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caeliri · 6 years

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Wake of Woe

[[ Belated aftermath to the last Summerglen event, Fallow Fields and Hallowhearths!

Thank you once again to everyone who came to the event, it warms my heart that people have taken an interest in Summerglen and the story I’ve been slowly writing around it!]]

The bitter tang of blood was heavy on the air, plumes of sickly sweet rot rolling over the ruined floor in billows and bursts, permeating upheaved stone and sinking deep into the dark soil below. Spring was on the wind, bearing with it wet-heat and pollen that danced in heavy clouds through the fel-streaked valleys, but within the devastated halls of the chapel it only served to hasten the putrefaction of flesh and heating stagnant smears of blood until they birthed a more belly-churning scent. A hellish haze hung around her shoulders, and Caeliri let herself be swallowed whole by the trademarks of decomposition.

“Why do you return here?”

Caeliri’s eyes swept along the long-dried river of blood, following the snaking trail of maroon down it’s path to the edge of similarly colored skirts. She did not need to raise her eyes to her Seneschal’s face; she knew the woman’s pale, thin lips were pulled into a solemn frown and that the crimson brows above her bright blue eyes were furrowed tight enough to cast shadows over her sallow skin.

Lyla Redgrove was not a woman to question her employer or her oft-odd habits; the quel’dorei was stoic, polite, statuesque in the way that frightened people are, still when they did not need to move, exact in their motions when they did, trying to minimize their existence until they blended into the woodwork. It did not make her less effective in her position; she ran the young Dame’s small household with a terseness that did not allow for error, as if error was the foremost thing to be fearful of.

Thus, she did not question commands that came from Caeliri’s lips, nor offer argument as Liadove did; it was not her.

Not usually.

It was beyond the scope of Caeliri’s downcast vision, but Lyla’s hands - pale and near skeletal, ran through with veins so stark blue that her skin seemed almost translucent - curled tightly together, catching a loose length of blood-colored skirt and sliding it between her knuckles to soothe the tension twisting in her belly.

Caeliri said nothing, turning her head slightly towards the gruesome mound of flesh that had once been villagers, then a monster made of their disparate parts, then nothing more than loose skin and punctured organs that the Sunguard had laid to rest.

For days she’d come to the chapel and sat among the rot and ruin, and it was beyond worrisome.

No answer given, Lyla pressed on, her voice wavering --

“This behavior… is beyond unseemly. It speaks of madness--”

Reflexively Caeliri laughed - a short, sharp sound, entirely unlike her normal symphony of sweet giggles - and it did not help her case, “You think me mad, Lyla?”

The corner of Lyla’s mouth twitched, nearly reeling back into a fearful grimace, “Not mad,” a pregnant pause passed between them as the frightful woman selected her next word with a scholar’s scrutiny,”... morose.”

“Morose,” Caeliri parroted back, her shoulders heaving with a sigh. She forced her eyes away from the floor to the heap of rotting faces. In the slurry of skin, there were faces she recognized - decrepit and looseleaf as they were - and it made her stomach turn. Light be blessed there was nothing but bile in there. Guilt, hot and sharp, panged in Caeliri’s chest, and she drew in a deep breath, tasting turning flesh and old blood on her tongue, “...I can’t just leave them--”

“They are no longer; you mourn nothing but meat.”

It was a harsh truth; when the Legion’s fel-fissures were purified, the magic that bound the unwilling spirits of the dead to Summerglen was severed, and they had fluttered away like so much sand on a windy beach. Still, Caeliri could feel a lingering presence, a whisper of agony still etched in the stones of Summerglen, an unending reminder of the life lost here.

She’d noticed it first with Elleynah, in the ramshackle ruins of Azsuna; phantom fragments seemed drawn to them both - Elleynah for her Sight, Caeliri for her sundered soul, still marked by death, blackened by the Winter of Woe and the time she’d spent in the unwieldy Inbetween - and even now, a thousand miles away from that cursed place, she felt the fear and pain of those whose lives had been ended here. Caeliri had hoped that employing the talents of those Light-blessed would purge the spirits in their entirety, but it seemed as though the echoes of their violent end would never fade.

Or maybe it was all in her mind. Maybe at last all the guilt she slung over her slim shoulders was crushing the sense out of her.

”You only make yourself suffer more.”

Silence swelled between them again, and Caeliri could not - would not - pull her eyes from the bloody avenues that ran through the crumbling floors. “Do you know why I built this place?”

“For spiritual enlightenment?”

“For sanctuary.”

At last she hauled herself up from the floor, the motion slow and labored, as if her slight frame weighed a thousand, thousand pounds and ached with ages that did not belong to her. She kept the same haggard pace she moved to the nearest support column, fingertips finding a vein of pale grey that snaked lazily through the creamy stone, tracing it up and out as far as her arm could reach as she spoke, “Lord Firestorm advised against it; he told me that funds would be better spent on arms and armor, on barracks, on something befitting war… but he ceded to my judgement. He let me make my choice, because I knew Summerglen better, and put forth the money to build this place.”

