the-ice-cream-witch

[the-ice-cream-witch]

The Hallows Come

(Art: Eepox)

Sorveta leaned out of the window, the brilliance of Eldre’Thalas resplendent before her. Wide avenues stretched out like carpet, bone white towers soaring into the sky, each reflecting the gleam of Elune’s light. Tonight, the city seemed even more alive than usual, though Sorveta could not think as to why.    

A gentle but repeated rap from below jarred her loose from her thoughts, and she drifted down  the stairs before drawing open the doors to the tower.    

And in he came.    

Ranthe.     

It felt as though it had been a thousand years since she had spoken or even thought of that  name, yet it seemed impossible that she ever could have forgotten it. At one time, he had been  all that she had ever wanted, and that feeling took hold once more.    

He leaned in, softly kissing her cheek before moving down to her neck. She closed her eyes, arching her neck backwards, savoring the moment while it was sweet enough to linger.   

“Vesa,” he finally said, with a hint of a smile. “Are you ready?”  

Sorveta felt as though she should be, but hesitated. “Am I ready for… ?”   

Ranthe’s radiant smile somehow seemed to become ever more so. “Hallow’s End. Your favorite festival. I shall be its king, and you… my queen?”     

“My favorite festival…” she murmured, looking into a mirror. She was wearing a regal black gown and a silver tiara speckled with moonstones. She looked back at Ranthe and smiled as he took her hand, and pushed open the door.    

As she stepped out onto the boulevard, the moonlight seemed to fade, yielding to a creeping darkness that stretched over the city like a shroud.     

“Ranthe,” she said, pulling her hand back from his. “Where is everyone?”    

The elf leaned his head to one side, an odd smile on his face. “They’re all here. Can’t you see?”   

And then she did see. Rows and columns of what must have once been Kaldorei, in all their finery. Frames of bone and sinew and sagging skin, dragging themselves across the thoroughfare, each one turning to stare with eyeless sockets at the elf and her companion.    

“All who called Eldre’Thalas home now belong to her,” said Ranthe solemnly. “And now death and all her judgments have come for you as well, dear Vesa.”   

Sorveta’s eyes widened and she felt the urge to scream, but something told her that would be pointless. She tried instead to take a step backwards, but Ranthe’s grip tightened around her wrist and held her firmly in place. The warmth she had felt from him just mere moments before  had seemingly fled into the night.    

“Come, my love,” said Ranthe, twisting his joyless face in her direction. “This is where it all ends, for you, and for us... as it should have many years ago.”    

Sorveta shook her head. “I do not want this,” she said, but her voice faint and unsteady. She tried looking backwards, for the safety of the tower, but it was not there.    

“You would rather wear that mask forever, Vesa?” Ranthe said, a cold smile broadening. “You know what you are…”    

“You are a monster.”    

She froze. “You are a weed that strangles the life and beauty out of every garden,” he said, finally releasing her from his grasp. “An unwanted draft that smothers every candle.”    

Sorveta sank to her knees, the cold of the night enveloping her.   

“The goddess sees all, Vesa,” Ranthe said, in a voice strained with a pained disapproval. “She sees the creature you have become. All those memories you gorged yourself upon…”     

Memories... Something in the back of her mind stirred, and the words of Lynesse fluttered long enough for  her to hear them again. Hallow's End… when the walls between this world and others fade to near-nothing.    

“Ranthe,” she said, in a near-whisper, before steadying herself and rising to her feet. “Ranthe  never made it to Suramar. He never knew what became of me, nor I of him.”     

The Nightborne hardened her gaze, and he almost seemed hesitant now to meet it.    

“You would have me throw away my mask? Then I would have you throw away yours as well.  No - I demand it. I am your ​queen​, after all… am I not?”    

Ranthe gave her a final mournful look before the wind roared down the street and ripped his form apart.    

“You are a determined one,” said the voice in the dark.     

Sorveta looked but could see nothing.    

“More determined than I would have thought. I have enjoyed this meeting… and look forward to our next.”    

Sorveta felt a push and then felt herself falling, falling into the endless dark.     

It would be some time before her eyes opened again.

(Mentions: @gloamingdawn​)

[the-ice-cream-witch]

A Tower, Broken

The people of Suramar spoke of them only in whispers. They were the memory eaters - Elisande’s accursed witches that reached into the minds of the unwilling and exacted what they wished, leaving their victims with nothing left to call their own.

But the arcanists of the tower considered themselves something different; protectors of a necessary order. Without the Grand Magistrix, the city would surely fall. And the tower was one of the few firm pillars atop which Elisande and her council stood.

Until it wasn’t.

