#Taeonthrial

[thenaaru]

Anu'dorini Talah

[The following story takes place a few weeks back, after the rescue of The Spectre from Alliance hands.]

Breathe, Taeonthrial.

Her chest hurt. A deep, pressing weight closed in upon her; a fog so thick and dark she could not part it even with her brightest of memories. First, necessity alone had carried her through her grief. Akaela, bonded to her through living magic, snuffed out like failed kindling. She had not even been there to lessen his pain, her back to him as she fled and left him to his fate, Phidi cradled in her arms and clinging on to life.

Hope, a weak candle under the sail of the Alliance ship they had commandeered, stubbornly clung to her breast as their small party of seven escaped. Hope lived, that she might return to find him still alive when all of this was over. Hope had even dug in its fingernails, bleeding and raw, when a scant few moments later a vast emptiness opened up in her heart and the bond she shared with him shattered, and broke.

Far in the distance, upon the isle they fled growing smaller with each passing minute, light shot forth into the sky. She paused and watched and hoped.

She did not cry, not yet. Redmoor left upon the helm, she had work to do. The Spectre, grubby and starved and bruised as she was, was not in any immediate danger. Bael’nar was the best healing for her right now. Farmight, fallen and still unconscious but not so severely wounded that she required her most pressing attention - given to Emberfall to tend to her in the meantime. Ashelanar, though, was in a sorry state. It was through a lip bitten so hard that it almost bled that Taeonthrial worked, the void in her chest demanding that it be felt with each pass of magic from her fingers. Each mote deepened the wound that should not have been there, yet was. She had failed him, and he would remember it in his rebirth.

In the end, she hadn��t even been able to help Xelda. The wound was too grievous, Taeonthrial’s magic too weak. The failure sat heavy in her breast as she cleansed and bandaged the void where an eye had once been and she prepared herself to deliver the news herself upon the woman’s awakening.

Hope did not abandon her until the ship was docked and she was alone, left to mind its decks whilst the hustle of an army buzzed on below her in the freshly retaken port. She didn’t even notice how her knuckles turned white around the handle of the ships wheel she clutched, nor did she really notice the chill that set upon her tear-tracked face.

Commanders Emberheart and Dawnbrook are dead.

She had been right there- not more than a forced march away. She could have made it. She could have helped them. Could have saved them, perhaps. Or perhaps she too would have fallen with them, and perhaps the Spectre would still be in her jail cell and those five sent rescue her would be gone instead. The pit-pat of blood against the deck as it fell from her bleeding nail beds broke her from her trance- the pain was hot and sharp and but a momentary distraction. She watched it for a moment, bright crimson against her skin, the only blood she had shed so far in this gods damnable war.

She should have been there.

An anguished cry rose up and choked in her throat, the sound garbled and pathetic as she sank down to her knees and slumped against the post of the wheel. Above her, Elune shone bright, mocking her for her treachery. Was this to be her punishment? Was she to watch her friends die one by one for daring to leave behind all that had been false in her life? Was she to never hear Lirelle’s bright laughter as they dreamt up ridiculous plots that would surely drive the Oracle up the wall- never to see Sederis frown at her when she chastised him for being so reckless again? Never to feel the subtle, warm relief when she returned to the infirmary to see the feisty little priest cussing out paperwork or only half-jokingly suggesting that she might take her knife to the next idiot who asked a stupid question?

Never.

In a fit of rage she tore the moonstone pendant from her neck; nearly toppled over the side of the ship with the force she threw it into the ocean. Watched it sink, the glow ebbing under the tides until it was too deep to see. The wooden rails under her palms bowed and cracked and groaned as her anger grew forth in the form of barbed vines, the spirit of the Earth answering her when Elune had all but abandoned her. This was all wrong- her friends, dead or dying; her kin now her enemy, sworn to rob her of the happiness she had only just begun to carve out for herself. What use was Oakvale if Akaela had died anyway? What use were they when the power they had promised her hadn’t been enough? What use was Oakvale when she was so very far away from their guidance, without Aleriel to guide her hand.

Oakvale was not here, but the earth and the sea and the sky and the fires of her anger were and they stole the light of Elune from her eyes and stained them dark with vengeance.

The druid sank down against the bars and vines of her own making, unafraid of their sharp barbs. The roil in her chest only grew and swelled and made her feel sick with anger and grief until she could do nothing but cry.

Taeonthrial wasn’t sure how long she sobbed for. She cried until the hurt in her chest turned numb and her body had no more tears to give. She sat there until the quiet, scritch-scratching claws of something coming towards her drew her attention. Phidi, leafy flesh torn and barely mended by what little Tae had been able to muster for him by the time she was done with everyone else aboard, half dragged-half hobbled his way to her. Noiselessly, he reached for her as a toddler might his mother, arms outstretched and wanting of her comfort. She blinked at him. Once, twice, pulled him close.

No longer would she stand idly by.

[Taeonthrial, Prestige Class - Elementalist]

mentions: @dorksworn @jessipalooza @pyrar @pyrosophist @emberfallen @ocarina-of-what @retributionpriest @thepilgrimofwar

for interest: @felthier @stormandozone

[thanidiel]

Choices

Prompt 11: World Building, First Person What if World of Warcraft took a different turn with its inspiration? What if the game was actually based entirely around science fantasy, particularly cyberpunk? I was a cheesy bitch and did The Modern AU(™). For a long piece, use what skills you’ve learned and practiced to narrate AS your character in this different world.

What would their occupation be? What is the world like? Factions? Races? Conflicts? Try to write about a normal or abnormal day for your character in this world—is their name different too? Write in your character’s perspective, and take on a very in-depth look of a different personality and worldview.

[I was very cheesy and went balls deep into a Modern AU story to exercise a more modern narrative style. Lots of references to others and events from World of Warcraft roleplay or Thanidiel’s background, try to catch them all. alsoimsorrythiswassolong.

Mentions: @jessipalooza @stormandozone @captainswingbeard @azriah @immunologist @kinari ]

“Alright, alright. Just, shut the fuck up for, like, I don’t know, an hour. Ethan, cradle your beer, you’re good at that. Elena… I don’t gotta tell you shit.

Let’s start with… the beginning.