“It was a noble endeavor,” Lyla offered, an earnest edge in her voice; what else would a Confessor say?

“It was,” Caeliri agreed, letting her fingers slide back down the stone, until her hand came limply to her side. “This place was supposed to be for everyone, all faiths, for them to find solace and comfort, for us to hold sermons or village meetings or just give people a place to be alone with their faith. I wanted to fortify this place, so that it would be a bastion, a final stand for the people of Summerglen if ever the time arose. Tahnuu was meant to help me secure the supplies to erect Lightforged barriers.”

The Draenei had not failed on her part; with old hatreds laid to rest, it was easy to facilitate a meeting with engineers eagerly adopting the blessed metals of the Lightforged, and several Artificers of the Lightforged themselves. But no warrior of the faith would freely relent on their divine gifts without scrutiny, and rather pursue her initial plan to fortify the chapel with other worldly advancements… Caeliri had burned her favor on a gift.

“You spent the allotment of supplies on Lord Dawnstrider’s arm,” Lyla stated simply, her voice bereft of judgement - that didn’t stop Caeliri from flinching where she stood. “You feel guilty.”

“I am guilty,” Caeliri turned, letting her back thud against the pillar, “I told them this place was safe. I told them, time and time again, that this would be their safe heaven should anything happen.” Her hand shot out towards the lingering, lifeless lump in the corner, but Lyla’s eyes would not follow her arm. “They all came here, seeking safety, and they died here.”

“You ordered the evacuation of Summerglen prior to the assault, did you not?”

Caeliri let her hand drop heavily to her side, her wrist striking her own bony hip so hard it sent an ache shivering through her arm. “I did.”

“Many citizens stayed behind, did they not?”

“Yes, but --”

“There is no ‘but’ -- there is nothing more you could have done. The Archon, your Lord, ordered you to the west to defend the Evergrove, and you went. What difference would it have made, had you come to Summerglen?” Lyla’s pale, thin lips pressed into a stern line. “You would have traded lives in the Evergrove for lives here - maybe. More likely than not, you would have died here.”

“I would not--”

“You would have stayed and held the line until every last villager escaped. Do you know who stayed to hold the line?”

Caeliri did not answer the question - it felt pejorative and foolish to offer a response. She knew the names of the Guardians who had stayed behind, and she knew where they were now.

Lyla did not press her point. Between them the silence drew on, until it was taut and oppressive.

A sigh slipped through the former Confessor’s lips, and at last the tension that trembled through her knuckles eased ever so slightly. Daintily, she lifted up her dark skirts and crossed the space between them, small feet weaving artfully over the filth that stained the stones. Lyla laid one pale, bony hand on Caeliri’s shoulder, and Caeliri could feel the cold seeping through the shoulder of her blouse. “This is not penance - this is self-mutilation of the soul. You ruin yourself with this quest for moral purity. Your suffering now does not ease theirs then. You have already committed yourself to Summerglen’s renewal, this,” Lyla let loose her skirts and wafted her now free hand through the air, her skin catching the light and seeming to glow, “solves nothing. Nor does it help you grieve, stewing in your mistakes. Reflect, adapt, but do not linger in the remnants of what-has-been.”

The effort of touch grew too much for the Steward to bear, and she pulled her hand away, taking a few shuffling steps backwards to regain a more appropriate distance. “The Anori priests will be here any day now to assist with the last rites and the funeral pyres; you needn’t maintain this vigil any longer.” Lyla offered nothing more than a polite curtsey, and left, artfully dodging the ruined remnants of the chapel as she made her way back to the manor.

Caeliri was not so quick to depart, tethered to this place by a thick strand of remorse, but slowly, she pressed forward, down the stairs, along the aisle, and out into the white-hot light of day. It was harsh enough to sting her eyes, and she lifted an arm to block it, wincing against the brightness. There was a clarity in the burning as enlightening as Lyla’s harsh words, and when the world around her began to bleed back into view, Caeliri hefted a mighty sigh, deflating slightly where she stood - before pulling her shoulders up and back.

She had sworn to see this through unto the end - she would not renege on her promise to the citizens of Summerglen. If she could stare down the black-rot face of death and still stand to swing a sword and bear a shield, she could rebuild a village ravaged.

[[ Tags: @vaelrin @stormandozone @veloestian @thesunguardmg @telchis ]]

#writing #summerglen #the dawnspire #the sunguard #fallow fields and hallowed hearths #caeliri

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ocalapost · 3 years

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https://www.ocalapost.com/residents-say-marion-county-is-all-about-the-money-citizens-are-ignored-development-allowed-to-happen/

Residents say Marion County is all about the money, citizens are ignored, development allowed to happen

Photo; Ocala Post

Residents are furious after the Marion County Commission gave approval for two new developments that will be built off of County Road 484. SummerGlen residents packed a meeting held on October 20 and spoke out against the developments, but residents say commissioners already had their minds

#government corruption #crime rate #overdevelopment #summerglen

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sare-wen · 7 years

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Home

It had been weeks since the priestess returned to the city of Silvermoon, the call of duty answered unquestionably and served without hesitation. The marble stone halls within the apartment next to Islesun’s felt cold and empty, there was a growing void within the walls. It felt more like a prison then a home to Sare’wen. Lacking any sense of joy she opened the heavy door leading into the entrance of the household. There she stood in the doorframe looking on as the workers within continued to restore what was once her family’s residence.