--

The discomfort and unease that had spread throughout the city’s many streets had now reached the chambers of even the most powerful. The Mistress of Whispers had read the scroll once, twice, many times, and the words on it were still hard to accept.

They had been betrayed.

Dressed in a lengthy cut of black, and with the Nightwell pendant still looped around her neck, the magistrix made the long walk to meet those she had summoned. 

For once, the face she wore was her own.

--

With scroll in hand, the magistrix surveyed the room and then began to speak, in a voice low and somber.

“The council’s grand bargain with our former enemy is complete. Many things in the city are to change, including this order. The Grand Magistrix has ordered the immediate disbanding of the tower; our responsibilities will now be passed on along to…”

She paused, finding these particular truths still difficult.

“The ones called ‘Observers’. Those who continue to serve will do so under their direction.”

The energy in the room began to shift, from trepidation to fear. Faith in the Grand Magistrix could sometimes be strained, but they had always accepted a higher wisdom and purpose to her commands. But what higher purpose could a pact with their ancient enemy have?

“Where is the First Eye?”

The magistrix grimaced at his mention. The order’s erstwhile leader and representative on the council had never given much thought to his underlings. He had instead entrusted those duties to her, and that had not changed, even in these circumstances.

“He has committed himself fully to this new, shared cause. I imagine he expects the rest of us to join him soon enough.”

“Does that mean we don’t have a choice?” The voice asking belonged to the order’s youngest, his once-bright eyes now darkened by uncertainty.

The magistrix put the scroll down and locked eyes with the questioner.

“You have always had a choice.”

That was enough to cow him into silence, but she could see he needed more, perhaps more reassurance than she could give.

“The Grand Magistrix has her expectation, as does the First Eye. I have my own. Turning to the Fel, even as an act of preservation…”

She stopped short of saying it, but everyone knew the implication.

“We choose our own paths now.”

The magistrix hesitated a final time; sentimentality was no close friend of hers. But it felt appropriate to have here with her, in this moment. Perhaps even necessary.

“Whichever fate you make your own, I wish you travels well upon it.”

--

The magistrix held the mask in her hands. A strange face, for a strange time. Its features were not entirely unlike her own, but they were softer, hiding a possibility for kindness behind them.

“Well, Sorveta,” the magistrix said. “It seems you and I will be spending much more time together.”

@weekly-writing-challenge​ / Week #22 

[the-ice-cream-witch]

Looking for something to do tonight? Come to the World’s End Tavern for cigar and whiskey night!

*Bar staff will be NPC’s, this is just a casual hang-out!* *Direct any questions to me at Marvolo#8114 on discord!*

@wraconnect @wracentral @wrahordeevents @wraallianceevents @wowrpevents

[the-ice-cream-witch]

A Marriage of Convenience

“With this cord, I bind you, Montremus and Xalendyra, to merge your fates as one. Your souls are now irrevocably bound, to share in life’s delights and its despairs, to further the Shal'dorei legacy and bring lasting honor to our people. This oath you make today, break at your own soul’s peril.”

Keep reading

[the-ice-cream-witch]

A Watcher’s End

(Previously)

Audrienne looked behind her as the last of their guardians fell to the invaders, a sea of shining blades turning once-mighty stone colossi into rubble. 

Ahead stood the Nighthold’s gates, one of the few places left to make a final stand.

Her Duskwatchers fanned out in a line, clad in black armor and shields, not unlike those worn in the battle for the Well those many ages ago. 

She watched as the army of the invaders began to push across the bridge, their pace slow and deliberate. First the many shields of the Sin’dorei and then, behind them, the many bows of the Kaldorei. Beyond those she could see, she knew there were many more of that terrible host, one that had sailed across the face of the world to bring fire and death to their great city. 

The last great city.

She looked at the sombre faces of her companions, no doubt harboring similar thoughts in their own minds.

We are the few, they the many.

This was the part of the songs she knew well, when brave defenders would take heart, knowing they would triumph through the virtue and valour of their deeds, even should they be defeated. They would laugh, cry, caress, and console, and then meet their ends with the courage and grace their story demanded.

But her wall of Watchers was silent. 

As the first volley of arrows arced through the night sky, the arcanists behind planted their bare feet and flung up barriers to meet them. 

As metal met magic, she couldn’t help but be reminded of the patter of the rain.

She tried not to look back at the strained, stoic faces of the mages. Any distraction would eat away at the precious reserves of mental fortitude.

But what would it matter if it did?

It was not a real plan, to sit behind yet another shield. It was a prayer, to some unknown deity, for deliverance.

And that deliverance was not to come.

The arrows had stopped, and she could now see the fire soaring through the air. She watched as it collided, violently, sundering the shield as the Well did the world. 