So, let’s just get this shit out of the way. Auberry, up in Fresno County, California. Small-time fucking town. My dad was a new recruit to the police department, there. First-generation son to some Lithuanians that couldn’t read shit for English. My mom is a Mono Indian, from the Big Sandy Rancheria next door.

1990, Dad knocked her up when she was in town. I was the result, that she passed right back to Dad. Grew up happy without her, ran around just fine with myself, my Staffordshire, Ted, and all of the neighborhood backdoors left open. Grandparents were out of the picture by then, and Dad had shit hours, so it was up to the Abuelas and Grandma Sallys. Suited all of us just fine.

One day, Dad gets shot up breaking up a domestic dispute. I was six. And as much as we all want to think about those crazy stories up on Reddit and Facebook, no one fucking walks away from a hunting rifle. His coworkers stopped by, took me to the tribe headquarters in town to figure out what to do with me. Off to Big Sandy they sent my ass. I hear the Grandma next to us took Ted.

As much as I want to say things got more chill from there, it didn’t. See, my mom was half-white, already. Mix that with some straight-out-of-Europe dude, and you get a blue-eyed blonde haired kid running around with the Mono. Mom didn’t want me either, and she made that damned clear to the elders, so I was back to being a community effort on a new Grandma’s sofa.

Bless Grandma, she tried. Fed me. Taught me a handful of Monachi. Taught me how to fucking read and write English. Driving, eventually. Hooked me up with a new dog too when I got there, Tamuapaya, albino-assed thing. All of the good parental shit you’re supposed to do, with everything she had.

I ended up as black of a sheep as it gets, though. Scraped with the other kids whenever we crossed each other, dogs got in on it too. Adults couldn’t fucking stand me outside of Grandma ‘cause I didn’t think they deserved anything but lip. And, let me just say, it’s fucking awkward when you realize you’re a fag, hours out from a real city. I was never really accepted with them outside of cook-outs, but that was when you had to take everyone registered in the tribe.

Eventually, I get old enough to start itching to work. So I start the uphill battle of doing the most shit possible small-jobs for the most shit payout for these folk, and as you two know, I am stubborn as fucking shit about my work. So I did every bit of work they pissed at me, with fucking excellence.

Then that got too small when I was like, fifteen, and wanted some real fucking cash. The other black sheep got me then, and let me know it was easy money running drugs between us, peeps at the Casino, Auberry, and Fresno. Next thing I know, I’m sitting in a truck bed heading to Fres’ at 1 A.M. in the morning to pick up with them.

Didn’t take long for Grandma to figure out I wasn’t running off to catch friends at Auberry. She switched me more times than I can remember to try to beat it out of me. Didn’t work, and she didn’t have any full-on proof to get others in it, either - hid the FUCK out of the cash and what we were distributing.

So, eventually, I’m like… seventeen? And I’m passing crack to this military guy visiting relatives in Auberry and wanted some fun up by the Casino. And when he puts the cash in my hand and I put the bag in his, he doesn’t tell me to fuck off. He gives me a good look, asks how old I am, I tell him, and he asks me what the fuck am I going to do out here for another seventy years. I don’t even get to answer when he tells me I should get the fuck out of here, go talk to a recruiter at Fres’.

That got me thinking, so a year later, I’ve found all of my documents and shit in Grandma’s house. I have a pile of cash. And I want to get the fuck out of this shithole. I stuff it all into my backpack, I go with the boys to Fres’. I dump off all of my shit into Christian’s bag; free myself of it. I take a bus to get my ass right to the opposite end of the city. Spend my night in a homeless shelter with my backpack underneath my shirt and sweater, my arms wrapped around it, sleeping on my stomache, and a switch under the extra jacket I was using a pillow.

Next day, I get a free gym trial. I shower and make myself look as respectable as I need. After that, I open up a Bank of America and drop the eight-k. I had into my first savings. I keep three-hundred on me, I grab some Burger King, and I make my way to the Army recruiter.

Guy helps me get set up because it’s like the third time in my life I’ve done paperwork excluding the bank, which did like… everything, for me. After that, it’s floating between the shelter, gym, and getting odd jobs helping at taquerias and panaderias, with their dishes or pushing garbage and carts around for a month. Taking all of those damned test and then waiting for them to process. Grabbed an iPhone 3G during the wait, that was pretty cool.

Fort Jackson for a year, as it goes. Nothing significant in the grand scheme of things; shit was fresh hell, but nothing I couldn’t handle. For the most part. Met Casey there. My age. Actually graduated H.S., attending community nearby for sports medicine. It would still be another two years before fags could be open in the military, but we… got together. When we could. You could—… it was dating. We started dating when I was in B.C.T. And made it work after that.

After basic, I get hauled off all over the place. Okinawa, Hawaii, Ansbach. Mid-2011, they let us be out and loud in the U.S. military. Bad move for my career, but, first thing I did when I took my leave is fuck Casey and ask her to marry me. No ring or any big romantic gesture, we didn’t work like that. She said, yeah, sure. The process went underway, it’s all done by the time I’m heading back to like, Fort Irwin.

We’re separated for a while, then, like, she graduated, because she was a lot fucking smarter than me. And she started living with me on base. Which is fucking awesome. It’s not what I asked for, because she had all of this potential to work with back at home. But, hey, she wanted to travel too. We had our years, we were fucking twenty-years old. I let her come.

So we fucked around in South Korea, Alaska, Italy, it’s almost a blur after everything. Eventually, I get put out in Camp K.A.I.A. in Afghanistan. She’s back in Kansas, ‘cause, naturally, they’re hesitant on letting me drag a U.S. civy out there of all bases. It’s seven months into my deployment, she wants to visit and I let her.

April 28th, 2014. I took her out, a bit south of the airport in city proper for a meal, in the early morning. We were eating lamb korma with turnips— I still can’t fucking handle smelling and eating lamb. Or any soft fucking food: deuces to mashed potatoes and bolognese. God.

So we were eating—… we were eating that. And there was an airplane with a fucked engine that had been making its way towards the airport. It didn’t get close to the runaway. It veered and dropped, right into the city. The wing went right through our building.

I was sitting northward. She was sitting southward. My mind slowed down time, and I watched the way all of this debris and broken cable and a fucking airplane slammed into her back. She hits the table and it’s shooting off. All I see is blood and curry everywhere, then it hits me, too.