A heavy sigh escaped her painted lips before taking a step back and closing the door in front of her. Turning away she leaned against the marble frame, as her emerald gaze made its way towards Ithanar’s home. Was she placing him in danger too? She asked herself contemplating whether to stay or go. Soon matters would escalate and unknowingly she placed him at the center of it. Should her brother ever march on her doorstep would the innocent within this apartment complex be the victims of his wrath? The thought soon faded as she remembered what he did in the demon’s cave. The last to exit ensuring the safety of those he served beside first before his own. Surely a sacrifice such as that could not remain unnoticed.

They shared the same father, but did they share the same emptiness from his hallowed existence he left within each of his children? She wondered, could either of them be saved?

A young mother who carried her small infant child in her arms walked past Sare’wen her attention snapped away from the thoughts that swirled. A polite smile was offered out towards the stranger. “Hello!” She said brightly as best as she could fake happiness in that moment. “I hope you have a great day.” Her gentle voice sung through the hallways echoing within the marble stone walls.

As the woman disappeared from sight Sare’wen glanced back towards her doorframe. “I will not allow you to rule my existence any longer.” She said firmly although to who was left unknown.

Racing down the stairwell she made her way to the stables where Buttercup her faithful goat was housed. Placing a saddle on the creature Sare’wen made her way back out of the city. It was no place for her during this time, it had never felt like a home but a cage. Refusing to be barred from her life any longer she made her way back to Summerglen.

#Sare'wen #Ithanar for mention #Summerglen

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merlily · 5 years

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Salem: Aw sweet do you have anything I made you

Alistar: The only thing you ever made me was crazy

#alistar summerglen #salem summerglen #incorrect quotes #legends of Harmonia #source mom

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lunarowena · 3 years

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Owlcatober Day 1 - Origins

Lorraine Summerglen lay awake in her bed in Defender’s Heart, trying to make sense of the past few days. Her injury, Deskari, the Wardstone, Seelah, Camellia, the Mongrels. All of it had had happened so quickly. And none of this answered the question: what was she doing here?

On one side, it was a rhetorical question. How was small, halfling gutter trash from Kaer Maga gifted heavenly power? How had she become the rallying point of hope, once an unwanted mouth to feed? She had come so far—or maybe run so far—from where she had started from. No longer stealing glances at paintings, desperately wishing for something more beautiful in her life. She was a Monk of Shelyn. She spread beauty where she went.

It felt not that long ago that she had left home, her mother throwing a chair after her. Not that long ago that she took her vows to Shelyn, weeping at the acceptance she found in the monastery. Not that long ago that she had left Varisia entirely, willing herself to wander wherever the road took her.

And that was the other side of the problem, because Lorraine had no idea how she had ended up in Mendev. It had apparently been an entire year since she had left Kaer Maga to journey east, but her memory got fuzzy around Caliphas. How had she completely blanked out traveling from Ustalav to Kenabras? Had she been drugged? Ensnared by vampires? Enchanted by demons?

Lorraine rubbed her chest, currently smooth and unblemished. Demons had done something to her. Her mysterious wound was proof enough of that. But what? And why? She was no one. No more a target for demonic machinations than heavenly power.

And yet she had been touched by both.

She could wait and let whatever was happening to her happen. Accept her fate. But Lorraine had never been one to passively stand by. Whatever was going on, whatever games were being played with her life, she was in charge now.

#wrath of the righteous #pfwotr #crusader lorraine #owlcatober 2021

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tiktaalic · 3 years

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hey yall! my work has been emailing me an active list of public warming centers in fort worth, texas and i’m gonna copy and paste the info i’ve been given (restrictions, addresses, times) under the cut. one of my coworkers is also keeping this list up to date as a google doc here, which as of writing this at 11.20 am is a bit more extensive than what i’m putting under the cut.

Christ Chapel Bible Church Fort Worth campus (@ Montgomery & I-30) is open 24/7 until Thursday morning. Masks and social distancing required. You may bring pets as long as they are in a crate. You will also need to bring your own mats, food and water.

Forth Worth Convention Center is now also 24/7 until Thursday at noon. Cots provided, food, blankets and showers not. Garages available on Commerce & Houston street. Covid screenings before entering.

Anyone needing the shelter will need to self-transport to the Convention Center and enter through the Houston Street entrance. The location is 1201 Houston St, Fort Worth, TX 76102.

More Daytime Warming Stations (from city website):

We recommend that residents call before traveling to these locations. Times and availability are different for each facility.

