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[andrastyn]

pleading

Summary: Andrastyn gains an unexpected visitor. It goes about as well as you’d think. Word Count: 1,015 Content Warnings: None

In the forests of Ashenvale, buried in bracket and thorn, there came whispers of a druid. She wore her garb wreathed in plant life, favoring a simple tunic and pants alone – no boots, no gloves. She preferred the feeling of the grass and soil under her feet, thrumming with Life familiar.

For those who had spotted her, they had seen a wild-eyed and half-feral elf, towering above some, teeth all bared as she spat her single warning. The bridge of her nose still crooked off-kilter, and the scars that lined her body spoke her tale before it needed to be said aloud – she, in all of her nature, had forgone every instance of humanization. Every instance of herself that wasn’t purely elven – purely nature, itself.

She had been a doctor, once. She had worked alongside humans, full of compassion, full of kindness and strength to fight for those who could no longer fight for themselves. She had been a healer of men. Now, she was only a healer of nature, calloused and cold towards mortality. The druid was content, here, deep within the forests – lost to mankind, lost to anything that called a forgotten name.

So, of course, when she felt footsteps that didn’t match the wildlife that stirred in this region of Ashenvale, she crept into shadows, violet hair a whirl of chaos and hands already reaching for the vines and thorns that would cut away the life and air from an intruder. She waited. She watched.

She saw a kaldorei emerge through the thicket, one hand shielding her eyes from stray branches, and relaxed slightly. One of her people. Perhaps they weren’t here to do harm. Her lips pursed, regardless, as the intruder persisted forward.

Go, she whispered to the winds. Guard this place. The vines and thorns struck forward, creating a wide, tall wall barring further entry – and the druid recoiled, watching in shock as the vines just as soon parted from their path, allowing the kaldorei interloper into the glade. The druid let out a low snarl, and felt her fingers stretch towards something more like claws – something more feral, more feline. The newcomer turned their head, and looked skyward for a brief moment.

“You can come out,” the elf said softly in Darnassian. “I’m not here to hurt you. I just want to talk.”

Talk. The prospect shocked the druid, and she scowled. She hadn’t spoken in… weeks? Months? Too long. She hissed from her hiding place, her voice a rumble hoarse from disuse. “Leave,” she growled. “This is your only chance.”

The kaldorei sighed, shaking her head. “Please, Andrastyn,” she pleaded. “Come. Speak to me. Just for a moment. I will go back the way I came, just as soon as our conversation is through.”

The druid’s nostrils flared as she heard her name for the first time in what seemed like an age. That alone was enough to startle her. No one here knew her by name. No one who knew her by name should have been able to find her.

She stepped out into the clearing, sticking close to the edge, and eyed down the other kaldorei. Recognition clicked in the back of her brain – Elyrin, who she had befriended while attempting to learn how to shapeshift into a bear. A task that seemed monumental at the moment, but as second nature now. Andrastyn took a tentative step forward, her tone flat as she spoke.

“We’ve nothing to discuss,” she responded. “Elyrin – you need to leave. This is my home.”

“It isn’t. Return to Nighthaven – to Moonglade. Please. The Circle can help you. You’ve been gone for so long. It is time to come home, sister.” Elyrin’s tone was sorrowful, and it sparked a rage deep within Andrastyn’s heart.

“It is, now! What use could the Circle have of me?! What else must I watch vanish? I’ve lost my home twice-over, my mates twice-over, my life, by allowing myself to become embedded with outsiders! My people, our people, we should never have left the forests! I simply return to what should have always been, rather than gallivanting around with mortals pretending that I’m one of them,” Andrastyn spat, her tone rife with hatred.

“Andrastyn, please, just hear me out –“ Elyrin began, but Andrastyn cut her off with a raised hand, the ends of her fingers shifting towards something more claw-like.

