has spent too long at war, and I no longer wish to be the cause of it.”

“What changed your mind?”

Sylvanas was hardly prepared for the question.

A dead body, dripping salt water on her table in the cabin just below them, was the root of the answer. But Derek Proudmoore’s rotted corpse was mostly a symbol. A message to her from her. From beyond her.

You are better than this. You are better than a pawn in someone else’s game.

Sylvanas knew what she wanted, and knew then, as she stared down a decision she did not want to make, that it wasn’t that. She wished she made this long ago, honestly. At the peak of Icecrown Citadel. Over Vol’jin’s dying, fel-ridden body. Before the flames were launched at Teldrassil.

Early as she could go back, honestly, but it would never be enough.

Her hands were already stained with blood from the moment they’d become her own again. From the first flex of spectral fingers that was her will and hers alone, after her death. But before then, they’d been used to rip the faces off of elven children. To rend the land that had birthed her so deeply that it was still scarred to this day. Bodiless, monstrous, and broken beyond repair—she had been irredeemable from the very start of her unlife.

Even now, soul restored to wholeness, hands corporeal but still stained with that blood and so much more, there was no fixing it. There was no forgiveness. No justice. No redemption to be sought.

There never would be.

Sylvanas’ eyes still tracked the blue greatcoat across the deck of the Kul Tiran ship. No doubt it was hot, but Jaina kept herself beneath it as if it were a shield that protected her from the foulness of the very air.

Foul, perhaps, because of who it was shared with. Truly, all Sylvanas could get from her over their renewed bond since the ships both docked was a feeling of general annoyance bordering on aversion. It pulled at the bottom of her stomach and tightened her chest.

Only then, as he waited for an answer, did Anduin’s eyes follow hers and land on the real answer to his question.

How could she explain that to the boy king? That even in her undeath, her brokenness, her grief over her own life, she could not violate the bond that had once tied her to Jaina. She could not bring herself to attack her directly. The thought had repelled her, like one magnetic pole to another of the same charge. It was never an option.

And even Jaina, in all her disgust, had looked sorry at Lordaeron for being willing to do what she was not.

A memory stirred in Sylvanas’ mind, so vivid now with her newfound ability to connect to the fullness of its emotions. Once, she and Jaina had sat on the beach outside of Windrunner Spire, an outing prompted after their recounting of similar childhoods spent by the seashore. The beach outside the Spire was mostly rocky, and only had a small strip of smooth sand on which they’d laid out a little picnic.

It had been the day before they had to leave one another. Jaina laughed and teased and loved her. She smelled of mana wine and pomegranates and honey pastries. She leaned in for a kiss, on that perfect afternoon, and asked as she pulled away, “But where will we live?”

The question was a loaded one. No answer was correct. The first difficult to navigate strait in the sea of their union. Sylvanas wanted to answer that here at the Spire was good. But Jaina was an agent of the Kirin Tor, based in Dalaran. Sylvanas hated Dalaran, and was the Ranger General of Quel’thalas. But Jaina was also technically heir to the Kul Tiran admiralty, and would presumably need to return there or name her younger brother heir instead some day. Back then, her father still lived and was still young enough to the point it wasn’t the forethought on anyone’s mind, save maybe Sylvanas’ as she worried for them. And then there was the Alliance, based in Lordaeron and not Stormwind back then, that called to the loyalties of both of them.

Sylvanas had listed all of these in a panicked tirade of sorts, wanting to find the answer.

It was Jaina who had arrived at the real answer with a smile, “Don’t worry so much. We’ll figure it out.”

They never got to even try.

“I see,” Anduin started. “Well if—”

“You wretched beast!” A Thalassian screech came from just below them, causing both Anduin and Sylvanas to lean over the railing to see the source.

That happened to be Velonara shaking an offending pest off of her boot. The offending pest being a small pink dinosaur that was clinging onto the black leather, gnawing at the laces.

Nathanos ran over from where he’d been entertaining Gallywix and his goblins, prying the creature off with a desperate whisper of, “How did you get out?” before carrying it back into the aft cabin with a huff.

He was successful in that at least, despite the creature’s protesting squawk and sharp little teeth that no doubt left a few tiny holes in his gloves.

“Fascinating wildlife here in Zandalar,” Anduin noted as distraction was removed.

“Yes, fascinating,” Sylvanas agreed dryly.

She’d have a talk with Nathanos about smuggling his newest pets onto diplomatic missions later.

Thankfully, as Anduin seemed to be following her gaze across to the other ship again, another distraction was provided in the form of red hair and golden armor. Lady Liadrin stood on the last step up to the aft deck, seemingly waiting to be invited to join them.

Still a stickler for decorum, after all these years. Sylvanas hadn’t spoken to her since, save to grant orders. Once, she had considered her a friend.

They even went on a terrible date once, centuries ago. Absolutely awful. Liadrin had tried to order for her at the restaurant, and it had only gotten worse from there. And now here she was, waiting to be acknowledged. It must have physically pained the control freak that Sylvanas knew lay beneath all that armor.

“Matriarch,” Sylvanas said with a nod in her direction.

Liadrin still looked like shit. Like she’d been run over by a goblin trike and left in the streets of Orgrimmar to die for it. She did her best to hold it together and bowed gracefully and appropriately to Sylvanas and Anduin, but the signs were there. Something was wrong. Deeply wrong.

And Sylvanas was struggling with wanting to actually ask what that was, when she was owed no such answer.

“Warchief, High King,” Liadrin said as she rose.

Anduin was respectful in his own nod to her, offering a greeting, “Bal’a dash, Lady Liadrin.”

His pronunciation was not terrible, for all it was worth. And while Sylvanas expected Liadrin not to have any interest in his attempt, her golden eyes only settled on the young king. A question burned in them. A question she did not ask.

Her gaze instead flitted around the boy king, left, then right, then back to him. Searching for something.

There was nothing up here but Sylvanas, Anduin, and the ship’s wheel. Maybe it was some Light thing? That, at least, Sylvanas had never understood in any of her lives. Nor had she cared to. Especially now. Religion was not the realm of the dead.

“It’s no rush,” Liadrin began, finally, “but I was hoping I might borrow a moment of your time before we reconvene, King Wrynn.”

“Certainly. We have not spoken since the Legion’s invasion, and I treasure any opportunity to speak to a sister in the Light,” was Anduin’s very warm and seemingly genuine answer.

Only he didn’t get to continue on to the point of turning Sylvanas’ undead stomach with his religious drivel.

The afternoon sun flickered strangely out of the corner of her eye. Sylvanas banished the thought, just another vision of dread. Another fantasy of what could come for her, for all of them. The price she would pay for the faint blue glow of the moon she kept hidden on her wrist beneath her clawed gauntlets, matching that which would be similarly hidden by the golden gauntlet on Jaina’s casting hand.

The price she’d paid to be ignored and shunned yet again. Sylvanas was coming to the conclusion that she did indeed deserve it. Her best hope was this peace, and buying herself a few years of good behavior, of attempted redemption where there could truly be none, just to be heard. To be seen. To be looked at, even, with anything other than pity or silent apology.

But then the sun flickered again, this time catching the hard gold of Liadrin’s eyes enough to rouse them from the dark bags that sunk beneath them. Enough for Sylvanas to follow her gaze to the west.

“Mawsworn!” she shouted.

No one but her knew the meaning of the word, of the dark silhouettes that flocked toward them, shading out the sun with a mass of black feathers. They looked not too dissimilar from her Val’kyr, but larger. Fiercer. Intent. Whereas the Val’kyr waited on orders, inert but for the occasional flap of wings, Sylvanas had never seen a Mawsworn that didn’t have some terrible mission on their mind, always flying toward something.

And now they were flying toward her, and her peace summit.

Deathwhisper was in her hands in an instant. No Thas’dorah, certainly, but she could make it work. No doubt things would be better if she’d accepted the Jailer’s gifts, the chained arrows he’d promised in exchange for more and more dirty deeds.

Only now did she regret not taking him up on the offer.

“That’s what they look like? I don’t under—”

Anduin was cut off from his confusion by Liadrin drawing her sword and standing between him and the western sky.

“Arm yourself!” she ordered someone she had no business ordering, gruff voice grated even deeper by her apparent exhaustion.

That was enough to shake Anduin out of his questioning, though he muttered, “They look like angels,” as he drew his father’s famed sword.

They were not angels. Angels lived in Bastion and forgot themselves. Angels carried the dead into the machine to chop them up at the behest of yet even more masters. Nowhere could anyone be free, even in death.

Not, at least, if they didn’t fight.

Sylvanas knocked an arrow and looked to the combined forces of Horde and Alliance leadership on the decks below her, scrambling to her warning call. Satisfied that the Horde ship had a suitable amount of Dark Rangers with bows drawn as she had, even Nathanos, and plenty of Orcish axes and Tauren totems alike joining them, she cast a look over to the Alliance ship.

And to a blue coat beneath which hands were forming to host an icy spell. Jaina’s eyes glowed with arcane, visible even from this far away, as she stood between most of her own people and the new threat.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you!” Sylvanas shouted over the water and wood. “Watch for their chains!”

And then they were upon them. So fast did their black wings carry them across Azeroth’s sky that it was seemingly unnatural. No time to think of where they could have come from or how or why. Well, the why Sylvanas was certain of, at least.

They’d come for her.

She fired the first shot, an arrow that ripped through the black feathers of the winged skeleton, slicing just the corner of its dark cloak. Wide and misaimed.

The product of fear. A deep fear that Sylvanas had not felt in years. A fear not for herself, but for those around her. For Anduin. Liadrin. Even traitorous Baine, who didn’t think she’d known of his dealings with the Alliance. And Jaina.

Of course, Jaina. But she shot second, and her ice lance hit true, striking a Mawsworn from the air and into the ocean with the force of it.

Truly, what an honor it was to be destined for such a powerful woman, who had only grown into that power and beauty over these last hard years. What a privilege, even if she wouldn’t deign to look at the broken creature that was Sylvanas Windrunner.

Sylvanas knocked another arrow. She fired. She hit deep into an eye socket this time, causing another Mawsworn to fall. She listened as Liadrin and Anduin whispered blessings under their breath, laying hands on one another to trade them.

She knocked a third arrow, but didn’t get a chance to fire before a chain shot out toward her.

Liadrin dutifully deflected this with her shield, offering Sylvanas cover to fire behind. The fear dissipated, and suddenly her dead heart was full of a feeling of ancient camaraderie. Of memories of Liadrin when she still wielded the mace of a priestess, and was no less fearsome in her white robes than she was in her golden and crimson armor. Of times when she’d done this before, standing between Sylvanas and an Amani troll. An Alliance footman. A shambling undead horror. A massive, horned demon.

This was just another enemy. Another in the unending chain of threats that Azeroth seemed to face. And as shaped by war as Sylvanas was like no one else, she had to remind herself that she was not the only one so molded. Maybe not to such a degree, but she wasn’t about to debate that with Liadrin.

She was grateful, she realized, as she fired over her shoulder with a little smirk on her face.

“Ready yourselves!” Sylvanas delivered one last final warning as she made a fifth shot over Liadrin’s red ponytail.