All Saints Catholic Church (7 a.m. until 11 p.m.) 817-626-3055

214 Nw 20th Street, Fort Worth, TX 76131

Dickson-Jenkins Lofts and Plaza (7 a.m. until 7 p.m.) 817-808-0179

120 St Louis Ave, Fort Worth, TX 76104

One Safe Place (24/7) 817-916-4323

1101 Hemphill Street, Fort Worth, TX 76104

The Hills Church (hours unknown) 817-479-7752

2828 Longvue Avenue, Fort Worth, TX 76108

The Rail Club Live (24/7) 817-386-4309

3101 Joyce Dr, Fort Worth, TX 76116

Redemption Story Church 972-537-1100

2100 Morrison Dr.

Renovation Church 817-420-9822

6301 Granbury Rd.

Trinity Chapel Bible Church 817-377-8222

6610 Southwest Blvd.

City’s Daytime Warming Stations (7am-7pm):

Arrangements have been made to allow residents using the warming stations to bring their pets. The pets will be placed in a temporary container while at the station. For safety reasons they can’t move around the facility.

Worth Heights Community Center

3551 New York Ave, Fort Worth, TX 76110

817-392-8722

Notes: Warming center only. No snacks or cots

Handley Meadowbrook Community Center

6201 Beaty St, Fort Worth, TX 76112

817-392-2830

Notes: Warming center only. No snacks or cots

Diamond Hill Community Center

1701 NE 36th St, Fort Worth, TX 76106

817-392-5485

Notes: Warming center only. No snacks or cots

North Tri-Ethnic Community Center

2950 Roosevelt Ave. Fort Worth TX, 76106

817-392-5200

Notes: Warming center only. No snacks or cots.

Summerglen Library

4205 Basswood Blvd. Fort Worth TX, 76137

817-392-5970

Notes: Warming center only. No snacks or cots.

Southwest Community Center

6300 Welch Ave. Fort Worth, TX 76133

Notes: Warming center only. No snacks or cots.

For West Side/Las Vegas Trail area folks, just got word that LVTRise Community Center is now open as a warming station today (2/17) until 7pm:

8201 Calmont Avenue.

9am-7pm Weds & Thursday

Community members can warm up, charge devices, have access to WiFi and restrooms. Water provided while supplies last.v

#etxt #fort worth #texas

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chupacabra111 · 6 years

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here it is...

here it is…

…the box that i made to collect my valentines… my box to collect valentines – cordell, ok – february 2018 #oklahoma #ok #cordell #newcordell #weatherford #clinton #florencehouse #summerglen #hauntedhospital #valentines #valentine #valentinesday #party #valentinesdayparty A post shared by K W (@sprockets111) on Feb 21, 2018 at 11:46am PST

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rhythmartist · 2 years

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Me working with students: keep it simple, nobody wants a bunch of crazy from the drums. Just groove! Me recording drum loops: well I guess I'm going to have to write it out, cause it's too weird to remember, but I'm not gonna change it! (at Summerglen Music) https://www.instagram.com/p/Cc8s1EjPfbb/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

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starlightcleric · 4 months

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Saw this picrew going around, made a few characters!

Top row (all Pillars of Eternity):

Watchers Calendula Qantu (savannahfolk Priest/Paladin); Lillian Veres (meadowfolk Ranger/Rogue); Amaryllis Alfwyn (pale elf Cipher/Monk)

Bottom row:

Wrath of the Righteous, Lorraine Summerglen (halfling Monk/Rogue/Paladin, mythic Angel); Rogue Trader, Jacquotte von Valancius (human Officer/Grand Strategist); Baldur's Gate 3 Brynhild (human Paladin)

#alas I could not figure out good orlans in this one #watcher calendula #watcher lillian #watcher amaryllis #crusader lorraine #jacquotte von valancius #bg3 brynhild

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caeliri · 6 years

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Rising Tides, Crashing Skies

[[ This story takes place in January of this year, prior to the ending of the events surrounding the Symphony of Silvermoon!]]

Beyond the walls of Silvermoon the scattered seeds of chaos came into full bloom. Even in the Dawnspire, peace was evasive, and in the shadow of multi-colored banners of the houses that bent the knee to House Truefeather, unrest still haunted the stone-lined streets. Those who had not fled to the Evergrove to seek refuge within the Dreaming Gardens remained in the Citadel itself, settled in alleys and causeways less used, out of sight of the supposed King’s retinue, and unhappier for it; in the wake of unrest that rocked the capitol, less light was laid upon their plight, their lords and ladies heads were turned ever towards the crimson-stained streets of Silvermoon, waiting with baited breath for the tide to turn a thousand ways, each calamitous in its own way.

It was a crime Dame Caeliri Dawnsworn was guilty of herself.

In the aftermath of Baal’s attack on the Dawnspire, she’d forgone returning to the shattered remnants of Summerglen - heart too heavy to face the fel-ravaged ruins of a home once wreathed in sunlight and spring blossoms - and turned her eyes towards Silvermoon, and allies with more social sway and coin to aid her cause. Just like all of them, she’d been swept away in the flood waters of a citizenry divided and enraged. The crimson cobblestones of Silvermoon were bathed in blood, and for the first time in her short life she was aware of it, and she was frightened.