She could see the end.

A blur of red and gold roaring forth, first with beams of Light, and then with the grim, joyless song of steel.

The Duskwatch were devotees to their craft, but the Blood Knights were masters of it.

And when the first sword came for her, she did not raise her shield.

[the-ice-cream-witch]

Remembering the Solstice (Feast of Winter Veil / Winter)

The reagent shop at the end of the avenue was one the magistrix was particularly fond of. In the aftermath of the Sundering, Renier had spared her a kind word on more than one occasion, words that she had long treasured. She had been in the city barely a day before the world ended around them, a stranger in a city with little kindness to be found within it. 

Twice she had intervened when the Duskwatch planned to seize him for possible ties to the insurgents. It was unusual and perhaps even dangerous to wield her authority in such a way, but the Watchers knew better than to challenge the tower, especially on such a menial matter.

A character reference from a memory eater; a prize most would never want nor ask for.

As she drew closer to the end of the avenue, she began to feel an unnatural cold from the pavement under each foot. From within the shop ahead, she could sense the presence of the Arcane - much more than an aging shopkeeper could muster on his own.

She readied a spell in hand. Whatever was waiting for her, she’d be ready for.

--

What she stepped into was not what she expected. A night sky above, swirling flakes of white, trees with only a faint trace of green. Even an ethereal deer wandered out and had a long look at her before disappearing into the dark behind.

“Sorveta!” A familiar wrinkled face emerged from the scene, waving in her direction.

“Renier, this is… quite something.”

He looked delighted by her approval. “I’m glad you like it! We worked hard to make it just like it used to be, during the solstice. Before the shield... Every year we do a little something to remember. You’re old enough, aren’t you? You still remember it, I’m sure.”

She could.

The soft crinkle of snow under a bare foot. The gentle kiss of the wind. A hand in hers, as they looked up into the stars. The warmth of an embrace warding off the cold.

It hurt more than she thought it would.

“This must have been quite the expense,” she said, smiling thinly. “Or perhaps you were hiding these prodigious talents from me all along?”

He laughed. “No, no talent to speak of! This was all my great nephew’s work. He was hired on just… one year ago, I believe. At the grand opera, he works with the chief illusionist. Can you imagine? One of our rank, working there. And he still took the time to do this, for us, I’m just…” he paused, to smile again. “What can I do for you today? I’m sure you didn’t come to hear about the opera.”

“No,” she said, curtly. “I came for rosedust, for vanishing powder. Not the cheap kind, either.”

He nodded at that, bowing slightly, drifting to the back of his shop, opening this drawer and that. She tried not to look at the drifting of the snow and the shaking of the trees.

You can’t live in the past, you have to bury it.

“Some say the world ended, and with it the seasons too,” he said, walking back with the dust in a small glass cylinder. “You probably think I’m a little foolish for thinking about it, but life under the shield will end someday. Someday, Sorveta! We’ll see snow again!”

Sorveta smiled at him, but it was difficult to conjure up any warmth to go with it. Seeing his face so full of hope was almost too much to bear.

“I admire your spirit, dear Renier,” she said, drawing out each word slowly and delicately. “Nightwell nourish.”

“Nightwell nourish you as well,” Renier replied, gifting her with both the rosedust and a bow much lower and respectful than she deserved. “I hope we’ll see each other again soon ... ?”

The magistrix made sure they didn’t.

There were no more visits to his enchanting shop. No more looking for his name in the lists of collaborators. He would be a part of her past, like all the others. 

It would be too painful to do anything else.

@weekly-writing-challenge​ / Week #8

[the-ice-cream-witch]

A Gift, Belated

At the end of Winter’s Veil - or perhaps after - a small, carefully wrapped parcel arrives, addressed in flowery, elegant script to a V. SUNSTORM.

Inside is a small note, perched atop another wrapped item, this time in tissue paper. A bauble of some kind, perhaps?

The note reads, in occasionally difficult to read Thalassian:

To the one named Sunstorm,

When I saw these, I was compelled to get one for you. It is not at all a statement on your sometimes worrisome appearance, or an assumption of a failing constitution; merely pleasant colors and good intentions that I hope you find as pleasing as I did.

Appropriately yours,

The Magistrix DE BRUXA

Pulling apart the tissue paper would reveal a brightly colored ball, with an intricate pattern of blues, greens, and a touch of coral. If held close enough to the face, he might get the faint scent of honey. Curious...

Perhaps Valarin would know that such a temari was intended to bestow good health and vitality in the coming year. Or, perhaps he might not! It still looks pretty either way.

