#suramar city

[late-to-the-fandom]

The Prince saves the Maw Walker in this one. Rated T for non-graphic death and violence, angst, and oblique sexual references (no smut). Read here on Ao3 for triggers and tags.

Takes place shortly after "Vices and Vows", before Denathrius' imprisonment.

Renathal cast a restless glance around his spartan Sinfall room, and - for the first time in his entire existence - wished vainly for a clock.

He had had one in Darkwall Tower: an ornately carved instrument positioned at the bottom of his winding staircase where its deep, ominous chime was at its most acoustically advantageous. And, really, such aesthetic was its predominant purpose, time in Revendreth being largely a social construct. But currently, Renathal was desperate to know exactly how many minutes past whatever hour it was so he could decide whether enough time had passed to be justifiably irritated.

The Maw Walker was late.

The candles Renathal lit earlier in the evening were almost melted down, the bottle of anima wine he had opened to breathe stood guiltily half-finished. He had polished his armor, twice, and rearranged everything on the oversized table-cum-desk. There was nothing left to do but pace the same stretch of stone floor, and seethe with thwarted desire.

The fallen Prince of Revendreth had magnanimously accepted his sex life came second to the salvation of the Shadowlands, and he was accustomed to excusing his lover’s last-minute absences with a patience a Paragon would envy. But, just this once, he bitterly wished the Maw Walker had declined whatever quest she had been offered.

Because this night was important. Renathal thought she had understood.

In less than twelve hours, they would launch their assault on Castle Nathria, a prospect of such dubious success it made even the unflappable Maw Walker apprehensive. At least, that was how Renathal had interpreted her odd reaction at the briefing earlier that day. Their hand-picked party of mortals had assembled to discuss the plan of attack, and the Prince had felt honour-bound to warn the unsuspecting beings of what awaited them within the castle: Denathrius' disciples, Lady Inerva, General Kaal and the Stone Legion, all undoubtably stood in their way. But no known Nathrian danger was more perilous than the Sire himself, and at the mention of what he could do to those with unconfessed sins, the Maw Walker's lavender face had turned a pale and sickly pink.

Unusual for her, but then, it would be an unusual fight. Death might make a bad habit of evading the Maw Walker, but Denathrius wielded destructions no mortal had ever faced. And even supposing the Maw Walker was impervious to them all, the Dark Prince did not possess her same inexplicable protection. Renathal was resigned to the very real possibility this night might be his last, and, if it was, his only request was that she be here to share it with him.

One of the candles gave a final, sputtering gasp and died, and with it Renathal's remaining hope the Maw Walker would deign to arrive. Obviously, she had prioritised some tangential assignment, despite the fact they might never have another night together. In a fit of wretched pique, he swiped the melted red stub from the table. It hit the floor with a gentle, unassuming thud, and shame crawled across Renathal's face.

He knew the Maw Walker better than that.

After the briefing, she had noted his uneasy tension and was at his side in a heartbeat, her hand on his arm and the look in her eye a wordless offer of assistance. He had whispered his request in her ear, his exact phrase eliciting a violet blush.  And while she may not precisely have promised - something the Maw Walker was loathe to do - her assurance to attend him after some appointment with the Accuser carried all the same solemnity.

No, whatever circumstance was keeping her from him must be out of her control. Renathal’s agitated mind produced an unhelpful picture of the Maw Walker engulfed by enemies, in the Banewood or the Endmire or wherever the Accuser had sent her. So vivid was the vision, he half-turned to the door, some primal instinct urging him directionlessly forward, before better sense reminded him of his own long-standing assignment: staying in Sinfall, as far out of Denathrius' sight as relatively possible.

Renathal slumped against the table, drumming his fingers in petulant frustration; then, just as rapidly straightened, a willful belligerence assuming command.

Why should he not go find the Maw Walker himself? He faced the Master in hours either way. A bit of exercise before the assault would probably do him good considering how long it had been since he had seen any decent action. And the chance to play the Maw Walker's hero ... A vision of himself cutting an effortless path through her encircling enemies offered itself up for Renathal's approval. He imagined her impassive, lavender mask crumbling at the sight of his illustrious rescue, perhaps even her arms thrown about him, eager to express the depths of her gratitude...

Without a clock, Renathal could not be sure just how quickly he replaced his armor, but he was donning his coat and corking the wine before any other candles had time to die, and had just reached the door when a tentative knock echoed from its other side.

He paused, his hand on the knob.

It was not the Maw Walker; she never knocked. Which meant it was some messenger of fate here to disrupt his reckless plan. Steeling his resolve against whatever force sought to dissuade it, he flung open the door so violently the Venthyr on the other side cringed. He threw up his hands to shield his face, as if expecting the Dark Prince to hit him, and in spite of his obscured features, Renathal recognised the smaller Venthyr: the Accuser's recent apprentice ... what was his name? 

"Gresit..." he ventured. The Venthyr slowly lowered his hands. Taking this as confirmation, Renathal pressed on hurriedly. "Do accept my apology, but I am afraid whatever this is will have to wait. I am needed urgently elsewhere."

Gresit's mouth opened and closed several times, but all that emerged were a few frightened squeaks. Seizing the lack of coherent protest as his opportunity to escape, Renathal skirted the stuttering Venthyr and strode purposefully down the dark hall. He made it four brisk, echoing steps before stopping abruptly short. It had belatedly occurred to him who assigned the Maw Walker her last known task.

"Unless," said Renathal, revolving slowly to face Gresit, and - in another unusual first for him - hoping desperately he was wrong. "This would not have anything to do with the Maw Walker, would it?"

Relief, presumably that he would not have to chase the Dark Prince down, warred with the fear firmly entrenched in Gresit's face. He nodded vigorously, and ominous foreboding rippled across Renathal's skin.

"What has happened?"

"She did WHAT?"

Renathal's eyes were wide and brimming with furious fire as they fought to accept the surreal tableau that met him in the Halls of Atonement: a shell-shocked Gresit, wringing his hands and staring at the ashen Accuser, whose quivering chin and small eyes looked terrifyingly close to tears, as she in turn gazed at the Maw Walker who was kneeling at the sanctuary’s altar, hands folded and head thrown back on her neck in unnatural, reverent rigour.

Only the Curator, absently patting the Accuser's arm, was her usual, half-dazed self.

"Renathal," she said mildly. "You’re yelling."

"This feels like an appropriate occasion!" continued Renathal at the exact same volume.

His eyes darted from one Harvester to the other, deciding who was most to blame. Really, it was the Maw Walker herself, but she was hardly worth shouting at when she so obviously could not hear him. What was she thinking attempting such a ritual without consulting him first? And tonight of all nights, when she should have been holed up in his room, making the most of their final hours together tangled in sheets and each other's limbs?

The pent-up frustration Renathal had fought down all evening finally burst through his dam of control. It demanded a victim, someone he could punish for ruining his carefully laid plans.

"You!" Renathal rounded first on the Accuser. "You, who have been the Harvester of Pride for centuries - you, who are the incessant chorus for taking only the most calculated and sensible of actions - how could you have allowed my - our - Revendreth's champion to do something so - " His hands clawed frantically at thin air as if he might rip from it some new and heinous word. "So bloody stupid?!”

The Accuser made a sound he had never heard from her, somewhere between a gasp and a sob. Instantly, the Curator's arm was around her, stroking her soulbind's hair.

"Now really, Renathal, that’s hardly fair," chided the Curator. "Harriett couldn't know this would happen. The Maw Walker said she simply had to atone for something before she could face Denathrius, and this is the standard ritual for atonement." She surveyed the Maw Walker's posture of unwilling penitence in polite half-interest. "I suppose since her soul is trapped within a mortal body, the ritual must be taking place inside of her instead."

The flame in Renathal's eyes as he stalked toward the two Harvesters was a mirror to the sanctuary’s menacing, crimson light.

"That supposition would have been infinitely more useful before you allowed a mortal to undergo a ritual meant for damned souls!"

"Well," the Curator shrugged. "She insisted."

Renathal's snarl made both females jump, and Gresit, in the pew behind them, hit the stone floor in a senseless faint.

"We did warn her there might be complications," the Curator hastened to add. "But Renathal, it's the Maw Walker! She doesn't exactly go by normal rules, does she? These things always seem to work out for her somehow."

As the Harvester of Dominion, Renathal's responsibilities often included the painful education of his fellow Venthyr, and he drew some small, savage pleasure from envisioning the lessons he dearly wished to impart on his criminally negligent "sisters". But the sight of Gresit's limp body reminded him of more pressing concerns. He made do with letting his heavy coat whip across their legs as he turned sharply, gliding to the altar and bending over the motionless Maw Walker. 

Suffering was etched into each line of her lavender face, so intense it hurt Renathal to look at, though he had seen the same pain on countless souls before. He called her name; softly at first, then louder, then with all the power of dominion he could muster.

The Maw Walker did not so much as twitch. Every piece of her was preternaturally still, and worry usurped Renathal's anger. 

"What can be done for her now?" he asked, gently lifting one of the Maw Walker's eyelids; the blue-white surface beneath was cloudy with vermillion mist. 

"Renathal, you know how this ritual works," the Curator scolded. "It only ends when the soul feels remorse for their sins. It's different for everyone, but the Maw Walker's quite sedulous. I'm sure it won't take her more than a few years."

Next to her, the Accuser had already flinched and squeezed her eyes shut before Renathal slowly turned his terrible gaze on the pair of them.

"A few YEARS?" Strands of his long, white hair fluttered in the gale of his furious bellow. "We move on Denathrius in HOURS!" He straightened and flung his arms out wide as if invoking invisible horrors. "How do you think her fellow mortals - all here at her behest - will react when I announce their champion will not be showing up to the raid because she is trapped in her own mind grappling with some unknown sin for the foreseeable future?" 

The sanctuary’s architecture was specifically designed for such impassioned sermons. It carried Renathal's rage to each high rafter and shrouded corner, where it lingered for long, incensed seconds before a whisper cut through the echoes.

"We ... might be able to help her."

The voice was so small and hesitant Renathal almost did not recognize it. By the time he had fixed his glare on the Accuser, she had taken a shaky, steadying breath and pressed on more confidently.

"Harvesters have the power to assist the penitent, to enter rituals alongside them.It is done on occasions when a soul becomes too lost, to guide them back to the purpose of the exercise, but ... to my knowledge, that is also a spell never performed on a mortal, and clearly complications are bound to arise."

Her small eyes flicked to the Curator, instinctually searching her soulbind for an answer; and the Curator, once the greatest archivist in reality, worried at one of her claw-like nails as she wracked her fractured memory.

"I suppose if her flesh is keeping this spell from manifesting properly, then ... anyone who attempted to enter it would be drawn inside her mind. And I can't see how they would get out again until the Maw Walker completes the ritual."

The two females exchanged a laden look, hidden meanings passing between them at which those outside their bond could only guess. At last, the Accuser nodded, and reluctantly stepped out from her Soulbind's comforting arm.

“I permitted the Maw Walker to attempt this, therefore it is my task to assist her," the Accuser said grimly, approaching the altar as if it were a gallows. "I cannot guarantee to free her in time for the assault on the castle, nor can I speak to the state her mind will be in when I am through. But I will do whatever it takes to get her out."

“No." The finality in Renathal's voice rang through the sanctuary like a deep bell. “I will do it.”

"What?" cried the Curator with a much more lively interest.

“You?" The Accuser stopped mid-stride, eyes narrowed in a semblance of their usual uncanny shrewdness. "The atonement of souls is not in the purview of the Harvester of Dominion. Have you ever performed this ritual before?”

Arching an eyebrow with expert precision, Renathal assumed his most regal and imperious stance.

"As the Prince of Revendreth, all duties of the realm are within my purview," he said coolly. "I had mastered the theory of this magic eons before your soul ever existed." And without waiting to address any further arguments, he settled himself on his knees in front of the Maw Walker as comfortably as the unforgiving stone allowed.

Renathal began carefully rolling back his sleeves, more to provide himself a few minutes of frantic recollection than because they would be in his way. Truthfully, he had next to no idea what he was doing. He had, of course, been theoretically instructed in Revendreth's proprietary rituals, but if he had ever performed this particular one himself it was too long ago to remember. At the moment, however,he considered this a wholly inconsequential detail. The atonement of souls might not technically be his purview, but the Maw Walker's well-being was. 

A tentative hand on his shoulder distracted Renathal from his thoughts.

"Are you sure this is wise?" asked the Accuser quietly, kneeling next to him. "This is my area of expertise, and you-"

"You," interrupted Renathal tersely, "could not even dissuade the Maw Walker from undertaking a ritual not meant for her kind. I have absolutely no confidence in your ability to convince her to acknowledge some clearly complex sin."

The hand on his shoulder recoiled as if burned. Renathal finished securing his sleeves around the gold bands on his arms before the Accuser collected herself enough to speak again.

"Souls who struggle with this ritual usually have a preconceived notion of who they have wronged. It will be up to you to identify the sins she cannot see. The ritual only ends when she experiences remorse for these."

"I am aware of how this ritual works," Renathal snapped, barely listening, but the Accuser plowed on urgently.

“She will seek comfortable memories to hide in. Souls always do. But you should have the power to control the magic, to summon up the memories that contain failure and sin."

"As I said, I am aware."

"And Renathal - "

"WHAT?"

The Accuser sat back hard on her heels. 

"I ... apologise," she said, her mouth twisting awkwardly around the unpleasant admission.

"Whatever for?" asked Renathal with merciless sarcasm. "You have managed to postpone our assault and, consequently, extend your leisure time with your own lover, and punish me for her sorry condition in one effortless blow. It is a plan even the oldest of Harvesters would envy. You should be suitably proud."

He spat the words like broken glass, and the Accuser bristled at the open attack. 

"I begged the Maw Walker not to do this, but you know too well what she is like. She was adamant she could not face the Master with this sin still hanging over her. She feared to fail us. To fail you." Earnestness rattled the Accuser's vocal cords unnaturally. "I know the trial of watching the soul you ... love ... struggle against their own mind. I would not inflict it on even the vilest of souls. I did not intend to inflict it on you."

Renathal's eyes found his fellow Harvester's, and, for the first time in their existence together, understanding settled hesitantly between them.

"I am sorry, Prince Renathal," she said, pronouncing his title with solemnity. "I take full responsibility for this error in judgment. And will put it right if you permit me."

"No,” Renathal said again, but the flame in his eyes had dwindled to a gentler, amber smolder. “You cannot do this. The Maw Walker dislikes intrusions on her past at the best of times. I am the only one from whom she might possibly endure it, and the only one to whom she is likely to listen. You understand.”

It was a statement, not a question. And the Accuser, who trusted the care of the Curator to no one else, whose voice alone had the power to call her soulbind's mind back from madness, nodded. She clambered awkwardly to her feet and shuffled backwards to the Curator, who dislodged the Accuser's claw-like nails from the folds of her dress and squeezed her hand.

Renathal was aware of their eyes - curious and concerned - following him as he returned his attention to the Maw Walker, pressing his fingers gently to her temples. In spite of the potential risk, anticipation blossomed in Renathal's chest, igniting in his veins and infusing the anima now pooling obediently in his hands. The Maw Walker's past was an itch he had longed to scratch. The chance to do so was a more than suitable replacement for his evening's dashed plans.

Vermillion mist crept across his vision, the ritual wrapping lambent tendrils around them both. While Renathal's knees remained cramped and pressed to the stone, he felt his mind being tugged inexorably forward. He closed his eyes, surrendering himself to the enveloping magic ...

...and when he opened them again the world was an endless ocean of swirling red.

Though Renathal could not recall using this magic before, he knew in theory what should occur: the Maw Walker's memories paraded sedately past him while he watched, like an Ardenweald play. Instead, his disembodied consciousness was caught in a vermillion maelstrom; a thousand unfamiliar, insistent sensations bombarding him from every side. Flashes of colours, snatches of sounds, smells and impressions not his own. The flood of perception made Renathal dizzy as he floundered in their turbulent tide.

Someone was crying, loud and incessant; a sound that tugged at his very soul. No. Not his soul. The Maw Walker's. That was her soul's response to the sound. Figures solidified in the anima before him, like images in a red mirror: a Nightborne female, her breathing laboured, lay limply across a bed, offering a swathed bundle - the source of the crying - to another, smaller Nightborne girl. She accepted it awkwardly. Renathal could feel the slight weight as if he held it himself. It was a baby; a thing he knew only from pictures or the memories of Revendreth’s souls. But his attention was on the Nightborne girl who held it; her lavender skin ... her wide, blue-white eyes. 

Then the moment was gone, the scene swept away in a wave of anima and replaced by another: the Nightborne girl with the eyes he recognised sparkling with mirth as she hoisted a smaller fair-haired child confidently onto her shoulders. The figures dissolved, the image reformed, and the two laughing girls ran flat out across a twilit street; again, and they slid wildly down a winding banister; again, and they lay on their backs, the older Nightborne's hands stretched above them, conjuring a gentle snow.

The younger girl's squeals of delight echoed in Renathal's - no, the Maw Walker's - mind. The sound had imprinted itself upon her; the other girl's happiness a memory that mattered. 

Then it, too, was gone, swept away in the roiling ocean of picture and noise, and Renathal allowed himself to be swept along with it, watching in fascination what were clearly the formative moments of the Maw Walker's childhood. 

Only, she and the other Nightborne were no longer children, and the scenes that flew past were of swimming, and dancing, and drinking something pétillant straight from a bottle. Twice, they rode past Renathal's vision on glowing, four-legged creatures, and once they leapt from a staggering rooftop, the Maw Walker magically slowing their fall. Wild, uninhibited laughter bubbled unbidden in Renathal's chest. The Maw Walker's laughter; the Maw Walker's happiness. He savored the delicious sensation for several, warm seconds, until the pelagic anima shifted yet again.

He knew this memory was different, more salient, from its pungent, briny odor. The smell evoked in the Maw Walker a calm and restful stillness, and Renathal, a guest in her mind, was similarly affected. He felt utterly at peace as he watched the two Nightborne lay side by side on the bottom of a narrow boat. The rhythmic lap of waves might have lulled Renathal to sleep, if their voices did not echo above it with oddly crystal clarity.

"Everything changes now, doesn't it?" 

The words were laced with gentle dejection.

"Of course not."

Renathal recognised the Maw Walker's supreme assurance.

"But you're not just my sister anymore," whined the other Nightborne, twisting fair hair around a finger. "You're the "matron of the house" now. You have duties. Responsibilities. You won't be able to truly enjoy anything or just ... be you ever again. It's such an unfair fate it makes me want to weep."

Sure enough, tears appeared fully formed on her eyelashes as though summoned there by magic. They made the Maw Walker sit up urgently.

"Please don't cry! I'm ascending, not dying. We'll still do everything we've always done."

"I know you. You won't have time. You'll work yourself constantly."

"I will make time," the Maw Walker said, craning her neck to press a cursory kiss to her sister's hair. "Your happiness is the most important responsibility I have. And you will always come first. I promise."

I promise...

The words were accompanied by a caustic, burning pain, as if they were being branded into the skin of Renathal's chest. No, he reminded himself; this was the Maw Walker's pain. The memory of those words caused her actual, physical suffering, and with a jolt to his consciousness, Renathal remembered the reason he was here.

The raid. The ritual. The Maw Walker trapped somewhere in her mind. How much time had he wasted indulging his incorrigible curiousity? The anima swirled again and another scene emerged, but Renathal refused to be distracted any longer. He asserted his power over the magic, wrestling the ritual under his control. The new figures faded, absorbed by the vermillion sea now waiting for a Harvester's command.

Renathal paused, trying to remember the Accuser's instructions from what seemed like years ago. What he needed were the memories of the Maw Walker's sins, the failures that plagued her conscience; if she was trapped, that would be where. He imposed his will on the ritual and summoned the relevant moments from its crimson depths. 