I wake up in the hospital two days later. My head feels like shit because my brain got ping-ponged. A sheet of metal opened up my torso from collar to hip, and a piece of flying drywall smashed my right cheek and orbital socket. They couldn’t save the eye. The ceiling falling after meant some heavy shit landed onto my left hand. They couldn’t save that either. And they couldn’t save Casey. She died on contact.

—I’m fine, by the way. Just pass over the whiskey. I’m not finished.

Cutting that long story of recovery short, I stabilize. They get to Landstuhl in Germany. Eventually, I end up back in the States. Sans eye and hand. A little ugly, now, too. Medical discharge. Sucks, but I’m hooked up with a nice prosthetic, at the least. That all takes about eight months to wrap up - not a lot of interest in keeping an uneducated, handless, soldier around.

And, you know, that’s where you come in, Ethan. I don’t think Elena knows this part about us, so bear with me. Ethan, here, was my Sergeant for a damned while. His ass phased out in ‘13. We always got along great, he kept up with us babies even when he was out. Group texts were a great invention; Snapchat groups even better. Now we both get to see all of the stupid shit the rest of those idiots are doing on deployment.

Ethan is basically like my fucking dad. So when fates aligned and I was in the Brooklyn military hospital, he started driving down from his apartment in the city, seeing me about once a week on his weekends. Then, when I was out, he offered me a place to stay, no costs. Naturally, I fucking took it. The last thing I was going to do now that I was out, was gonna walk my ass back to the Mono in that Cali shithole. Not fucking smart to be alone after the shit that had happened.

And, honestly? It worked really well. I used the time he’d be gone with his job at the nearby library to do… basically all of the adult shit I didn’t do in the military. Got my license, borrowing the car from his coworker and our close friend, Esther (nice girl, did volleyball and track for high-school and college, then decided she liked things quiet). Took the bus to therapy with a guy through the V.A., ‘till I grabbed a beat up 2009 Chevy truck from Craigslist. Eventually, started classes for a G.E.D. too. Collected my military checks, saved it all and got pocket-money with a part-time at some flower hippy’s cafe—and, you know, I never realized how fucking hard it is to make legit money in the ‘real world’ until then. Ethan, you’re a fucking saint. Like, three-hundred or whatever a week? Chump ass change compared to when I bounced with the kids in Fres’.

All of that good shit. Plus, it was nice that we both had a drinking buddy. And we both had a way of navigating each other’s bullshit well. Like, Elena, you just heard my wife-story. And you’ve heard about the fire, too. It’s not the fucking same, but it worked out that we had about an inkling of what to do when the other dude’s fucked up.

Eventually, it’s the day for appointment hell. Check up, physical therapy, actual therapy, then likely, a stop by the pharmacist. It’s like, early ‘16, at this point. And before we even get started, the doctor sits me down. Starts talking about this experimental stem-cell research, for organ implantation. Taylor says it’s not at a complex enough stage to restore my hand, but my eye and facial scars would be within the window of possibility. Gives me a card for a Brianna Lalwani-Jindal if I’m interested in volunteering for it.

I get through the day. I finally catch a meal at Jersey Mike’s, and after me and Ethan talk about it over some Coors, like if I wanna do it and how it feels fucking weird, to like, erase what happened to Casey through this, I say, sure, I’ll call. It’s like, eight P.M. She answers like four seconds before it just shoots to her voicemail. The bitch fucking slurs out like she snorted too much Vico, “—yeah, I know I’m fucking late, I’ll be there, I prooomise.”

So me and Ethan pick our jaws off the floor hearing this shit and I’m like, “Nah, Tony Dawson. Doctor Taylor Woodson at the Brooklyn V.A. Hospital referred me to you, about your research trials with the organ implantation. Lalwani?”

There’s a gasp, a lot of shuffling, and a lot of me and Ethan passing around another beer can between us. Then she really starts spilling and it becomes a game of my fucking brain trying to comprehend this Indian accent mixed with that lightspeed fucking way people from those big cities talk, like “Oh shit, okay, okay, okay. Yeah, you’ve got me. Where do you live? What are you missing? When can I meet you? Tomorrow?”

So I tell her about my fucked-up face, but really, I want to know what the fuck I just got myself into with this chick. I don’t get the chance, she blurts out over me, “Sounds great! EYE will see you later, Tony. Tomorrow. Four P.M., Just… show back at the Hospital. We’ll find a vacant office. Ciao.” Then the fucker hangs up. Eventually, we decide that I should probably text the number back, at least. My ‘See you then.’ gets back a kissy-face and ‘I like coffee.’ Subtle.

A vanilla latte and unsweetened black tea, fifteen minutes of us wandering the Hospital, thirty minutes of her talking my ear off about a bunch of medical-scientific garbage, then five minutes of us filling out all of the paperwork, and I was Bri’s new, shiny, case study.

Skipping over all of the shit she ran my face through, we’ll sum it up as: I need contacts and I fucking hate it, but she did what she set out to do. The meetings themselves, were more interesting. I don’t know if she like, fucking sensed that I’d let her get away with her shit. But I’m going to assume that, since she still has her fucking job.

It got unprofessional, pretty fast. Like, beyond what she already hit me with. I’m not sure what got into me, honestly. I hadn’t even considered another girl since the crash. But I spent our introductions looking at her like a piece of meat whenever her back was turned. First real meeting, she’s prodding me about all of my personal interests and shit in some fucked small talk, starting to get into my dating life. I take a risk and just drop straight out that I dig chicks.

She gets a bit quiet, which doesn’t make much of a difference because it’s clear already that she’s a fucking loudmouth. But she gets curious, and keeps looking at me after that the whole time I’m there. Then the meeting after that, we ended up on some fucking talk about blindfolds for some reason, and let me just say that she got a little too into that before we started talking about how, like, I needed to turn down my drinking.

So the whole time I’m letting her and the other doctors Frankenstein my face, there is sexual tension to cut with at every goddamned interaction to be had. It never gets anywhere, because neither of us are fucking stupid. But, just, Jesus Christ.

Cut to a year later at the end of 2016. My face is put back together. Getting used to fucking contacts, getting used to checking my emails for interview requests out of the wazoo for five-hundred documentaries and news sites, after her team’s paper on me came out. By all accounts, I’m looking good and so is the implant. She’s onto new volunteers, my appointments are getting passed to another doctor on her team and stretched out to semi-annuals. That should be the end of the story.