“There is nothing to hear. Nothing you say could convince me to go back – to return to a world that has shown me all but the worst of what mortals can do. The Primalists march on the Dragon Isles uninhibited – how long until they storm the rest of Azeroth? How long until they burn down every mile they can manage? I will guard these forests until I die, and I will do so in solitude.”

Elyrin’s shoulders sagged, and she took a step forward. In response, Andrastyn took a step back, scowling. “… There are still things worth fighting for,” Elyrin whispered. “You cannot give up hope. You and I both know that. You are a powerful healer – you could do good –“

“I do as much good here, revitalizing what the orcs terrorized. What they stole from us,” Andrastyn hissed. “Leave. Come back only when you’ve got a good reason for me to return.”

Andrastyn turned, stalking back into the forest. She ignored the pang in her heart as she let herself be shrouded in the cover the trees gave – there was no use for that. For missing mortality. Missing her old life. All it had brought was pain and loss – at least, here, she could let go of it.

Buried in bracket and thorn, Andrastyn would allow herself to forget who she once was, as long as it meant she could keep some semblance of her homeland alive. She passed a simple grave marker, and whispered a prayer to the Wild Gods as she cast her eyes away.

The one thing I will not forget, she reminded herself, is the importance of my calling. Of honoring your memory, An’da, when no one else can.

[andrastyn]

Okay I may have FINALLY figured out a rough pattern to go off of when it comes to dashes in Darnassian. This time I'm sticking with canon phrases, words, and translations.

Apostrophes are used to combine ideas to represent new ideas ("Alara'shinu" means "finding beauty in imperfection" and is made of the words "beauty" and "imperfection") or to make an "X of Y" word showing X's ownership or some other control of Y ("alor'el" is "lover's leaf"). Dashes on the other hand appear to be used to connect verbs to nouns when the verb is being done to the noun, IF AND ONLY IF the sentence itself is a wish, desire, blessing, or otherwise a wanting that hasn't yet happened. You put a dash in "Elune-adore" ("Elune be with you") because you are wishing that Elune will be with whoever you're talking to, but not in "Ru shallora enudoril" ("I anoint these caretakers of the wild [druids]") because that's not a wish, that's just a statement of what you're doing. An example combination of these is "ande'thoras-ethil", which means "may your troubles be diminished". "Ande'thoras" is "your troubles/troubles of yours", "ethil" is "diminished", and the statement is a desire/blessing so the dash gets put in between the noun and the verb.

However, "tor ilisar'thera'nal" means "let our enemies beware" which certainly sounds like a desire but there aren't any dashes so I'm chalking that up (in-lore) to the natural inconsistency of languages as well as the age of that particular phrase because grammar changes over time, and (irl) blizzard not caring as much as I do about fantasy languages.

Despite how this is all fake and made up, I am a human and therefore extremely good at finding patterns that may or may not exist, and by god I will find a pattern. I need something to go off of when I write Darnassian phrases in my fics.

[andrastyn]

Dragon Earrings // Gothic Orb Jewelry

[andrastyn]

Sometimes, the concept of death hit Andrastyn harder than it should.

It was the middle of the night, and the sound of another set of Aerriastrasz’s racking coughs rumbled and sputtered down the hall to where the kaldorei stood. She leaned against the wall, and her lips pursed hard.

They’d been becoming more frequent, those attacks. Aerriastrasz seemed to always be coughing, now. She knew his cancer had grown at an astonishing rate; she’d been the one to diagnose him, years prior. She knew his time was very, very short.

It wasn’t fair. Some days, he seemed fine, he seemed like the capable captain she’d met in Zuldazar. He was a red dragon, a harbinger of Life. He shouldn’t go through this. She was a druid of the grove, she was a harbinger of healing. She should be able to save him!

She couldn’t save him.

Her heart thudded painfully, and she tried to fight the sting of tears in her eyes. Wiping at her nose, she took a single, deep breath.

The image of him, laying dead in Dragonblight, hit her like a train. It was an unbidden thought. He was a dragon, he should live thousands and thousands of years more. He should see Mari grow up. He should bid Andrastyn, a being of her own semi-immortality, goodbye when she passed of old age many, many years in the future.