The world was suddenly agnate shades of purple and blue. Renathal blinked rapidly, clearing the last of the red from his vision, but he already knew what he would find when his eyes adjusted to the silky twilight: the vast horizon of graceful, towering buildings that was Suramar City.

Renathal had seen an illusory version of the Maw Walker's home once before. In fact, as he surveyed his immediate surroundings, he wondered if this was the same courtyard she had shown him. There was the tastefully burbling fountain, the wide and winding staircase, the towering magenta topiaries that lined the lavishly glowing streets. The only difference was this courtyard teemed with people - Nightborne - every one of them dressed in a finery to make the Countess weep. They strolled the pristine marble in stately groups of twos and threes - some eating, most drinking, all speaking in carefully cultured tones; a murmuring sea of violet decadence.

Whirling around to inspect the rest of the courtyard, a splash of divergent colour caught Renathal's eye; the black of his own coat whipping about his legs. He looked down, surprised to find himself visible, and instinctively adjusted the coat to its proper, dramatic drape. He paused, then ran a curious hand along the thick material. It was solid, but no longer soft. He fiddled with one of his golden buttons, but it felt neither cool nor smooth. Apparently, the projection of his consciousness in the Maw Walker’s mind lacked tactile sensation.

"Interesting," Renathal said aloud, but none of the passing Nightborne reacted.

Of course, they could not hear him. They were figments of the Maw Walker’s memory, and he returned to searching the courtyard for their host.

Then a low, male voice behind him said in a whisper that echoed strangely, "You were late.”

To which another voice replied, “Can I be late to my own Ascendence? It can hardly start without me," and Renathal turned to locate the source of that all-too-familiar dry humour.

His open stare would certainly be considered uncouth by the Nightborne could they have seen it; similarly, the way he tripped on his boots in his haste to reach the two beings standing on the outskirts of the crowd. But shock outdrew embarrassment as he gaped at the elegant female, and the small, supercilious smile she gave her scowling male companion. He knew that smile. Intimately. He could have drawn its subtle curve from memory. But it was still long seconds before Renathal was absolutely sure this was the Maw Walker.

It was not merely the strands of sparkling jewels strung along the length of her ears, or the silver adorning her cheeks and chin, or the heavy diadem across her forehead. It was her eyes, glittering with an unfiltered joy that matched her skin's almost phosphorescent glow. A brilliant, buoyant life animated this Maw Walker that Renathal had never seen but now might never tear his gaze from.

The Nightborne beside her, however, found her ebullience much less captivating.

“I knew it. I knew you would not take this seriously.”

“I'm here, aren’t I? That is proof I am taking it seriously.”

"This is not a game!"

His outburst startled a group of Nightborne perambulating nearby. They nodded deeply at the Maw Walker, who inclined her head in return. Her male companion stretched a thin smile across his face and waited for them to pass before continuing sotte voce.

“You are the head of this house now. And we lead the other noble families. That makes you one of the most influential people in all the city!"

"Understood," said the Maw Walker, her tightly pursed lips the exact twin of the other Nightborne's.

"And is it also understood," he said. "That everyone is watching you? Looking to your direction as a social and political leader? You cannot underestimate the importance of this position. Your mother-"

"No one cares more about honouring mother's legacy than I." A warning vibrated dangerously in the Maw Walker's even tone. "I would not have given my oath at the ceremony if I did not intend to keep it. I will not disappoint Suramar. Or mother's memory. Now, if you will excuse me, I have guests to attend."

She turned on her heel and strode off, adjusting her diadem as she went, and Renathal followed on her heels like a devoted dredger. He noticed the precise measure to her steps, commanding attention without causing alarm; and the careless expectation in the flick of her bejeweled fingers that instantly summoned a servant with a glass; and the way she sipped from it while managing to maintain her perfect, poised smile...

No title had been mentioned, but Renathal did not need one. It was clear the Maw Walker held a position of power similar to his own.

Seeing her like this sparked a familiar, ravenous need in Renathal's core, to be replaced all too quickly by visceral disappointment when red mist began to blur her at the edges. The memory was dissolving, and he wondered frantically how to make it stay. He wanted more, wanted to memorise this vision of the Maw Walker at the height of her power. But a new scene was already taking shape around him: the Maw Walker, dressed less grandly but still possessed of her diadem, standing frozen in a circular, high-ceilinged room. And the stark difference in her face from - what was for him- mere seconds before, successfully distracted Renathal from his growing desire.

She was staring out a paneless window, clearly disturbed by what she saw, and, before he had even turned his head, Renathal knew what it must be. He could hear it. The eldritch shrieks, the terrified screams; the same as the illusion she had once shown him. And now he smelt the foul odour, like sulfur, polluting the crisp, twilit air. Sure enough, following the Maw Walker's gaze, he watched as the eerily green-tinged streets swarmed with demons of various incarnations: the Burning Legion had arrived in Suramar.

It was the only thing Renathal knew capable of wringing true fear from the Maw Walker. Although, when she flinched, it was not in response to the horror outside.

"You can't!" Wet, noisy tears bookended the words, and the Maw Walker winced again. "You can't do this! You know what she did to Theryn. If you denounce her, it will be you next!"

The Maw Walker continued her terrible vigil, the fel-marred landscape apparently preferable to her sister's misery.

"That is the fate that awaits us all if we do not make a stand."

"But why must it be you?" her sister cried, her voice an unctuous whine. "Why can't the First Arcanist do this by herself?  What can you do that she can't?"

"Our house has the most influence," the Maw Walker said quietly. "If we stand with her, so will the others. If we are missing, it is doubtful any will be willing to move against Elisande." She sighed - a heavy, burdened sound - and passed a hand over her eyes, hiding the distant nightmare. "For a rebellion to succeed, it needs a leader people can see, one they know and trust. That is the purpose of the noble houses in the first place. If we lose hope, so will they. If we lose the strength to carry on, we lose them. We ... I ... must set the example for others to follow."

"You can't ask them to follow you to death! Or exile, which amounts to the same!"

"I ask nothing. Thalyssra and I intend to show the people what Elisande is doing. And what we must do now if we want to save what's left of our home." She turned at last, facing her sister's tears head on, her mask as flat and cool as a polished blade. "And I will not ask you either. I know you are frightened, and ... you don't have to do this. But I do. It's part of my responsibility. It is ... what our mother would have done."

She reached out to pull her sister to her, but the fair-haired Nightborne crumpled dramatically to the floor. She wrapped her arms around the Maw Walker's legs, burying her face in the hem of her skirt. Though, Renathal noted she angled her mouth so the material would not muffle her noise.

"You promised!" she managed to choke between sobs. "You said  - my happiness came first - that I came first - you - you can't leave me here alone - you can't! Please please please..."

The words petered into a pitiful wail. Renathal found the sound more annoying than tragic, though it tugged at his soul in a way he could not explain. He supposed that must be the effect her sister's hysterics had on the Maw Walker, whose careful mask cracked into jagged pieces as she, too, sank to her knees.

"Shhh, don't cry, please, don't cry! It's alright, everything will be alright." She gathered her sister in her arms, like a baby, cradling her tear-drenched face. "I'm here, I'm not leaving you. I'm not going anywhere. I ... I promised."

With those words, the searing pain returned. And though Renathal knew it was not his, it still made him shift in his armor uncomfortably, missing what the Maw Walker said next that summoned a servant from some hidden door. They bowed low, ignoring the intimate moment with professional practice, and awaited the Maw Walker's command.

"Please," she said, in a shaky facsimile of her steady confidence. "Please, send word to the First Arcanist that I - that I can't -"

She broke off, running a distracted hand through her hair.

"My Lady?" prompted the patient Nightborne.

"Tell her I cannot meet her today. Tell her I was needed elsewhere. And ... please tell her ... I am sorry."

The Maw Walker's face contorted desperately, keeping what might have been tears at bay, and Renathal thought it contained a more palpable suffering than her sister's continued sobs.

Was this the great sin that plagued her? For which atonement she had abandoned their evening plans? Renathal wrinkled his nose in distaste at the fast-dissolving scene. As far as he could see, the real sin was her sister's, for manipulating the Maw Walker out of her duty. And obviously the Maw Walker felt remorse, so why was the ritual dragging on? And where was the Maw Walker - his Maw Walker - in all this? He had yet to meet anything in her mind that was not memory. There had to be a projection of her own consciousness somewhere.

But when the next scene solidified it brought only more beings that paid Renathal no heed. The Maw Walker stood, arms wrapped around herself, slightly apart from a group of other Nightborne, none of whom Renathal recognised. They huddled in the shadow of a stately Suramarian mansion, and her eyes darted compulsively to each side as if she feared to be found here.

"If you are truly sorry, then help us now," said a thin, reedy voice. "It is not too late to redeem yourself to our people. We have secured assistance from Dalaran, and several heroes from Azeroth, but we need someone who can move inside the city unnoticed if our plans are to succeed."

The figure who spoke was the most emaciated Nightborne Renathal had yet seen. Perhaps female, but really too skeletal to determine; its hair wispy and colourless; face, flat and wasted away. On some eerie impulse, it began scratching violently at its forearm. One of the other Nightborne wrinkled her nose and averted her eyes. Renathal, watching curiously, wondered if this was the phenomenon the Maw Walker referred to as "withering".

"I want to help, Thalyssra, but ... I can only do so much." The Maw Walker's voice, low and strained, recaptured Renathal's attention. "I cannot do anything that might be traced back to me. I cannot put my sister in danger."

Another Nightborne female, with pale hair and vivid blue skin, scoffed. She crossed her arms and lowered her long, heavy eyebrows in disapproval. 

"The fate of all in Suramar hangs in the balance, and you weigh them against your spoiled little sister."

"Some of us love our family, Ly'Leth," snapped the Maw Walker. "But that is a burden you have not yet carried."

The two females spent a tense moment glaring at each other before the withered one, Thalyssra, intervened.

"It is possible we can solve two problems at once." She gestured feebly at a fourth Nightborne, and Renathal noticed this one was gagged and encased in shimmering chains. "Anarys' absence will be remarked upon. She must make an appearance. And illusions always were your special gift..."

She addressed this last to the Maw Walker, whose nervous eyes lit up abruptly.

"Oh! You mean ... yes. I think I can manage something close..."

Her face reassumed the blank expression Renathal knew hid deep concentration, but as she passed a glowing hand across it, it was replaced by a different sort of mask. The Maw Walker had vanished, clothes and all. In her place stood a mirror image of the same white-haired Nightborne now squirming violently against her bonds and babbling around her gag.

"What do you think?" asked the deep voice of the Nightborne who had been the Maw Walker.

"Hmph." The one she called Ly'leth gave a begrudging sort of nod. "I doubt the guards will be fooled, but ... probably good enough to convince the main populace."

"Then we can count on you to aid the Nightfallen?" asked Thalyssra.

She eyed the Maw Walker in what Renathal thought must at one time have been a gaze as piercing as the Accuser's. The Maw Walker's enchanted face clenched its broad jaw. It swallowed, then nodded curtly.

"Yes. I will help," the deep voice agreed.

"Better late than never, I suppose," muttered Ly'Leth.

The Maw Walker, letting her illusory visage fade, ignored this gibe. She was watching Thalyssra's overgrown nails gouge deep lines in her skin, and her face struggled to contain an expression Renathal did not recognise. 

"First Arcanist," she said, her voice exceedingly tender, as if even a harsh noise might break her withered friend. "I am ... so sorry. For everything that has happened to you. It is - this is all my fault."

"No." Thalyssra shook her limp hair. "It is Elisande's."

Her words were lost in the wave of remorse that swept over Renathal's head. He shuddered; as if he, like the scene around him, were collapsing. It was the Maw Walker's emotion, he knew, but this was one with which he resonated. He had spent days as long as eons engulfed by similar regret in the Maw, watching his friends dragged away into Torghast, knowing their cruel fates were his doing.

The ache of that dread memory welled up within Renathal as the Maw Walker's dissolved. He fought it forcibly down, focusing on the shrouded, circular room solidifying in front of him. But neither darkness would relent; the room stayed hazy, and inexplicable horror overrode his self-control. He could see only vague outlines, but could hear and feel a harsh, laboured breathing. Then an anguished cry rent the darkness, and Renathal was consumed by pain.

Despair, the beast he had been evading since the Maw, unleashed its full, savage wrath on his soul. Its wretched teeth, its dolorous claws, ripped into his very being; an agony the Prince of Revendreth had never endured, a torture he had never dreamed.

He was on his knees. He had not felt them hit the ground. Splintered bits of marble and glass littered the floor underneath him, and beside him hunched a familiar silhouette, clutching a figure with fair hair, streaked red. The outborn colours gleamed harsh against the dark. In his pain-blind haze it took Renathal too long to recognise blood, and whose it was.

Another broken cry filled the wreckage of the room. Renathal felt it dragged through his raw and ruined throat, but he distantly identified the voice as the Maw Walker's. Part of him wanted to help her. Part of him wanted existence to end. This was grief; this was loss - emotions Renathal had never truly experienced. Now he had, he was desperate to escape them. Even his Maw-bound cage was preferable to this torment.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he frantically forced the ritual forward, to another moment, any other moment, as long as it was away from here. The magic obeyed. The memory dissolved. He was on his knees somewhere new; a larger, lighter room, full of armored beings of various races. A clearly different memory, and yet, the suffering had not abated. It clung to Renathal as he clambered to his feet, like a thirsting mite, sapping his strength and will.

His eyes instinctively sought the Maw Walker, and found her lurking toward the back of the other beings, all of whom were watching a human with a staff recite what might have been a battle-plan. The words were muffled - Renathal made out maybe one in three - as the Maw Walker's flat, lifeless eyes wandered blandly over the human. She blinked and looked away - the man's speech became a toneless drone - and Renathal winced and clutched his chest at another vengeful pang of soul-sucking grief.

It belonged to the Maw Walker, not him, but the misery of it weighed heavy in his every limb. How did she stand it? he marveled. Surely, no being could exist like this for long. Surcease must be in a memory nearby; and in desperation, Renathal urged the ritual on, to some moment free of the unbearable pain.

The anima swirled and reformed, and the despair Renathal unwillingly shared suddenly swelled into violent, burning elation. Grief transformed into fire; literal fire. The Maw Walker was engulfed in flames.

She threw her arms wide, and an explosion of fire surged forward, consuming everything - including the air - in its path. The light seared Renathal's - no, the Maw Walker's - eyes. And the lack of air mingled with exultant triumph erased all coherent thought for uncountable time. When Renathal at last disentangled his consciousness from the Maw Walker's frenzied impressions, he found her looming over another Nightborne splayed across the shining floor; whose elaborate, glowing headdress tumbled off and rolled away. 

Other, oddly blurred, figures tiptoed cautiously toward the two Nightborne. The figures spoke, but by their muffled voices Renathal knew the Maw Walker did not hear. She stooped, and whispered where only the fallen Nightborne - and Renathal - could understand her words: "Tell my sister I will be there soon."

The Nightborne on the floor slowly tilted her head to find the Maw Walker.

"No ... you will not," Her voice was weak, but melodious, like a broken bell. She dragged limp fingers under the hem of the Maw Walker's robes, and Renathal felt the cool touch as if the skin they brushed was his. "Your timeline ... does not end."

The Maw Walker kicked out viciously, and the other Nightborne's hand fell limply to the floor. She stepped back, the heavy pounding of her heart the only thing Renathal could hear as several of the faceless figures ushered her away. The euphoria of victory was fading - Renathal could feel its ebb - and in its shadow was the familiar, hateful agony waiting patiently where it had been left. His chest convulsed as the Maw Walker stifled a hysterical cry. It was too much to bear, this endless suffering. It made even the Dark Prince want to run and hide.

She will hide in comfortable memories. Souls always do.

Words from what seemed a different age echoed up from the depths of Renathal's mind. The Accuser had told him from the start where the Maw Walker was likely to be, and in his anger toward her he had neglected to retain the information.

Gritting his teeth against the Maw Walker's distracting ache, Renathal, once more, harnessed the ritual's magic. This time, instead of searching for sin and suffering, he summoned her strongest memory of comfort and safety, and the ocean of anima swirled and transformed into a distinctly familiar light.

Dim, red, flickering candlelight. A light Renathal recognised. It threw the shadow of the over-sized table and high-backed chair across the stone wall and floor. He was in his own room in Sinfall, just as he had left it, however long ago.

"It was supposed to be messy, that's what the Plague Deviser prefers," said the Maw Walker.

Not quite as he had left it.

Renathal watched as the Maw Walker dabbed at her purple gown with a conjured cloth. It was stained with ... cream. He remembered this. The fateful Ember Court food fight. Renathal himself had not been spared. Which meant -

"All the same, a bit of warning beforehand would be appreciated," came a voice from the adjoining bedroom. "I was wearing my formal coat."

Renathal frowned, and tilted his head. Was that really what his voice sounded like?

The Maw Walker dropped onto the red velvet chaise. She giggled, very quietly, not intending for him to hear. Renathal felt his own lips curl, the weight on his chest easing considerably. Grief still lingered, but it was a dull, distant ache; buried beneath other, altogether more pleasant and ... interesting sensations. He watched the Maw Walker's gaze flick to the half-open bedroom door, leaning forward in her seat as if trying to catch a glimpse of -

"I thought the Accuser might come find you. When it was obvious the ritual wasn't working."

Renathal spun, his coat whipping across the face of the Maw Walker seated on the floor. She merely blinked at the assault. Perhaps she could not feel it. Or, thought a disoriented Renathal, observing the lines of lavender misery etched across her face, perhaps, she did not care. 

"Well," he said, after a brief, fortifying breath. "You may recall we had an engagement this evening, and you were quite appallingly late."

He bared his fangs, intending a winsome smile. But either he did not quite manage it, or the Maw Walker was too weary to appreciate charm.

"I'm sorry," she said. The words rolled hopelessly off her lips as if they had lost all meaning. "I really thought I could do this in time. I thought ... I ..."

"You thought you could accomplish in a few hours what it takes other souls centuries to learn?" asked Renathal, easing himself decorously to the ground in front of her.

The Maw Walker shrugged. She flicked her eyes to his.

"I'm usually a very quick student."

She made an odd noise, the mad specter of a laugh, that had little in common with the sound now coming from the Maw Walker on the chaise.

"Really, your Highness, you'd think after eons you would know how to clean your own armor." The half-hearted scolding was ruined by her small, irrepressible smile as she heaved herself up with excessive drama and strolled to the bedroom door. The Renathal from the memory stood there, his face all humble apology as he explained, "Well, usually there are dredgers for this sort of task."

"Shall I confess something wicked?" said Renathal conspiratorially, speaking over his counterpart in an attempt to cheer his more dismal Maw Walker. "I am quite capable of attending to my own armor. To be frank, I could have done a better job of it myself - it was obvious you knew little of plate, but ... " His smug expression was identical to the one he wore in the memory, as the Maw Walker ran her cloth over the sticky stains decorating his back. "I was rather hoping you do would that."

"I know," said the Maw Walker tonelessly. At his raised eyebrow, she amended, "I mean, I knew later. After we were -" She let a vague hand gesture describe their current, intimate relationship. "I didn't know now. Then. Here. I mean - ugh." She let her head drop into her hands. 

Nearby, the memory Renathal had discovered a crumb he could draw from the Maw Walker's hair. Remembering the thrill of that minute touch, Renathal reached out and ran his fingers through the same waterfall of dark hair in front of him. It had no feel. Of course. Neither did his own projection of consciousness. For a moment, he had forgotten where they were.

"Why did you not confide in me?" Renathal asked, more seriously. "Had you shared your concerns about facing Denathrius, I could have told you this ritual would not work properly on your kind."

"Why," replied the Maw Walker's muffled voice from behind her hands and hair, "did I not tell you how I failed my city? My people? How I abandoned my friends for family, and yet still managed to fail them as well?" She parted her fingers just enough to reveal sardonic eyes. "Have a guess."