But, uh, couldn’t get her out of my head, frankly. Not for a lack of trying, either. By now, I was really amping the weights at gym to try to get my energy out. Quit the hippy cafe and lined up a new job in armed security. Did my registration for online classes at the community, for a Statistics program. Eventually, it’s like, I don’t know, two months, after the last time I saw her. Ethan drags me out to a bar. Ethan fucks off. I meet a girl, some rich one, named Valencia. We get to talking, for like, fifteen minutes. Next thing I know, I’m texting Ethan I’ll show up later and I spent the night at her place.

It’s fucking great, Valencia’s fucking great. But I’m texting Bri the next afternoon at Starbucks that I want to see her that goddamned night. She shoots me the address of another bar, says to bring friends. Naturally, that means I tag in Ethan and Esther. We show up, she has good ol’ Elena here.

Everyone clicks just like that. And that’s fucking great. Lots of material to work through, especially when Bri started going on about how she and Elena met; some wild case when she was a med. student and the Roma communities in the whole state were having outbreaks. Apparently Elena helped with her outreach a lot, a sort of guide between worlds. Then the two quiet girls started going on about their herb gardens, not to even mention all of the stupid military stories me and Ethan had. We hung out for a long ass while. Eventually, we’re all back at Bri’s place. And our BOI Ethan, here, finally communicates what’s up to you and Esther. So Esther ‘takes you two out to for fast food’ and out of our hairs.

Shit takes even shorter than Valencia. Bri locks the door, we fuck. Then I wake up in the morning, wake her up for another fuck. We sleep around, get some take-out for a late… brunch… hang out, I end up taking her with me to that huge football party Tim was hosting and meeting up with the whole friend group. Then it’s just straight back to her place for a repeat performance.

So, basically, it went from zero to like we had always been fucking dating. I practically moved in with her after the first two weeks. I know all of my stuff ended up in there by the fourth month. Then we put me on the lease entirely sometime during the seventh month when she was renewing it. It all flowed natural as shit too, I didn’t even know how ‘fast’ we were going ‘till about the third time I was throwing shit I needed into boxes to toss at Bri’s and Ethan called me the fuck out when he asked: I just said it’s convenient with how much closer to work she is.

And I know a lot of people were, and still do, giving me shit about it, or just about the whole relationship in general. Apparently we talk too hard at each other and act too casual for it to be serious. Looks like some sorta fling, especially considering our ‘differences’ as people put it. You know, racist people, or people who think I’m fucking stupid ‘cause I got a gun in the drawer.

But lemme just say that I think it takes some real fucking balls in a person, where the first time she ever woke up to me having a PTSD episode, is to slide her ass out of bed, rummage through my coat for my medication, and slap my benzos in front of me with leftover tea and a Crunch bar. All without a single word. It takes real balls, any other person, after getting that from her, is just a discount bitch.

It’s not all her pampering me, either. I realized quick she’s a ‘talker’ with her research. If she isn’t with one of us, she’s locked in the bedroom with a stack of journal articles and a Macbook talking off Luke’s ears like he can fucking bark back. So I started reading everything she had and really going over her team’s paper on me, plus whatever the fuck else her scholar databases had, and a lot of Dictionary.com. And, one weekend, she’s complaining to me over coffee and tea about her shit, I pop that shit right back at her, her jaw drops, she probably shits herself a little. And, from then on, I’m her new interactive rubber duck. And people think I’m fucking dumb.

I mean, not to mention all of the random shit I pay for that bitch, with all of the money I’ve been getting lately between disability, financial aid, and work.

So, we’re basically to the present now. There isn’t much detail to fill in after that besides that life is pretty fucking great and Bri is pretty fucking great, from then to now, the middle of Year of Our Lord, 2018. Which takes us to the crux of this whole ass speech I’ve been going on.

Now you two know my life-story. What I wanna know, now that we’re all open and drunk here, is your fucking thoughts on if I’d be making the best, or the worst, decision of my life if I asked her to hitch with me. I’ll be fucking real; I don’t fucking know what it’s like to make a good choice besides like, I don’t know, where to buy my graphics cards.”

I watch the two shitfaces in front of me process what the fuck I just said. Elena brightens like the Irish daisy she is, pressing her hands together, abso-fucking-lutely wiggling in her seat. Her purple scarf slides off the back of the chair in the process. Ethan is still stretched out across the whole damned table like he’s gonna pass out, with the dopiest smile stretching across his face, but as usual, he’s the ‘loud’ one of the two and starts to talk over Elena’s vague ‘Oh… oh…!’

“Dude? That’s… that’s great. That’s really fucking great. I… Man. Fucking, just fucking go for—”

“So are we just a homeless shelter now, or like, is this a reverse Alcoholics Anonymous?” The door slams shut, Luke is rushing off of the couch, and all four of us are just JEERING (barking) Bri’s name back at her, like it makes it fucking better that these idiots are still in the apartment.

“I was thinking homeless shelter and giving them the living room.”

“Cool. Maybe the floor’ll delay Ethan breaking his back another day.”

“Hey… hey, man. I ain’t that old.”

“Oh! Don’t say that - what if it does happen?”

Twiddle Gray and Twiddle Orange are both looking at me funny right now, considering what was cut into, and Bri is starting to pick that up as she’s putting her keys and shit away.

“So! What were you all talking about? Are you finally leaving me?”

“Food, actually. We were thinking that Himalayan place you like. They can eat the basic bitch shit, I was gonna grab us fried okra and tandoori.”

“I hope you aren’t expecting me to pick my ass up from the couch, now. That shit, ain’t happening. Long day working with by-the-book dunderfucks.”

The Twiddles give each a look, then, and then Ethan launches in.

“Nah… naaaaah. You know what? You sit there. You hang out. The three of us will walk down, sober up.”

“With how you made my fucking apartment smell, not sure if that’s gonna happen. But ‘kay. Have fun, leave me all alone. After I just came back from work. A l o n e.”

The three of us are already draining our waters and grabbing our jackets and wallets. I push Elena towards the door and Ethan is right after her as I shoot back at her,

“Shut the fuck up, you whiny bitch. Thirty minutes. You’d be spending it ignoring us and doing your shitty Buzzfeed quizzes anyway.”