When Telchis called his bannerlords home to the Dawnspire to stand at his side and ready themselves for the days to come, she’d gone willingly away from the worry of the city, hoping that the rolling hills of Quel’thalas’ countryside might pry away the lingering fear and ease the tension that held her slim shoulders ever taut.

It had not.

The appearance of the Sun King’s retinue, in lieu with conversations had in the past week, only served to unnerve her further, and though she’d stood tall at Telchis’ side, drenched in the colors of a brilliant dawn - the colors of her fresh-forged lineage - stalwart and proud against the oppressive air that seemed to ensconce the throne room, the armor she’d encased herself in could not uproot the anxiety that thrummed through her veins. Though the meeting with the so-called-King’s retinue was short, throughout the tense moments she often found her sea-green eyes wandering to the place where Tyril Sunspear should have stood, clad in gold and sable, a statuesque figurehead of justice and honor, and to see his space filled - even by familiar faces - made her heart ache.

Released from the tense meeting with the Sun King’s courier, Caeliri picked her way through the rubble-wracked streets of the Dawnspire, plated boots picking a careful path in elsewise aimless wandering. She could have retreated to the infirmary, her home away from home, where she was Dawnward Dawnsworn, a skilled mender and a steady, hopeful, helping hand to those who had seen better days - but being in those hallowed halls required an attention to the weak and wounded that she could not give, and she would never stand to offer those who suffered less than her whole, undivided, unmuddled attention.

Instead, the upheaved streets gave her an avenue to attend her thoughts where there was little chance she would be bothered.

What would they do, if the Sun King came to demand the Lord of the Dawnspire and all his vassals take a knee and swear their allegiance?

What would she do - betray her oaths and take a stand, or fall in line to preserve her words, and sacrifice her beliefs for a promise made? Which was worse; to be an oathbreaker, or to compromise the beat of her heart and see injustice flourish due to inaction?

Parapets once proud and stalwart littered the lower reaches of the Citadel, destroying homes and business in their fall; an irony, perhaps, but one lost on the woman of twenty-one summers.

She had no faith in this would-be King or the future he seemed keen to forge; a future of isolation, cruelty and oppression that promised no deviation from the current course, where those in power spat pretty lies upon the citizenry to veil their own misdeeds. Caeliri did not believe this man whose blood bespoke some supposed right to rule would free them from corruption; the key to the shackles that bound the people of Quel’thalas would simply change hands, and never find use or offer freedom.

“HEY!”

Her head snapped up, sending a sea of cinder-colored hair right into her light of sight; in the space of time it took her to lift her hand and sweep it away, her path was blocked by a shoeless sin’dorei whose ruddy, freckled cheeks were flush a shade of scarlet that put the streets of Silvermoon to shame. His lips were pulled back in a near feral flash of teeth, and there was no kindness in their bearing.

Already her mind was wheeling, trying suss out what she’d done to offend the stranger who barred her path, and the words that left her lips were bright but hesitant, struggling out beneath the wave of frantic thought, “Can I… help you…”

“Yeah, you can help me -- by getting off your ass and getting to work,” the man snarled, drawing in air to force his chest to seem broader, his shoulders higher; they were of a height, Caeliri and this stranger, but he was thicker built - his only option to be imposing was to puff up like a peacock.

“I’m… sorry,” she ventured, caught off by the anger snapping on every syllable - but she didn’t get to finish.

“You’re sorry?” His words became harsher, honed down to a vicious, venomous edge, bitterness and mockery both shining through the sharpness, “Doesn’t look like you’re sorry, galavanting around the city in all your fine clothes while we’re sitting in our own shit, starving.”

Caeliri’s lips moved wordlessly, eyes wide and blinking as she fumbled for words-

“Sorry doesn’t put food in our bellies or roofs over our heads.” There were eyes on them now, a dozen, perhaps more, from dirty faces on the roadside, perched atop downed parapets or crouched in the shadow of the ruined monoliths, exhaustion tugging at their eyelids. Their drooping lids, however, could hardly hamper the bitterness that swam in the blazing green sea of their gazes.

Her belly churned quite suddenly, every set of eyes upon her forming a craggy, sharp stone in her gut. They plunk, plunk, plunked into her belly, sending bile foaming up along her innards and Caeliri could feel herself shrinking back.

They were, all of them, refugees from Summerglen; they had come to the Citadel in panic and pain as Baal’s armies carved their dreadpath through the Dawnspire, and here they had remained, among the ruins of the capitol, eager for the remnants of their ruined lives. She recognized them not by the patterned vests and simple, bright clothing they wore, but by the loss that haunted the edges of their eyes, and the burning hot guilt she felt gush through her veins. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips as the man carried on, all of his anger and helplessness and loss and grief boiling over on to her in a roaring wave she could not run from.

“Some fuckin’ Kin’taris. You abandoned us. You left us to die!”

She hadn’t.

She hadn’t meant to.

She was following orders- the Archon’s orders - to remain where she was stationed in the Citadel proper to fend off the oncoming assault. Summerglen should never have been a target of the demon’s warpath, it had seemed safe enough at the start, when Baal’s forces drove hard against the Evergrove and the Anchorage. She’d sent word to her soldiers to rally, to guard the borders, to evacuate the citizenry and they hadn’t left. They’d been too proud, too stubborn, too untested against the looming tide of violence; Summerglen had never seen war come to its shadowed vales, and like the lady who led them, they were blinded by their ignorance.