Renathal's lips twitched, exposing his fangs.

"I would think myself uniquely placed to understand such a position."

"How? Our positions are not the same at all." The Maw Walker lifted her head, dislodging Renathal's hand. "You've made mistakes, yes, but not wrong choices. You haven't neglected your duty to your realm, or abandoned your friends, or failed your people."

"Only because I had you." 

She stared. A few paces away, the memory Maw Walker turned to hide a violet blush as Renathal licked a lingering spot of cream off his finger. From the floor, Renathal remembered feeling surprised at his own playful daring. It was the Maw Walker's influence. She brought out the braver, better parts of him.

"Were it not for you, I would still be imprisoned in the Maw, my friends tortured for my carelessness," he went on. "And had you not stayed and guided my hand, this rebellion would have been destroyed long ago. Every wrong choice I might well have made, you have been here to correct. Your mistakes are no greater than mine. And if there was a sin in them, it has long since been paid. You felt remorse in time to correct your errors in judgment, and you have spent your existence since saving every world you can. What more atonement could even Revendreth ask of you?"

The question hovered in the air like a hungry dredbat. It should have been rhetorical, only ... they were still here. The ritual had not ended. What was it waiting for? Renathal wondered. What sin was still held against her?

A gasp from the memory Maw Walker startled both beings on the ground. 

"You did not!"

"I assure you, I did," said the memory Renathal, with punishable pride. "My aim is quite accurate, even when the projectile is teacake." 

"Oh, I can't believe I missed that. How did the Accuser retaliate?"

In the memory, both Renathal and the Maw Walker dropped carelessly onto the chaise, caught in the thrill of the story and their bodies' close proximity. Entirely unaware of the other Maw Walker watching wistfully from the ground.

"I used to think," she mused, almost to herself. "If I could just save enough people, that would make up for everything. That one day I would have done enough right, I could stop feeling guilty for what I've done wrong, but ... I can't. I can't make up for it. It doesn't matter how many people, how many worlds I save. I didn't save -" The Maw Walker's throat convulsed. She closed her eyes against a spasm of pain Renathal vividly remembered but, thankfully, no longer experienced. She finished roughly, "I didn't save the one person I promised."

There was silence, except for the conversation on the chaise: Renathal regaling the Maw Walker with the history of his tumultuous relationship with the Accuser.

"She was always of the opinion I take too many liberties with my position. That I indulge too much in frivolities, refuse to take my responsibilities seriously."

The Renathal on the chaise clicked his tongue in mock-chagrin, as the Renathal on the ground suddenly remembered the other advice the Accuser had given him: Souls who struggle with this ritual usually have a preconceived notion of who they have wronged. He sat up straighter, fingers absently stroking the textureless hair on his chin. He eyed the Maw Walker, then wet his lips, wording his question with careful tact.

"Do you think ... your sister would condemn you to Revendreth?"

"What?"

The Maw Walker's face was entirely blank. Another might wonder if she was listening, but Renathal knew her better.

"Would your sister demand your eternal suffering as penance for failing to protect her once?"

The Maw Walker's mouth opened, then closed. Her flat expression did not flicker, but Renathal knew she was thinking furiously. He kept his own face scrubbed carefully clean of excitement. For every second she could find no argument, his confidence in his new theory grew. Still, it would take all his skill in rhetoric to convince the Maw Walker her preconceived notion was wrong.

"I think not," said Renathal delicately when the Maw Walker remained silent. "Your sister feared for your unhappy fate, both when you ascended to your position and when you intended to rebel. I doubt very much whether she would be pleased to see you punish yourself for the rest of your existence on her account." He paused, letting the Maw Walker absorb his premise and inference, before assailing her with his conclusion. "It seems clear to me that you alone continue to hold your misdeeds against you.  Forcing guilt and suffering on yourself for sins of which you have already atoned. You feel remorse - I have witnessed firsthand -  for your actions against everyone except yourself. I believe once you feel genuine remorse for these, the ritual will end."

The Maw Walker on the floor blinked.

The Maw Walker on the chaise laughed.

"You said that to her? I can't imagine she took that well."

But the Maw Walker wasn't listening to her memory counterpart. She was shaking her head slowly at Renathal as if he were a young, misguided soul she hated to disillusion.

"Renathal that's ... that's madness. I cannot feel remorse for my suffering. I don't deserve remorse, I deserve the suffering. Even if no one else does hold my sins against me, I must hold them, I must ... punish myself until they're paid for. Until I have atoned! I must -"

But whatever else the Maw Walker was sure she must do died on her tongue as she caught sight of Renathal's face. 

"You think to lecture me on the intricacies of sin and atonement? On what constitutes the deserved and undeserved suffering of souls?" His voice was a lethal hush. "Maw Walker. You forget your place."

The incandescent red fire brimming in Renathal's eyes was most unlike the amber smolder of desire the Renathal on the chaise possessed as he growled, "Oh, I assure you, I am quite redoubtable when the situation requires it." To which the Maw Walker, her own eyes dark, replied, "I might enjoy seeing that one day."

But there was no flirtatious raillery from the Maw Walker on the floor. She was staring at the Dark Prince in front of her like she had never seen him before. The colour drained from her face as Renathal rose, summoning swirling, red magic about him, and with an imperious wave of his hand banished the happy memory back to the vermillion sea. He would permit her no more safety or comfort, no more distractions from the ritual's demands.

"Rise," he ordered the Maw Walker, pronouncing her name like he owned it. And the mortal before him was helpless to do anything but obey.

Even on her feet, mired in red nothingness, she had to crane her neck to keep her eyes on Renathal's formidable face. Her lips parted, not in desire, but in primal trepidation and awe. A small part of Renathal worried what consequences this power play would have on their relationship, should his plan succeed. But it did not matter. The Maw Walker needed saving. And this enemy could not be defeated by her lover or her friend.

"As the Harvester of Dominion and the Prince of Revendreth," pronounced Renathal, his voice saturated in unbroachable sovereignty. " I accuse you of the sin of inaction and the sin of unrepentance. Not for your deeds of old, long paid for by your voluntary acts of service, but for the cruel suffering you continue to inflict baselessly upon yourself. Repent," he commanded, and the anima around them echoed the word like a liturgy. "Feel remorse for this crime against your own person, and your sins are forgiven. Your atonement, complete."

Time passed. It was as impossible to count as it had been back in Renathal's rooms. The Maw Walker's face was painted in pale fear and wonder, and Renathal found he gleaned less from the emotions than her usual, familiar blankness.

Then, she lurched forward and flung her arms around his neck, clinging to him like an anchor without which she would drown. Renathal felt her solid form against him, but there was no sensation to it. No softness in her robes, no warmth in her hands, no weight of her body on his, until ...

...until there was. The sudden, unexpected force of her knocked Renathal backwards, off his feet, onto the ground. His head hit unforgiving stone. And when the dim red stars had cleared from his vision, he was staring up into the high rafters of the Halls of Atonement. Not exactly, he reflected amid the flurry of concerned voices and helpful hands, what he'd envisioned in his earlier fantasy of a gratefully rescued Maw Walker. But, as he wrapped his arms around the body collapsed atop him - familiarly, beautifully soft and warm once more - and the Maw Walker tucked herself as close as she could against him in spite his armor and whispered, "Thank you," against his throat, he thought this moment might be better than any he'd planned.

There was certainly no denying to himself the pleasant change the night had wrought in his mood. Through the next hour's chaos of curious questions, brisk instructions, and last-minute preparations, Renathal was considerably more confident about the impending assault than he had been pacing alone in his rooms. All his tense nerves had dissolved like a memory in the ritual magic, and as he stood on the empty Bridge of Paramountcy, his gaze on Nathria, he felt no dread. The experience, while harrowing, had reminded Renathal why this fight was necessary; why Revendreth must be wrested from the Master and returned to its noble purpose.

Sparkling, purple light blinked into existence at the end of the bridge, and Renathal regarded it appraisingly. Was he imagining it, or were the Maw Walker's steps faster, freer, lighter, as if she had shed some long-carried burden? His lips curled in custodial satisfaction. The other realms of the Shadowlands, the mortals of Azeroth, they could think whatever they liked about Revendreth, but this - the salvation of suffering souls - was what it meant to be Venthyr.

"The courtyard is secure," the Maw Walker informed him, and was there a shade more cautious respect in her usual supreme assurance? "Everyone is ready and awaiting your command, your Highness."

Renathal arched an eyebrow, but did not answer. He stepped back from the parapet, stopping when he was sure he was hidden from sight of the courtyard, and beckoned the Maw Walker to him. She edged dutifully nearer, pausing just outside his easy reach.

"We'll be late after all if we don't hurry."

"Can I be late to my own raid?" he asked wryly. "It can hardly start without me."

The Maw Walker blinked. Little spots of violet appeared on her high cheekbones, accompanied by a small, self-conscious smile. She tried to hide both behind a hand, but Renathal's arm shot out and snatched it, drawing her to him and stifling her gasp with a kiss little concerned by anything so arbitrary as time. All the Maw Walker's remaining reserve vanished as she followed the intimate instruction of his lips, obeyed the demands of his tongue and teeth; and when Renathal had deemed the moment complete, it was she who chased his mouth for more. 

"Come,"  he ordered brightly, wrapping them both in wending shadows. "We face the unending, undefeatable, undefiable darkness ... together."

Read Part 22: Dances with Venthyr | Visit the Masterpost

#prince renathal #renathal x maw walker #renathal fanfiction #revendreth #WoW fanfiction #world of warcraft #shadowlands #fanfiction #my writing #the maw walker #the accuser #the curator #accuser x curator #suramar city #religious language #death #venthyr covenant #light & shadows #mortal reminders #What are you hiding?

[dandelionandkrindle]

I don't know if youre taking requests for locations of warcraft, but if so could you do Suramar? :3

i am indeed taking requests! suramar was already on my list but i'll move it up just for you anon 😘

#btw i'm not sure if you mean suramar or suramar city but i'm doing both (they're so beautiful how could i not) #anon #asks

[mimithemoomin]

I love Suramar so much, such a beautiful city ✨🌙🔮

#world of warcraft #suramar #wow legion

[lemongrace]

Requisition

Nobody ever paid attention to a guard. People on the streets of Suramar parted absent-mindedly, oblivious to the true nature of the elf. Oblivious that a wraith had been walking among them.

Briefly catching a glimpse of her own reflection in the canal below, Eluein quickly averted her gaze. Donning a disguise in the city of her birth was more than insulting - it was repulsive. Deep blues replaced the unhealthily pale colouration of her skin, with the twilight-coloured armour in stark contrast to her usually monochrome palette. Even so little as the way the dual-bladed glaive rested in the palm vexed her, yet it was a necessary element of the deception; the fewer parts she obscured by magical means, the better.

Navigating the Grand Promenade proved surprisingly easy - the layout of the streets changed little from the one still fresh in her memory, despite the residences differing from those she remembered from the days of the Empire. A critical eye swept the landscape. The once familiar skyline became enriched with newly built spires she didn't recognise, flying the colours and banners of the Nightborne capital that proudly displayed the rebellious dusk lily. Even the sky, now locked in the artificial state of perpetual dusk, was alien to behold; her home, usurped.

Frustrated by the sight, she picked up the pace. The Venimeux manor was still a good distance away.

The protective enchantment woven into the walls of Idyssa’s estate prevented direct teleportation, warding off the interior from unwanted visitors. An obvious idea following the insurrection - now she cursed herself under the breath for even suggesting it.

As soon as she turned into the residential area, the sound of gossip and laughter assaulted her ears. The whisperings of fleeting romances, political shifts, personal betrayals - it was all so vapid and inconsequential.

Eluein stopped as the passing carriage forced her to a halt. The faceless guard ensuring its safe transit nodded and, without a second thought, she dipped her head back. All without a single word spoken. Truly, it was much easier to sneak into the city under the guise of a Duskwatch than assume the role of a local noble. Her already rigid gait made the deception that much more convincing.

The more she heard, the more she realised how quickly the socialities moved on. No one even so little as mentioned the tragedy that befell Lady Venimeux in her own home anymore, despite the odd and random nature of the murder; that too became old news. Good. It would’ve made everything that much easier.

A single guard kept watch over the entrance to the estate even a good week after its lady’s passing, still like a statue. A deterrence against looters, she thought. Thankfully, she only came to requisition.

“The location of your station has been altered. Venimeux Estate is no longer your charge.” Shalassian. Despite it being similar to her own ancestral language, she hated the bastardised sound of it. Speaking it, even less so.

“On whose orders?”

“The guard captain’s. You are to relinquish your post.” The fact it was a lie didn’t matter. Even if he made the effort to confirm the truthfulness of her words, she would’ve been gone long before anyone arrived to apprehend the imposter.

Had he not been standing there for hours already, perhaps he would have protested more. A discontent grunt was all she was given before the guard saluted and finally gave up his post. Once he disappeared from view, so did she abandon the deception.

A motion of her hand drew a sigil in the air, Shal’dorei in design - a corresponding rune on the other side of the door stirred, and the arcane lock keeping them shut relented with a distinct click. Wasting no time, Eluein disappeared inside.

The interior was just as she saw it the last time - a lavishly decorated salon in the shades of violet and maroon, opening to a massive window overlooking the entire City. Cupboards and bookshelves neatly aligned with the walls, a bouquet of fresh flowers in each vase– fresh flowers?

Impossible. All servants she was aware of had been recalled, and she didn’t sense a presence of another upon her arrival. The property was empty - not even so much as a single spider upon the ceiling. Not a single soul that wasn’t her own, unless the house’s mistress rose from the grave.

Eluein descended downstairs with haste, unlocking the doors of the underground study. It stood in stark contrast to the rest of the estate - dark, lit only by the waning flames of leyfire lamps, with the air so thick with a pungent scent of herbs and moisture it became difficult to breathe. Idyssa’s alchemist den heaved under the weight of hundreds– thousands of vials, tinctures and potions; magical solutions of such a wide variety she’d need hours to carefully go through them all. Luckily, she only needed one.

She recalled its dark violet colour, and the unpleasant thickness of the liquid; how it swirled within the vial and the bitter taste it left in her mouth. How the near constant pain wrecking her body became a negligible afterthought under its effect - at this point, she couldn’t remember a single moment without it. Like needles under the skin, pushing deeper with each passing day.

As minutes passed, her search became more frantic. Cabinets slammed, pages torn from the notebooks in a desperate hunt for the formula. Shattered glass accumulated on the floor at an increasingly rapid pace, mixing the various potions into a single noxious pool. Tearing out a drawer from the wooden desk, she flung it across the study in a fit of rage; her usually aloof and cold visage reduced into a seething, wheezing mess. Nothing. Not a single vial of the medicine remained, and she had sent its creator to her early grave along with it.

The walls of the state shook as an underground explosion rocked its very foundation.

#world of warcraft #oc writing #eluein #idyssa #highborne #nightborne #the ravencallers #suramar #im sorry women #but the gay grandma got too silly #and might have killed her nightborne gf

[the-purple-elf]

Daily Writing Challenge - Feb 24

It has been a hot minute since I've written anything, so bear with me and forgive any mistakes! I may have expanded the actual size of the barrier to encompass more territory because I wanted to use that particular spot above the city for the setting. Thanks to @sharpen-jadescythe for showing me that spot!

@daily-writing-challenge

Words: Rumor/Discovery

Ever since the Burning Legion restlessly paced outside the bubble surrounding Suramar City, an oppressive fear had befallen the whole of the city. The streets became deserted; the markets struggled for business and the pleasure houses and luxury shops closed their doors earlier than usual. There was no doubt war had come to their doorstep, and with the undeniable instinct for the elves to close themselves off from contact when anything threatened their shores, their fates had certainly been sealed with no allies to come to their aid.

Xalendyra plucked the gauzy curtains back from the window with a heavy feeling of suspicion settling into her gut. There he was, her wayward husband, slinking out the back door again. This was unlike him, because if there was an errand to be run, he would send the servants. He never did anything himself if he didn’t have to.

Dyra slipped on her cloak and stepped out the back door after him, waving her hand across the path he had stepped across mere moments ago. A faint glow, like a purple mist, revealed his path through the gardens. It was easy enough to use magic on him while he had slept. A simple location spell and she could find him at all times. He was remarkably incompetent at magic, she thought.

And so she followed him, but it was difficult to be stealthy with so few people in the streets. At times his path seemed to use discretion as it skirted into nearby alleys, but his steps along the edge of the canal were hard to follow without being seen, and she often had to slip into pockets of shadow to avoid patrolling guards. His steps wound towards a park on a cliff above Suramar, a scenic spot that was treasured by many as a picnic location, prime for lover’s trysts. Such a place was empty now, and woefully unguarded. 

As she climbed the path with an assist from a levitation spell, she could see a dark cloaked figure standing at a stone picnic table, but he was not alone. Another dark hooded figure stood nearby, and Dyra could make out the sharp spikes of pauldrons underneath the fabric. She couldn’t quite make out who it was, though. She would have to move closer.

What are you up to, dear husband? She rolled this thought around in her head as she crept closer, situating herself behind a tree. She couldn’t hear any words, but could tell by their gestures that the one with the spiky armor had all the power in this conversation. She saw the figure raise a hand almost to strike her husband, and he flinched as an armored gauntlet curled into his collar, and bodily lifted him from the ground. Terror gripped her throat as the figure carried her husband to the precipice of the cliff and dangled him over the edge, his legs kicking vainly. His arms were splayed out in a gesture of surrender and she could hear the panicked babble of his words rise above the normal volume of hushed conversation.

“Please - I am doing all that you asked and more! It would be rather rash to lose an ally such as myself – I assure you – I am more than willing to comply – I just need more time – I – ahh!”

It seemed the figure had no patience for his begging and casually released him from the cliff. Everything seemed to slow to a crawl as she saw him plummet: before she could stop herself, the words of a feather fall spell uttered from her lips, the shimmer of the spell wrapping around her husband’s form before he vanished over the side. 

Dyra scooted painfully along her rear end down the steep path, stumbling in her haste, sharp rocks and branches ripping at the fabric of her clothing. Montremus, she thought with despair. He was repellent and a thorn in her side, but she didn’t want to see him smashed at the bottom of a cliff. Whatever he had gotten tangled up in, she could certainly help him out of it, for her sake too.

She finally got to a place where she could stand up and breathlessly ran to the area she thought he may have landed. It was a lush and well manicured garden, but she could not see anyone standing along the paths. Her gaze drifted upwards, trying to track where he could have fallen, adjusting her expectations with the knowledge of the buoyancy that feather fall offered, which means he might have floated in a more parabolic fashion. Her eyes captured a flutter of movement from the canal and she ran towards it, catching him just as he dragged his sopping form from the water.

“Monty,” she cried out in relief, scrambling to help him climb up the ladder. His cloak and robes clung wetly to his form, tangling around his legs as he tried to right himself, and he crashed into her, taking her down with him. 

“Dyra!? What are you doing here?” He asked, his voice high-pitched and shaking. “You must go home at once!”

Her hands pawed over his soaked body, checking him for wounds. “Are you all right?” She ignored his demand and hugged him despite her feelings that he was a stupid, stupid man and she probably never should have saved him. Perhaps it was to the credit of a fragment of whatever devotion remained that she pressed her warm lips against his cheek. That move startled him into silence because she hadn’t willingly touched him in months.

“Everything is fine - thanks to you, I suppose?” He asked, gently pushing her away and settling his dark gaze upon her. There was tenderness beneath the suspicion glittering in his eyes, which surprised her.

She nodded as he stood and helped her up with him. “I saw whatever it is you were doing. I saw you almost get murdered.”

“My business partner has a little bit of a temper,” he said evasively, removing his cloak and draping it over his arm. “It’s nothing to worry about. As you can see, I was meant to land in the canal.”

He was lying, because it was her application of feather fall that had adjusted his course. He would have been nothing but pudding on the cobblestones if it hadn’t been for her.