The decks became crowded with black feathers and magical chains. They were just as soon filled with broken bones and battered pieces of dull gray armor. While she didn’t like being caught off guard, the place to do so was certainly around the best and brightest that each faction had to offer, as it seemed none of them had a problem with this initial onslaught.

Nathanos had hopped up on the aft deck to join them, and flashed her a grin as he buried one of his axes into a screaming skull. Midship, Saurfang headbutted another skull with such force that it cracked loudly enough to draw her attention a moment later. She caught sight of Genn Greymane with a fibula in his wolven mouth. Maybe an ulna. The area around Jaina was just coated in ice, several Mawsworn either frozen within it or shattered by it.

They were many, but they were fragile. They were not meant to be here in the living world, and it seemed to be a weakness to them. Their bones were brittle, Sylvanas realized as she cleaved yet another skull near in two with a close range shot.

This was a battle that could be easily won.

Even Anduin was holding up next to her, green boy that he obviously was. He’d made a good run of it at Lordaeron, and had shown courage then, but his heart was not in it. That much was clear to Sylvanas. He didn’t have that streak of joy in the kill to him. She doubted he’d even enjoy a good hunt, and would weep instead for the animals.

But, he still cut clean through a ribcage. A leg. An arm. A haze of black feathers.

And somehow missed the chain that wrapped around him.

His grunt of surprise was what alerted her as he was lifted into the air. The Mawsworn that had tangled him made haste to fly up, up, and then off.

They weren’t here to fight. They were here to take. Zovaal didn’t care how many of his abominations he lost in the process. He only needed to rob Sylvanas of one of her allies, or her own freedom, to prove that his vengeance was not to be trifled with.

And she wasn’t about to let him win another battle. Never again.

She rolled out of the cloud of Mawsworn that had descended on the aft deck, up to the rail that stood between her and the sea. She took aim, willing the necromantic magic that bound her to unlife into her arrow until it swirled with darkness, hoping that would be enough. She fired at the chain that held Anduin aloft, slowly raising upward to bring him into the embrace of the Mawsworn that was carrying him off.

Her shot hit true, determined as she was that it would. It snapped the chain, but left the boy king falling rapidly toward the ocean.

Sylvanas didn’t hesitate. Much as she hated her banshee form, and the memories she still carried of those days where she watched its clawed hands move against her will to aid Arthas in destroying Silvermoon, she slipped into it without lingering on those thoughts. There was no time for it.

She shot forward at speed that almost matched that of unnatural Mawsworn, managing to catch him just before he hit the waves. He would have hit them hard, covered in that ridiculous plate, and sunk below them immediately. There was no other choice.

Even though he shied away from her and the scream that echoed from her spectral mouth unbidden as it must when she was this way.

Sylvanas wanted to warn him to cover his ears, but she couldn’t speak when she was like this. She could only scream.

No wonder Jaina wouldn’t look at her. She was still dead. Broken. Monstrous. A war criminal on her best day. An abomination no different than those that attacked them at her worst.

As she soared back upward to the aft deck with him in her arms, Sylvanas couldn’t help but notice the blue glow on the wrist that curled around Anduin. Even temporarily banishing her physical body, and the mark that contained that fire, she was not without it.

But she didn’t have time to contemplate that either. She surged upward with one last blast of a scream, reminding herself to beg forgiveness from Anduin later, and summoned her corporeal form once she had him dumped safely onto the deck once more.

A little bit unceremoniously, perhaps. A little rougher than necessary, surely.

For the Undercity, Sylvanas thought to herself as she took up Deathwhisper again, and went back to filling Mawsworn with arrows. For the Undercity indeed, she stood over Anduin as he got to his feet and got ready to continue the fight. She made sure to turn around at her earliest opportunity, and shoot down the one that was coming back from the sea, having realized its prize had been stolen from it.

As easily as they fell, their numbers were so great. So much so that Sylvanas lost count of how many she’d downed quickly. She was also busy keeping her eyes on the sky to ensure that no one else was being taken, but it seemed only Anduin had been caught unaware by the chains thus far. She’d dodged more than a few of her own, grabbing him by his tabard to drag him with her up to the railing overlooking the lower deck. Large as he was, she was stronger. Yet another point for undeath today.

What she saw there was nothing short of disappointing. Most of the Mawsworn were clustered on the aft deck of her ship, and between her, Anduin, Liadrin, and Nathanos, had mostly been dispatched. The Horde below had dealt with nearly all that assailed them already.

But the Alliance ship didn’t fare as well. Only Jaina seemed to be a deadly force enough to leave her icy corner of the Kul Tiran flagship fully clear. Otherwise, it was still a haze of black feathers and battle cries.

“Horde, what are you doing?” Sylvanas questioned of idle axes and swords, arcane and Light alike. “Protect our allies! We must work together!”

With one last quick check to make sure that Nathanos and Liadrin had a handle on the remaining Mawsworn on the aft deck, Sylvanas turned to Anduin and told him, “I’m afraid your little papers must wait. Allow me to prove the truth of my words. Fight with me.”

“I didn’t doubt you in the first place!” Anduin protested as she led the way across the gangplank to the deck of the Kul Tiran ship.

The Kul Tiran ship, where it seemed the Mawsworn had realized who was to be feared there. Who was to be prioritized. Or perhaps, who the Jailer had sent to target.

Whose capture and subsequent torture in the bowels of hell itself would hurt Sylvanas most.

The remainder of them were closing in on Jaina, chains lashing out only to meet wave after wave of ice, shattering them each time. Impressive as it was, Sylvanas knew she couldn’t keep it up forever. Mana was a thing in limited quantities, even for one of Azeroth’s most powerful mages.

Certainly its most beautiful, eyes aglow with magic, greatcoat forgotten and frozen to the deck beside her, white braid whipping in the wind.

As much as Sylvanas enjoyed looking at her soulmate in her battle fury, she was here to help her, wanted or not. She took aim and fired at a Mawsworn that was getting too close, and nodded to Anduin as he ran to assist the woman he apparently would refer to as his aunt, despite their lack of blood relation.

Bones clattered to the polished wood of the deck, darker and slicker than that of her own ship. Ice smashed and shattered into crystalline explosions that tingled Sylvanas’ sensitive elven ears. A dwarf threw a thunder-laden hammer that whizzed past her. Genn was snarling off to her left, but at the Mawsworn he was biting at and not her. And finally, the Horde followed. Saurfang crashed into a skeletal figure that was flanking her right. A spectral dinosaur came across the gangplank, summoned by the muttered words of Talanji to assist. A goblin rocket was aimed with surprising care and managed to hit only a pack of Mawsworn that were cutting off the aft deck of the Alliance ship from the rest of the fight.

In her efforts to get to Jaina and help, Sylvanas hadn’t realized how close they were. Suddenly, it seemed, they were nearly back to back—Sylvanas facing west to keep an eye on the sky, and Jaina facing east to blast the last big group of Mawsworn with a cone of ice wind, freezing them in place for the coming rush of melee fighters to smash to bits.

Only when she heard the panting breaths of Jaina thrumming against her ears, did she realize this was the closest she’d been to her in over a decade. The last time she’d heard her this winded, this close, it had been for much better reasons. Much more pleasant, at least.

Sylvanas turned to the east to see if there were anymore enemies, but was only met with blue eyes.

Blue eyes, looking at her for the second time in all these years. This time not begging for an apology Jaina would not give. Could not give.

This time, they were regarding her as if she’d never seen her before. Curiously. Cautiously.

Almost like the first time Sylvanas ever saw them, when Jaina came through the portal with Vereesa in tow, chattering to her about how excited she was to have potentially found her sister’s soulmate for her.

How beautiful she’d been then too. Young, but knowing. Her hair shining gold to match the leaves of the forests of Quel’thalas. She’d been a vision in the purple and white livery of the Kirin Tor. With her curious blue eyes, and the smile she’d given her after that first cautious look.

Sylvanas hadn’t been what she expected. Jaina hadn’t been what she’d expected either. But somehow, they’d been perfect for each other.

But this time—thirteen years and countless tragedies later, Jaina did not smile. She turned away, searching for Anduin before asking him, “Anduin, are you all right?”

He wasn’t in the best shape. Sylvanas could see blood dripping from one of his ears, likely the fault of her banshee wail. The foul magic of the chains that had wrapped him had left a nasty red mark in their pattern across his cheek. He was far more winded than Jaina, even, but was able to give her a nod.

Still, she checked him over, pushed at his breastplate to stand him up straight so she could confirm he was otherwise unhurt.

“Sylvanas saved me,” he blurted out when he managed to catch his breath.

“I saw,” Jaina told him, speaking under her breath, but not quiet enough to avoid being heard by an elf.

Sylvanas watched as she flexed her casting hand, and the other one briefly came to touch it, shaking. She turned and looked at Sylvanas again, still seeming to be undecided.

But across their bond, weak as it was, Sylvanas felt a tug. A pull. Magnetic in the opposite way she’d been thinking of before. A draw that demanded they be together. The very laws of physics itself would not allow for anything else.

The deck was soon awash with activity that swept Jaina from her vision before they could connect. Leaders gathering, now all on the Kul Tiran ship for the first time—examining remains of their enemies, wondering at the suddenness of the attack, the strange chains, the purpose of it all. Some mutters, too, of how convenient it was that this had come just after Sylvanas had warned them. Of how it could be another one of her tricks.

Again, she’d not given them reason to suspect otherwise. It would not take one battle, one rescue of an enemy leader, to prove her intentions.

Sylvanas knew this would take years, if she was lucky. Restoring even the smallest amount of trust in her among the rest of Azeroth would be a near impossible feat. But, at least they would all understand what to watch out for now, if nothing else.

She was about to look for Nathanos or one of her Rangers to ask for a report from them when a hand reached for her upper arm. A gap between her pauldrons and gauntlets that all Ranger armor had, to allow for the movement of one’s arms. A gap one would only reach for if one was familiar with it, and looking to make contact with skin.

A gap where Jaina Proudmoore’s hand started a feedback loop that Sylvanas hadn’t felt in thirteen years. Even through the cloth of her glove, Sylvanas could feel her feeling her feeling her feeling her. The coldness of her skin. The curiosity. The hesitation. But still, she was touching her. Trying to get her attention in only the way she could.

Sylvanas turned to face her, wordless, only feeling. Only feeling her and Jaina’s sensations of one another mingle and merge until they were indistinguishable. Was that her shock or Jaina’s? Was the cloth on her skin or Jaina’s? Was she surprised at herself and how she reacted, how much this took the wind out of her sails, or was that Jaina’s Kul Tiran expression leaking through her thoughts.

It was too much and not enough at once. Sylvanas wanted to run. She wanted to pull away. She wanted to pull Jaina to her, cover her skin with hers, regardless of how cold and dead it might be, and lose herself in this heady feeling. She wanted the true completeness of her soul that was only found in her arms. She wanted to rewind time itself, and forget all these sins that had kept them apart, had kept her desperate enough to commit them in the name of the hope of this.