“I mean - you’re right. But you’re still leaving me alone. Shit friends. Shit girlfriend,” she sighs, “What a shit life.”

Elena is the one pushing me through the door now by my arm, forcing me and Ethan’s fat asses into the hallway as she tries to assure Bri.

“It’ll be fast! I love you!” 

“Awh. That’s cute.”

The door slams shut.

[kai-2124]

“Tae throwing a rock at his head because HE DESERVES IT >8)“ Still rude, but yes he do. It just reminded me so much of the moment in Emperor’s New Groove where Kuzco chucks a rock at Pacha’s head. So here we are. @thenaaru

[kiwwishi]

Taeonthrial by Kytru

[retributionpriest]

Ice

The nights always felt the longest. She had never been one to keep normal hours in life, but now she felt no tiredness, no subtle calming pull of sleep. They had provided her with a bed, a courtesy no doubt, but useless. These days, she preferred the solitude that could be found amongst the trees, away from the padded tents, the soft voices around flickering fires. Away from sympathetic words, suspicious eyes, away from the tension. Her feet always led back here, to the clearing she had claimed for herself, to the seat of gnarled roots worn smooth and shiny from hours sat waiting for missives, or for those she called.

Lirelle pulled the cloak tighter around her, the hood lifted to cover her ears. Edaril had warned her well enough to protect herself from the cold, durable as they were, frozen flesh was prone to damage, living or not. She didn't feel it. The cold that permeated the landscape, the fingers of frost that picked and twisted and stripped the life from the earth. She had stopped feeling it soon after she awoke, the feeling pushed into the deep recesses of her mind, the sensation discarded for things that were important. Until she had spoken to Elleynah she had grown used it it, even took comfort in it. Like touching a flame, the tears on her chest made her suddenly starkly aware of the blanket of cold she had wrapped herself in and grown so accustomed to. Suddenly the frigid air outside had seemed so cutting now that it was held at bay by curls the colour of fire. What took root that evening she had fostered, slowly like a candle in a gale. Oosaarn had called her a fool, but he stood by her as he had before. When she met Isilos he was like a furnace, radiant and bright, his words and his Light rekindling a small spark. The mark left by Taeonthrial's palm had felt like a burning brand, her anger and Illoridan's cautious suspicion leaving her with yet another little more. Ellasha had burned bright and hot as ever, and the wry jokes and laughter that Esheyn and Ithanar had brought made her almost forget what it had felt like. Until she spoke to Vaelrin.

“Lirelle is a memory to me ... an' one she will remain. Her livin', breathin spirit is not here. She died ... an' I have mourned th' loss of her departure. So don't speak to me about her. An' don't speak to me again.”

His words cut like shards of glass, tearing through her and extinguishing the precious, fragile warmth she held on to so tightly. From his response to her letter she had expected the flames of anger, fear, even revulsion. But not outright denial. Not this.

What had you wanted?

The voice of her long buried friend whispered from the hidden corners of her mind.

An embrace? A declaration of love?

There was a laugh, as cutting as it was inhuman.

Things change when you pass through the veil of life and death. Hopes and dreams twist themselves into unrecognizable things. Grief and loss sear themselves into scars that may never heal.

“I don’t know. I was prepared to be turned away, just not like that.”

He grieves for the Lirelle he lost. Do you believe that’s who you are? That death left you unscathed and unmarked? Vaelrin doesn’t think so. Death twists and scars. Not just you, but everyone around you.

“I am exactly who I was. Changed or not. I will not let anything change the essence of who I am, not even death.”

And what is that then? What makes you more than a corpse puppet held up by soul-twined strings?

“My purpose. Until that too is lost, I will remain.”

You came back to protect the ones you loved. And in doing so, became a broker of life and death. Is that really what you are?

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

Because you are so much more than your purpose alone.

“I am the same Sederis, you of all people should know that.”

No, he chuckled darkly before falling silent.

You aren’t.

chronological mentions: @felthier @stormandozone @cynfuldax @curiouslich @thenaaru @edaigoa @azriah @captainswingbeard @kinari @forever-afk @thepilgrimofwar

Thank you all for blessing me with such amazing RP! This particular story is set quite a few weeks back not long after her return, I’m just awful at writing :)

[thepilgrimofwar]

The Price of Function

Serving with the Crows, battle to battle, contact to contact, had taught Arrenir to see things differently. He had always been a strong believer in leaving violence as a last resort. That not all problems can or should be solved with violence. But he was beginning to understand that not all problems can be solved without it either. Academically, he knew that it was a balancing act of every ruler- of how far they’d allow themselves to be pushed before plunging the peoples of two states into war. In practice though, with sellswords, camp followers, blacksmiths, and an entire industry relying on war, Arrenir began to realize that to them, violence was a way of life. Death was not a tragedy but a occupational hazard, an everyday risk that all the Crows took in stride to put food on their tables.

It wasn’t like there was another living that could be made with the entire Kingdom of Quel’thalas being dragged into the constant wars of the Horde.

But even with his new understandings of things, and many other lessons learned about himself and of warfare, Arrenir still did not understand Lirelle. Not her motives, not her thought processes, not even the reason why- or how- she could remain so detached and uninvolved emotionally with the affairs around her. He had his theories, that this nomadic life of war had damaged her in some unspoken fundamental way. But speaking to her family had assured him that she was like that long before the fires of war had even been involved. So, like he did with nature, he observed her.

Losing her hand hadn’t fazed her, she had disappeared back to the Dawnspire and Shallowbrook for her recovery and when she had returned with a hand of bark and magic, she had gone straight back to duty. Trauma had no hold over her, no doubt, no loss, just pure focus and tenacity that seemed to be drawn from an infinite source. A source that he wanted to understand, that he hoped would bring him a step closer to understanding her.

“Do you have a moment?” Arrenir asked once the Crows had been dismissed for the day. They hadn’t spoke in a long while, not substantially, and not regarding anything that did not involve official Crows business and troop movements.

“Hm?” She looked up from the pile of contracts and troop paperwork arrayed on her desk, the deep frown on her face easing when she saw who it was. “Yeah, I do. What do you need? Garris told me you’ve been settling in well.”

“It’s been an interesting time, being a sellsword. The gold is good in this age of constant conflict.” Arrenir paused, folding his arms as he stood opposite her desk. “I wanted to ask about the hand, what is it exactly? I’m curious.”