What more could she have done?

“Where the fuck have you been?! Not a person, not a single one, seeking their Kin’taris has heard a peep from you from since we came! You came sweeping down from your high tower like some fairy-fucking-tale princess, with all your pretty promises and platitudes, and then what?!”

Caeliri winced - hard. Her face contorted into a grimace, and her shoulders rose as if warding off an oncoming blow, but it had already been dealt. Pretty promises, platitudes, it was the same thought she had of the Sun-King and the noblesfolk of Quel’thalas, the very people she’d swore to oppose.

That was how this man saw her; that was how the people of Summerglen saw her.

Ice and fire took turns running rampant through her veins, the sickness in her gut seeming to fuel the flashes of disparate temperature as they raced from ear-tip to toe-tip, causing sweat to stipple on her lower back and scarlet shame to flare across her cheeks. Her eyes were eager for the ground, for the tips of her polished boots or the uneven stone below, but she held them even - and blessedly held the tears she felt begin to prickle behind her eyes at bay.

Caeliri had allied herself with the Reformers, stood against the Imperialists, gave her heart and soul to seeing the corruption of Quel’thalas at last be brought to heel, and those who abused the weak and disenfranchised pulled down from their high, lordly perches -- for what? What did that matter if her own people sat in stasis, surviving on the scraps of the Citadel’s generosity, eeking out a half-life in the shadows of their once-great capitol while she played hero halfway across the country?

“Then--” she interjected at last, though her voice was soft and meek, a mouse’s squealing against the man’s roaring rage, trying, desperately, to offer some defense, to make him understand her thoughts, her desires, her intentions, “--I joined my countrymen in assuring the nobility--”

“We’re your countrymen! You left us to suffer!”

She hadn’t.

She hadn’t meant to.

She had been ashamed, awashed in grief, for the lives lost, for the damage done, for all the dreams - hers and those of the townsfolk of Summerglen - that died the day Baal’s army diverted their path through the wood, keen on wreaking as much havoc and devastation as their wicked hearts desired. There had been nothing she could do -- she’d rode out to try and join the fray, but it was not a battle to be won.

It was a massacre.

And in the aftermath, when she passed into the smoldering vale to view the ruined remnants of her home -- she saw the bodies, broken, buried, bled, their blood swimming through the spaces between the cobbles, like crimson fingers reaching desperately through the veins of the city. She’d smelled the sulfur, the scorched skin, the burning hair, and seen the festering fissures carved into the earth. Agony was hot on the air still, the remnant sounds of spirits caught in their final moments echoing in her ears like a thousand nails drawn against slate.

“Do you even give a shit?”

A lump had long formed in her throat, a thousand words she wanted to spit back at him held at bay, balling around one another, over and over, until they were a tightly wound mass of writhing words and withheld sentiments. All of her defenses, all of her fear, all of her own perceptions, she held them behind her thinned lips, kept them captured and subdued, and forced a phrase up through the thicket in her throat, until it came hard and fast onto her tongue and leapt from her lips, steadfast and true; “What would you have me do?”

Silence swelled between them, tense and awkward, and the man who stood across from her clamped his mouth shut, both blonde brows diving down into deep furrows just above his fel-green eyes.

“...What?” The word was warbling on his tongue, steeped in uncertainty and confusion.

“I can not undo what has been done.” Drawing in a deep breath, Caeliri lifted her chin a fraction of an inch, staring the man down. She was aware of the glimmer that glinted in the sea-green spanse of her irises, but it was all she could do to hold the tears at bay; she could no more undo her expressiveness as she could unmake all her mistakes.

“I can not turn back the hands of time and stop Baal’s armies from marching on Summerglen - I can not ride out to the village and drag every man, woman and child from their home. I can not unspend the days I have spent making allies with men and women who have the means and the morals to put their gold to good use in efforts of restoration and revitalization. So tell me - what would you have me do?” There was a waft of anger at the edge of her voice, but the question was not mocking or cruel - it was frustrated, but earnest.

“I want you to do your job,” he spat back, bristling now that words were finally coming back his way.

“My job is to serve the people of Summerglen, the people of the Dawnspire, and the people of Quel’thalas -- tell me, what ails you most? What can I do, in this moment, to serve you?”

Her response caught him off-guard, left him standing there, his anger dampened - but not extinguished - and his face cycling through a spectrum of emotions that were hard to place. Another silence passed between them, interrupted by the swelling murmur of the attention they had drawn, but Caeliri was unrelenting; ever the first to speak, the first to strike down silence and fill the air with whatever words she could fathom, regardless of their needs or purpose, she held fast, waiting for his response.

“We just… want to go home,” he conceded at last, the heat in his voice reduced to a simmer, “we want to rebuild our lives, bury our dead, and just… pick up the pieces. Your soldiers won’t let anyone past the city gates.”