“Tomorrow, Theramore,” Jaina whispered to her, hand still on her skin. “I will meet you. We can talk. I…”

Sylvanas’ eyes traced down from Jaina’s own blue eyes to her lips. Lips she could still remember kissing. Lips that she remembered setting alight the mark on her wrist with the sweetest kiss anyone could ever receive.

The kiss that marked a life that would no longer have to be lived alone. That meant she would have a partner, forever. For as long as this chaotic world of theirs would let them both live, at least.

And perhaps beyond that.

She watched as those lips mouthed a word, seemingly running out of breath and will to speak it.

A world Sylvanas had taught her.

“Rea’anath,” she’d said once, cradled in Sylvanas’ arms in her bedroom at the Spire.

“Bonded soul,” Sylvanas had translated for her. “In case you hear anyone call you that in reference to me.”

“Should I call you that?” Jaina had asked.

“You can if you’d like,” Sylvanas had told her before leaning in to kiss the word out of her mouth before she could say it again.

But now, on the deck of her ship, surrounded by shattered bones and ice, Sylvanas could only stare after her as Jaina’s hand left her arm, and she ran to catch Anduin again as he surveyed the damage. She could only chase after the echo of their looped feelings. Of a touch she didn’t deserve and wasn’t ready for, even if it was what she’d wanted most, killed and died again and again to get back. Of a word she was so certain she’d never hear her say again, not fully voiced, but still attempted.

A bond renewed. A flame fed to roaring. A longing that consumed her as emptiness once had.

#sylvaina #Sylvanas Windrunner #Jaina Proudmoore #fanfic #beneath the blue moon #sorry for the months long hiatus on this #but damn if it wasn't a treat to write catty sylvanas again #i missed her so much

41 notes · View notes

galderthefuzzy · 6 months

Text

The Cryomancer

I had the pleasure to work on this piece for the winner of the 14k Giveaway, Selanna. Congratulations! The character was quite exciting to depict - having a draenei battlemage cryomancer to work with was something new and enjoyable. I hope you like the final result!

Here is a background story for Cyana, provided by Selanna.

Cyana was born on Draenor, in a village called Embaari. Her mother is a tailor and her father a Talbuk rancher. She was a very shy a quiet child, having trouble to go to others, she started to think she was worthless. She sacrificed her happiness so other would be happy. It made her cry but that's how she grew up.

Some day she started to get interested in magic and more specifically the school of ice. Despite Draenei having a culture tied the arcane for millennials, they lost a bit of their trust in this magic after her people felt for power on Argus 25000 years ago.

Years of being introverted made Cyana think she wasn't welcome amongst her people.

When the burning legion struck Draenor, she hid in Zangar with her parents and other refugees until they flew from that world with the Exodar.

Due to a sabotage, the ship crashed on Azure mist. Luckily, she and her family survived, but being completely disoriented by everything that happen, she ran away from her people, finding solace with the alliance and more specifically the Kirin'tor who helped her to pursue her learning.

A couple years later, the scourge awakened. Being now an accomplished Cryomancer of the Kirin'tor, she was detached in battles against the undead. She fought well during many battles, but she met a young mage that would change her life.

This was the first battle of that mage. Being worried, Cyana tried to comfort her and stand by her side to watch over her for the upcoming battle. At first it was going well but it was before a Death knight managed to cross the front line and reached the back line. Cyana tried to protect the young mage, but her power sealed away by the death knight, she was powerless. A paladin killed the abomination but it was too late, he had time to stab the young mage, bleeding on the freezing snow.

Cyana crawled to her, cursing herself for all of this. She felt so weak at this moment and kept saying she was sorry. She received a smile and a few last words : "I'll be watching over you. Always".

This is Cyana's biggest failure in her mind. She realized that her power alone wouldn't be able to protect others. What if she can't use them. She decided this had to change. She would pick a weapon and wear an armor, combining it to her spells. She would get in the front line, risking her life so others wouldn't have to do it.

For years after that, she fought fearlessly of death, being convinced she had nothing to lose.

She stand against threats that appeared on Azeroth but without denying principles. She would not take part in the conflict between the horde and the alliance.

When Garrosh opened the timegate to Draenor, Cyana had the chance to see a homeworld once again.

This was as beautiful as it was painful. She swore to not let this Draenor fall like the Outland.

She fought again and again, until she had the lead of a small unit to attack the hellfire citadel in Tanaan Jungle. A big assault went on the citadel. Breaking the gates, they were here to take out the frontline.

The joint effort of every soldier managed to make an opening but the canon were still active, shooting infernal at them. Cyana protected her unit, with all her power and was badly wounded.

She survived and after months to recover, she went back to Dalaran. The burning legion soon came back as well, infiltrating the flying city. Cyana took place as a guard of Dalaran. Her only implication on the field was to infiltrate a camp, turning herself into an Eredar thanks to illusions and artefacts to disguised her aura.

She was proud of what she accomplished and yet she was feeling empty. All those years of casting away her emotions, she was slowly losing her light and her will.

The new conflict between the alliance and the horde didn't help and little by little she got weaker. It's only after she met a lightforged that she found some solace.

She felt in love with her, and after some time, a bound was born between the two Draenei. The lightforged reconciled Cyana with her people and her parents that she didn't see for 12 years.

She almost retired from fight only taking her armor back when the scourge and the creatures of the shadowlands attacked Azeroth. She was affected at the silver tournament in Northrend.

The scenario of her old fight almost repeated itself, a young mage being powerless against an enemy who could resist to her powers. Cyana took the hit, stabbed by a long spear.

This wasn't the end for her though. She had something to live for. She wanted to live. She was saved at the last second and healed in Dalaran.

Since the remaining of the war was taking place in the veil and most of people ignoring what was happening there, Cyana was just wandering on Azure Mist, trying to find a new goal in her life.

Being in love and in a serious relation for years helped her to become more mature. She decided she would help her people now. She started to teach magic to young Draenei and joined as an assistant in the townhall of Azure watch. The city has expended well with time and is now bigger than her home town Embaari.

Instead of protecting people, she now wants to bring light and happiness in their heart without sacrificing her happiness this time. She would still take her weapon if the situation ask for it like when the primalist were rampaging some region.

Cyana aims to be a beacon of hope. She'll guide people who needs her help or advice, she'll give her everything to bring a smile on a crying face. No matter who you are, you deserve a chance if you want one. She will forgive if you truly want to change things. But mostly, she won't let anyone down so they can see the peaceful future she wants to build.

#world of warcraft #gaming #warcraft art #digital art #fantasy #digital #wow #warcraft #digital painting #oc #draenei #mage #female #cryomancer #battlemage #warcraft oc #galder #stylized #stained glass

34 notes · View notes

tazindrox · 5 days

Text

The great feast of Noblegarden has long been celebrated by the races of the Alliance and recently adopted by those of the Horde. On this joyous day, it is customary for the nobles and lords from each race to hide coins, candy, and the occasional treasures within special eggs painted to look like wildflowers. These eggs are then scattered around the major cities for the citizenry to find.

Coming from a society where everyone was essentially treated as equals, this particular holiday left a bad taste in Taz’s mouth. It had been one of the strangest things to him upon the Dracthyr’s release into the world: The vast discrepancy between the classes of many of the various Azerothian cultures. The rich flaunted their riches while the poor struggled to make ends meet. It didn’t seem fair, yet no one really tried to do anything about it. Perhaps they thought there was nothing that could be done, or they had all been set in their ways for far too long. That he could understand to an extent.

It was a side of Azeroth he disliked. As he spent more and more time out in the world, he had come to find many things he disliked. Not about Azeroth herself, she was a beautiful world, but the people that tread upon her tainted and warped her to their liking. There was still so much good in the world, but there was an equal amount of bad, and it was difficult to know where he, or any of the Dracthyr, fit in sometimes.

But that’s what they were all trying to accomplish now, wasn’t it? Find their purpose and their place in an imperfect world. It hadn’t been an easy road thus far, but at least now he had a better understanding of the world at large.

#story #tazindrox #fwc2024

8 notes · View notes

ronaestrider · 1 month

Text

Reflections

Ruthar returned to the Farstrider Retreat with Farstrider Kelnim, a promising ranger that has been working in Ruthar’s encampment outside of Valdrakken. The Ranger Captain racks his bow and removes his armour, stretching his fingers after removing his gauntlets as his thoughts swirl around his head.

“That Tannis boy really is something else,” Kelnim offers. “The Stafrosts seem like a great family, Ranger Captain.”

Ruthar smiles at that, his mind returning to his time with Syrielle and Gattius. “It was quite nice to catch up with them both. I appreciate your willingness to show the boy around while we spoke.”

Kelnim nodded. “Anytime, Ranger Captain. He reminds me of myself at his age.”

Ruthar chuckled. “Likewise. It really does warm the spirit knowing that such young minds are still ready and interested in the Farstrider ways. I would think the allure of magic and power would be able to capture most these days.”

Kelnim scoffed playfully at that. “Not for us, not for them. We will hardly be the last of us.”

“I hope you’re right,” Ruthar offered softly. “If and when the young Tannis does continue his studies, I’ll be sure to make sure he continues with yourself, at least at first. You seem to have a way with the young recruits.”

Kelnim smiled at that and bowed his head. “I would appreciate that, sir.”

Ruthar nodded, planting a hand on Kelnim’s shoulder. “We’ve all got our place in all of this. Perhaps recruitment and trainee assessment are your next steps. In any case, that will be all this evening, Kelnim. Thank you for your assistance with Tannis and with the potential intruder. Get some rest.”

Kelnim snapped a salute that Ruthar returned, watching the younger Farstrider depart. Ruthar walked outside near the fire where he conversed with Syrielle and Gattius not a few hours earlier. It had been an unexpectedly eventful day catching up with the Starfrosts and then coming upon Raynell A’laria in the woods beyond the Retreat. While it was great to see his comrades once again after so long, Ruthar felt the guilt set in once more as he thought more about them and their struggles. He leaned upon a post next to the fire, looking out into the twilight-touched Eversong as his mind wandered.

Raynell had been a part of the Dragonscale Expedition, a unit that he himself had worked for. Should he not have widened his eyes and fostered a relationship there? She mentioned difficulties in the Fourth War and even hinted at work beyond the veil. Could he have been present to assist with whatever difficulties she may have faced? And then there were the Starfrosts, Syrielle working her way into the upper reaches of the Magistry while Gattius had started a clinic of his own. As owners of a beautiful manor and parents of a fine and promising young boy, Ruthar couldn’t help but think of how he could have helped. Perhaps they didn’t need anything, truly, but who doesn’t need a friend every once in a while. These were more than just his comrades in the Phoenix Guard - these were his friends, the closest people he really had outside of his fellow soldiers. Certainly they deserved more from him than the nothingness he provided over the past six or seven years.

As Ruthar looks into the darkening woods, his vision is replaced with a memory. Gentle winds toss his silver-white hair as the golds and yellows of Quel’Danas radiate all around him as he stands before his comrades of the Phoenix Guard.

Ruthar smiles, tapping a small pouch upon his hip. "Quel'Thalas is proud, indeed. We all are - Commander Dawnblade, myself, Captain and Lieutenant Starfrost. Your extensive work has paved the way for a brighter tomorrow." He waves a hand around and looks to the warm foliage surrounding the spire. "Just as this Isle before us, Azeroth is once again defended at the hands of you all."