“I don’t like the look of this business, Montremus,” she said, fear lacing her tone, causing to be sharper and whinier than she liked. He took her by the elbow and they began their way back to their mansion. 

“Trust me, I’m doing the best thing for our family’s wellbeing.” He was momentarily distracted by the eerie green glow of ships appearing and disappearing just outside the shimmering purple ward around the city. “These are dark times. Our demise is on our very doorstep. Other civilizations have had far less warning and we are fortunate enough to see our fates written on the wall weeks before it actually happens.” 

Dyra’s gaze turned to follow his own. He was referring to the Burning Legion’s attempts to break through the magical barrier that encompassed their city. Their civilization that nearly burst at its seams, confined as it had been to this sphere. She imagined leadership was in a panicked state, day and night, since the invaders appeared. But she trusted them to have a plan, and somewhere in the depths of her mind, she felt detached, as if it was happening to someone else and didn’t wholly affect her future. Perhaps she couldn’t blame Montremus for taking action. Maybe he was trying to bargain with a smuggler to take them out of the city and flee.

“I’m scared,” she said before she realized she had. After a few seconds, she realized he had said nothing, and she turned to look at him. He watched the barrier, seeing dim explosions light the sky as the Burning Legion began to launch ship-fired weapons at the magical shield.

“So am I,” he admitted. They both stared at the beginnings of the assault, hands linked in the dim moonlight.

#worldofwarcraft #suramar #daily writing challenge

[azerothtravel]

What are your favourite questing zones? Even the stuff that’s been removed by now

That's a tough question! I had to think about it for a while since there's so much to sift through. I'll do one from each expansion just 'cuz this is gonna be long enough. I think overall...

Western Plaguelands (Vanilla version). Gathering the Scourge Stones for the Argent Dawn. Meeting Chromie for the first time. The big fight with the lich. Having to be so strategic getting to and away from those cauldrons. Fordring family drama. Most of vanilla had this really nice feel of just wandering around getting into trouble, but WP had a like "now it's serious" vibe that was really fun.

Netherstorm. Man, I loved Netherstorm. The biospheres, the cursed Kirin Tor village, Socrethar, the netherdrake area, the BE's mana pumps, the whole place felt like the wildest thing that had ever been in WoW to that point. Dr. Boom! All that crazy stuff up on the north with the Consortium. It was a ride.

Borean Tundra. It's really hard to pick from Wrath, but I just loved the intro experience. Investigating the destroyed Horde camp, meeting the tuskarr, that gnomish airfield, using tanks for the first time, the assault on the necropolis, and of course Saurfang's big hero turn in that one quest. So much cool stuff. A great way to get an expac started.

Twilight Highlands. The world PVP elements really stick out to me from this zone. I spent so much time in the dwarf vs. orc conflict. But also founding the Horde base there, the Krazzworks was absurd, getting our first gross look at the Old Gods stuff that was coming in the final raid, the Gob Squad, Alextrasza Vs. Deathwing... It was a cool zone.

The Dread Wastes. I loved leveling in Pandaria so much. It felt like a return to the wandering adventurer vibe of vanilla, now with stronger storylines. But the entire Klaxxi storyline was such a weird surprise. That zone was so bizarre, so unexpected. Waking the Paragons, finding that fishing village, my big homie Kovok... I had a lot of fun in that crazy place. Naturally they betrayed me, but what else could I expect?

Frostfire Ridge. Kind of similar to Borean Tundra, I guess, just a very memorable intro experience. Starting your garrison, meeting Thrall's family, and all the drama therein. The first time you assault Bladespire Fortress, seeing Thrall unleash the elements, climbing that chain... That was fun. And despite the results on this list so far, I've always really, really loved snowy zones, so there's that too. Also: I spent hours and hours and hours in vanilla climbing every mountain I could, just to see what was up there. The answer was almost always "nothing." But WoD, and Frostfire more specifically, was the first time they started hiding cool items and little events in random spots for me to go find while exploring. Finally, a reward for my wandering! So that really sticks out, too.

Suramar. This may be controversial, but Legion is my least favorite expansion. Gameplay-wise, it was great, don't get me wrong. Artifact weapons were cool and all. But it had a combination of the most absurd, lazy retcons they have literally ever done (How are have all these civilizations been living on these islands for 10000 years if Gul'dan raised them from the bottom of the sea 30 years ago?????) and some really annoying zones. Val'sharah is my all-time least favorite zone, I felt like I constantly got lost or couldn't get where I wanted to go from where I was. But then came Suramar. The Nightbourne are stupid, literally the exact same thing as the blood elves ("Oh, no, we're another race of arcane loving elves with a well of power who're addicted to magic and whose once-noble leader has thrown in with the Burning Legion, totally different!"), but damn if I didn't get totally absorbed in the revolution storyline in the city. Helping Thalyssera recover, finding like-minded people, basically spending the whole zone doing espionage and terrorism against a corrupt government in what was, at that point, the most expansive city in the game... It was fun, I can't lie. That daily challenge with the lil withered army. The masquerade. The winery. The zoo part??? It was a really different experience.

Zuldazar. Leveling sure was weird in BfA, huh? Each side getting 3 zones and all. And, like, despite my obvious Horde preference, I feel like the Alliance got the cooler ones (Stormsong Valley and Drustvar in particular). On the Horde side, tho, Zuldazar was pretty good. Finally, a look at a troll civilization still at full power, lush environments, dinosaurs, conspiracies, creepy temples, it had a lot going for it, and was really pretty, too.

Maldraxxus. Gotta give it up for my hometown, baybeeeee! I was not excited to choose the Necrolords in Shadowlands. They just didn't seem as interesting as the others, and I've never had much affinity for the undead, and they kinda looked like just the undead place. But the whole lore kit of them being the army of the afterlife, and me being a warrior and all, and then I find out Draka's there, and I'm an orc? No choice. But imagine my surprise when Necrolord turns out the be the absolute most fun Convenant, no question, and their zone turns out to be full of weird, wild experiences, a really compelling storyline, and the most lore characters per capita of any zone (Mograine! Lady Vashj! Mankrik's wife!!). I had a great time running around that zone for not just the leveling experience, but the whole expansion.

Azure Span. Maybe too early to call, but Dragonflight has no zones I don't like. This is unheard of in the history of WoW. I think I like Ohn'ahran Plains the least, but I like all of 'em! But I think Azure Span wins. For one thing, snowy zones. For another thing, the glorious return of the tuskarr, who I have loved since Wrath and badly wish was a playable race (Gormorash has only had "of Iskarra" as his title since I got it. Come back for soup!). Plus, a bit of justice for Sindragosa, Kalec's storyline in the zone is remarkably touching, the Kirin Tor stuff is weird and frequently funny, the Rannan and Lathos storyline hits pretty hard... Even surrounded by really memorable zones, it feels the most memorable.

Well, I guess that's my very long answer! I hope it was interesting! Honestly, it coulda been like twice as long, there's so many zones that I think of fondly, but this seems like plenty. Thanks for asking!

#wow #world of warcraft #asks

[swampgallows]

dragonflight is a masterpiece so far btw. it is so charming and beautiful, and im having so much fun. the world itself and the characters in it have always been my favorite part of wow, and dragonflight definitely delivers on the exploration theme of the xpac. so many wonderful little side quests make the world feel vibrant and alive and every npc, no matter how minor, feels like a unique character with a history and a family. i absolutely love the amount of props and doodads spread throughout that make habitats feel lived in, cities and towns populated, and add to the overall landscape. paintbrushes, teapots, baskets, rugs, cooking tools, books and letters, potted plants—these are some of the reasons suramar felt like a real lived-in city in legion, and why boralus and dazar’alor had so much color and life. the differences in architecture and all of these cultural assets further flesh out the races we meet in the dragon isles, and feel natural to their environments and lifestyles. further environmental details like all the flower clusters on the plains, the kelp and chunks of ice in the floes, the bright lichen and fungi in the zones with decay give the land itself even more identity and character. it’s all gorgeous, imbued with love, and most of all, alive.

it feels like wotlk in many ways, and not just because the tuskarr are here: the threat is formidable and present, but manageable, perceptible, domestic. the lich king was a threat, and his touch was felt everywhere, but there was still a visible and familiar world all around us worth saving. the land felt old and new at the same time. the dragon isles seem to borrow from this ethos and have rolled everything players loved about wotlk into the new zones. the azure span is by far the most “mini northrend” of all these: a pine forest that slopes from autumnal down to wintery lowlands and arctic shores, topped off with a nyckelharpa soundtrack. considering that the main antagonists of dragonflight are the primalists who want to throw the elements into chaos, it makes sense that there is so much focus on the beauty of the natural world and the order needed to maintain it. 

the story is cohesive and woven so well into preexisting lore. so many names and places are being dropped that haven’t been talked about since the original rts games and their books, and it’s nice to see the return of so many old faces. even the most minor npcs are someone’s favorite, and it’s been a blast seeing all the cameos of characters from previous expansions, some even as far back as tbc and vanilla. i’m not big on dragons or their lore, but as a longtime fan i can palpably feel the influence of other longtime fans on the development and structure of the story. terran gregory’s hype alone on twitter feels like the metzen days where he is genuinely excited for others to enjoy the expansion and “geek out” alongside him. 

mechanics-wise im really loving the expanded professions; professions are one of my original loves in wow, and it’s been a thrill to return to the days where being a tailor meant i could craft gear that was actually useful. i like the specializations too and their mini talent trees; it’s been fun coordinating with other people in the guild to see who will prioritize what so we can cover all the bases. this might be an unpopular opinion, but i love the explosion of reagents, especially things like meat and plant and animal parts; it feels better to craft something where you can trace it back to where it came from, versus the esoteric gold-sink reagents of shadowlands that called for things like “orboreal shards” and “progenitor essence”. it was more thematic for the xpac, yes, but as a matter of preference it feels more productive to skin an animal and be able to loot meat, skin, and fur or feathers from it. not to mention the profession equipment is a cute, immersive touch that adds more personality and identity to crafting, and it’s given major boosts to “secondary” professions of fishing and cooking (my favorites in any video game). my top priority, of course, is that the cooking recipes in dragon isles are cute and silly and sound delicious, which sold me on dragonflight from minute one.

anyway, i’m having fun. i hope the rest of you guys are too. i have both laughed out loud and cried during several different quests and i’m still not even finished with the main campaign storyline (i’m trying to get there though... i want world quests!!). this is wow that feels like wow without relying on the faction war to do so, which is new territory for me. the truce is tenuous, but not on the shores of the dragon isles. it feels amazing. i want to avoid saccharine words like “wholesome”, so all i can say is that the love is definitely there. there is love and hope in dragonflight, which is all i have ever wanted, and gotten, from wow.

#blathering #world of warcraft #dragonflight

[hadoriel]

A Stupid Guide To Unlocking Zones On Alts

For stupid people like me, who like to be a weird little completionist

Note: This is for !!ALTS!! and assuming you've already done all this content on at least one character. WoWhead has decent guides on how to unlock zones for the first time, but not much on how to do so on alts and skip as much work as possible

Classic: There are no zones that require unlocks from Classic. There are some that get reused in new phases, but those will be stated in the expansion their new phase got added

TBC: Isle of Quel'danas has the Sunwell raid and Magister's Terrace dungeon. Should be by default unlocked on all characters, you get there via a portal in the middle Shattrath building

WOTLK: There are no zones that require unlocks from WOTLK

Cata: Molten Front has to be manually unlocked on any character you want to do it on, but it's mostly achievements, so I personally don't see the need to do it on alts. You access it via a questline in Hyjal, and a portal to get to the zone is in the southwestern part of Hyjal, near Malorne's shrine. All other Cata zones should be default unlocked on all characters

MOP: Isle of Giants and Timeless Isle both should be unlocked by default on all characters. You can just take a flightpath to both places or fly there manually. Isle of Thunder, however, requires a short questline to get onto the island. This should start at the portal to get there in Townlong, by the Shado-pan Garrison

WOD: Your garrison requires a short questline to set up and a bit of time to build it into anything worthwhile. If you use the hearthstone, it'll teleport you to the empty plot of land where your garrison would be. Just go towards where your dock is eventually built, and start the questline. Tanaan should be by default unlocked on all characters, though I haven't checked if you still need to do the questline to build the base in order to use the portal back and forth from Ashran (I usually just fly around Draenor and hit Tanaan that way)

Legion: When you first use the Dalaran hearthstone, you need to walk a few steps into the city until you get an NPC pop up with your class questline. I've forgotten if you go to your class hall first, then do your weapon, or if it's weapon then class hall. Either way, you need to do the first weapon in order to unlock the rest of the setting up of your class hall. Unlock your WQs at Khadgar in the tower, Suramar phases in once you save Thalyssra (also from Khadgar). Argus teleporter should be unlocked by default on all characters, though the Broken Shore you might need to just talk with Khadgar at Krasus' Landing and skip the instance in order to set up the camp there

BFA: Ugh. Now the messy expansions with not enough skips and way too many unlocks. Make sure you get your Heart of Azeroth from Magni. Nazjatar should be a relatively quick questline from the docks area. Mechagon will appear from disgruntled workers in the main city. Unlocking your WQs should be from I think the docks as well - if not, you need to set up at least one camp in the enemy zones to unlock the mission table and upgrades. I had to go to the zone select map, click one, and then not continue it in order to do anything with the ship. You should probably do the questline for Vale of Eternal Blossoms and Uldum since it gives you the legendary cloak you need in order to do the last boss of Ny'alotha. Unfortunately this is a LONG questline, like at least a few hours worth. There's not really any skips for this which I think is just the worst. I tend to stop once I just get the cloak, but you can keep going in order to unlock the visions. Almost forgot battlefront zones (Darkshore and Arathi) which should be unlocked by default on all characters. I just stepped into the portal and didn't need to do anything else

SL: Oh boy! More content with not enough skips! To unlock your covenant, you have to just choose it in Oribos and do the whole. dang. campaign. All of it. You can skip your renown grind with the vendor next to the Oribos flightmaster, but that's really the only thing somewhat useful. Otherwise you're just funneling anima to whoever's next on the list to do stuff with it and unlocking things little by little while earning the tmog. The Maw you get sent to during your covenant campaign, very early on, but the covenant invasions to the zone seem tied to Korthia's unlock. If you hate Torghast, there's no skips for the tutorials there and it's part of the covenant campaign. You may be alarmed at the Eye of the Jailer and no mounts! These things unlock with Korthia. Korthia seems to unlock via the campaign, too, after the Torghast, Maw, Runecarving tutorials. You still have to do the questline to get the lodestaff and the guy to come to the cave if you want to earn rep there, though. This should start with just looting any treasure or rare. Zereth Mortis unlocks with a skip on dialogue with Bolvar pretty early in the campaign, like around the time you select a covenant

Dragonflight: Since DF is current, all of the unlocks are just via talking to and using dialogue skips in Valdrakken when you hit cap level. I just hop up to the Seat of the Aspects, talk to Alexstrasza, kill the rebels in the city but drop it after that point, skips for Forbidden Reach are also at the top of Seat of the Aspects, after that you can go down to Zaralek with Sabellian and Wrathion but drop it when Loamm is opened, talk to Shandris to get the Emerald Dream quest and use the item she gives you as a skip. You still have to do the part where you go through the portal in Ohn'ahran Plains and then talk on the other side, but can drop after that (The reason for that is that despite the Emerald Dream portal automatically by default open for alts, the weekly quest doesn't count them as allowed to finish until you've done that one step of the questline. It's dumb)

#personal #wow #world of warcraft #long post #reference for myself basically #did I miss anything? #I'm finally just going through old content with my Dracthyr so this is what came of it #reference #guide #PLEASE tell me if I missed any skips especially for BFA and SL I die

[tindomielsilverthorn]

Star Crossed Meeting

A collaboration with @devsash​ who owns Reneald.

Suramar City, The Stars Dream Inn

The tall, dusky man pushed back a long section of his hair. It rippled down behind his shoulder, the pearl white shimmering off the darker black strands that blended throughout. It moved properly out of his way as he inspected the newly acquired furniture for the front lobby.

Out on the streets, a Nightborne moved as though he tried to appear unhurried. There was a shifting shimmer to his form as he weaved through the marketplace, barely noticeable to most. He clutched a bundle in his hands with a gentle, but firm hold. Despite his pace, his eyes shifted from left to right, scanning the area for guards. A shopkeeper narrowed her eyes at him, trying to decide if she recognized the man.

He offered her a nod and quickened his pace. The bundle in his hands shifted very slightly. "Be still," he said under his breath. "We'll be away from here soon."

“Hmm,” she muttered, returning to her task. 

A guard rounded the corner, stopping suddenly before he collided with the swiftly moving man. “Wait a moment,” he said, holding up a hand.

He stumbled back at once, almost falling over. "Pardon, sorry," he mumbled, his accent decidedly different from the others. 

A muffled mewl of protest emitted from the bundle.

“Something’s not right here.” He reached for the bundle in the elf’s arms. “Who are you? What have you got there?”

He yanked the bundle out of reach. Whirling around, he bolted into the nearest crowd of shoppers.

“Stop him!” the guard called, making chase behind.

The bundle shifted again in his hands, emitting a louder mewl. "Hush!" He pushed his way through the throng of surprised Nightborne, ignoring their exclamations.

The guard tried to push through, but the irritated crowd had closed in, watching his retreat. “Guards! To the market,” he called out, trying for assistance.

The thief ducked into an alleyway. Spotting an open window, he climbed into it at once and closed it behind him.

Dery’s ears twitched at the sound. The workmen aren’t here today. Odd, he thought to himself. He turned to look around the room. Not spying anyone, he called out. “Hello? Is someone there?”

The man froze, the fine hairs on the back of his neck prickling with tension. He could feel the beast within him stir protectively. Grimacing, he tried to force it down. Turning into a monster here would make him even more conspicuous.

There was another impatient mewl before the owlkitten leaped out of the bundle. Its hind paw clipped the mask he wore in passing, causing it to clatter to the floor. His illusion vanished in the blink of an eye. Where previously stood a Shal’dorei, now a human man, pale of face with auburn hair tied into a messy, short tail. His steel grey eyes widened at the sound of footsteps approaching. He was out of options.

Dery moved towards the sound and entered the dining area. He looked around, his eyes landing on the figure standing there. A long eyebrow quirked upward. “Greetings. I am afraid the inn is closed at the moment. Is there something I can do for you?” he asked warily as he stepped ever closer.

The intruder stared at the Nightborne man, the blood draining from his face. The shift pushed harder against his will and his nails began to blacken and elongate. The tension was broken by the little owlkitten. It scampered over to the elf's feet and mewled, peering up at him.

Dery reached down, picking up the tiny creature. “Sir, are you alright? You look as though you may collapse.” He continued to move towards the human, gesturing towards a chair.

The owlkitten snuffled into Dery's hair before turning to peer at its rescuer as well. The Gilnean man glanced at the window, then back at the other man. He opened his mouth to say that he was fine, but what came out instead was, "Don't let them catch us. Please." A hint of the beast's rumbling growl lent a deep undercurrent to his voice and he clamped his lips shut.

The Nightborne stopped a few steps away. “Them?” He regarded the man carefully for a moment. He blinked suddenly as the realization hit him. “Oh…of course. You are part of the Alliance. That is a problem.”

The newcomer nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He tried again to force the shift back.

“Hmm,” the man replied. “Follow me then. Quickly.” He turned and walked to the door.

The human blinked. The owlkitten peered over Dery's shoulder and squeaked at him. Taking a deep breath, he heaved himself to his feet and retrieved the mask. He hurried after the Nightborne man, keeping low.

Dery stepped out of the dining room and made for the stairs. “Go up there, wait by door 5. I need to get the key,” he said softly. He turned towards the front desk. “Go on,” he urged, seeing the man hesitate. “It’ll be all right.” He reached up as he moved, stroking the soft fur.