@valarin-sunstorm​

@gloamingdawn​

[the-ice-cream-witch]

An Ending and a Beginning (War/Family)

“Magistrix!” 

The Duskwatcher slammed her fists on the door again, but there was no response.

No time to wait.

She reached for a runed scroll, pressing it flat on the door with her palms. She watched as the runes on the parchment began to glow, and then turned her head away from the blast, the door violently ripping itself off its hinges and into the wall behind.

“Magistrix?” she shouted, again, this time more a question than a command. Drawing her shortsword she peered into the dark before stepping inside. She could see and hear almost nothing, save for the dull hum and gleam of her blade.

She pushed forward down the hallway, and into the first room, her eyes eventually adjusting to the lack of light. Dust caked the sparse furniture: a single chair and a pair of tables. On the floor she could see a robe and some other garments. They looked like they had gone untouched for weeks, perhaps months.

“Magistrix… ?” she asked, more softly than before, as though something in this place would answer.

It did not.

The Duskwatcher looked for the next door and found it, twisting it, and finding no resistance. And then she saw her. 

On the bed. 

The body of an elf, with dry, stretched skin coated with a deathly pallor; eyes rolled back in her skull, with white hair long since faded.

She’s withering.

The Duskwatcher bounded forward, unfurling another scroll, and pressing it on the magistrix’s chest. This time, the arcane energies coursed inwards, surging into the elf’s nearly expired body.

The magistrix’s eyes flung open, and she shrieked.

The Duskwatcher fumbled in her pack, pulling out a flask, pressing it to the ancient elf’s lips. “Arcwine, here, you need to drink, you were…” 

“You brought me back,” the magistrix said, after several minutes had passed, in a soft voice twinged with disappointment. 

“There’s no time to argue. I’ve used enough as it is,” the Duskwatcher said, hastening her cadence. “The outlanders, the Dusk Lily, they’ve made their push. They’re at the Nighthold now, the Grand Magistrix…” her voice trailed off, for a moment, unable to think of what should come next.

“The Grand Magistrix will need our strength,” she said, with some finality. “But you must leave the city. This may be the end for -”

“Child,” the older Shal’dorei interrupted. “If this is the end, so be it.”

The magistrix sat up in her bed, still weak. “I have no reason to prorogue it. Let it come.”

The Duskwatcher shook her head, lifting off her black crested helm, revealing her own brilliant white hair, with shimmering violet eyes to match.

“The Dusk Lily will know who and what you are, and they will… The death they will give you will be neither clean nor quiet.”

The ancient elf smiled, shaking her head. “Child, I welcome death in whatever form it chooses to appear. Life and I have long ceased to be friends. There is little left for me, except...”

“Then do this for me, mother. Elune knows I’ve asked for nothing else,” she said, a hint of resentment creeping into her words. “You always talked about the Sundering taking from you the life you thought you would have… this is that second chance. Go out and find it.”

“Mother…” the magistrix murmured, a look of genuine surprise creasing her face. “You’ve not called me that in... I don’t how many years.”

The Duskwatcher shook her head, gently but firmly hoisting the magistrix to her feet. “Enough talk. Time to go.”

The magistrix did not resist, though she struggled to keep pace with the taller, younger elf pulling her along. As they reached the dim light of the street, the Duskwatcher stopped, putting her helmet back on before turning to the magistrix.

“This is where we part ways, mother. My watchers have cleared this street, all the way to the shield… you should be safe going that way.”

She released her mother’s hand, but the magistrix did not let go.

“And what of you, child? Where are you going?” 

“I pledged my blade and my life to the city, and to the Grand Magistrix,” the Duskwatcher answered, a hint of fear and trepidation in her voice, though one quickly papered over with pride. “We may yet lose both, but… they shall not find the taking easy.” 

The magistrix nodded, tears beginning to make the long journey down the length of her face. 

“Let me go, mother,” she said, quietly. “This is the life I chose. This is where I was meant to be.”

The Duskwatcher carefully pried her mother’s hand off her own, taking a final look at her before turning down the street, quickening her pace with each step. 

And then she vanished from view, leaving the magistrix alone with her thoughts, and her tears.

@weekly-writing-challenge

[the-ice-cream-witch]

Hi, hello.

I play Sorveta, a Nightborne Mage on Wyrmrest Accord. If you got a follow from me, it’s likely because one of my characters met one of yours, and I’m interested in that happening again sometime! 

If you are unfamiliar... Sorveta is a millennia-old ice cream maker that uses Arcane magicks to draw from your own memories or imagination and make the perfect dessert that you’ve been dreaming of. She's been seen at various markets and trade events, happily serving out delicious treats free of charge.

As for where she learned how to dig around in someone’s mind... who can say, really?