Instead, she’d bury him too young, so much younger than herself. Her husband was barely an adult - now, she’d lose the mate she sought for two millennia. No mercy. No remorse from the disease riddling his body. No cure.

She couldn’t stop herself from breaking into sobs, sliding down the wall to sit and curl her knees to her chest as she covered her head with her arms, fingers gripping violet hair. The sense of loss moved through her in uninhibited waves, and her nose dripped onto the floor as she gasped for air through tears and mucus and pain.

One day, he would never welcome her home again. He would never sing to her, or their daughter again. He would never grow old. He would never see a new, bright life. He would never hold Andrastyn again. She’d never hear his voice or feel his aura.

It hurt. Lost, unable to do anything else, paralyzed by grief and fear, the kaldorei whispered.

“How am I supposed to do this without you?”

It would be sunrise before she could calm herself - so, alone in the hallway of their home, accompanied by the sounds of a man’s ragged breathing and the death toll of his coughs, Andrastyn Sundershade finally broke down.

[andrastyn]

[ tw: death, medical ]

A lone night elf ran her fingertips over the cloth covering a still form in the medic bay, her eyes closed. Her brow furrowed, for a moment, but she remained silent.

A soldier. He’d been brought in just two hours before, suffering from multiple sources of trauma after a sudden attack by a few, straggling PMC members. The rest of his squad had made it out, at least – him? He’d required an evacuation. His pulse had been thready, weak, slow, when the medics got to him. In the time it took them to get him from the point of attack to the med bay, he’d lost it, and they’d started resuscitation efforts.

When he’d arrived, Andrastyn’s voice had called clearly across the bay. “I want bilateral large-bore IVs if they’re not already in place. Stoneheart will have airway, I’ll take compressions and meds, and Winterbreeze will take care of hemorrhage control and base healing…”

The orders had rattled off her tongue immediately, without thought. She’d examined him when he came in. “His pupils are already starting to fix, a little – he’s got this puncture wound to the neck, here, and his arm…”

His left arm had been splinted, angled in a way that wasn’t natural. Clearly unable to be reset in the field. “… finger thoracostomy, left side, for a pneumo-hemo,” one of the field medics continued. “He was down for about fifteen minutes.” Andrastyn nodded, then looked over her shoulder. “One unit whole blood, one plasma, let’s get this guy rolling,” she’d said. “Tillmore, swap with me. Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty - go!”

Fifteen minutes. Shit. That was enough to kill neurological activity, but his arrest was witnessed. Maybe he had a chance. Please, she prayed, let him have a chance.

She stepped back, allowing the other medic to take over compressions. The soldier’s chest had already been near gelatin by the time she’d touched him. They’d done well. “Good compressions, good depth,” she called, circling the patient to examine his airway. He’d been intubated. Good.

“We have an ID on him?” Andrastyn heard. “Uh – one sec,” came the response. “Right here. Hawford, Jordan. Identification tag number, five-three-oh-two…” The numbers rattled off, and one of the field medics scribbled it down diligently.

“Pulse and rhythm check.” Andi looked to the man before her, laid out naked and with so many tubes and lines running in and out that it would unsettle any new medic. His eyes remained half-open, unmoving, unaware of the circumstances. Tillmore paused, and Andrastyn pursed her lips.

She held a bloodied hand over his form, and everything stopped for a blink. Nothing. No Life. She focused on his heart – any cardiac motion, anything at all, would be the sign she needed…

… and it never came.

She took a breath in, looking up. He’d been here for less than twenty minutes, in total. Fifteen minutes prior of downtime, no cardiac motion, no pulse, no respirations. Pupils fixed and dilated to light. “Stop compressions,” Andi announced, her tone resigned.

“Time of death: 2130.”