The stranger crept up the stairs as quietly as he could. He clung to the shadows, his grey eyes glowing softly as he watched the stairs for the Nightborne man.

The owlkitten squeaked again before nuzzling Dery's cheek with its beak.

Lifting the key to room 5 from the hook, he thrust it into his pocket. After that, he began pulling the other keys down and setting them on the desk in what he hoped would appear to be a haphazard manner, though it was contrary to his normal routine. Once that was finished to his satisfaction, he strode over to the stairs, headed towards the human. The owlkitten peered over his shoulder at the scattered keys and hooted softly. “Hmm? What is it, you cute little thing?” He paused before climbing. “Did you want to play with them?” The little creature squeaked at him before bopping its beak very lightly against Dery's cheek. “Later, once your friend is safe,” he promised.

The Gilnean's heart pounded as he waited. What if the strange man was leading the guards right to me? I would be forced to shift and fight my way out. The thought caused the shift to press closer. He grimaced as his knees began to bend backwards, forcing him into a lower crouch.

Dery took the stairs two at a time. As he reached the penultimate step, there was a pounding on the door. “Swiftly now, little thing. Let us hide your friend.” He ran down the hall and stopped at the recommended door. “Forgive me for being abrupt, but get in there and use the extra furniture coverings to hide yourself. I’ll see if I can turn them away.” He yanked the key from the pocket of his vest and thrust it into the human’s hand.

The man fumbled with it before sliding it into the lock and turning. There was a soft click before the door swung open. He slipped in at once. "Give me the owlkitten," he whispered. "If they find her, they'll take her away."

The owlkitten mewled anxiously. It craned its neck to peer down the stairs. Dery scooped the baby from his shoulder. He held her before his face, looking deep into her eyes. “I need you to be brave and very quiet, little thing. I can’t keep you safe if you are noisy. Can you keep our friend safe?” He stroked her beak gently with the tip of his finger. She hooted softly, nuzzling him again. “Good girl. Go to him. Brave and quiet now,” he murmured, looking at Ren. He held the owlkitten out, his pale, glowing eyes calm.

He took her gently, cuddling her close. "Thank you," he whispered.

Dery nodded and turned back down to walk down the stairs. “Hold a moment. I am coming,” he called.

The man closed the door and locked it. Glancing around, he ducked under a nearby covering and held the owlkitten close. "Be quiet now," he whispered. "If they find us, I can't bring you back to your mommy." The owlkitten squeaked softly before burying her face in his shirt.

Dery opened the door. “Good day. How may I be of service?” He smiled, his expression carefully curated.

The guard peered at him, then beyond him into the inn. "We're looking for someone," he said. "He seems to have stolen something the trappers brought in."

“Hmm, that isn’t good at all. I’m afraid I can be of little help. The inn has been closed for repairs and renovations,” he offered, stepping aside so the dusty floors and newly delivered furniture was fully visible.

"Ah." The guard nodded. "Have you seen a man passing by this way carrying a bundle?" He continued to search the visible space from his place at the door.

“No. My sincerest apologies. I have been a bit focused on getting this furniture checked in. It only just arrived today. Fine craftsmanship, don’t you think?” Again he flashed a smile at the guard and set a hand on the back of one of the chairs.

"Yes, indeed." The guard stepped back. "Well, if he's really not here, we'll have to continue our search. He can't have gotten far."

“Thank you for keeping safe our city,” Dery replied with a bow. “Do come by once we have opened again.”

He nodded. "Stars be with you," he said, saluting Dery before turning and heading back to the street.

“Stars guide you,” Dery replied and closed the door. He placed a hand against the wood and took a few breaths. Once he was certain the guards had left, he made his way back up the stairs. Stopping in front of the door to room 5, it suddenly occurred to him that they had made no agreed signal to alert the man that he was safe. He knocked softly. “They have gone to search elsewhere, my friend. You and your tiny charge are safe for the moment,” he called through the door.

The stranger let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. The owlkitten looked up at him and chirped. "Yes, I think we're safe now," he said softly, lowering her to the floor. She scurried over to the door and scratched at it. He glanced down at his hand and heaved a sigh at the black claws. He closed his eyes and took deep breaths, attempting to reverse the shift. His knees righted themselves but the claws did not recede. The owlkitten mewled at him and scratched the door again.

 "I'm coming," he said, slipping the mask on. His elven illusion flickered into existence once more as he stepped to the door and unlocked it. The little creature darted out and squeaked at Dery.

Dery gathered the owlkitten up. “Hello again.” He stepped in and blinked. “You’ve put on an illusion…” he murmured, almost disappointed.

The illusory elf blinked at his tone. "Wouldn't it be safer?"

“Inside my inn? There is no one here to harm you,” Dery replied gently. “Unless, you intend to leave without even introducing yourself. Which seems to me, as I have helped you, I should at least be permitted to know your name.” The owlkitten glanced over at him and chirped.

"I'm Reneald Armstead, sir. You can call me Ren." He almost extended his hand before remembering his claws and lowered it. Instead, he bowed at his erstwhile savior.

Dery bowed in return. “I am Derient Thodris. You may call me Dery, if you like. You are most fortunate to have stolen into my window. You seem to have someone the trappers wish returned.” He glanced down at the owlkitten in his arms. The little creature snuffled into his hair before nuzzling him gently.

Ren nodded. "Begging your pardon, sir, but they took her from her mother. She belongs with her family."

“Oh, I don’t disagree with you at all. But had you attempted to hide in another building, I’m afraid you would have lost her,” he replied. He chuckled at the soft feathers brushing his skin. “Have you eaten? Has she?”

"I'm afraid not," Ren admitted. "See to her first. She's been without a bite for hours."

“I’ve an idea. How about you both join me in the kitchen?” Dery suggested. He gently scratched the back of the owlkitten’s neck. “I think I’ve more than enough to get you both something while we wait for the guard to pass completely.”

"Oh no, sir, I don't want to impose." Ren shifted slightly. "I'll eat once I'm out of the city."

The owlkitten chirped before nuzzling him again. Dery shook his head firmly. “Now that simply will not do. I have all manner of things. I cater to so many different kinds of people, I can surely come up with something you would enjoy. Please, allow me to do this for you.”

"I..." Ren hesitated. "Alright. Lead on, sir."

Dery guided him towards the stairs. “Is there anything you find disagreeable? To eat, I mean.”

Ren hesitated, debating with himself. "I'm..." His throat constricted and he glanced away.

The owlkitten hooted softly, curling against Dery's chest. “Particular?” Dery stole a glance at the man behind him, curious.

He swallowed hard and nodded, peering at his feet.

Dery pushed the door to the kitchen open. “I have some fresh caught fish, already cleaned and deboned. Some steaks, I think I may even have a chicken,” he offered. He nuzzled the owlkitten and set her on the counter. “Let’s see what I can find for this little thing.”

The owlkitten scampered over to sniff at the nearest plate.

"May I have the fish?" Ren asked hopefully.

“Of course,” Dery replied, delighted Ren had agreed to accept food. “Oh…do you have any preparation in mind? I…I learned that there is a way to serve it sliced nice and thin and eat it raw. It’s not to everyone’s taste though. You can do the same with the stag meat. What did the Pandaren call it…sa-sa…oh damn what was it?” he furrowed his brow, trying to recall the name. He sliced off a chunk of meat and started chopping it up into small pieces for the owlkitten.

"May I have it raw?" Ren peered at the owlkitten, afraid to look at Dery.

“You want to try it? Oh, how delightful! I’m so grateful to you. Let me get my sharper knives,” he said, excited. 

Ren blinked, glancing back at him as the Nightborne man set a bowl of chopped meat up in front of the owlkitten and opened another drawer.

Pulling out two long, thin knives, he set them on the counter. Turning to the ice box, he withdrew a rather large, reddish fleshed fish which he set on the counter. The owlkitten squeaked and cocked her head. She sat at Dery's elbow, watching him closely.

He carefully sliced off sections, creating thin, single bite pieces. He hummed as he worked, arranging the fish on the plate in a fanwork around a little round bowl. “Will you…remove your illusion? So I may see you?” He peeked at Ren for a moment, then returned to his task.

"If... if you insist, sir." Ren tugged the mask from his face. He set it on the counter and lowered his hands out of sight.

Dery smiled. He studied Ren’s features, taking him in. “Your hair is such a wonderful, warm color,” he commented. He poured some soy sauce into the little bowls in the center of their plates. Lifting one, he set it in front of the Gilnean. “Something to drink? Tea, arcwine, water? I’m afraid that’s all I have here at the moment.”

"Your hair is very lovely too," Ren remarked, then blinked. He had not meant to say that out loud. "Just tea for me, sir. Thank you," he managed before reaching to stroke the owlkitten. The creature purred, nuzzling into his hand.

Dery lifted the kettle and filled it with water, then placed it on the stove and lit it. Turning back, he sat down. His eyes fixed on Ren’s. “Why did you risk so much for one owlkitten, Ren? This city can be dangerous to outsiders.”

"She... I heard how loudly she cried for her mother when they took her away." He peered down at the baby wistfully. "She needs to be free and live with her family, where she belongs." Sensing his change in mood, the owlkitten turned and set her forepaws on his chest. She nuzzled him with a soft squeak.

“You’ve a good heart, Ren.” He picked up a bite of fish and dipped it in the soy sauce before placing it in his mouth.

"Anyone would have done it if they had heard her." He smiled at the baby's antics, pressing a kiss to her beak. "But you'll be home soon, won't you, little one?"

“Many would have left her when faced with the dangers.” Dery looked down towards Ren’s plate. “Will you try it?” He lifted the  small bowl of meat for the owlkitten and placed it close to Ren. The little creature hooted before scampering over to the bowl and began devouring the meat. 

Ren reached for a slice of fish, then started, catching sight of his claws. He tried to snatch his hand back at once.

Dery placed a hand over Ren’s. “Why do you recoil? Have I upset you?”

Ren gasped at the contact. Panic flooded his mind. "I... I..." The beast pressed closer. Its sharp teeth pricked his gums as the hair on the back of his hands and arms thickened, assuming almost a fur quality. His fingers shifted in Dery's hand, the joints lengthening as the claws turned hooked and sharp. Stop. He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing it back with all his effort. Stop!

Dery took his other hand and clasped Ren’s gently. He stroked the back of it with his thumb. “Let it go, Ren. Let yourself do what you need to,” he murmured.

A soft cry of despair escaped his lips as the shift overtook him. Within moments, his human form was gone, replaced by the hulking worgen. He kept his eyes closed, trembling.

“There. It’s finished. Now just breathe, my friend. All will be well,” the Nightborne said gently. He continued to stroke the back of Ren’s hand with his thumb, making small circles over and over.

Ren's ears pinned back against his head. The owlkitten looked up from her meal before padding closer to nuzzle him gently.

Dery closed his eyes as well, and started humming a soft, gentle tune. The worgen's ears twitched at the song. The owlkitten squeaked before bopping her beak against his snout.

He cracked an eye open, stealing a furtive look at Dery. The elf’s face was calm and serene. Through it all, he continued his tune. Ren's breathing began to calm.

The little creature beside him nibbled gently through his fur in a grooming gesture. She hooted at him again before padding over to Dery and laying her head against his cheek.

Dery chuckled softly before continuing his song. He opened his eyes and watched Ren carefully. Grey eyes met his from a sea of black fur. They appeared fearful and hesitant. “You are safe here, Ren. I promise you,” he said, his voice soothing and calm. He studied the worgen’s features, smiling. “You have beautiful eyes. The same in both forms.”

"You're... not afraid?" he asked in his low, growling voice.

“Not at all. You are not the first I have seen. Nor do I think you capable of the horrors I have witnessed these past years from those that took over this city,” Dery replied. He stroked the black fur on Ren’s arm. “You are quite handsome like this as well. The color of your eyes draws one in, even more so because of the dark fur.”

He blinked. "I... don't know what to say to that," he murmured, confused. The owlkitten nuzzled Dery before moving back to finish her meal.

“Well, what does one usually say, when offered a compliment?” Dery asked before picking up some of his fish. He dipped it and took a bite.

"Thank you," Ren said in a small voice.

“You are most welcome, my new friend. And no, you do not frighten me. If anything, I find you all the more intriguing.” He released Ren’s hand and nudged the plate closer. “Eat. You need it.”

Ren reached for the fish and ate in silence. Shame made his ears droop and he lowered his gaze to the plate.

“Will you tell me what brought you to Suramar? Not the city, but the land surrounding it,” Dery prompted.

"I came to collect some herbs as needed for the Dreamgrove, sir." Another piece of fish vanished into his mouth.

“So you aid the Druids there?” His ears pricked at the kettle whistling. Rising from his seat, he moved to lift it. He set it on a board on the counter while he measured out the tea. Then he began pouring the water over it into the pot.

Ren nodded. "They were kind enough to take me in and teach me."

Dery placed the teapot on the tray and covered it with a tiny lid. He added a couple of tea cups as well as a small bowl. Following these came a sliced lemon, some sugar, and a pitcher of milk. “How delightful. And so, in return, you brave the wilds of the world to bring them things they require?”

"When they need me to." Ren watched him work out of the corner of his eye.

The owlkitten padded over to Dery's spot and plopped down. She chirped at him. Dery carried the tray and set it down between them. He poured a cup of tea for himself, and filled the bowl for Ren. “I find this to be easier for people like you,” he offered. “Would you like anything in it? Cream? Sugar?”

Ren shook his head. "Just black is fine. Thank you, sir."

Dery set it down by Ren’s plate. “Please…will you call me Dery? Sir seems so, oh, formal.” His gaze took in the shine of Ren’s coal black fur, the sharp claws, the shape of his ears. 

"Alright... Dery."

“How do you like the fish? I think it’s delightful,” Dery said, taking another bite.

"It is," Ren murmured. "A Pandaren recipe?"

“Correct. They are quite adventurous with food. I rather enjoy it.” He gazed into Ren’s eyes a moment before looking away, worried that he might make the man uncomfortable.

Ren helped himself to more fish. "Can... can you teach me?" he asked softly.

Dery’s face lit up. “I would be happy to.” The owlkitten squeaked at them before settling at Dery's elbow and placing her head against his arm. “I think someone might be getting tired,” he murmured. He gently stroked down the owlkitten’s back with a couple of fingers.

"It's been a very eventful day for her," said Ren softly. "She seems to really like you."

“I think she is very sweet,” he replied.

Ren nodded in agreement. Taking a deep breath, he willed himself to shift back. Within moments, the worgen vanished, replaced by the human once more. "I'm sorry you had to see me like that," he mumbled, scrubbing a hand through his hair.

“Nonsense. I found it to be rather enlightening. I’ve never seen someone actually change before my eyes. Though…” he said carefully. “I think you are not happy that someone witnessed it.”

He offered Dery a rueful smile. "Not everyone is as kind in their reaction." The owlkitten yawned, her eyes dipping shut.

“Then they are fools. None of us are without the mark that this world leaves,” Dery replied, smiling kindly. He squeezed a bit of lemon into his tea and raised it to his lips. “Oh, stars…let me put yours in a cup since you have regained your human form.” He reached out for the bowl of tea.

"Thank you." He glanced around. "Are you the innkeeper?"

“I am,” he confirmed. “I took over when my father passed.”

Ren lowered his head. "I'm sorry to hear that."

“My thanks. It has been some time now, though I miss him at times. I wonder what he would think of how I let the inn get in such a state,” he chuckled softly, shaking his head.

"You seem to have it well in hand," said Ren, glancing around.

“You wouldn’t think so if you had seen it just two months ago. The Legion…well, I am grateful it is over.” He poured the tea carefully from the bowl into a cup and set it before Ren.

Ren nodded, accepting the cup. He sipped the tea, allowing the warmth to calm him. "There's something I'm still curious about," he admitted, peering at Dery.

“Ask,” he invited.

"Why did you help me?" He glanced at the sleeping owlkitten. "I stole her from your people, and my people are your enemies now. You could've just handed us over to the guards, but you didn't. Why?"

Dery chuckled. “That is a simple question with a complicated answer. For one, I am not convinced that my people have figured out that this practice of capturing young, rather than breeding with the stock we have in the city is inappropriate.” He lifted his cup and took a sip. 

"Right." Ren’s brow crinkled into a frown as he tried to puzzle out what the Nightborne man was saying.

“What I mean is, it’s a terrible thing to do, but the trappers keep going. And no one stops them.” He sipped his tea again and sat back in his chair. “For another, I have never turned someone in need away. Truth be told, I care less for the absurd authority of this city than I do for people.”

His frown deepened. "Then... why do you live here? You could go somewhere else like Dalaran."

Dery sighed. “This,” he gestured to the building, “is all that’s left of my parents. And, how could I help the people who need arcwine to sustain them? So few of us will go against the elite of our society and help the others.”

Ren nodded slowly. "You belong here," he murmured.

Dery shrugged. “I suppose it would be more accurate to say that I don’t belong somewhere else. I’ve no real reason to leave.” He turned slightly in his chair and tugged a towel from the shelf behind him.  He shook it out and then made a pseudo nest. Very carefully, he lifted the tiny owlkitten up and placed her on it. The baby shifted slightly before curling up more tightly in the soft cloth. His eyes drifted over Ren’s features again.

Ren nodded again. "Suramar is beautiful," he said.

“And you? Where do you belong?” He started to reach a hand out, but caught himself.

Ren shook his head, glancing away. "Nowhere," he said, taking another sip of tea.

“You…” Dery started, biting his lip a moment. “You could visit, from time to time. If that…forgive me. You probably wouldn’t be interested in that.” He pulled his hand back to grip the cup in all ten fingers.

He blinked and glanced back at the Nightborne. "Really? You want to see me again even after... well... that display?"

Dery’s cheeks filled with color and he dashed a hand through his hair. “I…”

Ren’s surprised grey eyes softened to join a gentle smile. "I will come again then. Tomorrow evening?"

Dery blinked. “Truly? You will?” A smile burst out across his features, setting the tattoos on his face to shimmering.

Ren blinked, his eyes widening in awe. "That's so beautiful," he murmured.

“What…what is?” The Nightborne looked around, confused.

"These." He stretched a hand out, his fingers brushing very gently over the shimmering tattoos on Dery's cheeks.

Dery gasped, his blush deepening to spread all the way to the tips of his ears. “Thank you,” he whispered, not daring to look Ren in the eye.

Ren blinked again before snatching his hand back. "Oh Light, I... I didn't mean to give any offense, I'm sorry."

“No…no offense. I…” He took a slow breath, closing his eyes. “I was deeply flattered.”

"I meant what I said though," Ren said earnestly. "They look very beautiful."

“Ren. I feel I should tell you, because I do not wish to offend you accidentally.” Dery opened his eyes slowly, gazing at the ginger-haired man across from him. “I…well…”

A confused frown creased Ren's brow. "Was it something I said?"

“No…it’s just…” Dery rubbed his face. “I may blush or…when you touch me…because I… well, I fancy men. And I just thought you should know. So you could choose to do…or not do, whatever it is you are comfortable with.”

"Oh." Ren glanced at his hands. "Should I not do that?"

“I liked it very much. But I…I don’t want you to be uncomfortable. I haven’t been looked at or touched so tenderly in years,” Dery admitted.

"I'm not uncomfortable," said the Gilnean. "But I don't want to make you feel that way either."

“You aren’t. Gods, I’ve made a bit of a fool of myself, haven’t I?” He chuckled a little, hiding his face in his hands.

Ren hesitated before moving closer and placing a hand on Dery's shoulder.

“I’m all right.” He lowered his hands and smiled. “Just a little embarrassed is all.”

"Don't be," Ren said gently. "I'm glad we found you and you were willing to help us."

“I’d do it again. Without even a blink.” He cleared his throat and brushed his hair behind his shoulders. “Will you still visit tomorrow?”

"I'll come again," he promised, smiling. "Maybe I'll take you for a short flight over the city, if you like." He glanced up. "If there's a place that's safe enough."