Syrielle reaches over to take Gattius' hand, smiling happily at everyone present. Ruthar looks to Aquilon "Will" Blackmarrow, one of the Phoenix Guard’s reservists. "Doctor," he says firmly. "Front and center, if you will."

Blackmarrow moves in front of Ruthar and snaps to attention. Ruthar looks the Death Knight up and down. "The kingdom of Quel'Thalas recognizes your service, Doctor," Ruthar begins, his felfire eyes dancing in the sunlight. "As a Reservist of the Phoenix Guard and a key component to our continued victories both home and abroad, I present you with this."

Ruthar reaches into the pouch at his side to produce a glinting golden piece affixed to a dazzling red and gold ribbon. "The Commendation of Quel'Thalas is not an adornment to be taken lightly. Wear it well, Doctor." He offers the commendation in both hands. The members of the Guard present cheer and celebrate the Doctor’s accolade as Blackmarrow quietly accepts the award, staring at it with an inscrutable look in his eyes. "Thank you, sir."

Ruthar places his hand upon his chest to bow a soft salute. "Congratulations, Reservist. You do us all proud." He turns to Syrielle. "Lieutenant," he says softly, gesturing before him. "If you will."

Gattius speaks lowly. "--Ooooh... you're in trooooouble!" Syrielle elbows Gattius in the side, mumbling the word 'Dork' under her breath before making her way to stand in front of Ruthar.

Ruthar looks proudly upon Syrielle. "Lieutenant Starfrost," he begins. "To say that your life has been eventful is a particularly striking understatement. From your promotion into Phoenix Guard's leadership all the way to the birth of your young one, you have taken every task and challenge thrown your way and met them with relentless vigor. For this marked perseverance, it is my honour to present you the Commendation of Quel'Thalas."

The Guard once again roars in celebration as the very winds of Quel’Danas seem to reply in kind. Syrielle smiles at Ruthar's words, nodding her head as she accepts the medal. "Thank you, Lieutenant Commander."

Ruthar bows his head respectfully. "Wear it well, Lieutenant." He glances around. "Doctor Sunfall, please." Kalithos Sunfall shifts forward. “Yes, sir?”

Ruthar smiles. "The task of healing this unit is a task I will never, ever envy. It is the work of sin'dorei such as yourself that ensures that there will be a tomorrow for so many." Ruthar looks around. "There is not a person in this room that has left the battlefield unscathed, and we all owe you a great debt. For that, Shield Sunfall, I present your Commendation."

Kalithos blushes and offers his thanks as his comrades of the Guard celebrate his achievement. “Thank you,sir!” Ruthar shakes his head. "Thank -you-, Sunfall. Wear it well." He smiles. "And speaking of Sunfall..." Ruthar gestures to Kalithos’s husband, Rethandral, and speads when he steps forward. "To say that things have been difficult for you recently would be, dare I say, an underestimation. But you owned up to your mistakes and made a concerted effort to move forward, learning from your experiences and crafting a new path forward." Ruthar smiles warmly as he looks upon Rethandral. "It is this quality of perseverance of personal growth that I truly admire, along with your tried and true abilities at the front lines of every engagement. Rethandral Sunfall, I am proud to offer you the Commendation of Quel'Thalas."

Ruthar salutes Rethandral as the Guard applauds once more. "Wear it well, Sunfall." He looks along the line again. "Doctor Dawncaster, please." Voka Dawncaster tries to walk as tall as he can, but he's strained, and it shows. He still hasn't fully acclimated to his robot leg. Ruthar looks at Voka for a long moment. "It lifts my spirit to see you standing before us, Spellweaver. You have given so much to your kingdom, to us all, and no amount of metallic adornment can truly repay you."

Voka rests his weight on the cane again, trying to be as respectful as he could manage. No standing at attention for this boy. "I would gladly give it again for our people."

Ruthar looks at Voka with pride. "In the coming weeks, I want you to work with the very best resources available to us on the Isle. I will make whatever arrangements that are necessary, but we will do everything we can to ensure your return to your former self." Ruthar stands straighter. "Spellweaver Dawncaster, for your amazing service to Quel'Thalas and a very promising future with the Phoenix Guard, I proudly present your Commendation." He offers the medal with both hands.

Voka accepts the commendation with one hand as the unit celebrates the achievement. "I shall strive to continue keeping everyone together."

Ruthar nods as Voka returns to the others. He searches the line for a familiar face, one who he served with for an extended period. "Ah, yes. Li-Mei, please step forward." Rositsa blinked but slowly stepped forward before halting in front of Ruthar.

Ruthar clears his throat, looking intently upon Rositsa. "One thousand, six hundred and seventy days." Ruthar counts upon his fingers as he speaks. "Four years, six months, and 27 days, if you include today as well." Ruthar looks around. "That, my friends, is how long Rositsa Li-Mei has been in service with the Phoenix Guard. Four and a half years is a true feat, Li-Mei, and it's truly hard to believe that it has been that long. You have truly become an integral part of this establishment and have learned so much from when we first met."

Rositsa flicked one ear forward and the other back, silently trying and failing to calucate Ruthar's math before offering a happy smile to Ina'thia, "I'm honored to serve under under all of you."

Ruthar clears his throat. "The pleasure is assuredly ours. For your outstanding service to both the Phoenix Guard and Azeroth herself, I present you the Commendation of Quel'Thalas." He offers the medal once more.

Rositsa gingerly took the medal before taking a small step back and dipping into a gracious bow, "Thank you, sir, I'm honored. I will do my best to make the Phoenix Guard and Quel'thalas proud."

Ruthar salutes Rosi proudly as the applause thunders once again. "You have already done that and more, Li-Mei. Wear it proudly." Rositsa smiled happily and quietly stepped back in line before pinning the medal to her tabard.

Ruthar taps the bag at his hip. "Not to worry - only a few more!" He looks to his left. "Captain, if you will.” Gattius falls in, front and center while Ruthar looks upon him. "The mantle of leadership is not one I ever truly wanted in my youth, to be quite honest. It takes a level head, firm ideals, and true selflessness, not to mention the tactical necessities." Ruthar clears his throat. "However, I am very, very glad to say that Captain Starfrost is all of those things and more. He has led our own to the gates of hell and back, time and time again, with poise and clarity every step of the way." Ruthar smiles. "For your continued efforts as an effective leader, an expert Blood Knight, and a master of fatherhood, I present you the Commendation of Quel'Thalas."

Gattius grins. "Well, I had a pair of excellent mentors... thank you, Lieutenant-Commander. Commander." He nods to them both as he accepts the Commendation.

Ruthar returns the salute fully. "Wear it well, Starfrost. You do us all proud." He glances to his right. "That only leaves one more," he says with a smile. "Commander Dawnblade, if you would please step forth." Ina’thia raises a brow at Ruthar, and steps around in front of him.

Ruthar looks proudly upon Ina'thia, felfire eyes aglow. "Commander Dawnblade. From the wilds of Pandaria, to the timeless shores of Draenor. Through the depths of the churning Maelstrom into the seat of the Legion itself. We have all gloriously followed in your very footsteps to every corner of our world and others, all in the name of Quel'Thalas. It is due to your expert guidance and keen leadership that the Phoenix Guard finds itself at the hands of victory."

Ruthar smiles. "Time and time again, we fight down terrors that rain upon our shores and beyond, defend all that we hold dear each and every day of our lives." His voice raises with pride and Ruthar stands tall. "Your years of service and dedication go far beyond that which can be said by the gift of this medal, and we are all humbly grateful for what you have done and accomplished. It is with the greatest amount of pride that I can muster that I present to you, Commander Dawnblade, the Commendation of Quel'Thalas." He holds the medal in two hands, offering it to Ina'thia.

The Phoenix Guard erupts in applause as the every-stalwart Ina’thia is pushed to the precipice of emotion. She fights back tears with her legendary resolve. She accepts the medal, pins it to her tabard, and offers Ruthar a crisp salute.

Ruthar bows fully, the soft glint of prideful tears in his eyes. He returns her salute proudly and takes a step back to gift Ina'thia the floor.

“Thank you, Lieutenant Commander. It is an honor to serve Quel'Thalas with its finest soldiers. Blood Knights, Farstriders, Magisters, Medics... Phoenix Guard's greatness is not by my design, and I don't deserve all of the credit. We all deserve the credit. We give all that we can give; regularly putting ourselves in harm's way, for the good and the glory of our people. Thank you, everyone, for all that you have done and continue to do for the Phoenix Guard. For Quel'Thalas!” Inathia stands at attention and salutes.

Ruthar hoists a proud fist into the air. "For Quel'Thalas!" The salute is echoed by the present members at the ceremony, the sunlight of Quel’Danas fading, replaced by the current twilight in the Eversong Woods.

Ruthar finds his fist closed as he looks down to the fire, the memory feeling so very real as it came over him once more. The pride he felt in that moment on Quel’Danas was one of the highlights of his career. These were not just the best soldiers in Quel’Thalas - these were his best and closest friends, his family. He had the privilege to lead them, to walk with them in defense of all they held dear, to celebrate and mourn with them, to lift everyone up and celebrate them. When he was ripped through the Dark Portal to Draenor and left to die, it was the Phoenix Guard that rescued him. They risked everything for him time and time again, and how did he repay them for the last six years?

“I failed them.”

The reality of his failure had not felt as real as it did this evening. Ina’thia, his Commander, his closest confidant, had departed with no word. Relationships with Gattius and Bey’ron caused a great rift between his former Commander and his former Captain, instances that he knew nothing about. Would that rift have happened if he gave them the attention they deserved? Could he have helped to assuage the bitterness?

Then there was Rositsa Li-Mei. Ruthar sighed as he looked into the fire, thinking hard about the Farstrider. She had so dutifully served the Phoenix Guard for an extended period. Ruthar himself had offered her training and promoted her within the Farstriders for her excellent marksmanship and tracking abilities. Defected. That’s the word that continued to haunt him deeply, the word Magister Everblaze had used. He still couldn’t truly believe it, but then she confirmed it herself when Bey’ron brought Rositsa to the Starfrost manor. Would her fall from grace have taken place if Ruthar would have extended his hand? If he were the leader she needed, perhaps she would have never found herself needing to escape, needing to toss off the mantle of responsibility that Ruthar himself had blanketed her with.

He reached into a pouch at his waist to produce a glowing red gem, the arcane communicator that the Phoenix Guard used to use. He let it sit there in his palm, the firelight dancing upon the inactive deep red stone as his mind could still hear the voices that would come through it. He closed his palm around the stone, taking a deep breath as he closed his eyes.

“You have a chance to make things right,” he said to himself. He slipped the stone back into his pouch before heading into the Retreat to put his recognizable Farstrider armour back on. He shifted outside where his white hawkstrider Arturian awaited, urging the beast toward the pavilion that the Phoenix Guard once used as its headquarters.

“Time to be the leader that you should have always been.”