Sighing, Lirelle pulled the glove off of her left hand, letting it fall on the table and holding out the limb for him to inspect. “It’s made of living wood, bonded to what’s left of my arm which is how it sustains itself. Taeonthrial replicated everything in an actual arm, nerves and all except made of plant material instead of meat.”

He studied her hand for a good moment before nodding. “It’s good work, lucky, if not her you wouldn’t have a hand.” Arrenir gave her a look. “Think you’d still continued as a merc if that was the case?”

“There were other options,” she states darkly. “Taeonthrial was the best, the person I trust most. That’s it.”

“I know that Bricini has her troll-blooded concoctions, and I know you could have fashioned up an arcanic prosthetic elsewhere… But I was curious what you’d do if none of these options worked- Perhaps your nerves didn’t fuse with the living wood- Perhaps you were allergic to whatever means Bricini had in mind- or that there were problems with the prosthetics- What would you have done if you were short a hand?”

“You just listed three completely separate, unrelated treatments. The chances of none of them working are next to nothing, not to mention the fact that there are numerous other options available. Why think about things that aren’t an issue?”

“Because you looked completely unaffected by the prospect that you had lost a limb. Normally people go through some sort of trauma, some sort of fear that they’ll never be able to do the things they once did. Weren’t you scared? Upset?”

“Normal people also don’t have access to people who have the means to correct something like that. Sometimes it is that simple.”

A lie, but one that she believed. All but forgotten now, the first few nights after Allamar had been sleepless, her too-small arm bound tight to her chest but seemingly heavy like a weight. Iiloridan had not said much, but the look on his face was all she needed. Taeonthrial herself was out of commission, and the idea that there was not enough left for her to work with was nearly unbearable.

“Normally,” he stressed. “I’m sure if you asked any member of the Guard who has had lost and replaced a limb, they’d tell you that there was fear- there is always fear- and I’m just… Afraid, I guess, that you’re just bottling all of yours up.” Arrenir sighed, thinking back to how war changed people. How it had traumatized and molded people like Sederis or himself. “And I’m afraid that that’s what you’ve been doing for everything. That beneath that indifferent exterior, is a deep well of everything you’ve suffered at war.”

“Look Arrenir. I’m not going to waste time on idle thought and speculation. Of course it’s not the same as having my real hand, but it’s the best possible outcome. It worked. Nothing else matters.”

Arrenir gave a serious pause. “And what of all the other things that you’ve lost over the years? What of the things that did not work out?”

Lirelle stares at him. “Then they didn’t work out. You can’t uncook an egg Arrenir. What happens, happens. It’s over. Done with.”

He takes a seat at her desk, looking at her straight in the eyes. “And you’ve never felt pain at the things that did happen? Regret? It’s been centuries and dozens of wars between them. I don’t doubt for a second that you’ve lost things along the way. People. Places. They might not affect you anymore, but I wonder where all that pain went.”

She meets his eyes, her own gaze unwavering. “What’s the point? What purpose does it serve? I have two hands now. Sure, I can’t thread a needle left handed anymore, but that’s such a small price to pay. Why waste time lamenting pointless things when I can use that time to get as much function back as possible?”

“Because loss damages you whether you recognize it or not,” Arrenir insisted. “I barely survived losing my homeland and my people to war- and you’ve been at war almost as long as my daughter has been alive. I can only imagine the sort of things that might do to a person. But you? You seem unfazed, unaffected, always moving onwards and never dwelling.” He sighed, shrugging the anxieties that he held off his chest at last. “I’m just scared that one day, it’ll all come for you all at once. All that loss, all that pain, all that fear. And unlike your hand, there won’t be an easy answer for it.”

@retributionpriest

[thenaaru]

There’s also art in there ‘credited’ to the wrong artist. I know for a fact they’ve reposted a piece of Taeonthrial and Tulav drawn by @blencem and tagged it as by someone I’ve never even heard of.

Art theft heads up

https://www.instagram.com/world_of_warcraft_arts/ is back at it again.  They hid their account on private last time they got caught, but I guess they unhid it once they figured everyone forgot about it. I still recognize quite a few artists here. 

They’re saying they’re posting with permission but there’s a few on there I know they didn’t ask for after letting the artists know and they’re still not sourcing.  Might want to take a look and make sure your work isn’t there and file a report if you see yours.

[kurai-no-bara]

Taeonthrial Leafbinder (OC by @thenaaru)

[thenaaru]

Dreamwalker.

[Log: 11:48pm]

Dawnbrook deposited Emberheart quite hurriedly into my care. He appears to be mostly fine and his injuries will heal. I suspect the two children of Allamar peeled from his leg are more the reason I have been summoned.

[Log: 12:57am]

Emberheart is fine. More urgently the two children brought in with him appear to have only recently become afflicted. Whilst in quarantine they have shown signs of deterioration- heart palpitations, some stress when breathing. They seem to behave more like feral children than the first three I soothed. Definitely more cognitive.

[Log: 1:14am]

Almost immediately after my prior entry, one of the children began to seize. Black lesions noted, do not appear to have previously been there. I have admitted both as patients under my direct care despite concerns from my colleagues. The Nightmare’s hold upon them does not feel so strong- I hope to stop, if not reverse, their afflictions. I have left Akaela channelling what nature magic he can to slow their decline.

[Log: 1:38am]

Both children have developed tremors and experienced short seizures. There appear to be some kind of growths rapidly sprouting from their lesions- I suspect this is the nightmare taint---

The entry scrawled off, as if abandoned mid sentence. Taeonthrial had all but thrown down her pen, the sound of wet, rasping breath demanding her attention.

“Shh-- it’s alright sweetheart-,” she was cut off by the grasping of small hands on the edge of her robes, no longer white but stained with smears of black bile and blood.

“Minn-- minn’d--”

Minn’da. The word was not so different in Thalassian as in her native tongue. Inside her chest, her heart cracked a little more and she reached over with a gentle hand to stroke back sweat soaked hair. If she saved this child, did they even have a minn’da to comfort them still? Sentimental thoughts for another time, she could grieve for all that had been lost when her work was done.

Not that she had much time left anyway. Akaela had worked to stop the infection, halted it- merely put a roadblock in its path. But the Nightmare was clever. It was a crafty foe, one that had almost outwitted Azeroth several times over. Almost, but not quite. Each time, it had been beaten back in the Dream--

The Dream.