“Take me for a flight?” Dery peered at him.

Ren nodded. "I can shift into an owl and carry you on my back." He smiled ruefully, rubbing the back of his neck. "I couldn't shift in the crowded streets with the owlkitten. But if I did, we wouldn't even be in this mess."

Dery’s smile faded from his lips. “Yes. Of course,” he whispered. “My apologies, for your discomfort. You…you may leave from the back garden if you wish to fly.” He gestured towards the kitchen doors.

Ren peered at him, unsure. "Have... I offended you?" he asked.

“I thought…” he started, but shook his head. “I’ve been foolish. I thought we were beginning to… well, you should be safe now. You don’t have to remain in this mess any longer than you wish.” His voice was strained, though he did his best to keep it even.

Ren frowned. "Dery..." He took the Shal'dorei's hand. "It was definitely a mess earlier, when I had to outrun the guards with the owlkitten," he said. "But sometimes, the little messes in life can lead to beautiful things. Beautiful people." He smiled, his grey eyes warm. "I'm glad it led me to you today."

Dery studied Ren’s face for a moment before leaning in suddenly to kiss him.

Ren blinked. His gaze darted from Dery's eyes to his lips. He found himself leaning in as well, his lips meeting the elf's. His hand rose almost of its own accord to gently cup the tattooed cheek.

Dery let the kiss linger a moment before touching his forehead to Ren’s. “I… forgive me. That was…” he stammered out, his entire face turning a deep shade of purple.

Ren chuckled. "I'm sorry. I must taste like raw fish." He brought his fingers to his lips, covering his mouth.

“We ate the same thing. I didn’t even notice,” he murmured. “You…um…” His face filled with color. “Gods, I haven’t done this in a frightfully long time.”

The Gilnean man smiled. "I haven't done it in some time either." The owlkitten snuffled softly in her sleep.

“And I haven’t…I mean you don’t…this is all right? Th-that I kissed you like that?” Dery pulled away, his sudden boldness now gone.

"It's fine," he responded with a rueful smile, rubbing the back of his neck. "I think I needed it myself."

“Really?” Dery’s face brightened.

He nodded again. "I'll come back and meet you tomorrow evening," he promised.

“I’ll have dinner prepared. Fish again, or would you like something else? I will have time to pick things up.” Dery rose and moved to the counter, drawing out some paper.

"Fish would be nice." Ren lowered his head. "I'm not sure if many other meats are as easily handled when served raw."

Dery stifled a laugh. “Oh, sweet Ren. I can do it any way you like. If you want other meat raw, I will do it happily. It is a pleasure to treat you.” He lifted the remaining fish onto the paper and wrapped it up. “Take this with you. Please.”

He blinked at the fish. "Oh. Th-thank you." He peered at the Nightborne man. "Are you sure I wouldn't be imposing on you?"

“You have made an unbearable week into something bright. This is the very least I can do,” Dery murmured. He pushed it across the table to Ren.

Ren accepted it somewhat hesitantly before chuckling. "It's nice seeing you so happy."

“I could very much say the same,” Dery admitted.

The Gilnean glanced at the owlkitten. "Do you want to come with me and set her free?" he asked on a whim.

Dery looked at the slumbering creature. “You mean it? I… I wouldn’t be in the way?”

Ren shook his head. "If you carry her on my back, we could go to the thicket and set her free. Then I could drop you back here." He smiled. "Only if you want to though."

Dery’s smile spread wider. “I would love to. Should I change? Is this ok?” He looked down at his soft blue silk shirt and pants.

"It should be fine." Ren picked up the sleeping baby carefully. "Lead the way."

Dery gasped, excited. He reached for Ren’s hand and tugged him towards the back door. Stepping out into a fragrant herb garden, he pushed the work table out of the way. “Is this…is this enough room?”

Ren glanced around. "Yes, it should be." He held the owlkitten out. "Hold her for me please?"

Dery nodded. He reached out and took the owlkitten, his fingers brushing, feather light, over Ren’s.

Ren smiled. "Once I've shifted, climb on my back and hold on." Closing his eyes, he knelt. Snowy white feathers sprouted from his skin and within moments, an enormous owl appeared on the floor. He turned to Dery and hooted softly, nudging the elf with his beak.

"My...stars..." Dery whispered. He gingerly stroked the feathers along the giant owl's neck. "I won''t hurt you, will I?"

The owl hooted again before nudging Dery gently towards his back.

Dery climbed on. He snuggled their tiny charge close and held on. “I think I’m ready.” He trembled with excited anticipation.

Ren spread his wings wide and flapped. They rose steadily into the air in almost total silence. The ground fell away below them as the cool breeze ruffled his feathers. Turning his head all the way to the back, he peered at Dery and hooted softly.

Dery failed to notice the strange position, as he was far too busy looking around with an enormous smile on his face. “This is…incredible.” Strands of his shimmering white and blue black hair tugged back in the breeze.

Ren hooted again, returning his gaze to the front. He steered towards the thicket, flying steadily.

Dery gripped a little tighter, looking out over the lights of the city, then the thicket below.

Ren circled down carefully before landing as gently as he could. He hooted softly again.

Dery slipped from his back, a couple of feathers coming free in his hand. “Oh gods…Ren…I’m sorry,” he exclaimed, horrified.

Ren shifted back, chuckling. "It's okay. Didn't even hurt." 

“Are you certain? Let me check, please?” He moved behind Ren to check him out.

"Of course." Ren smiled at him. "A few loose feathers isn't a big deal." He glanced around. "Her mother should be somewhere close by." The owlkitten stirred and squeaked sleepily.

Dery sighed, relieved. He held the little creature out to Ren. “So…how do we do this?”

Ren accepted her. "We're here now," he said to the baby. "Call for your mommy." The owlkitten turned to the bush, her ears pricking up. She mewled loudly.

Dery watched carefully, stepping beside Ren. “Now what?”

The owlkitten called again. Ren opened his mouth to speak, when a yowl answered from the bushes nearby. The owlkitten chirped excitedly, scrambling down from Ren's hands. She scampered into the foliage with another happy chirp.

A large owlcat emerged from the shadows. She purred softly, nuzzling the baby.

Dery gasped softly. “That is amazing. Go be happy, little thing.” He gripped Ren’s arm, watching closely.

Ren smiled at the elf. "The mother will take her further away," he said. "Owlcats are clever creatures. They'll learn from this and move their range elsewhere." The owlcat nudged the baby along and they vanished into the bush.

“Incredible. Truly. So long, little friend.” He waved to the bush, stopping himself after a moment. He put his hand down abruptly, blushing. “Sorry..I…”

"It's okay." Ren smiled. "She'll be safe now with her mother. Besides, she obviously took a liking to you."

“I rather liked her as well. Thank you. For showing me this.” He released Ren’s arm and cleared his throat.

"You're welcome." He chuckled. "Shall we head back?"

Dery nodded. “I suppose we are finished here,” he murmured, looking around once more. 

Ren knelt and shifted back into the owl. He hooted softly at Dery.

Dery climbed back up, gently smoothing the feathers down. “I’ll be gentler this time,” he promised.

Ren hooted again. Once Dery was securely on, he took off into the sky, flying back to the inn. Dery leaned in, pressing his chest down and gently held on to Ren’s neck. Ren flapped steadily before descending to alight in the herb garden in the inn. Dery let go, then slid from Ren’s back. Ren shifted back and stood. "Here we are." He smiled. "I hope I didn't ruffle you up too much from the flight."

“I suppose that depends on whose opinion I am seeking. How do I look? Am I a mess?” He peered at Ren, curious.

He shook his head. "There's a nice color in your cheeks that makes you look very lovely though."

Dery’s cheeks darkened further. He covered them with his hands, though he smiled. “Thank you, he murmured. “You, on the other hand, look exactly as you did before we left.”

"Maybe a little more windswept than before." He grinned ruefully, scrubbing a hand through his messy red hair.

“Well, it looks good on you,” Dery said, quite sincerely.

He chuckled. "Thank you for that, I suppose. If you're still keen... tomorrow evening, I'll bring you for a flight over the city instead?" He peered at the Nightborne with a smile.

“Only if you allow me to serve you dinner,” Dery answered, smiling in return.

"Alright, it's our promise." He stretched slightly. "I'll see you tomorrow evening then."

“I very much look forward to it.”  He paused, thinking.

"What is it?" Ren paused. "Anything else before I leave?"

“I was wondering where you were staying is all,” Dery admitted softly.

"In the Dreamgrove," he said, smiling.

“Ah. Of course.” Dery nodded. “Goodnight then.” He stepped back, bowing graciously. “Thank you for a beautiful, if unexpected evening.”

"Likewise." Ren bowed back. He shifted smoothly into the snowy owl, hooted twice, then vanished into the sky with a flap.

Dery watched him leave and stared at the now empty sky for some time. He sighed, raking a hand through his hair, then stepped back inside. Looking over at the table, he shook his head. “Dery, you are a complete and utter fool…” he whispered and started cleaning up.

#World of Warcraft #fanfiction #writing collab #Derient Thodris #Reneald Armstead #Druid #Innkeeper #moonguard roleplay #crossfaction romance #they both think the other isn't truly interested #just wait till they realize

[deathbypixelz]

Hello! I saw the caption "night elf secession au go brr" and desperately want to know more. If you don't have a post somewhere I didn't see (sorry if I missed it) would you feel up to sharing at some point?

I don’t already have a full post about it anywhere because I’m constantly in the process of adding finer details. I made an “adjusted timeline” post on my deathbydarkelves sideblog a while ago, but that’s old by now and I’ve changed some things around. Even so, I will not lie, I have been WAITING for someone to ask me about it >:) so *cracks my knuckles* guess it’s time to make that post.

(GIGANTIC info dump incoming)

The basic things to know about this AU are 1.) Shadowlands never happens (my dislike of SL was actually what inspired me to make this AU in the first place), and 2.) the timeline is stretched out so things happen at a slightly more reasonable pace. In the canon timeline, all of the expansions (minus Dragonflight ofc) happen right after each other and each take place over 1-2 years, which is silly in my opinion. I did leave some of them alone length-wise, sometimes 1-2 years is fine, but almost all of the expansions now have a few years in between. Breathing room is good to have if you ask me. Oh also the N’Zoth/Azshara stuff doesn’t happen during the Fourth War, that’ll happen somewhere later down the line. But that’s not the main point…

Everything up until the middle/end of the Fourth War is pretty much the same, except for the aforementioned lengthening of the timeline. Teldrassil happens in 45 ADP, whereas in the game it’s 33 ADP, for example. So Teldrassil burns, the war happens in basically the same way it does in canon, and it ends with the mak’gora outside Orgrimmar (in 47 ADP). Then the actual changes begin.

Maiev joins Tyrande to track down Sylvanas, and Malfurion takes Tyrande’s place as a temporary leader for the night elves (aided by Shandris). Then for 5 or 6 years, really not much happens. Things are… fine on Kalimdor. Mt. Hyjal sorta becomes the new population center for the night elves (and handful of worgen) who stayed, and rebuilding efforts are definitely underway. But they don’t have the resources or the ships to bring all the refugees back. A portal that could support that many people would be far too demanding and risky to use.

(Note: I changed how portals work slightly to make them less OP, and in a nutshell, you can only make portals at specific points on Azeroth, specifically where natural ley lines connect. If you want a bigger portal, or one independent from ley lines, you either need an outside power source (see: the Dark Portal) or you need to be on top of a gigantic web of interconnecting ley lines. Some places have more ley lines than others (example: Suramar). Also it takes a lot of a mage’s energy to keep a portal of any size open for very long. They opened portals to Stormwind during the burning of Teldrassil, but only because it was such a bad situation; portals that go across such a long distance are very unstable and very expensive to both conjure and maintain. They also could only create them in specific places, which is why they couldn't get nearly as many people out as they would've liked :c)

So, with no way to bring them back, the refugees have just got to stay in Stormwind City and Elwynn. It’s rough; very few of the night elves speak Human (I renamed Common because I don’t like the undertones with that name), and the Stormwind government is being pretty laissez-faire about the whole thing. They have to worry about helping Kul Tiras and Stromgarde so they can rebuild, after all :) Building new ships and collecting all the supplies for the months-long voyage to Kalimdor is too expensive, the government says. But it'll happen, definitely, don't worry. It'll definitely happen. Eventually.

So night elf-Alliance relations decay. Stormwindians are tired of having homeless elves on their streets, the elves are tired of being homeless. There’s he-said-she-said stories of humble, hard-working humans being robbed at night by elves on the brink of starvation, and there are she-said-he-said stories of humans setting fire to tents on the edges of their property to scare off humble, hard-working elves just trying to find a place to live. In not so many words: animosity grows. This isn’t out of the blue; historically (even in canon), the other races of the Alliance haven’t really done much for the night elves except for when they helped push the orcs out of Ashenvale all the way back during the Third War (which was 30 years ago at this point). They’ve really just used them for an extra source of soldiers. The “deterrence from Horde attack” benefit the night elves were promised back then was proven false with Teldrassil, and that’s not to speak of smaller skirmishes that had happened every now and then even before the Fourth War. If anything, being part of the Alliance made the night elves a target. Sylvanas burned Teldrassil to provoke the Alliance into a war (note: I am still working on her exact motivations, since I deleted the Jailer and that weird thing with Elune because um??? no?????). Logically, if they hadn’t been a part of the Alliance, they would’ve probably been left alone. And that’s the realization Tyrande comes to, after tracking Sylvanas down in Northrend — where she and her closest followers had decided to hide out until things calmed down — and killing her.

Then she and Maiev return from their 6 or 7 year-long journey, and Tyrande is outraged at the way her people have been treated. Malfurion had also been made aware in the intervening time, and he’d started showing the Alliance that even though he didn’t have as much executive power as Tyrande, he could still rock the boat as it were. After the requests he made directly of Anduin and other Alliance leaders to give the refugees at least, like, a little support were either half-fulfilled or not at all, he basically starts a mild trade war. This was a pretty controversial move even among the night elves, but there wasn’t much else he could do. But during the Long Vigil, the night elves had perfected the art of being self-sufficient, and it definitely hurt the Eastern Kingdoms more than it hurt them. So with that set into motion, and Tyrande’s mind made up, she returns to her place as High Priestess and diverts every available resource into finally bringing the refugees home. It’s a very slow process, and relations continue to decay as it happens. But eventually everyone who wants to go back to Kalimdor does. A portion of worgen stay, and even some night elves who had their own reasons. But the majority do go back.

Then, after negotiating borders with the (now much more diplomatic) Horde, Tyrande cuts off ties with the Alliance. Relations had been iffy at best ever since they joined — their alliance had been built on “enemy of my enemy”, after all — but the other nations showed their true colors during and after the Fourth War. The Alliance’s High King himself had failed to send troops to help reclaim Darkshore when he had very clearly shown he was more than willing to send soldiers to Arathi, Lordaeron, and Kul Tiras. And again, the whole “if we hadn’t been a part of the Alliance, Sylvanas wouldn’t have seen us as a target” thing. So, with Darkshore, Moonglade, Winterspring, Felwood, Mount Hyjal, most of Ashenvale, and portions of Stonetalon now within their control again, the night elves settle into another period of isolation. It’s not quite a second Long Vigil — there’s some trade/interaction with the draenei (due to proximity and shared trauma) and tauren (due to shared values) — but all in all, they’re on their own now. Relations with the Horde aren’t good per se, but both sides are willing to agree on a “if you don’t fuck with us, we won’t fuck with you” policy. They both want to avoid anything like Teldrassil ever happening again, and that’s ultimately what allows northern Kalimdor to exist in relative peace.

I don’t have quite so many details decided after this point, but I do still have a general idea. Dragonflight happens about ten or fifteen years-ish after the night elves secede, and since they’re still keeping an eye on the other factions and the world in general with magic, spies, and magic spies, they decide to send their own expedition to the Dragon Isles. They keep to their own, and any accidental interactions with Alliance adventurers are tense at best. We’ll have to see how this expansion plays out, but I intend on using the dragons (specifically the Aspects) to fix the sword in Silithus somehow. It’s definitely still a big problem, and it’s been causing climate change-like effects this entire time (unpredictable and extreme weather events globally) as well as its own unique, “fun” issues (weird tectonic anomalies, the elements are extremely agitated, and azerite is still a thing people fight over). I actually already had the “elements are cranky” idea before that was revealed to be a thing in Dragonflight, so I’m glad that lined up because that saves me some work lmao.

(Also just wanted to say that a lot of night elves see azerite as the reason for the Fourth War and, by extension, Teldrassil. They want absolutely nothing to do with it.)

I’m also considering putting a version of the N’Zoth and Azshara story around there, when the sword is removed, since I figure such a big disturbance to Azeroth would be enough to wake up an Old God. But that’s for later down the line and it depends on whether that would clutter the story too much or not. Either way, after whatever’s gonna happen in Dragonflight (or rather, how much of it I decide to keep) and after the sword is fixed, the night elves are gonna stick to their own unless there’s a dire need for them to leave Kalimdor. They’re tired, man. They need time to rebuild, and to heal.

However, I do have concepts for a little Alliance-night elf conflict that could crop up at some point. The Horde may have agreed to leave the night elves alone, but the Alliance are imperialists. And aren’t too happy that they were, in their eyes, betrayed by a long-time ally…

So yeah! That’s my night elf secession AU. It’s extremely self-indulgent and a lot of fun to explore for me. WoW really has not given the night elves a lot of opportunities to be the badass mysterious amazon nation they are in Warcraft III, so I wanted to bring that back while also preserving some of what WoW DID add to their story, because I really do think Teldrassil is such a good jumping-off point for a huge shift in the overall Warcraft narrative... as much as it hurts me and as much as I am genuinely incapable of watching the Warbringers: Sylvanas or Old Soldier cinematics anymore. Night elves have meant a lot to me for a very long time and stories of people going through hell and still coming out okay on the other side are my favorite stories, so I want to tell my own.

I’m also open to more questions about this AU, I have a lot of little things I changed both in regards to things like how magic works and minor lore changes, like how I made Teldrassil at least a couple thousand years old, as opposed to the 15 (or so) years it had existed in canon before it was burned. They only planted it after the Third War. You can check. It’s extremely stupid and everyone ignores that little detail so I will too <3

Anyway, thank you so much for asking, I’ve been dying to share all this and I didn’t realize that until you asked JHNDJSKJ

#ask box #au lore #night elf #kaldorei #not art

[losteventide]

Revamped Broken Isles map for our World of Warcraft D&D campaign. Was made using Wonderdraft based on the existing Broken Isles maps, though some things have been adjusted based on our game because we are AU. We wanted something that had all the areas actually listed with cities closer in size to what they'd be on an actual map (looking at you Suramar xD)

#my art #world of warcraft redux #world of warcraft #warcraft #wow #map #cartography #broken isles #wonderdraft

[late-to-the-fandom]

In which Renathal's quest to learn more about the Maw Walker is almost as difficult and time consuming as the quest after which this story is named. Rated T for brief, inexplicit mentions of death, violence, and non-graphic sexual tension.

Takes place shortly after "A Spilled Tea", before Denathrius' imprisonment.

"Are you quite comfortable?" asked Renathal, with the sort of razor-edged politeness that would have cut another Venthyr’s sense of self-importance to ribbons.

The mortal across the table from him, however, merely shivered, taking care the motion did not disarrange his long, well-coiffed blond hair. 

“Hardly. It’s freezing,” he berated the Dark Prince. “And you’d think with the number of candles in here you might actually be able to see something.”

Renathal’s eyes fluttered briefly closed. His well of inner patience was deep, but not infinite, and it had been centuries since anything had tested its limits like his on-going quest to discover more about the Maw Walker.