@inathia @syrielle @gattius-starfrost @raynellalaria @arosesrambles

#ooc #ruthar #phoenix guard #roleplay #ronaestrider #wow #ina'thia #rositsa #world of warcraft #syrielle #gattius #starfrost #raynell #a'laria

8 notes · View notes

theconstructsworld · 5 months

Text

NOVEMBER DWC DAY 3 - INSPIRATION

Wherever there was war and strife, one could also find The Construct. He was drawn to conflict like a moth to a flame, yet for much of his life he remained somewhat neutral; preferring to observe rather than fully partake. The Emerald Dream was not undiscovered territory for him, the peculiar man had a way of being wherever he wanted to be, whenever he wanted to be there. After observing a dryad shift her body between the two planes of existence, he replicated her actions, much to her surprise. It seemed like such a simple task, yet the Dream was still a mystery to most.

Until now.

Mortals showed up in droves through the opened portal to aid the cause, or to simply witness something they may never see again in their lives. He could not blame them, the draw of the unknown was always tempting. This is how Azeroth would look if these beings had never altered her surface in the first place, or what she may return to one day. It was endless, timeless, and intangible in ways the majority could never fully grasp. In some ways, he felt at home here.

But it wasn’t just this one perfect vision of Azeroth; there were layers upon layers of unfinished terrain and flawed pieces. It took The Construct some time to realize what he was looking at, and that not everyone was able to perceive the seemingly infinite layers. Some of these objects within these layers almost did not appear real, as if someone was molding them from clay and lost inspiration, stopping halfway through: A river ending abruptly against a flat surface that was possibly the start of a mountain, trees left on their sides, rolling hills giving way to absolute emptiness.

It was bewildering, and the harder he looked the more confused he became. Amirdrassil did not exist in any of these other layers, she was only specific to this ‘finished product’ that everyone could see. Yet she was new to this world, and everything else here felt so ancient and fashioned in a very selective way. Curious.

Eventually he would try to find his answers, but for now he kept his focus on the field of battle. He found himself wandering the charred fields with a troubled crinkle in his brow. Someone or something had spent so long perfecting this spirit plane, yet these interlopers had no issues in setting it all aflame and burning away the artistry; all for the promise of gaining immortality. The fools. Death was excusable, but disruptive of things in which he found true beauty? Disgraceful.

The large ball of flame came hurling towards his chest unannounced and nearly unnoticed, but was easily absorbed into the bare flesh of an extended hand. Fools indeed. Those piercing eyes flashed gold and before the camp of the Druids of the Flame he had happened upon could react, they would suddenly find themselves transported to one of those other layers within the Dream. One of the more barren ones, just for good measure.

The Construct smiled to himself and continued his trek onwards with the camp nowhere to be seen, as if it had never existed in the first place. It was time to get a closer look at this World Tree.

@daily-writing-challenge

#story #the construct #dwc2023 #novemberdwc2023 #amirdrassil #the emerald dream

12 notes · View notes

late-to-the-fandom · 2 months

Text

Daily Writing Challenge - February 2024

It's Day 7 of the February @daily-writing-challenge which means I made it! 7 days worth of speed writing where I had to start AND FINISH sometime in a time limit, and I did it. And had a great time doing it. Thank you @daily-writing-challenge for this fun event! Hopefully, I'll still be around in November for the next one!

Day 7: Discovery - 800ish words

Once one became accustomed to it, there really was quite a bit to admire about Orgrimmar. This high up, the clamour of discordant noises melded into something more harmonious. The endless streams of beings flowed more cohesively when viewed from above; like liquid anima - or blood, Renathal supposed, - through the city's various well-structured veins. Even the clifftop plateau on which he was currently perched, though rougher and dustier than the smooth cliffs of the Dragon Isles, had its rustic charms.

But the true beauty of this land was its sunset.

Renathal had removed his protective tinted glasses just to stare out across the wide valley, watching its jutting rock formations and canyons shift slowly from oranges and browns to deep purples and reds in time with the dimming sky. It was remarkable how sunlight - or the lack of it - changed a realm’s landscape. And remarkable how fond of the sight the Prince of Revendreth had grown in so relatively short a time.

Something swooped across the distant horizon, too fast to be an incoming zeppelin, and Renathal's eyes dropped compulsively to the timepiece on the rock next to him. Then, returning to his task, he picked up the whetstone in his lap and continued to slide it in satisfying shnks up the edge of the sword balanced carefully across his knees. Elisewin offered to use magic to keep his weapon sharp, but as a master of the blade, Renathal believed there were some things better done by hand. Even Vorpalia he had insisted on manually cleaning and sharpening on a regular basis; something his enchanted sword had often complained about, though Renathal believed she secretly enjoyed the attention.

At this memory of his long-time partner and loyal friend, a wave of visceral emotion hit Renathal like an unexpected up-draft. A sudden twisting cyclone of sadness, loneliness, and something like wistful longing ripped through him, so hard he let the sword and whetstone falls from his hands to the cliff face with a clatter as he fought to catch his superfluous breath. This was not an emotional melange he was familiar with, but Renathal knew at once what he must be experiencing.

Homesickness.

It was to be expected, he supposed, as he took stock of the strange nauseating sensation. He and Elisewin had been so busy the last months fighting and slaying, rescuing and saving, there simply had not been time to feel it before. Now, on shore leave in Azeroth, waiting for new orders from her Horde commanders, the curious emotion had caught up with him. And Renathal closed his eyes, allowing his mind to indulge in a few seconds of melancholy musing.

What was happening in Revendreth, now? Revendreth... where the eternal sky possessed its own unique, inimitable shades. Where the people and places he had known his entire existence awaited his return. How were they faring without him - his friends and his enemies? Were they, too, experiencing various degrees of low-spirits in his absence? Or worse - had he already been relegated to memory? Had they discovered the realm truly was better off without him?

A low whoosh and a burst of warm air overhead startled Renathal from his unhappy reverie. He opened his eyes automatically and dropped his gaze to the timepiece again, noting the time.

“How was that?” asked Elisewin breathlessly from behind him.

Swallowing hard past the lump in his throat, Renathal called over his shoulder, “A new record - for you. Quite impressive. Though, you are still four seconds off of mine.”

“I think I can live with that,” Elisewin replied, and even before he turned on his rocky perch to look at her, Renathal could hear her vibrant smile.

She smiled like that often now, he had noticed; not the small, implacably dispassionate smile which was her face's signature expression, but a wide display of unconstrained happiness that wrinkled her nose and rounded her cheeks. It was a new development, that smile, not something Renathal remembered seeing often in Revendreth. Perhaps the right set of circumstances had simply not had time to present themselves; or, perhaps, he thought, watching Elisewin stroke her arborwyrm's leaf green mane, perhaps this was a specific strain of happiness their adventures together had inspired.

Catching Renathal staring, Elisewin cocked her head.

"What?" she asked.

"Nothing," he answered; then, when she continued to eye him dubiously, added, "I was just thinking... you and dragon riding have come a long way."

With a small chuff of self-conscious laughter, Elisewin shook back her windswept hair and gave her mount's long neck a final fond pat before ambling towards where Renathal sat.

"I suppose," she admitted. Sliding his sword carefully away with her foot, she dropped to the cliff beside him and let her legs dangle over the side. "It's actually quite exhilarating once you're used to it."

It was Renathal's turn to smile, the melancholy of minutes ago fading from him with Durotar's dying light. His eyes wandered from the wide world ahead of him to Elisewin beside him as he agreed:

"Yes. It certainly is."

#daily writing challenge #wow fanfiction #dragon isles #renathal x maw walker #renathal fan fiction #prince renathal #fanfiction #world of warcraft #shadowlands #dragonflight #and there was only one dragon!#domestic fluff #elisewin #the maw walker #nightborne

6 notes · View notes

miaikonartstudio · 5 months

Text

I missed the DTIYS deadline by about a week So, here is some fanart of @winterwolfart.official 's character, the beautiful Raria.

The last slide is a joke edit, with Raria winning an achievement for having explored our world. Luckily, Winter Wolf enjoyed my brand of nerdy humor and likes the picture :)From what I gathered, Raria is stuck in our world in Winter Wolf's Canon. So, to connect my first idea of drawing her on Azeroth (since she's obviously a Night Elf) with that, I gave her souvenirs from our world. In case the writing is unreadable: the book next to Raria says "Dimension Hopping," the framed certificate next to her is first place in a cosplay contest, and the tablet displays Winter Wolf's Instagram (which is a screenshot).

Pose reference used was by AdorkaStock via their website. Link to the picture.

#miaikon #artist on tumblr #digital art #oc fanart #wow fanart #kaldorei #night elf #two moons #coffee and a book #long strange trip #female nightelf #white haired elf

4 notes · View notes

maeskia · 11 months

Text

May Daily Writing Challenge Day 1

The warmth of bitter black coffee soothed the dryness of her throat. Mornings where hated by many who had to rush up and get to work. Maeskia loved them for it meant another day to gather knowledge of the world around her. A rustle of her papers heard as she turned through them reading about the underground caverns where war was taking place.

Shadowfire

Oh, how it destroyed and ravaged homes of mole like creatures. How dangerous it would be under the hands of those who whiched to see Azeroth burn.. Again.

Her life as above the ground, the owner of Drop Dead Gorgeous beauty products was not about to get her hands dirty on the soils below. Yet, she needed to know everything she could about the dragons and their turmoil. Another set of eyes who would report to her daily. Someone pretty, innocent, and craved adventure forgetting about the dangers it brought.

Current lovers would offer to tramp down there or send one of their own. However Maeskia preferred them not to know of her little plans. Sometimes a woman had schemes no one needed to know about but herself.

So where did she find her next prodigy? Perhaps it was time to go visit the isles for herself.

@daily-writing-challenge

#maydwc2022 #dwc2023 #mayday1 #Maeskia

13 notes · View notes

lichrisen · 26 days

Text

⚔ ’ 𝐍𝐘𝐋𝐍𝐘𝐒𝐀'𝐒 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐘 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐀 𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐌. as she held it up to the waning or radiant light of others , colours she had once saw the world in would flash out at her & transform into more brilliant hues . as the shadow fell & she found herself alone again , straying from the warmth of the living , the beauty of the crystal though preserved grew dull & harsh . made of nothing but sharp edges with memories of laughter, love & gentleness remained locked away deep within its chambers, protected by its hardened walls.

she barely remembered the face of her mother nor the purr of the nightsaber that had bonded his life to hers. she barely remembered how in love she had once been with an elf druid who brought the rain and called down the stars.

𝐍𝐘𝐋𝐍𝐘𝐒𝐀 𝐃𝐈𝐃 𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐀𝐋, & 𝐄𝐅𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐋𝐘, the scent of her own blood mixing with the earthy muck the downpour had stirred . her shattered bow she’d not let go as the wound at her abdomen, wide and gaping, spilled her innards out into the open . the sensation of the abomination’s jagged axe had torn her tender flesh , the hulking horror’s strike had knocked her into the mud below & she’d lain there like a rag-doll. un-moving. unwanted . the feather light splatter of rain on her cheeks had been so comforting then ; she hadn’t noticed the dark clouds swirling over head or the roar of thunder like an angry lion before . her senses had been kind leaving her as life slipped further into the grasp of the shadowlands , but there was no moonlight within sight . rain turned to snowfall, cold and bitter -- and He, rode.