Taeonthrial stopped and stilled. Entering the Dream was not as easy as it once had been- but from there….yes, from there she might be able to purge the Nightmare from these frail and tiny bodies. She swallowed hard. A druid alone in the Dream was a druid at risk and she was no master of the art, but she saw no other way. Perhaps with time, with any information she might gleam, they would find another way.

Another drowning breath at her side snapped her from her mind. She could not, would not, watch them die too. All around her she heard the distant rattles of last breaths, the rustle of clean white sheets as another fight was lost. Taking a deep breath, Taeonthrial picked up her notes and hastily scribbled down her intentions.

-

[Log: 1:44am]

I am entering the Emerald Dream, from within I plan to purge the Nightmare from both patients. Do not move my physical body for I fear I shall be lost otherwise.

-

That would have to do. There was no time to make the proper preparations, no time to set up a nice comfortable barrow or seek out a guardian for the body her spirit would leave behind. Akaela would simply have to both keep watch and channel and she would have to pray it was enough.

“Alright, ana’anor, it’s going to be alright,” she spoke softly as she sat cross legged upon the floor between the two cots. In each hand she clasped too-small fingers that couldn’t quite break free of their rigor-- and then, she took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

“Arama sh'nala fasima nemelia boranna... manoria fesala maranor... mal'nala fal…Arama sh'nala fasima nemelia boranna... manoria fesala maranor... mal'nala fal…”

The dream was quiet. Her connection to it was weak, it felt as if some thick fog stilled her movements. But it was here. The Nightmare. She could feel it like a spider crawling up her neck. Tip-toe. Tip-toe. Tip-toe. She looked and she looked and she looked, unable to freely walk the dream yet desperate to glimpse something that might help. She looked everywhere except down.

She looked down.

Taeonthrial gagged. The hands she held in hers weren’t those of children. As she stared down she watched as their forms swayed and swelled as if made of oil. A thick, black oil stained with crimson. Instinctively she recoiled, ichor dripping from her fingertips. The grotesque forms of would-be children stared right back up at her, unblinking. Slowly, they reached up and up and up and up until they could touch her face. She trembled, rooted in place.

“Minn’d….minn…...where’sminn….”

Black bile rising, thorns and vines and-- Tae plunged her hands into the undulating creatures, squeezing her eyes closed. If the Dream abandoned her now, she would be lost to the Nightmare. Another druid fallen, another child lost. “Mother Moon…,” she gasped, the warmth under her palms suddenly igniting and surging through her veins. Taeonthrial grit her teeth and summoned forth great, needle sharp vines that punctured the Not Children as husks- and then she struck them down. Beneath her feet, bright flowers grew wild, whipping up into a frenzy of purifying blooms around the torn and broken bodies of the Nightmare.

“Andu-falah-dor!”

-

[Log: 10:09am]

Emberward Leafbinder appears to be stable, as do her patients. Whatever she did within the Dream seems to have purged the disease from both children. All symptoms are no longer progressing and appear to be in reverse despite no longer receiving aid from the ancient. Temperatures in both children have returned to normal, lesions are no longer secreting black sebum. Initial cognitive tests indicate some minor brain damage has occured, though it is certainly too early to ascertain the extent of any lasting damage.  Leafbinder will likely need rest for a day or two before she can return to work.

Dawnmender Mission, Saving Kris; roll - 25 @curiouslich @stormandozone @retributionpriest @thepilgrimofwar

[hexwolf]

"I can't do it anymore!" Tae @ Nyth

“Yes, yes you can!”

Nythendris took Tae’s face in her hands. Hot and wet, tears rolled over her fingers as she forced her head up.

“You think just because he’s gone, I’m going to let you give up?!” Her canines were bared, and her brows were furrowed, but it was pain, not anger that contorted her expression this way. Her heart ached. She watched fresh tears welling up in her friend’s eyes, her face twisting in misery. “Do you think he’d ever forgive me, if I let you give up? Do you think I could forgive myself?!”

Comfort wasn’t something that came easily to her. All she knew how to do was yell. To order. To demand. She had never been soft on herself in her grief, but by Elune, she wished she had; if only to be warm for her now.

“I can’t... I just can’t,” Tae pulled away from her, hands reaching to push Nyth’s away from her face. When she looked up at her again, there was desperation in her eyes. She looked frightened, but above all else, lost. “He was everything.”

Without a second thought she reached out and pulled Tae flush against her. Strong, lithe arms holding her tight. She heard a sharp inhale of shock. Then after a moment, her friend - no, her daughter - dissolved into tears in her arms. She simply squeezed her all the closer. She drew in her own rattled breath. Her face twisted as she fought back a surge of grief and pity that for a moment threatened to consume her as well. Only the need to be strong - for her sake - kept her from letting it.

"I know,” she croaked. What could she say? What could possibly make this any easier?

“But this can’t all be in vain, Tae. You have to go on, if not for yourself then for him.”

And me. Don’t make me lose you both.

okay I am very out of practice with writing so it’s short and probably sucks but UHHHH POST OGRE ARENA??? FEELS?? MAYBE? IDK IF I GOT THE TIMELINE RIGHT *THROWS UP HANDS*

@thenaaru @blencem

[musical inspo for this]

[kai-2124]

Homewerk free for at least a little while, celebrated with some brainless drawing awye. As a follow up to @thenaaru ‘s picture of Tae >>Here<< after we watched Ramleela which holyshit, the feels are real. We discussed and headcannoned that highborn and or noofs cause Tul is far from a highborn, do Holi too, or at least, I just really wanted to draw it too cause look at them happy nerds.

[thenaaru]

Hows about the “getting closer” section for Avie and the “exploring their body” section for Tae? (You can pick and choose within the sections if the whole bit is too much)

my druid gal!! I love getting asks for her :>

× what does your muse smell like? what perfume/cologne are they using?

Tae smells pretty earthy- she’s a restoration druid with an affinity for trees and other arbor based magics. She also spends a lot of her time recently with the Oakvale druids in their burrows learning more about their ways. If she’s spent an extended shift in the infirmary, however, she’s likely to smell like antiseptic or blood.

� do they shower often? every day or just every couple of days?