To add insult to inconvenience, it should have been a straightforward task. Any other time in Renathal's existence, he could have consulted the Curator, or the Master's private library. The Master himself would probably have known much about the Maw Walker's people offhand. But both the Curator's memory and her archives were ruined, and Denathrius and his library were no longer at the Prince's disposal. Still, with the surfeit of mortals currently residing in the Shadowlands, Renathal had expected little difficulty in locating another of the Maw Walker's kind to interrogate.

Recent events had illuminated the intriguing possibility that the Maw Walker might not be averse to negotiating new, more intimate, terms to their friendship. It was a tantalising prospect, though one fraught with difficulties, and while none were insurmountable, Renathal thought it prudent to collect more information on her before deciding how best to proceed. Besides, his curiousity had been salivating for some time for further details of the rebellion she had mentioned in passing but refused to fully explain.

He had sent Draven to Oribos with the task of retrieving a less recalcitrant Nightborne, but the mortal the General returned with bore only the barest resemblance to the Maw Walker. A shorter, paler elf with long, blond hair and small, green eyes, he introduced himself as a Sin'Dorei. But Blood Elf was the translation, and the term most familiar to Renathal. There were more than a few of those souls in Revendreth.

"What sort of information are you looking for?" asked the elf, adjusting himself in his chair with a long-suffering implicative of a cushion filled with nails.

"I would like the history of the Maw Walker and her people," said Renathal, ignoring the elf's show of discomfort. "And please, spare no detail."

The Sin'Dorei raised a long, blond eyebrow.

"I do have another job, you know."

But he gave Renathal an hour.

In that time, the Prince of Revendreth learned a great deal about the history of the elves of Azeroth; their descent from one race called the Highborne, and how its splintered factions became the variety of elves their world now contained.  Despite his protest of busyness, the Sin'Dorei recounted many tangential tales of his own people, but his font of garrulous knowledge dried up considerably when Renathal pressed for more about the Shal'Dorei, or Nightborne. Except, this elf called them something different.

"Why do you refer to them as, Nightfallen?"

The Sin'Dorei's eye roll was the very picture of elegant disdain that, on anyone else, Renathal could not have helped but admire.

"Well, I shouldn't really, anymore," said the elf. "I suppose they're all the same now. But the ones who rebelled called themselves 'The Nightfallen' and, you know, old habits." He shrugged, and made it look like a move in a dance. "I suppose they called themselves that because they'd fallen from their once grand place in the world. Suramar City used to boast itself as the 'jewel of the Night Elf kingdom'."  He wiggled his fingers skeptically. "Not hard since the majority of them live in trees but it's nothing compared to Silvermoon."

The elf paused to allow himself a well-tailored smirk, and Renathal blinked at him drily. He very much doubted either mortal city held a candle to the eternal beauty of Revendreth.

"And now, it's as much a ruin as this place," continued the elf blithely, eyes wandering the room in distaste. "Or so I hear, I've never been personally. But Lor'Themar, our Lord Regent, has been excessively generous in his assistance to the First Arcanist. He sent quite a few from Silvermoon to help them secure their city."

"The First Arcanist ... that would be the Nightborne ruler?" prompted Renathal, steering the discussion back to relevant waters.

"She is for the present. I don't know what their permanent plan is. They're historically led by some sort of coalition of noble houses. And the Grand Magistrix, but you know.” The elf shifted fractiously in his seat. “Are we nearly through? This chair was clearly not designed for beings with proper nerve endings.”

Venthyr did not require air to exist. Renathal's deep, rattling inhale was entirely affectation; a subtle warning to the mortal before him that he was rapidly losing patience.

"It is safe to assume," he said crisply, disregarding the elf's complaint. "That the ephemeral histories of one minor race on one small world are predominately unknown to those of us who have spent our existences blissfully unburdened by such quaint mortal affairs."

It took a moment for the elf to grasp this scathing pronouncement. When he had, he rolled his eyes once more, though this time it was accompanied by a blotchy, unflattering flush.

"The Grand Magistrix Elisande was the Nightborne's de facto ruler for something close on 10,000 years. Before she made a deal with the Burning Legion and let demons infest their city."

Renathal straightened in his chair. At last, they were getting somewhere.

"Anyone who disagreed with her was cast out and lost access to the Nightwell, their source of power. The First Arcanist was one of those, I assume the champion was as well.  They put a stop to Elisande eventually, but they're still purging the Legion from the land." He shook his head. "Really, they ought to have dealt with her much sooner. When we discovered what Sunstrider was-"

The elf's editorial comments drifted to the background of Renathal's thoughts. He leaned on the arm of his chair, stroking the hair on his chin absently, as he compared this new information to the cryptic hints the Maw Walker had dropped. He supposed this Grand Magistrix was who she had meant by “her people's Denathrius", and he assumed her rebellion of subjective success was what the Sin'Dorei called "The Nightfallen". But nothing the elf said so far accounted for why the Maw Walker would not speak of it. Unless...

"The rest of the Nightfallen. Were they destroyed?" asked Renathal, interrupting the Sin'Dorei's diatribe.

"What? No, of course not. Not all of them," he said exasperatedly. "I mean, I'm sure many were killed by the Legion, but there's plenty left. Haven't I already said Lor'Themar sent them aid? Really, if you're not even paying attention -"

But the Dark Prince of Revendreth had finally had enough, and his title, unlike his breathing, was not an affectation.

He leaned slowly forward, claws clicking menacingly against the table, and his expression would have cowed even the most hardened of Venthyr. As for the mortal opposite, he looked as though he might faint; his pale face registered a wholly inelegant terror. And the only reason he was not reduced to a gibbering puddle of penitence was Renathal’s determination to extract every bit of information he could.

"And the Maw Walker’s family? What became of them?” Renathal said into the chill silence.

"Dead, I think. She let slip something about a dead sister once, but I don’t know any details." The Sin'Dorei’s voice quavered with the dregs of fear. "Besides the fact that she's virtually indestructible, nobody knows very much about her."

Renathal's burning amber eyes narrowed dangerously.

"You told General Draven you were her friend.”

"I said I knew her, and I do!" cried the Sin'Dorei, cowering in his chair. "I followed her around in Zuldazar, and we fought together a few times but you have to understand - the Champion doesn't have friends! Not really. Even her own First Arcanist doesn't talk to her. Or about her. I don't know anybody who does. And she does not like to be asked questions."

This time, there was no artifice in the Sin'Dorei's shiver. He looked a great deal less glamorous with his pinched face discoloured by fear, and Renathal allowed his own features to soften enough so the mortal would not ruin the chair's upholstery.

“Very well,” he said, and for the first time since their introduction, granted the elf a small, smug smile.

In fact, though it would not do to show it, Renathal felt almost excessively cheerful. The idea that this mortal - and his careful good looks - enjoyed a much lower standing with the Maw Walker than Renathal himself set him in such high spirits he could not even be disappointed the elf had nothing else useful to offer. He produced a sincere thank-you and a more than civil farewell before allowing the elf to gather what remained of his dignity and scuttle from the room. With the door safely shut behind the Sin'Dorei, Renathal gave his smirk free reign of his face.

She doesn't have friends, the elf had said, but had the Maw Walker not called Renathal just that at last week's Ember Court rehearsal? A different kind of friends, he remembered her thrilling words perfectly, and he leaned back in his chair and basked in the warmth of his immoderate pride. He had not learned all he wanted, but this proof the Maw Walker preferred him to her mortal acquaintances made the time spent more than worthwhile.

And - he steepled his fingers in front of him - it was not as though he had learned nothing. True, he had as many questions now as when the interview began - such as why the Maw Walker was here at all instead of aiding her own city’s restoration efforts - but he also had a greater grasp on Nightborne history, which could make it easier to coax the details he still lacked from the Maw Walker herself. 

Renathal’s jovial self-satisfaction lingered through the rest of that day and into the next, insulating him from the disaster that was the first official Ember Court.

Reflecting on it as he scanned the now-empty courtyard for his co-host, Renathal was hard pressed to decide which part had been worst: the Maw Walker's spectacular failure at the Ritual of Atonement that elicited actual boos from the socialites in the crowd; some debacle with the dredgers Renathal had not personally witnessed but which resulted in the shattering of Theotar's favourite tea set; or the manifestations of sin erupting from the court's meagre anima font and assailing the precious few nobles who had consented to attend. The Prince had closed the court with his humblest apologies for the various mishaps, and assured their guest of honour - Cryptkeeper Kassir - that next week's would be a much more traditional affair.

Certainly an inauspicious inauguration, and yet … a smile teased Renathal's fangs as he spotted the Maw Walker's purple gown at the top of the rampart stairs. Apart from her belligerent argument with the Accuser over the appropriate atonements for sin, none of the incidents had really been her fault. And besides, he thought cheerfully as he crossed the courtyard, it was nice watching someone else fail for a change.

The Maw Walker was perched on the highest step, back ramrod straight and eyes tightly shut. If it were not for the slight breeze lifting loose tendrils of her high-piled hair, she might have been a statue carved from purple-hued stone. Renathal walked, rather than glided, up the steep staircase, letting the precise thud of his plate armour boots herald his approach. But the Maw Walker's eyes remained closed even when he stepped across her, carefully placing the items he carried on the nearest iron baluster.

"It could have been worse," he said by way of greeting as he set to work preparing his after-court gift.

A vague hum was Renathal's only indication the Maw Walker heard him until the pop of the cork from the bottle made her eyes snap open.

"It was only your first official foray," he continued, pouring a generous measure of anima wine into the two long-stemmed glasses. " I assure you, they do get easier. And Kassir is fortunately forgiving. He has already promised to return next week. So, we will have another opportunity."

He bent to offer a glass to the still-seated Maw Walker who regarded it steadily for a moment before, at last, accepting.

"To your first true court experience," said Renathal wryly, clinking his glass against hers.

He straightened and lifted his glass to his lips, then lowered it when he noticed the Maw Walker staring blankly at her own. Admittedly, it was the wrong sort of glass for this wine, but the best Renathal's dredger contacts had been able to purloin. He wondered if the Maw Walker - a self-proclaimed connoisseur - was particular about such things. But before he could inquire, she gave what was, for her, a dramatic sigh.

"I've been hosting courts much like this for thousands of years, your Highness," she said. "I'm afraid I’ve always been a bit disappointing."

Thus unburdened, she drained the glass in one, then held it out to Renathal again. He eyed it hesitantly, unsure if he ought to refill it or take it away. 

"These sorts of affairs were a regular pastime at home," the Maw Walker added.

Renathal hastened to pour her more wine.

"Suramar, you mean," he said tonelessly, scrubbing his voice of any trace excitement.

"Mm," the Maw Walker hummed her agreement, sipping her second glass more sedately. "Political parties and courts ... impressing guests ... forging alliances over drinks. It's strange ... " She cast somewhat unfocused eyes on the courtyard below before continuing thoughtfully, "Running all the way to a different plane of reality just to find the same things you had at home."

Renathal took a short sip of his own wine, but tasted only the triumph of being granted the perfect opening.

"It is true," he said, after swallowing. "There are many similarities between our respective realms."

"What do you mean?"

The Maw Walker's voice had shed some of its dreamy quality, but Renathal, eager to flaunt his new knowledge, chose to overlook this.

"Well, the parallels between the Master and your Grand Magistrix speak for themselves," he said, taking his time with each word as if only now considering them. "Rulers who have betrayed their realms to an enemy in exchange for power. In Denathrius' case, the Jailer, and in Elisande's, the Burning Legion. And, of course, the Nightfallen rebellion has much in common with our work here in Sinfall."

He chanced a glance at the step below him. The Maw Walker was openly staring. Shock radiated off her like a wave of her arcane magic, and Renathal used his half-full glass to cover the smirk he could not quite contain. 

"How do you know all this?" she asked in wary wonder.

Renathal, who had absolutely no intention of ever admitting the lengths to which he had gone to gain this information, merely arched an eyebrow and gave a shrug the Sin'Dorei would have envied.

"This is not Bastion, where souls are divested of their memories. Those who arrive in Revendreth bring many stories, their own and others. And I have always been a passionate collector of such tales."

The Maw Walker's eyes narrowed, and Renathal cast about for a decent distraction before she could pick apart his non-answer.

"Of course, stories lack pictures, but from what I understand, Suramar City was once nearly as handsome as Revendreth."

He was taken aback at how well this rudimentary tactic worked.

"Nearly as handsome?” the Maw Walker repeated, the growing shrewdness in her face abruptly vanishing. "Suramar City at the height of its power was the jewel of all Azeroth. Truly, there is nowhere that compares.”

Renathal sniffed, and took another sip of wine. "Quite," was his only reply, but its dubiousness did not go unnoticed.

"I am not sure you could be considered a qualified judge, your Highness, having never left the Shadowlands," said the Maw Walker loftily. "I have been to many, many worlds now and have yet to see anywhere more beautiful than Suramar City before its fall. It was..." Her mouth hung open, waiting for the right word to appear. But language ultimately failed her, and she shook her head. "Beyond description."

Biting back the argument unlikely to vouchsafe him more answers, Renathal dipped his head and agreed, "I am sure it was considered very beautiful among mortal cities."

It was the closest he could come to concession, but apparently it would not do.

The Maw Walker's glass rattled as she abandoned it on the stone step and finally stood, squaring against the Dark Prince with uncharacteristic vim. He gave no ground; indeed, the spark in her blue-white eyes - not to speak of her body's sudden close proximity - made anima pump through him pleasantly and his heart affect a faster pace.

She stared at him for several, unblinking seconds, and Renathal could not decide if she was more likely to hit him or kiss him. But the Maw Walker - always full of surprises - chose, instead, a wide and wine-dark smile.

"Would you like to see?" she said in a voice that promised mischief, and before Renathal could fathom her meaning, let alone decide on an answer, the Maw Walker had reached up and touched her fingers to his temple.

The last time she did this - when rescuing him from the Maw - her spell had granted Renathal a unique mental clarity. This time, it dropped a heavy purple veil over all his senses. The wuthering wind and caustic Light of the Ember Ward disappeared, replaced by the soft murmur of running water and a silky, violet twilight. He opened his mouth to ask the Maw Walker what she had done, but a glance at his new surroundings temporarily robbed him of speech.

The entire world was drenched in agnate shades of purple and blue. Renathal's vision swum as his eyes tried to focus; the lack of visible horizon on which to anchor himself made him sway. A city engulfed the skyline on every side, swelling in endless crescendos; it felt as though he was drowning in a sea of enormous, graceful buildings. Except, to call them buildings was uncharitable, almost indecent - they looked birthed, rather than made, crafted through some more elegant magic than Revendreth's steel and muck-made mortar. He craned his neck to follow their silhouettes where they surrendered to a glittering indigo sky.

"Welcome to Suramar, Prince Renathal."

The Maw Walker's voice broke through Renathal's trance.

“How is ... what did ...” he stuttered incoherently, his brain stumbling through the deluge of sensations, but the Maw Walker - as was often the case - understood his concern without words.

“Don’t worry, I haven’t kidnapped you," she said in mild amusement. "This is just an illusion. We’re still standing on the ramparts. So be careful where you step."

Her warning recalled Renathal’s sluggish mind back to his body. He became aware of his slack jaw, his loose grip on his half-forgotten glass.

“So… what do you think?” the Maw Walker asked with ill-concealed smugness.

Renathal brought his wine to his lips and swallowed thoughtlessly, buying himself more time to craft the admission she was certainly owed.

"You ... did not exaggerate,” he said finally.

The Maw Walker's laugh lacked condescension. It was a free, light-hearted sound, happier than any Renathal had yet heard, and her face was bright with a joy that made her look, somehow, younger.

“And you’ve hardly seen anything, your Highness. Come!"

She grabbed his free hand and attempted to drag him forward, but Renathal dug in his heels. Thrown off his axis and scrambling for some semblance of control, he regarded the Maw Walker sternly, an expression only part jest.

"I have asked you to call me Renathal."

The little violet spots on the Maw Walker's cheeks were the same shade as the surrounding twilight. She wet her lips briefly, then conceded, "Very well. Come then, Renathal."

She tugged at his hand, more gently this time, and Renathal allowed her to lead him into the illusion of Suramar City.

Conscious of the ramparts hidden beneath them, the Maw Walker picked a careful path through a courtyard of such splendor even the Master would have been envious. To Renathal's surprise and delight, she turned out to be an effusive guide, all her usual reticence gone as she named and explained Suramar's intricate architectural details. His eyes drifted in and out of focus, struggling to absorb each new wonder, but the longer they wandered, the less Renathal noticed the sights at all - the towering magenta topiaries, the dusk lilies floating in softly glowing pools - and the more his attention fixated on the Maw Walker herself.

Perhaps it was the anima wine or some effect of her own arcane magic, but the visible change it wrought in her usually impassive face was striking. He had noted on many occasions the Maw Walker's various physical attractions, but the carefree smile she wore now - as natural on her face as her nose or eyes - had transformed her into something as exquisitely lovely as the city she clearly adored.

At first, Renathal kept up a suitable dialogue, nodding and querying where appropriate, but this eventually trailed into pensive silence as he drank in the Maw Walker's voice. What must it be like to be talked about with such undisguisable affection, to be thought of in such adulation it leaked into every word someone spoke? His mind conjured mesmerizing fantasies of the Maw Walker saying his name like this, and the thrilling shiver it drew from him caught her eye.

"Where the arcwine is - Oh." She broke off mid-sentence and stopped so abruptly Renathal nearly knocked her down. "I'm ... so sorry, your - Renathal. I - I suppose I've made my point. I'm sure you must be bored. I'll take us back."

Embarrassment marred her earnest beauty, and Renathal could not permit it. He tightened his grip on her hand before she could end her spell and slip away.

“No, not at all! Far from it," he insisted. “This has been a rare delight. I have loved every minute we have shared here, I was ... merely wondering ..."

The Sin'Dorei's warning about the Maw Walker's stance on questions gave Renathal pause. But ... he was a different sort of friend; she had said so herself. Surely such rules did not apply?

As if in encouragement, the Maw Walker's thumb absently stroked the back of his hand, and the intimate gesture infused Renathal with a warm and sanguine confidence.

"Why did you leave Suramar?"

A cloud passed over the Maw Walker's shining face. She blinked it quickly away.

"I am better suited other places," she said, which answered nothing, and Renathal pressed recklessly on.

"Better suited somewhere other than your home? Other than ... here?"

He indicated the magnificence around them with his glass, spilling wine across the illusory marble. It made the Maw Walker laugh, albeit less fully than before, and pluck the cup from Renathal's careless hand.

"Is this your way of saying you no longer need me in Revendreth?"

"Absolutely not."

The low growl in Renathal's words surprised even him, and made the Maw Walker's breath catch sharply. He was suddenly very aware of how little space remained between them. To lean in and taste the wine still lingering on her lips would require no effort at all. But...

His eyes flicked from side to side, vainly attempting to penetrate the rich purple glow of the illusion to the courtyard lurking underneath. It had been empty except for the guards when he had first found the Maw Walker, but he had no idea how long ago that had been ... or who might have ventured out of Sinfall's depths in that time ... or even where exactly in the courtyard they now were.

Renathal inhaled deeply through his nose, a breath necessary only for cooling his heated anima. Reluctantly, he eased himself back a fraction, adding a measure of cautious space between himself and temptation.

"I am certainly not giving you permission to abandon the oath you swore to Revendreth," he said. "But it is evident how much this place means to you. It seems strange for you to have left it."

The Maw Walker's breathing was also measured, and Renathal wondered if their thoughts ran the same tantalising track. But when she spoke, her voice was subdued.

"This is Suramar as I remember it before the Burning Legion," she said. "Nearly everything I loved about it - that made it home - is gone. It is ... not like this anymore." 

This time the Maw Walker succeeded in freeing her hand, and she touched Renathal's forehead again.

The noise assailed his senses first, a cacophony of terrified screams and uncanny, eldritch shrieks. Glancing around the same courtyard through which the Maw Walker had escorted him, Renathal watched as demons of various incarnations prowled the once pristine streets. The glowing trees and topiaries were alight with fel green flame, tainting the purples and blues in a jarring, inconsanant glow.