She swallowed and watched the team step back. The wound where the thoracostomy had been performed still dripped blood. The eyes that never closed stared blankly upwards, and Andi parted the eyelids to see a little better. They were already beginning to cloud over, and the pallor of death had begun to set in.

“Good job, everyone.”

One medic sighed and stepped away. “Poor guy,” she’d muttered. She was one of the newer additions to the team – experienced, but empathetic. She’d be affected by this, no doubt. Andi made a note to check on her later.

The crew dispersed, and she nodded. “Alright. Take the ID, get me a body bag. We’ll put his name on the list to notify next of kin. For now, I’m taking him for immediate autopsy for a COD,” she grunted to a nearby private.

“Roger, doc.”

He walked away, and Andi looked back to the corpse that lay before her. “I’m sorry this happened to you,” she whispered. “… You can’t be more than twenty-five.”

She let out a heavy sigh, that fog of grief that always rolled in after a hard CPR settling over her. “Fuck,” she whispered, and stripped off her gloves, walking to her desk to begin the trauma packet and documentation.

No matter how long she’d done it, medicine was ugly. It was hard. It made one feel hollow, if you weren’t careful. She tried not to let it sink in. It couldn’t – not now. Not when her men needed her.

“Fuck.”

[andrastyn]

Featuring an open design, this ring can be easily adjusted to fit different size fingers. The ring is made of plated brass with brilliant rhinestones that give the dragon an eye-catching appearance. A fantastic accessory or gift for any dragon lover.

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[andrastyn]

Favourite Designs: Wulgaria ‘Black Tulle Moon Phases’ Haute Couture Gown [x]

[andrastyn]

understanding the bear

Andrastyn sat in the branches of a tree in Moonglade, a cigarette pinched between her fingers and her gaze locked on the vast Elune’ara Lake that sat below Nighthaven. Her mind was unfocused, flickering this way and that between the druidic teachings she had been given by Cuhlan, the lack of clarity in mastering the form of the bear, planning a wedding for herself and Aerimell – it all seemed overwhelming.

Especially the bear part.

The elf sighed, taking a drag from her cigarette as she adjusted her position in the tree’s limbs. The creak of wood and rustling of leaves in the wind made it easy for her to relax – the gentle swaying reminded her of the way a mother would rock her child, back and forth in a pattern so controlled it couldn’t help but to soothe.

“That’s terrible for the environment, you know.” The unfamiliar voice speaking in Darnassian startled Andrastyn from her muddled reverie, and the elf nearly fell from the tree before catching her balance and snapping her eyes towards the source.

At the base of the tree, a youthful-looking kaldorei woman stood. Pinkish-white hair fell to her waist in smooth, straight lines that flowed with the breeze around her, and she bore the purple markings of leaves around her eyes that denoted to Andrastyn that she was, at the least, an adult who had followed her rite of passage. Her eyes, while wide and observant, also bore a hint of mischief and humor at having startled Andrastyn – though, the gaze she pointed at the cigarette between the latter’s fingertips displayed her distaste clearly.

“I know,” Andrastyn replied apologetically. She leaned carefully to ash the cigarette on her boot before placing the remains in a small pouch she had designated for the exact purpose. “Trust me, I was never the littering sort.”

The other woman sighed, shrugging her shoulders. “Better than some, I suppose. Mind if I sit?” To that, Andrastyn extended a hand towards an empty branch that looked sturdy enough, albeit a little high for one to jump and climb to. It had taken Andi herself nearly five minutes to scale to her own position and keep steady.

As if in response to Andrastyn’s natural skepticism, the other elf leapt upwards and – in a flurry of feathers and beating wings – a stormcrow settled on the branch before returning to her elven form. Of course. Moonglade, Andi, these are all druids, Andrastyn chastised herself mentally. Why do you think you’re here?

“So!” the other woman spoke up, her own silvery gaze looking over her new companion thoughtfully. “What brings you to Moonglade this time? I mean, it’s not Lunar Festival, and I haven’t seen you before, so I can only assume it’s guidance you seek.”