𝐁𝐘 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐆𝐍, 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐔𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐃𝐈𝐃 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐅𝐀𝐃𝐄.

❛ and how do you intend to pay for your misdeeds ? ❜ reverie is broken at the paladin’s scolding & soon , the death knight raises her head slowly, to fix them with her phantasm gaze . the shackles that bound her wrists stung against her skin were no doubt blessed by one of the priestesses that so viewed this vapid ordeal. LIGHT’S HOPE CHAPEL remained a holy place to them, where its grounds sapped the strength of her kind ; where ordinarily one firm pull would fracture her bonds , here in this place -- she was no more powerful than a human babe . eyes in the stands bored into nylnysa from all angles within that painfully bright & circular room . stripped from her saronite plate and forced onto her knees before the judge , she felt each cold gaze wrought with disgust .

❛ not with my life , i no longer have one to give . ❜ she chuckled, the sound a chilling echo . ❛ you bore me with this posturing . the SILVER HAND’S attempt at making their little pawns feel safe is futile -- there is no protection in the LIGHT'S embrace.❜ the elf feels her reigns tighten, yanked with viciousness by her guard. it golden bracelets eat deeper into her skin & she lets out a hiss that bares sharp fangs . like a misbehaved dog -- to them, she is nothing more .

❛ the EBONBLADE betrayed our trust , tirion fordring’s body was not yours to claim . your subordinates killed our brethren trying to take what did not belong to you . ❜ such an air of authority from this sin’dorei , nylnysa notes . she wonders what this woman would see her dead for first: her kaldorei heritage her undeath.

❛ and he belongs to you on the grounds of what, shared faith ? where was your precious LIGHT when the legion burned him alive before us all ? ❜ she retorts, leaning forward but her chains remained taut . ❛ likely , the same place elune has been while her children were killed and made slaves to the frozen throne . we offered tirion second life -- free from the weight of fear and through him, azeroth’s salvation. you whine about your fallen comrades, but would turn your nose up at the thought of having them returning as one of us . your own scorn is what led us here . ❜ ❛ insolence -- ❜ ❛ the mere truth. is that not why the SCARLET CRUSADE was born?❜

𝐍𝐘𝐋𝐍𝐘𝐒𝐀 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐃, 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐆 between each word. ❛ the living are not willing, even if the shackles are broken, to see us as true allies. yet still we lend our skill, all that we are: guilt, agony, woe, rage, vengeance...to protect you. even if you were to slay me, my order would continue to carry this mantle. underserving as you all are. ❜

the paladin's lip curled above her teeth in snarl, her eyes blazing with anger....loss. someone amongst them she'd cared for dearly, had been lost. more to her than just another soldier or comrade who hoped to defend the BROKEN SHORE. she wore this grief upon her face, nylnysa recognized it like an old friend. her head canted, her expression flat as she looked up t the blood elf, her gaze devoid of compassion. ❛ you've lost. if their body does not lay in parts, if it hasn't been boiled into a fleshy puddle -- perhaps they are amongst our salvaged and raised. shall i check ? ❜

before any rebuttal could be made, the large doors of the room swung in upon themselves, soldiers of the alliance pilled through the sound of the boots heavy against the polished floor. nylnysa regarded them all with a grin, sharp and white. ❛ im afraid our little party has come to an end. i need no longer to entertain this farce. ❜ untouchable when one of the crown's best. & one of its worst.

#drabble #TIMELINE: POST LEGION

3 notes · View notes

newtthetranswriter · 3 months

Text

Kalecgos Soulmate Au Part 2

Word count: 1276

Summary: After Tyrande and Malfurion leave the seed to a new world tree in the safety of the Dream, The Dragon Isles awaken. Sending forth a call for all dragons to return home. Little did Y/n know that more than just reclaiming the island would be in their near future.

Warnings: None really for this chapter except maybe slight spoilers for the Dragon flight expansion of W.o.W

A/n: Welcome back to Part 2 of my Kalecgos soulmate au. Kalecgos finally makes an actual appearance in this one so yay. Anyway, thank you for coming back for part 2. I hope you enjoy and Remember to hydrate or diedrate.

Prologue - Part 1 - Part 3

It’s been about a year since Merithra tried to convince me to meet my supposed soulmate in Dalaran. Of course after hearing about it I considered it but I know that when people try to meet their soulmate before it’s time things can go wrong. So after hearing that this Blue dragon was also hesitant to have the Green Aspect set him up with his soulmate, I held strong to not looking for him. Wanting to escape Merithra’s constant nagging trying to get me to go to Dalaran and look for a half elf with blue hair, I decided it was time for me to go back to the mortal world and take my post of protecting the Kaldorei once again. So I left the Dream and settled at Nordrassil, where many of the Kaldorei had taken residence after the burning of the old world tree.

I returned to my work of training new druids, and providing counsel to Malfurion as he led the Kaldorei. With Tyrande aiding in the conflicts caused by Sylvanas opening a portal to the Shadowlands, Malfurion was left to lead his people without any help, so I stepped up having spent most of the past thousand years or so helping Tyrande with the same task.

Eventually Tyrande returned to Nordrassil with a seed for a new world tree. She had expressed her hope to give the tree the best chance possible, as it was made of the souls from the fallen Kaldorei. Also wanting to make sure this new tree had the best chance, I suggested meeting with Merithra in the Dream. There the Green Dragonflight could watch over the seed as it grew and when it was ready it would emerge in Azeroth where its protection would fall to Kaldorei. Agreeing with my idea, Malfurion and Tyrande Journeyed to the Dream.

Sometime after the seed was planted something unexpected happened. The ancestral home of all dragons awakened. The Dragon Isles had been asleep in a sense for ten thousand years in order to protect it. With the awakening of the Isles every dragon on Azeroth felt a pull to return home. Knowing that this was a sign of something big about to happen I once again left my position as protector to answer the call.

Unlike the Red or Bronze dragons who took to the skies to return home, us Green dragons traveled through the Emerald Dream to reach our home. Arriving on the Isle was like a dream, never in my almost two thousand years did I think I would ever see the fabled land. The part of the Island once inhabited by green dragons is a location known as the Ohn’aharan Plains, an area filled with lush fields of green and beautiful rivers. It’s also the home of the Centaur, a group of peoples Merithra once made a pact with.

After conversing with the Centaur it was quickly made aware that the current generation had no idea about the dragons or their previous bonds. With the release of Raszageth and the Primalists working to free the other Incarnates, Merithra planned to try and reforge the bonds between the Centaur and Green dragonflight. Not being able to spare time to meet with the other Aspects who would be meeting in Valdraken, she requested that I go in her place as a representative of sorts. After receiving word from Alexstrasza that it was fine for her to send me to relay messages between the Aspects and herself, I made my way to Valdraken.

Arriving in Valdraken was shocking to say the least. It was a beautiful city, full of trading posts and inns. People of all kinds could be found here, many different dragonkin stood guard while others ran stores. The recently awakened Dracthyr could also be seen walking the streets, conversing with each other or other citizens learning about this new world they awoke to. It was truly fascinating.

Lost in a day dream, I wandered around the different sections of the city. At the moment I had ended up in the Sapphire Enclave, here many blue dragons could be seen resting on rooftops or in their mortal visages milling about. I was amazed at the amount of magic that could be felt in such a small area, but that should be expected when the Blue dragonflight was in charge of protecting all things magic in the world.

I had stumbled upon a small library, the sign outside read ‘Azure Archive Annex’, being curious I walked inside hoping to see what ancient books may be inside. While looking through book after book of Arcane secrets, I failed to notice another person who had entered the small building.

My focus on the books was eventually broken when I stepped to the side and knocked into another body. Wanting to apologize, I turned to the stranger only to be shocked to see a slightly buff Half-elf with blue hair and mesmerizing blue eyes. I couldn’t tell if it was how handsome they appeared to be or the amount of mana I could feel radiating from them but I was rendered speechless.

The blue haired stranger noticed my shock and decided to speak first. “Sorry for bumping into you. I was just focused on this book and not paying attention to those around me.” That snapped me out of my frozen state.

“No, don't worry about it, it's completely my fault. I wasn’t paying attention and didn’t realize anyone else was here.” I said, trying to take the blame for the collision. “Anyway, I’m Y/n. It’s nice to meet you.” I offered my hand for him to shake, strangely hoping to get to know the stranger.

I noticed him looking at the dragon on my wrist almost surprised, before he finally took my hand and introduced himself. “I’m Kalec, it’s a pleasure to meet you as well. May I ask, what brings you to the Sapphire enclave?” As he introduced himself, I couldn't help but notice his name seemed familiar like I had heard it before.

Brushing off the thought, I decided to continue the conversation. “Oh, I was just exploring Valdraken before I have to attend a meeting later and just got distracted by the beautiful books here. What brings you here Kalec?” I questioned as both turned back to shelves.

“Coincidentally, I also have a meeting to attend later. As for being in the enclave I just wanted to check in with the other members of the Blue flight who returned. There aren’t many of us here but it’s always good to make sure they’re doing well.” Kalec explained. “Well, I’ll be seeing you, Y/n.” With that He nodded to me and left the small library.

With that I realized where I heard his name before, Kalec was the nickname the Blue aspect used for his mortal visage. It felt odd that I had spoken so casually with the leader of a different flight. Sure I spoke to Merithra like she was my sister, but talking to another flight's Aspect like we were equals was sometimes viewed as disrespectful. But then again it felt natural to speak to him in such a way. Realizing that it was close to time for the meeting with the Aspects, I shivered slightly at having to face him again after likely embarrassing myself, but then moved to leave the library. On my way out I decided to check on my soulmate mark, looking at my wrist, the small dragon there looked happy but also surprised, and for some reason I felt like my soulmate was likely seeing the same expression on their wrist.