“Summerglen is …. Unsafe, still,” she ventured, voice even and calm, “but if that is your desire, I beg you wait a few weeks more -- once the village is safe… we will begin to rebuild. This I swear to you,” she lifted a hand, crossing it over her heart, and bent neatly at the waist into a deep bow the left her hair sweeping against the stones at their feet.

Rage reduced to a rumbling from a roar, the man sucked air in through his teeth, flicking his eyes away; when she rose up to her full height once more, his face was screwed up tightly, his shoulders tight and taut, and his hands wormed their way into his pockets. “Believe it when I see it,” was all he added, before skulking back to the others, whose attention slowly faded from their Kin’taris, returned to their own internal affairs.

Drawing in a deep, quaking breath, Caeliri turned from them, back up the path from whence she’d come, strides long and powerful and swift, eager to be away from the sharp bite of shame still snapping at her cheeks, and to put her promise into motion.

Returning to her rooms, in the Citadel, Caeliri slammed shut the door in her wake, moving with purpose to the small writing desk pressed against the wall below the window. The sound startled her phoenix from her reverie, making Grace swivel her head to scrutinize Caeliri with one glowing, white eye. The crest of feathers along her head rose up, curious and agitated all at once; she could feel the tense that twisted through Caeliri’s guts, and she did not like it.

More so, she did not like whoever made her mistress feel that way.

Caeliri slid her fingers over the upturned feathers, smoothing through the licking flames unburnt, smoothing and soothing the phoenix all at once. No more comfort was offered, though - her hands were quick to grab parchment and paper, pulling the pale sheet into the shaft of light the window let splay across the deep cherrywood desk. With a breath, she put pen to paper, and wrote:

“Citizens of the Dawnspire, Soldiers of the Sunguard, Once more I must beg you to aid me…”

All Things; Peace - pt. 1 All Things; Peace - pt. 2 Ruin Rising Tides, Crashing Skies A Cry for Help

#fallow fields and hallowed hearths #the dawnspire #summerglen #the sunguard #caeliri #world of warcraft #moonguard #legionfall

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fineframe3 · 2 years

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Permits

Town council offered an early 2022 price range approval item of $45,000 for the demolition of the constructing. The City permits legally licensed cell supply companies from retailers not based in the metropolis subject to issuance of a Business Tax Certificate. An applicant must present a replica of the State and native hashish licenses to show that the mobile supply business can legally operate within the city. All business hashish uses require approval of a Use Permit and a Commercial Cannabis Permit in addition to a State allow in order to function within the city.

The owner of a constructing designed by Frank Lloyd Wright in Whitefish has agreed to not demolish it if a purchaser may be found by Wednesday.

State regulation allows cities to regulate and/or prohibit industrial marijuana businesses, medical marijuana dispensaries, and out of doors marijuana cultivation.

The architects couldn't estimate what the property owners will save in carrying prices.

Similarly, the guideline specifies that such surfaces are not acceptable elevated walkways.

Meanwhile, Gibson owns four parcels immediately west of Construction Simplified’s planned new location, the place he plans to build two house buildings that can total 18 units and have ground floor retail.

She said she aims to help them see the value of preserving historic components or incorporating original features of their new dream home. A&A Demolition and Excavation launched its demolition of several old Mark III buildings just lately for Green Thumb Industries, Inc., which is spending $20 million to redevelop a half of the facility to launch medical marijuana distribution. Also, a hearing about plans for a large residential growth near SummerGlen was pushed a second time to later within the year so the developer can work with Marion County engineers to resolve site visitors issues alongside County Road 484 near the Interstate 75 interchange. “The decision was made by the state fire marshal’s office, experts, myself, the constructing inspector and city engineers. A individual engaged within the development of a residential construction or a combination residential and business structure must be licensed as a Residential Builder with the Department of Licensing and Regulatory Affairs. There are sure exceptions in the licensing legislation to this requirement.

State Approves Demolition Of Historic Bridgewater Grange, Regardless Of Nonprofits Curiosity In Saving It

She performs administrative duties including getting ready correspondence, maintaining and tracking the hashish applicant data, and offering data to the general public in regards to the utility process. The committee rejected La Spata’s reasoning and sided with the landmarks panel and homeowners. It is frequent for City Council committees to defer to an alderperson’s position on zoning points. A future house must comply with improvement tips set forth by the historic district. The council’s Committee on Zoning approved the proposed demolition of the West Town two-flat at 843 N. The Commission on Chicago Landmarks beforehand signed off on tearing down the house, figuring out that despite being in the East Village Landmark District, the house was not a “contributing” constructing to the historic area.

Other Publications

The cost to deconstruct the house is about $110,000, which makes the net price of deconstruction $40,000. That’s a financial savings in comparability with an estimated $50,000 to $60,000 for standard demolition. McLeod, doing enterprise as Lexington Avenue NW Properties LLC, owns the Lexington Avenue property and plans to operate a cannabis dispensary on the ground flooring of the constructing. The property includes two vacant structures that shall be demolished for the project. During this walk-through, the surveyor may even think about where to gather representative bulk samples of suspected asbestos material. Once https://www.soluplus.ca/ -through is complete, the surveyor has the mandatory data to begin the sampling course of .