Tae showers every day when she’s on land. She often gets dirty when she’s been working with plants or patients. At sea, however, showering is a commodity less often come-by and she only takes a full shower every 3-4 days, settling for a quick body wipe down with sea water inbetween to keep herself fresh.

♻ how about brushing teeth? three times a day, or just in the morning?

Twice a day, every day! Gotta keep them gnashers clean!

⌘ do they rather shower or take a bath?

Tae prefers to shower, she’s so busy between shifts at the infirmary, learning from Oakvale and keeping on top of her ship and Crimson Fleet duties that she just doesn’t have time for long baths.

♀ how long does your muse usually need for a shower/bath?

Tae can shower in about 5-10 minutes. She doesn’t need nor particularly want to spend long in the bathroom.

⚣ how long does your muse need to shave? (this is also for the ladies!)

 If she’s going to bother, which she often doesn’t because of the aforementioned lack of time and because she rarely has anything on show that would require shaving, it takes her about half an hour.

♂ does your muse put on make-up? how long do they need for it every day?

She does not wear make-up! Doesn’t see the point, it would only get ruined at work and just means she gets less time to sleep in.

thank you @thepeachpen!!

[thenaaru]

Pastime

I’ve done Avie and Maaike, so I’ll do plant momther.

Pastime: Three hobbies they have.

Herbalism and alchemy are big ones; she spends a lot of of her time channelling her druidic abilities into growing medicinal plants and making salves or tinctures from them.

Sailing- unsurprisingly, Taeonthrial will spend as much time as she can out on the ocean. She has her own, smaller yacht that she will take out herself rather than hauling Her Lady’s Grace and her crew out.

Dagger play. Taeonthrial likes to keep her combat skills sharp despite finding herself being more a mender than pirate sailor these days. She favours dual-wielding lightweight daggers and is usually always happy to spar.

Thank you @thanidiel!!

[thenaaru]

Similar, Different for Avie & Tae~

Avie

Similar: Three members of the same sex they find attractive.

Liadrin

Velianor

Kai@ocarina-of-what @mori-sketchbook

Different: Three members of the opposite sex they find attractive.

Kalyanar

Iiloridan

Ithanar@edaigoa @captainswingbeard

Taeonthrial

Similar: Three members of the same sex they find attractive.

Tyrande

Thalyssra

Almohra@dorksworn

Different:  Three members of the opposite sex they find attractive.

Tulav.

That’s it. No one else. Only mop-boi.@blencem

Thank you Mori!!

[thenaaru]

DAY SIXTEEN: Write about a time your character reflected upon something.

The deck of Her Lady’s Grace was quiet, all decked out in colours of crimson and gold with banners showing fire and phoenixes. Quel’thalas. It was everywhere; the deck beneath her feet, her crew, the sails of her ship - the very oath she had taken. Taeonthrial had never been loyal to Darnassus, for a long time her loyalty had lain outside the law. Her people would have cast her aside without a second thought with cries of piracy and witchcraft. Here was her second chance, a ship given to her on the end of a promise that if she stepped a foot out of line she would find herself wishing she were hung. The Spectre was a sharp woman, but she was right. She took a great risk in taking a kal’dorei captain under the flag of the Crimson Fleet, a kal’dorei with hundreds of years as Mate of the notorious Khalind Starlock; his lover, student and ultimately, betrayer. She feared the day she saw the living ship upon the horizon.

And what had her decision brought her? A ship? The right to call herself captain? Every choice she had made from the day she had left the Galestorm behind her had only taken her further away from the one thing her heart ached for. The gentle rustle of leaves at her side reminded her she had at least one friend with unquestionable loyalty to her; for all she complained about Akaela, it was undeniable that the little sapling would follow her to the ends of Azeroth. Even when she had taken him from the gale tree, told him he would likely never see it again, he had simply placed a flower in her palms and followed her anyway. Taeonthrial laughed, how sad was it that a tree bore more loyalty than her?

She missed them, sometimes. Anlathia, Khalind. Taegann and Adnox. Velmiera too. But none of them as much as she missed Tulav. They had crossed paths since, once or twice. An infirmary, a bar. His refusal to speak to her about their broken engagement hurt. It made her angry - she had no right to be. Every time she looked to the stars her heart cracked a little more and she knew she would still give her soul to him if only he would ask.

“Lost in thought, Captain?” “You don’t have to call me that when no-one is around, Bhal.” Bhaltair shrugged, coming to stand aside his sister with his arms folded across his chest. “You’re thinking about him again.” “Them. I’m thinking about them.” “But mostly him.”

He was met with silence even as he turned a scrupulous golden eye down upon her. He had never much liked Tulav, but at least she had been happy for the short time they had been together. Taeonthrial stubbornly ignored his look, fearing the conversation or questions that might come of it should she engage him. Bhaltair sighed and placed a heavy hand on her shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “You should rest soon, we have a meeting with the Anchorage harbourmaster an hour after sunrise. Moon forsaken blood elves and their mornings.”

She nodded and then she was alone again. Bhaltair at least knew when to leave her to her thoughts. Slowly, she turned her eyes to the stars; the sight of them hurt, as she had expected. Someone had once told her she was more beautiful than each and every twinkling light up there in the sky. Against her chest, on a leather string around her neck, lay a ring given to her by the same person. It had never made it to her finger; but she never gave up hope that one day it would if only he would let her love him again.

“Where are you, Tulav?”

mentions @jessipalooza @isei-silva @bracelet00 @kurai-no-bara @blencem

[thenaaru]

Open to any character. What's something they've quietly resigned to in their mind? It can be a big thing or a small thing, but what made them give up on it and why? Do they accept this resignation easily, or does it still bother them? What makes them think about it? Is there any going back?

The most obvious answer would be Avie’s eventual resignation to the fact she will never have normal sight again - but it is much too soon and still much too painful to even think about. Perhaps in the future she will quietly resign herself to this fact but it won’t be for a long time yet.

Taeonthrial gave up on the fact she would probably never be able to use the boomkin druid form about three hundred years ago. She doesn’t have much affinity for the arcane and isn’t deeply religious, so her connection to Elune and the mysterious ways of the chicken. It doesn’t bother her much, she has a firm grasp on restoration magics and timbermancy, and is a more than adequate feral druid.

thank you @please-respond! This was a real good thinker!