From a strictly aesthetic perspective, the scene was inarguably horrible, but Renathal was less discomfited than he had been upon his first vision of Suramar. Terror was much more his wheelhouse. He watched in professional curiousity as the fel creatures wrought their havoc, and cocked his head in interest at one beast in particular whose horns and hooves and wings were oddly familiar...

Renathal took a half step forward, intending to inspect the illusion, but the Maw Walker's hand suddenly clutched his shoulder, winning his undivided attention. His amber eyes widened as they found her face, more startled by her sickly pallor than any of the surrounding horrors. She leaned closer to him - head bowed, eyes closed - and if Renathal had not known her better he would have said she sought his protection. Which made it all the more fortunate none of the visions could do them harm; the Maw Walker's obvious and uncharacteristic distress had frozen him in place. 

Some enormous demon of rock and green flame lumbered around the corner. Its steps made the ground beneath them shake, and the Maw Walker actually shiver. Her hand holding Renathal's wine glass trembled so violently he was sure it would shatter. But it was only when her head hit his chest plate that his trance finally cracked in alarm.

"End this," he said to her. "Now." 

It was a command, and though Renathal lacked his medallion, it rang with unbroachable power. Eyes closed, the Maw Walker's fingers crawled up his face; locating his forehead, and pressing hard, and -

- and they were standing on the silent ramparts overlooking the Bridge of Banishment.

Renathal shook his head to clear the dregs of the vision, blinking in the abrupt change of light. The clamor and chaos had left a ringing in his ears, so he felt the Maw Walker's short sigh of relief against his chest more than heard it. Squinting through the Ember Ward's harsh light, he inspected her discreetly. Not that she noticed; her eyes were still squeezed shut, fingers fisting in his shirt. It would wrinkle the material, which was a ridiculous thing to be thinking about, but Renathal's mind was still fumbling to find sure footing in a world where the Maw Walker was afraid.

"I suppose that would be the Burning Legion," he said slowly.

He hoped his voice might break the spell of whatever horrors held her captive. But the Maw Walker only nodded once, another quiet tremor wracking her frame.

Renathal glanced around the ramparts and what he could see of the courtyard below. Apart from a few scattered dredgers, and the Stoneborn guards he knew waited at the gate underneath, there were no witnesses to observe them. With all the gentle, respectful caution he would apply to a skittish sinrunner, Renathal slipped his arms around the Maw Walker's bare shoulders. She didn't move - another surprise - although one considerably more pleasant.

The initial shock of her fear now fading, he found he very much liked being the Maw Walker's source of comfort. Seeing her capable of anything so mundane as fear was as nice a change as watching her fail at the Ember Court. It made the illustrious champion of the Horde seem more real, not to mention what it did for Renathal's ego. In fact, the only thing marring the buoyant experience was his inconveniently irrepressible curiousity. 

Even as his fingers stroked soft circles in the Maw Walker's silky gown, his mind was racing, seething to know why such commonplace enemies should upset her. He sifted through the sights the Maw Walker had shown him, searching for something she might have let slip ...  Let slip ... the Sin'Dorei had used those same words, and Renathal was struck with an idea.

"Was your sister among those Nightborne killed by the Legion?" he asked, realising his mistake too late.

The Maw Walker stiffened in his arms. She released her hold on Renathal and lifted her head, face fixed in an expressionless mask.

"Did one of Revendreth's souls tell you that as well, your Highness?"

The words were tinged with an unmistakable frost. Renathal scrambled to construct a plausible explanation, a suitable excuse. But he could think of nothing, and the Maw Walker was still staring, and he fell back on his old failsafes: dark humour and charm.

"In a manner of speaking," he said, painting on a wry smile. "I do not believe I specified whether the soul was living or dead. Or ... whether they were condemned to Revendreth or here on some different errand."

The Maw Walker blinked slowly, then turned, still carrying Renathal's wine glass, and walked briskly down the ramparts in the direction of the stairs. Leaving Renathal's heart to plummet miserably as he kicked himself for his misstep. Her uncommon volubility in the illusion had disarmed him, lulled him into a false sense of candor. And now ...

Now, he thought glumly, he had damaged the remarkable friendship they had managed to create, and almost certainly destroyed his budding hopes for more. He would be demoted to the same status as the Sin'Dorei: an acquaintance whose tiresome company the Maw Walker was occasionally forced to endure. And that thought was so unbearable, Renathal forsook his own scrupulous self-regard. 

He followed the Maw Walker's path down the ramparts, in something shamefully close to a run, determined to offer an apology she could not reasonably refuse. He had no idea if he was truly sorry, or even what he had to be sorry for, but that was beside the point. The Maw Walker was the refreshing oasis that sustained Renathal in these tumultuous times, and he would shelve his sense of fairness - and his insatiable curiousity - if the alternative was losing her altogether.

His brisk footsteps slowed as he rounded the corner. The Maw Walker was still at the top of the stairs.

She had retrieved her abandoned wine glass and was filling it again, Renathal's own waiting beside it on the iron baluster. When the glass was full - much more than was strictly proper - she emptied the last of the bottle into his. Renathal took this as a sign the Maw Walker would permit his presence, though he walked the rest of the ramparts with a greater degree of caution.

"I'm sorry," she said as he reached her, though she addressed the courtyard below. "I know things are different here. Death ... doesn't seem like such a loss. It's not the end of anything for you, but ... you must understand, it was for me." Wine trickled down the Maw Walker's chin as she gulped down the last of her glass. She brushed it away, fingers hiding her face as she finished, "My sister's death was the end of my life, and I prefer to let it rest in peace."

There was a definite tremor in the Maw Walker's voice, but her hand as she set down her glass and picked up Renathal's was steady.

"I know you have an ... excessive fondness for stories," she said, turning to face Renathal though not meeting his eye. "But mine is disappointing. And I prefer it to be forgotten. I hope you can understand this, and I hope ... we can still be friends."

The Maw Walker held the wine out to Renathal like an offering of peace. Its request was inherent, and he hesitated only a second before acquiescing.

If privacy was the price for her friendship, he would find a way to pay it. He nodded his agreement, accepting the glass with both hands.

"I apologize," he said, and was surprised to find a genuine earnestness tripping his tongue. "I cannot pretend to truly understand, but ... you do not have to explain if it pains you. And ... I am sorry for your sake that circumstances have led you here. Revendreth must seem a very poor replacement for your home and your family."

The Maw Walker blinked, and her sangfroid gently thawed.

"I wouldn't say that," she replied. "Renathal."  She added his name in a voice as soft as Suramarian twilight. And while it could not quite be called adoration, it still made Renathal's anima effervesce.

With a final eloquent shudder, the Maw Walker shed the conversation like an ill-fitting coat and leaned back against the balustrade.

"Alright," she said, adopting a business-like air. "Explain to me how atonement works. All these different sins and their punishments, I just - do not understand. How do you decide what sort of punishments make up for the different kinds of crimes?"

Renathal's long-suffering sigh would have made the Sin'Dorei's pale face green with envy, as would the friendly, familiar way he leaned on the balustrade beside the Maw Walker.

"We do not punish in Revendreth," he explained. "We educate."

The next hour found them propped side by side, debating the intricacies of atonement. And while they remained at least a sword's length apart, Renathal genuinely felt no disappointment. It was not exactly how he had hoped the evening would end, but, for the moment, he was smugly content in the knowledge he remained a different sort of friend.

The Maw Walker was not going anywhere. Renathal could wait.

Read Part 21: Mortal Reminders: What are you hiding? | Visit the Masterpost

#renathal fanfiction #renathal x maw walker #prince renathal #world of warcraft #fanfiction #shadowlands #venthyr #revendreth #sinfall #ember court #the maw walker #nightborne #suramar city #romance #slowburn #no smut #hurt/comfort #backstory #mention of death #mortal reminders #An illusion! #light & shadows

[dandelionandkrindle]

WORLD OF WARCRAFT • LOCATIONS (23/?) Suramar City

#world of warcraft #warcraft #wowedit #gamingedit #wowlocations #should've been a hub!!! #instead i gotta deal with 'WHO GOES THERE?!' every time i come within a mile of it #anyway i miss legion

[longveil]

Dear Seraanna,

I am glad to hear that you are doing well. Though it goes without saying, I would not pay any mind to what does or does not infuriate my sister. Over the years even I do not fully understand what earns her ire as it changes as frequently as the winds. Her attention appears to be elsewhere it would seem, but attempting to know her mind is as simple as solving a puzzle box.

The Armistice has been spoken little of here, I am afraid, though the war was never a large factor in continued isolation. My sister and those of renown in the village prefer not to bend a knee or pledge themselves into vassalage, nor pay the taxes that would come with entering the world at large. That said, her once iron grip on restricting trade and commerce has slowly loosened over the years, albeit not without great vetting and strict agreements.

I must admit you are correct when it comes to defining a home. A chosen place. Not a memory. Perhaps even I am not invulnerable to classic Gilnean stereotypes. We are happy here, the townsfolk and me, the girls of course roam, come and go as they see fit. I worry the child will become a mirror of my sister at times— refusing to choose a home, that is. But I digress, as I can control only myself and my happiness.

Consider this an invitation, if it pleases you. To be my guest and not hers. I have included within this envelope a card from one of the trade companies that are permitted to land. Show them the wax seal from any of my letters and it will suffice as a ticket for passage. Shadows keep you safe.

Respectfully, Jasper Hawke

From the desk of Seraanna Longveil-Morrowsun, Marquessa

Dearest Jasper,

It is hoped that you will forgive my long silence of words.

When I returned to Stormwind, in the wake of the Fourth War and years of Armistice that followed, I had hoped to find a place more measured, more possessing of introspection, than what memory recalled. I took willing part in the machinery of governance for a time, following - with no small irony - the footsteps of a distraction long past as I assumed the title of ambassador.

No more.

The City of Storms, lacking an adversary without, turns within to trivialities. And if such is the cause of your sister’s ire, gives cause for your elders to hesitate and give question to broader engagement beyond your borders, it cannot be said that I find ground for disagreement.

Yet it is not this place to which I am anchored. Chosen, instead, by my own sister when I was weak and in need of refuge. Yet our reach now extends further and, despite my fondness of where Light, Death, and Deep converge, of dear foxes and their kits which burrow into the shadows of this city, I find myself more drawn to reach to those other truths.

I have seen the spires of Valdrakken, Jasper. Supped where only dragons had before set foot, read from the ancient libraries of the Algeth’ar Academy. And still… there remains the elegant distinction of Suramar, the calm of the Jade Forest. All beyond the shores to which you, in your duty, have confined yourself.

All these places I speak of, and still it is that I hold a card of your trade partners and the wax seal which will gain passage to those confined shores. And I consider the truths which such represent.

She has told me that, in time, missives alone will not cross those seas. That you may find reason to journey in place of written words. O, but I fear the disappointment you might find should this City of Storms be where you first set foot - though the duty of governance be its own unyielding truth.

So I will come. What matters were uncertain afore have been resolved - to a point. What obligation I held has been dispensed to my satisfaction. And though it is that I would rather stand the decks of my sister’s vessel, I will accept what invitation you offer.

Expect that I shall follow these inked words.

Mists keep you hidden ‘til such time.

– Seraanna

“That’s a dicey game, even for you.” Annadia lounged in Seranna’s embroidered armchair, a leg over the chair’s side and a glass of wine held loose in one hand, while her sister cast fine sand over the freshly inked letter and left it on her desk to dry.

Seraa left her desk and moved to the sideboard, pouring a glass of night from a bottle beaded with the Void’s chill. “So says the one who… sits well outside the Harbor’s bounds,” she murmured, “clearly abrogating the dispensation I worked so assiduously to attain.” Dark-painted lips curled into a faint smile. “Jasper is a most pleasing… distraction. What ire or distress our interactions cause… the Lady Director are mere,” she made an idle gesture with her free hand, shadows drifting behind. “What is the word? A lagniappe, I… believe.”

Annadia turned in her seat, a dull thump as her boots struck the floor.

“Well, you have your fun,” she tipped back the glass, setting it empty on the end table. “And extra points if you get him to agree to let the Aralya’diel dock in… wherever the fel his island is. The look on Miss Tightass’s face would be priceless.” The sin’dorei rose to her feet, picking up twin blades as she made for the door.

“Oh.” Annadia glanced over her shoulder, strapping the blades to her back. “What about the little fox, huh? You’re just going to go off? That’s awfully close to something the fel tease might’ve done, y’know.”

Seraa’s brows drew close, as near to a frown as she might express. “She took choice from…me, sister. Still I granted her the request of another evening, and such she… will be granted.” A lingering sip from the glass of night. “My words are not… forgotten, nor is such truth as I have chosen to embrace. Yet never was such stated to… be of a closeness in time.”

Buckles clicked as Annadia finished her adjustments, a low chuckle offered in reply. “Just checking.” The sin’dorei twisted a ring on her right hand, the gold-green of her eyes shifting to a quel’dorei blue, “What d’you think? Good enough for Stormwind streets?”

Dark wisps trailed Seraanna’s dismissive gesture. “Ask instead if Stormwind’s… streets are good enough for you, dear sister. Al diel shala.”

Annadia bowed mockingly low, the heavy sound of the door’s locks the only sound of her departure.

#seraanna #jasper #letters and missives #islands and mists #the fox #longveilstories

[noonmutter]

My WoW Pipe Dream: RP Mode

Because I was directly asked earlier this evening what I would want to see in an RP mode, and I've talked about this off and on for years ever since War Mode was implemented, I shall now lay out my list of things that I want to see in a RP Mode for World of Warcraft.

Same idea as War Mode, just with alternate effects. It's a switch you toggle from a capital city and can disable anywhere in the world, and it will take you into a different instance of the game where the new rules are in effect. In keeping with the same rules as war mode, turning it off keeps you flagged as RP-only and functionally unable to gain loot or gold for five minutes, so you can't use it to make a way easier path to a rare and pop out to steal the kill and the goodies.

1: Removes a LARGE swath of NPCs from the game. All elite mobs, anything that has voice lines, most wandering NPCs in cities, the overwhelming majority of wandering critters, gone. Much emptier except for other players and NPCs that add life to the setting, but don't interfere with it.

2: Gold and loot cannot be earned or spent (outside of specific RP-related vendors perhaps. Things like bartenders, snack sellers, selling tickets to make instances within the RP mode overall instance, that sort of thing. debatable whether these things would remain necessary)

3: XP and renown cannot be gained in any way. Items that affect this are either disabled, or get consumed with no effect and wasted

4: /say and /emote distances massively increased

5: raid size increased, or if code prevents that from working, raids can be linked together in a similar way to various servers being linked together

6: look I just want housing okay make empty buildings in RP mode into player-usable/customizable housing plots I don't care how this one works just give it to us blizzard

7: transmog, barber, etc are free at all times. toys have no or extremely minimal cooldown, effects last longer

8: massively expanded list of playable races so the reflecting prism thingie is no longer required. again, if code prevents this, reflecting prism is given no cooldown and lasts until you intentionally click it off

9: all languages usable by anyone. Yes, All Of Them. all languages also understandable by anyone. Yes, All Of Them.

10: no mog restrictions. If it can be displayed on the model in question, it's moggable. (even if it causes clipping errors. sometimes especially if it does.)

11: Options for raid leaders to change visual effects for raid members, like inky black potions, weather machines, etc. (PLAY D&D. DO A SHOW. IMMERSE PEOPLE. DO IT.)

12: Various wierd crap that's never been resolved is resolved. The Westfall tornado is gone, Suramar isn't full of demon commanders anymore, etc.

13: All cities are neutral cities. Yes, All Of Them. if you can get there, you can be there

14: summoning stones added to lots and lots and LOTS of new locations. cities, interesting landmarks, etc

15: one person can summon by themselves. nobody cares just let us do this if they're in the party

16: dungeons and raids are accessible either directly on the world map or via their standard portals. undecided, not sure which would be less resource-intensive to sustain when the entire setup is already liable to have a fuckload of instances within instances

17: if you are in a raid or party, YOU CANNOT BE SHARDED OUT OF IT. it's the one really major thing I wanna fix super bad across the entire game but especially for RPers

Feel free to toss your thoughts at this one. I know there's other ideas that have gone on this list as I've thought of it over the years, but I'm drawing a blank on anything else right this second

#world of warcraft #wow stuff #I feel like the majority of this stuff is not unreasonable to set up #in terms of programming difficulty or server strain #but it really depends on how the game functions on the backend #epsilon is not a good alternative its structure makes ABSOLUTELY no sense and is basically an asset editor program like gmod #epsilon can do cool things but it's not good at most of them just workable

[gale-heart]

I may have gone a bit feral when I spotted that last store at the end of our trip (ever weak am I to the siren song of ink and parchment smell.) The result is that I now have a small grove’s worth of Thalassian literature eating up what little desk space I have left. I may have also failed to account for my less-than-fluent grasp of Thalassian before cracking the first book open.

That is fine. It’s not as if I went into this project expecting everything to be communicated in perfect Common. I have more than enough spare time on my hands to learn, and a paramour who speaks it as a first language.

Silvermoon is lovely. Very…red, at least the outdoor parts. And bright—I am afraid that my perpetual squinting may have made me look haughtier than usual. Thankfully they do incorporate other colors into their clothing, as evidenced by the new additions to my wardrobe (a surprising variety of purples, as any sensible people ought.) I really am trying to be mindful not to draw careless parallels with night elven culture or the crumbling remnant of the old Empire that I knew, and Charlotte did advise me that we saw a nicer part—but stars, it is the very opposite of what Eldre’thalas was by my time. To see a city of my distant kin not only still living, but clean and orderly, even thriving! To think that I could have known this, have been someone completely different had I merely the luck to be born on a different continent Then again, perhaps I ought not be so quick to envy. I’ve yet to see the Scar, but I’ve heard enough of Charlotte’s old pains to remind myself that these people have had their own decimation to reckon with. I was lucky to survive ogres, spirits, and my magic-starved elders; I doubt I would have survived the Scourge.

Anyways, the books. I fear it would have been pushing my luck to try for spell tomes—too many secrets to simply hand away, if they’re anything like the Highborne I knew—but they must have seen little enough harm in giving me what they did. Histories, several volumes’ worth (I don’t think I fully realized just how much can happen in one kingdom across several thousand years), an herbarium, art collection, poetry, gemstone compendium (mundane and magical), four novels, and…a cookbook. I’m not sure why that last one registered to me in my book-frenzied fugue, but I’ll not complain about having new fare to dabble in. Even without planning for Suramar, I shall be set for a few months’ studying at least. It’s a good thing I’m not required soon for any long voyages.

Speaking of learning, but wholly unrelated to elven culture. My ongoing education has dredged up yet another unexpected little revelation, courtesy of my aforementioned paramour. Well, three, strictly speaking, but one was rather more evil on my part and involves trying teeth next time, and the second I’m not ready to really consider the implications of yet.

For a long time, touch carried…certain connotations, that made me balk from it. From Eseria, I learned to equate another person’s hands on me with imminent pain. Then from the old man, I learned an entirely new beast of dread, and a self-loathing so insidious I spent years feeling unclean every time I remembered his hand at my neck.

For the first time, I brushed my own fingers over that same spot and thought, not with revulsion but with tentative curiosity: what if…?

I…think I could actually like it, if it came from her. Not even necessarily to escalate into anything further—I find myself yearning for more of those little physical gestures of affection, even if it’s as mundane as holding hands or leaning against each other. It’s an alien concept, very odd—yet certainly not unwelcome. Thank goodness she is fine with taking things slow.

I might be in trouble if she does that chin thing again, though. Gods be good, I think my knees nearly gave out with the way she PURRED at me like NOPE I am NOWHERE near brave enough to look at that too closely right now.

——

(( @fionas-treasure-chest Charlotte mention))

#ic #character logs #journal