Imperial Beachs Solely Hashish Dispensary Will Get Nearer To Building

LANESBOROUGH, Mass. — The Planning Board unanimously permitted the development of a new building on 660 Cheshire Road, which can home a cannabis dispensary. Officers with the Provincial Anti-Violence Initiative Strategy raided the home in late November 2011 after receiving a tip. In the basement, police mentioned they found more than 1,300 marijuana vegetation value $1.3 million. A variety of cement blocks had been removed from the basement wall to get access to hydro lines and bypass the meter. Hermiston, who lives on one side of the house, said he bought it with the neighbour on the other aspect. The neighbours and the true property agent who sold the house wouldn’t talk about what it price, however The Star has realized it offered for $135,one hundred.

#Démolition montréal #Démolition résidentielle #Démolition #Décontamination moisissure #Décontamination amiante

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sare-wen · 6 years

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Duty Bound:

Seeking permission from her commander to depart for the Summerglen in a blind hope to protect her home and the people within Sare’wen looked onto the Archon awaiting his decision.

Telchis looked to Sare'wen. "No, you will be deployed as I see fit. I cannot afford to divide my forces any more than we already have."

Sare'wen's eyes flashed a brilliant crimson hue for a second before receding. Gritting her teeth the young priestess nodded silently "Understood. Sir." Her features cooled as she stared forward avoiding to meet anyone’s gaze, her fingers grip tightening around the hilt of her blade.

The Archon’s voice carried over the army as orders were issued out to his commanders.

"Ranger-Captain Firstorm! Move your forces to Oakvale and secure the Engine of the Dreamwarden. If it falls then all is lost in the Oakvale forever. Knight-Commander Emberstar! Move to the Dreaming Gardens of Evergrove! Find Lady Evelynne and secure his people back to the Dawnspire! My army will move to Sundial Anchorage too free the port. Once doing so we can have allies sail to our shores. I mean to call in our debts abroad."

A crisp salute was offered onto the officers as a show of respect while the soldiers were dismissed from the meeting. The news of the attacks on the Spire’s home front left a lurch hanging within the bottom of the girl’s stomach, bile, and acid swirling about threatening to escape at any given time. Where the other two deployments left excitement and uncertainty within the heart of the young priestess this news left heartache, and sorrow.

What would become of her home, of her family? Family!

Sare’wen’s daughter wrote to her weeks ago arranging to meet her at their home in-between deployment, but upon their arrival war was already on their doorstep.

The beat of her heart raced faster and faster with every passing second, she could not deflect from her duty, she took an oath for the sake of another and now that other will have to pay it back in full. Their daughter’s life was at risk and her fate unknown. The magical connection she shared with her broken just months previous by her grandfather, and now her life hung in the balance, and the young girl would be truly alone during their darkest hour.

The stone staircase seemed to carry on and on, as if an unending maze that would never end. Sare’wen couldn’t feel anything in that moment, her legs moved faster than the girl thought possible as her muscles ached from the strain, still she pushed forward.

Bursting through the door the woman panted heavily as she sucked in sharp breaths that felt like sharp blades cutting down her throat. Grasping onto a sealed parchment she slammed it down on the table leaning heavily against it. “I don’t care how much extra it will cost, but this letter needs to be delivered to the Crescent Hills immediately, my daughter’s life is dependent on it.” All the coin she possessed was placed beside the letter on the table in a small leather bag. Emerald eyes scanned the room pleading to all within for someone to take up her commission. Slowly a man from the back stepped forward pocketing her coin and the letter. “I’ll over see this.” He said to his superior before offering a single nod towards the young lady.

Relief swept over Sare’wen for a second, and the girl could feel her legs tremble beneath the weight of the recent news. Every piece of her wanted to buckle down as tears threatened to burst from her eyes. “You are Indaris, and an Indaris never breaks.” She told herself in a silent affirmation.

“Thank you.” She said forcing her body to stand on its own stepping away from the table. Her gaze caught the letter once more before she departed for duty. That carrier was her only hope in that moment for her daughter’s survival. Cyvar may have taken Va’miran away from her, but he could not deny her this very plead. “Anar’alah anaria ama.” She whispered in a silent prayer.

“Cyvar,

Your grandchild returned to the Glen and a legion invasion is on the doorstep of the Spire. I order you to release Va’miran from whatever hold and threat you have kept him under in the Crescent Hills. His daughter needs him now, her life is dependent on it. Should you disobey I will ensure to allow Aurelian to overreach as he is known for in battle and allow him to die instead of saving him as I have continuously done in the past. A child for a child, the choice is yours.

Daughter of the Crescent Hills”

@felthier @korkrunchcereal @dorksworn @forever-afk for character mentions!

This is a piece from the Legion campaign when the attack on the Spire was announced. The orders from this were taken from the D20 with @felthier ‘s permission! I’m behind on my writing so this happened several weeks ago.

#Sare'wen #Legion campaign

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