#x reader #w.o.w x reader #world of warcraft x reader #kalecgos x reader soulmate au #kalec x reader #kalecgos x reader #x gn reader #gn!reader #soulmate au

2 notes · View notes

aquanthis · 5 months

Note

wheres the aquanthis infodump 🤨🎤

them's fighting words brother i have more aquanthis infodump material than you can handle

you aren't even READY for this critter, baby

alright let's go

(CW: childhood abuse, neglect , transphobia, severe eye injury)

Archdruid Aquanthis Stormrage: Vengeance Incarnate; Nahlen'do, Master of the Fang; The Beautiful One

alternatively known as the guy with too many fucking titles. god help me. the basics are: he's a balance druid, an archdruid, wields the scythe of elune, bisexual, transmasc nonbinary, and has the reborn soul of an ancient wild god. in no particular order. lol

now you may be wondering: stormrage? well let me tell you about the fucked up son of tyrande and malfurion. (sorry in advance to any tyrande likers who may be reading this for some reason but i'm about to character assassinate her so hard lol <3)

aquanthis was born about three thousand years ago. you may be wondering, "wait, wasn't malfurion asleep?" and my very easy answer is "mostly, but he did notably wake up a few times and i've thought about this and i choose not to elaborate". however! he was not told about aquanthis until he woke up the most recent time, during cataclysm. so, aquanthis grew up without a father, raised by tyrande.

during his childhood, tyrande often forced him to try to fit roles he didn't take to, mainly trying to get him to become a priestess of elune. she wanted a daughter to follow in her footsteps, and he couldn't even do that right. druidism came naturally to him, like breathing, while priesthood was like pulling teeth, and his mother did not like that. not one bit.

he was very close to shandris, his adopted older sister, and she was the person he felt safest with. that is, until one day when he was still a child, he ran to her after tyrande hit him and begged her help, and shandris brushed him off, in denial that her mother would do something like that to her own child. aquanthis still clung to shandris after that, but this happened over and over for years, to the point where he stopped running to her and kept it to himself instead.

when tyrande finally gave up on trying to get him to be a priestess, when he was a young teenager, he was allowed to study druidism in earnest. he was unmatched by any of the other students ("of course he would be, since he was the son of azeroth's first mortal druid," the other students whispered behind his back), and drew their ire for it. largely, he kept to himself and to the fae, which had been drawn to him since his birth. he had one friend his age, thelesae (izzy's oc!), though he rarely let her into his little world, because he didn't know how to, more than anything.

truthfully, aquanthis's closest friend was a faerie dragon that he hatched from an egg and raised, named morning glory. when morning glory was large enough to ride, the pair of them would go out flying at night, and aquanthis fell in love with the sky, and the dream of leaving home and never coming back.

and, about 10 years ago in the canon timeline, he did just that. as soon as he mastered flight form, he took wing and left teldrassil, with no set destination and nowhere to go but away. he was injured in darkshore and was rescued by brighton, my worgen who was wandering with his daughter. he traveled with brighton for a few days before he started to feel unsafe with teldrassil still looming over him, and disappeared in the night (he has a bad habit of this, can you tell yet?), though vowing to repay brighton someday if they met again.

he traveled across kalimdor, and then got caught up in a storm over the great sea, and was thrown into the waves.

he woke up on the shore of the jade forest, before the mists were lifted, and was taken in by the pandaren. he began studying under a jewelcrafting master, siu nightgarden, and built a friendship/sibling relationship with siu's daughter, shaeiu. he discovered a love for jewelcrafting and developed the design for the jeweled onyx panther based on siu's designs of the other panthers. :) <- really attached to this tidbit

he also spent time with the order of the cloud serpent, since he had experience raising faerie dragons! but that's a story for another time.

when the mists were lifted and the horde and alliance arrived on the shores of pandaria, aquanthis panicked, fearing being brought back home, and left the jade forest without any goodbyes.

(he still feels bad about it)

during his journey out of the jade forest, he ran into a young prince anduin who'd been separated from his bodyguard (aemara! you know him you love him!). anduin had been alone for a couple days and was starving, so aquanthis hunted something for him and built him a little fire and took care of him for a night. and once the prince had fallen asleep, aquanthis took wing and left, hoping his help had been enough to save the boy. and it was!

so, anyway, continuing the tradition of aquanthis getting into bad situations, he got attacked on his way into the valley of the four winds, and limped into halfhill one rainy night, beaten half to death and hardly lucid. there, he met the owner of the farm, selrine (seb's oc) who took care of him and nursed him back to health. he sees her as kind of the only mother figure he's ever had. he adores her so so much. funnily enough, she's the mother of aquanthis's uncle-in-law too LOL so she's part of the family even though neither of them knew.

anyway, he spent some time recuperating in halfhill with selrine, and then went back out wandering for a while. things were largely uneventful from then until legion, when everything went to shit! lol!

he heard about varian's death, and found out that anduin had become king. and because aquanthis had met anduin that day, he thought that maybe, just maybe, stormwind might be somewhere safe that he could go where he wouldn't be sent home. so he found his way there and set up in a tree near the keep, trying to work up the courage to go speak to anduin himself. but, um, the SI:7 did not like some random druid hanging out near the keep and assumed he was spying, so they caught his ass and hauled him into the keep before the king, and anduin's like. what are you doing let him go what the fuck lol because anduin remembered him! and still intended to repay the debt he felt like he owed him. so aquanthis was allowed to stay in stormwind.

but it was pretty short-lived before he got dragged into helping the druids in the broken isles. :(

if the fae ask him for help, it's over lol he can't say no. he loves them too much.

so he ends up getting dragged before his father, who he'd never spoken to in his life and who he hated on principle, and told he was going to become an archdruid. against his will pretty much. so aquanthis has a good ol meltdown and has to fight himself not to run away again, and only doesn't because of another archdruid (searchlight! august's oc! i love her so much!) who helps him, as well as brighton who ALSO ends up there. druid convention. we're having a great (see: BAD) time. tyrande's there too, to make everything worse, lol! aquanthis has a bad day at the beginning of legion sorry guys

tyrande recommends him to collect and wield the scythe of elune. she knows full well that that thing has a history of possessing and killing those who wield it, and she has every intention and belief that aquanthis will be no different. (she really wants to get rid of him, because he's a giant stain on her perfect lovely record, but she won't buck up and kill him herself.) however! he IS different. he can keep the balance. he doesn't listen to its whispers. so he shows back up with this corrupting scythe like it's a smoothie and everyone's shocked and impressed and tyrande is fucking fuming. <3

so now that he has the scythe, he helps with val'sharah and emerald nightmare (despite hating every second he had to spend with malfurion) and spends a lot of time moping and hiding in the dreamgrove. UNTIL! *drum roll*

suramar, baby. where everything gets wild. one of my favorite parts.

(it took so long to get here. this is like, the halfway point. how long is this now? i'm losing my sense of self)

okay so SURAMAR. where he gains the vengeance incarnate title (i still love it for him even if it's totally unnecessary. rule of cool. whatever). he gets roped into helping once again, but upon actually interacting with thalyssra and the other nightfallen, he feels for them desperately, like he can't help but understand. the loneliness, the fear, the corruption and loss of a place that should've felt like home. they were starving, and he could help them. and for the first time in his life, he felt like doing everything he could to save them.

it wasn't like he wasn't kind or caring before, but everything was self-defense before. his goal was to survive and be free, not involve himself in something huge like this. but this time was different. he wanted them to be able to survive and be free, too. he took on their fight as his own.

so, he does the suramar campaign. in the process, he falls in love with a nightfallen man (erestrois, seb's oc who i adore so sososososoososososooso much) and doesn't know what to do with it because he's never fallen in love before and this is a situation that is so precarious and neither of them are safe and he tries so hard to push it down. god there was a line i wrote once that makes me wail

do you get it. do you see. he wants to help all the nightfallen but more than anything, he doesn't even care if he gets anything out of it, he just wants erestrois to live a better life, even if that life doesn't include aquanthis (and of course it does include him but aquanthis doesn't even care!!! he just loves him that much!!!!!)

anyway. anyway. okay so aquanthis leads the offensive into the nighthold and everything, yadda yadda, you know how the raid goes. EXCEPT. during the gul'dan fight. smile.

it's going well, right. everything has gone smoothly. they've done what they meant to. and then gul'dan kinda just starts wiping the floor with them. he kills brighton in pretty gruesome fashion in front of the whole gathered party and aquanthis has a meltdown and full-on moves the moon to resurrect him (i'm picky about rezzes in my stories lol it's gotta be Really Big). they keep fighting and they eventually, yknow, get illidan's soul back into his body so he can kill gul'dan for realsies.

and here's where that eye injury comes in LOL.

yknow how the crystal they had illidan's body in was made of his felblood? and yknow how the crystal shatters and throws shards everywhere? well, one big chunk hit aquanthis in the right eye. and in the commotion after illidan is freed and everything's over and everyone's recovering and getting to their feet, no one notices aquanthis curled up on the floor holding his face for a little too long. finally he starts screaming and they find the crystal lodged in his eye, fel tearing through his face and his eye and, if left unchecked, probably killing him.

thalyssra and khadgar have to try to contain the fel with sigils and stuff but tyrande, bless her heart, tries to talk them into leaving him to die :) "ohhh nooooo he'll be just like illidan he'll become fel infused it's a fate worse than deaaaath!" and then illidan tells her to fuck off in the most aggro way possible and she fucks off.

but yeah they save him though his eye is permanently fucked and his face is scarred Badly but gul'dan is dead and the nightborne are saved and it's over. it's over. and everyone came out alive! traumatized but alive!

for uhhhhh the rest of legion aquanthis is recovering from his eye injury and helping out with resettling suramar and trying really hard not to be super gay about erestrois because erestrois doesn't really have time for them to work out their feelings and stuff YET. however they DO get to that point in bfa :) because aquanthis basically just takes the expansion off to rest because the eye thing really fucked him up and also the nightborne need help and they see him as a leader (thus the title! they see him as the instrument of their vengeance. lol). so bfa is a rest period AND THEN *drum roll*

MY OTHER FAVORITE PART! shadowlands. controversial favorite part but hear me out okay.

so, the other title there you may have noticed: "the beautiful one". the fae have been calling him that since he was a child, and he thought it was just like, them flattering him or trying to cheer him up or something. but when he goes to the shadowlands as a champion, brought in to deal with ardenweald, every single fae calls him that, INCLUDING the winter queen. and he's like, what the fuck? why do you call me that? can i finally ask this?

and that's when he finds out that his spirit is the reincarnated soul of The Beautiful One, an ancient, otherwise nameless "wild god" (though it wouldn't have been called that before) that took the form of a moth. it was the parent of the fae, having been elune's original lover/mate/whatever you want to call it. and its soul was tended for ages and ages and ages in ardenweald, before it was finally reborn. and, to the fae, its soul is like a torch, blazing and brilliant and bright, and they know it immediately, are even drawn to it. which is why the fae have always been drawn to aquanthis like moths (haha get it) to a flame.

so, uh, that's a thing he has to suddenly grapple with. it's like, he's spent his whole life thinking he's Nothing, he's just being favored because of his parents. and then he finds out he's got the Soul Of A God. and it's like, he doesn't have all of its power or anything, just its soul, but it's still like. another thing that he was Born With that he did not ask for that makes people or things treat him differently, even if they treat him better because of it. he wants to just be Him, not whatever else.

however, during his time in ardenweald, he gets soulbound to dreamweaver, and kind of has a therapy arc where he learns to accept the things he can't control and he finally finds, in ardenweald, a place where he feels like he belongs. which he's never had before, really, even in suramar or the dreamgrove. it's like everything just kind of makes sense, clicks into place, and by the end of it he's so much calmer and just happier in general, finally owning that he can't control the stuff about himself that he was born with, and just has to learn to live with it. he changes so much over shadowlands, it's crazy. i wrote a thing with him and aemara once that took place in shadowlands and he's so much more confident and calm that aemara notices it, and aemara never pays attention to hardly anyone.

so anyway, as of dragonflight, aquanthis now has a gaggle of moths and fae critters, and he's sort of treated like an emissary between azeroth, ardenweald, and the emerald dream, as the only mortal druid who can traverse all three still (he's inherently tied to ardenweald forever now basically. oops).

OH, A THING I FORGOT TO MENTION EARLIER. malfurion and tyrande get a divorce pre-shadowlands and aquanthis makes up with malfurion finally. he is no longer part of the i-hate-my-dad club. he's still in the i-hate-my-mom and i-hate-my-sister clubs though. he does finally get to tell tyrande to fuck off in ardenweald and it makes me soooooo happy. the catharsis of it all. i need to reread that scene, i wrote it at one point.

a thing i've been thinking about recently has been him and the niffen, because i initially wasn't gonna really involve him in dragonflight but then got obsessed w/ the niffen and wanted him to deal with them, so now he basically gets asked by anduin to come bodyguard him while he's following wrathion around like a lost puppy, and goes with him for the zaralek caverns stuff. aquanthis is so obsessed with elder honeypelt. this is entirely because i wanted this, there is no lore reason for this.

and now he's doing emerald dream stuff. he hates fyrakk sooooo much, doubly because he hurt the niffen and is destroying the emerald dream lol. also the fact that they canonized tyrande attacking shandris and elune having to step in made me feel SO fucking vindicated holy shit. i wanted to write a scene where shandris goes to apologize to aquanthis for never believing him and aquanthis is like "oh, so you didn't believe your little baby brother, and it takes your own pain for you to believe it? fuck you, fuck off" but i haven't gotten around to finishing it yet.

anyway i'm having fun with him now because he's no longer fucking miserable. For Now. i hope that doesn't change. he makes me so sad but now he also makes me feel so :] <3 i love my quanthy

so um. yeah. that's a not-so-short summary of aquanthis's storyline.

my sweetie darling <3 sorry for how long this is i'm not even bothering to edit it i'll be honest. if anyone reads this i love you i love you i love you mwah

#oc: aquanthis #info #img #answers #trickerycleric #i skipped over so much detail but that's for the carrd. this is the summary lol #i've had this little freak since my 14th birthday. he's so dear to me

4 notes · View notes

lothirielswan · 1 year

Text

"The Boyfriend"

Continue the tale Dear Prince Dandelion here!

Quest Objective: Prepare the perfect first date.

Bonus Objective: Choose the most romantic location on Azeroth!

— MOUNT HYJAL —

“Cheers to our courtship,” My glass of Pandaren Plum wine clinked against Anduin’s.

“Cheers,” He smiled into his glass.

My eyes rose to the canopy of leaves above dyed gold from the bleeding sunset as I took a sip. A picnic at Mount Hyjal seemed like a fun “official” first date. Faerie dragons serenaded one another from branch to branch. A magical mist of stardust hovered over the lavender lake that replaced the first Well of Eternity.

“I’ve never been here before. It’s beautiful,” Anduin leaned back on his elbows. The silken blanket beneath us rippled despite the pillows piled on one side to keep it in place.

“It is. No wonder Ysera preferred here to Northrend,” I said, thoughts drifting to the Dreamer.

“Did you know her well?”

I shrugged and set down my glass on the picnic basket. “She used to join my family’s poker nights. She made mojitos for everyone…I miss her.”

The balcony where she used to stand, weaving magic in the air, was empty. My chest tightened at her absence.

“Did Alexstrasza ever join? I noticed she didn't sit with your family when we met in Pandaria,” Anduin noted politely.

My gaze traced the lip of the lake before us. The surface shimmered like the transparent cloak Alexstrasza used to wear. My time with her at Wyrmrest Temple was (trips to Stratholme aside)...strange. Alexstrasza asked for stories of Outland and my mother. When I asked for stories of Azeroth, the conversation turned…evasive. Alexstrasza would avoid the topic of my mother like an unpleasant rumor. That rift never repaired, despite all she had done to remedy us.

“Not really. I always felt as if there is something that Alexstrasza is hiding.” I admitted.

“Sounds like you when we first met,” Anduin chuckled to himself.

“Was I that bad?”

“It was more like a rogue. Now, you just seem more like you—if that makes any sense.” With a hesitant hand, Anduin reached out and tucked a stray hair behind my ear.

The sun now slept. The flora of the forest casted a dim glow; giant flowers and mushrooms bathed our skin blue. Faerie dragon wings whispered as they frolicked in the shadows.

“Are you cold?” I asked as Anduin sat up, pulling his knees to his chest.

I opened my arms. Anduin slid between my legs and leaned against my chest. Lavender melted the air.

“I didn't know much of Kael’thas when you first told me he was your father.”

My body stilled. I hadn't realized that my confession in Stormwind was the first time I admitted to Anduin who my father was. He hadn't reacted much; when he claimed I was royalty, I thought he knew. Perhaps he meant my maternal family.

“I heard of him from Velen and Liadrin. When I heard of him in the past, I always focused on the Sunwell—I wondered if it had any connections to the Naaru.” Anduin admitted.

“And?”

“I’m curious. What was it like on Outland with him and Illidan…?” In the silence that followed, Anduin apologized. “I’m sorry. If you don't wish to speak of it—”

“It’s…complicated.” I said, relieved Anduin couldn't look at my face as I spoke of the following.

“When my father came to Outland, he nearly reconciled with my mother—but I think she did so more for my sake than her own. The affair happened not long after.”

Anduin peeked up at me. “The affair?”

“My father betrayed Illidan by joining Kil’jaeden. But Kael’thas tried to convince Illidan of his loyalty—or maybe he did care for him, I don’t know…”

“Kael’thas…and Illidan?”

“Yes.”

“And your mother remains on Outland…”

“Yep. With my aunt who belongs in a psych ward.”

Anduin stiffened in my arms. “And yet you still remain close to Illidan? Enough to help him with Ar—with…his one hundred and sixty pounds of stupidity?”

My face caved into a smile. “You’re adorable. Yes. I don't know how we’ve remained so close…It could be our shared desire to thoroughly remove the threat of the Legion. He is very good at that.”

Or maybe we both represent a time long past that we will never get back.

My mind wandered back to my mother and her long silence. The affair wasn't pleasant. Perhaps it had more effect on her than I thought—that might’ve been the source of her quiet. It was doubtful that my aunt would ease things.

“Does that mean I finally win?” Anduin mused. “Have the Kaldorei finally proven themselves better saviors of the earth than dwarves?”

I laughed quietly. “Maybe. I guess you’re right.”

“What do I win?”

“Hmm…” My arms tightened around him as I thought of a reward.

The world around us was in slumber. Meadows of lilies swayed, their long necks tossing their petals to and fro. It’s a shame we spent so much time discussing darker subjects. I’m glad Anduin knows, but I had other plans for tonight…

I leaned into Anduin’s neck and pressed an experimental kiss there. He didn't move.

“I assume that by courting me you also agree to the… physical components.” My lips grazed his ear.

I placed another kiss on his jaw. Anduin’s adams apple bobbed as he swallowed. “What exactly does ‘physical components’ entail…?”

I turned his face towards mine with a finger under his chin. “Whatever you desire. Why don't you enlighten me?”

My lips pressed against his. It felt like my first kiss, the almost foreign feeling of my mouth moving against Anduin’s. Soft as lily petals caressing one another, stems intertwining, whispering seductive thoughts.

Anduin turned in my arms. My fingers scrambled for exposed skin, curling around his neck. His pulse was hot and throbbing beneath my touch—

Anduin moaned into my mouth. The desire to be soft and gentle burned beneath my craving for him.

Our positions changed; Anduin’s body was under mine. My tongue traced his lips. His hands clutched at my back as if holding on for dear life. Every inhale roused lavender.

My lips parted from Anduin’s to trail down his neck. Red spots blossomed across his skin. My teeth grazed his earlobe, “How far would you like to take this, Your Majesty?”

Pants escaped Anduin’s parted lips. The voice that answered was husky and aroused, “Whatever you see fit, my rose.”

Anduin’s labored breathing paused as my fingers drew a random design on the inside of his thigh. He jolted beneath my touch. My fingers traveled higher—

Wings flapped above us. A snarky retort disrupted the quiet. “For once, I am overjoyed by my lack of eyesight.”

I stilled. My face remained pressed against Anduin’s neck, holding my breath. Maybe if we’re quiet, he’ll just go away…

Anduin’s voice entered my thoughts. Are you sure you want to leave your hand there? I don't mind in the least, but—

Oh! Sorry!

Our bodies remained entwined. The cool breeze from his wings tousled my hair.

“If you plan to make me uncomfortable with this grand display of affection, let me remind you that the Den of Mortal Delights existed in the Black Temple. Don’t let me…dissuade you.”

I inhaled sharply. Speak of the devil. My breath flared against Anduin’s skin, “Perv.”

“The current circumstances would apply that title to you.”

I climbed off Anduin. We sat upright. I bit down to prevent a lot of nasty remarks from escaping. The one time he decides to do something parent-like! Just give me one hour alone with Anduin to sate this thirst—

Illidan landed before us. His nose crinkled in Anduin’s direction. “This is the boyfriend?”

“Yes.”

Illidan’s expression soured. “Blond men obsessed with bright objects are drawn to you like moths to an open flame.”

“And I could say the same to you.”

I imagined Illidan rolling his eyes beneath his blindfold. He couldn't see my hardened glare of contempt, but I continued to wear it.

“We need to speak. Alone.” Illidan said.

“Okay.” I placed my hand atop Anduin’s. “Please share your little gems of wisdom with us.”

No one moved for a long moment. Anduin’s eyes drifted to me, questioning whether I bluffed. I stared straight ahead, waiting for Illidan’s next move.

The demon hunter broke the silence first. “I prefer not to share this in front of Arthas the Second.”

“The boyfriend stays—and be nice!” I patted the blanket below us. “Join us.”

It was the most miserable I had ever seen Illidan as he took a step forward and kneeled on the silken ground. Nothing would be hidden from Anduin. I wouldn't tip toe around him as Alexstrasza did with me. Illidan was also an integral part of my family…and Anduin would have to get used to the craziness somehow.

“What I am about to share cannot be uttered by any other living mortal.” Illidan’s whisper was hushed by the shivering lilies.

Anduin and I exchanged a look. He inched closer to me and took my hand in his. We waited for Illidan to continue.

“Someone has released Sargeras from the Titans’ hold.”

A high pitched ringing noise deafened my ears. The world around us unfocused, lines blurring and brown filling my vision with a bright, bleeding red.

Anduin’s voice echoed from a faraway place. “How? Who released him?”

“I do not know. Whoever it is is mad enough to put the entire cosmos at risk.” Illidan’s words had an edge sharper than his warglaives.

The red was dissipating, but the voices around me traveled through water to my ears. My hand tightened around Anduin’s as I willed reality to return.

“Do you know where he is?” Anduin asked.

“No.”

Who could undermine the Titans? Why would they unleash the destroyer of worlds?

“Is the Legion returning?” Words finally forced their way from my dry mouth.

The last Legion invasion of Azeroth affected every life on the planet. Thousands had perished. Now it was worse. Now I had too much to lose.

Illidan’s claws curled into fists. “Whoever unleashed Sargeras must be found…and eliminated.”

Continue the tale Dear Prince Dandelion here!

#world of warcraft #world of warcraft fanfic #anduin llane wrynn #anduin wrynn #anduin #wow #eona strider #dear prince dandelion #illidan stormrage #illidan #demon hunter #warcraft #burning legion #kael'thas sunstrider #burning crusade #alexstrasza #ysera #ysera the dreamer #mount hyjal

10 notes · View notes