Andrastyn’s eyes turned skyward as she gave a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “Right on the head,” she commented quietly. “You aren’t wrong. I’ve been struggling with figuring out my place on this path, and it just seems… I don’t know. Impossible, sometimes.”

Leaning forward on the branch, the other elf tilted her head with a frown. “Well – how do you mean?” she asked carefully. “Druidism doesn’t come easy to everyone, but I’m no mind-reader. Speak on your troubles.” Pausing, she seemed to remember something, and laughed. “Oh! I’m so sorry. I’m Elyrin Thistlesnout.” Hooking her right hand on a branch above herself, Elyrin reached over with an extension of her left hand. Andrastyn shook it, careful not to upset the balance that kept them both seated.

“Andrastyn Sundershade. Good to meet you, Elyrin.” With a small smile from Elyrin, the two settled back into their places. Andrastyn ran a hand through her hair, sighing. “Okay. So. I’ve been – well, very recently introduced to the path, right? My mentor, he… isn’t the Cenarion Circle sort, and that works for me. He’s taught me in a way I understand – never talks down to me, does his best to help. Most of it made sense. It’s hard, sure, but it made sense.”

With a sigh and a defeated gaze to Elyrin, Andrastyn shrugged her shoulder. “Then, figuring out how to shapeshift came up. As it turns out, discovering ‘how to bear’ is a bit more complicated than I figured. I’ve tried meditation, I’ve tried conscious effort, I’ve tried studying natural rituals and whatever else can help me figure this out, I’ve tried praying that Elune works whatever magic She can to help this along… but I just can’t figure it out.

“My mentor mentioned taking a trip to Vordrassil,” Andi continued, noting Elyrin’s confused gaze at the mention of the Broken Crown. “He’s always been one of Ursol’s devotees, and thought that showing me a bit more of that aspect – of something raw, something connected – would help.”

In response, Elyrin pursed her lips, and nodded. “I don’t disagree,” she said. “Your mentor has his own ways of doing things – but, perhaps I can lend a hand. Walk with me?” Descending from the tree, Elyrin motioned for Andrastyn to follow. After a moment, she dismounted from her branch, her knees aching as she hit the ground on the balls of her feet. Elyrin smiled and looked north, into the hills surrounding Nighthaven. “I think there’s someone that can help you.”

Walking some distance – past the village, up a small path and into the hills where the shade grew thick – Elyrin looked over her shoulder to Andrastyn. “Most of the time, when we have a new druid, they seek the counsel of the great spirits. At least, they used to. That practice has been forgotten over time, and most aspiring druids are merely passed the same blessing their mentors were given. You mentioned that yours wasn’t part of the Circle… maybe the differing approach is where the discrepancy lies?”

Andrastyn blinked. “I had considered that – but he said that he hadn’t conferred with the Wild Gods. That it just… was.” That response drew a sudden, surprised laugh from Elyrin that startled Andrastyn.

“The Wild Gods? Oh, Elune, no, of course not. If I had to reach out to the Twin Bears to understand my form, I never would have learned it! No, no. When I say the great spirits...” Elyrin stepped aside as the two reached a small clearing, and in it, Andrastyn saw the towering, serene form of a bear – transparent, almost, and ghostly in appearance, but the Life coming from it was unlike anything she had ever felt. “I mean the Great Spirits.” 

With a wide, proud smile, Elyrin beckoned Andrastyn forward before bowing deeply to the Great Bear Spirit, who turned its eyes on the pair with a watchful gaze. “Great Spirit,” Elyrin began, “I bring you a new student – she struggles to understand your form. Will you guide her in receiving your blessing?”

The bear sat back on its haunches, and though its mouth did not open, a rumbling voice shook forth and made itself known to Andrastyn’s ears. “Step forward, young one,” the Great Spirit spoke. “Let me have a look at you.” Andrastyn took a few timid steps forward, looking back to Elyrin – who offered a wink and an encouraging nod.

Looking back to the Great Spirit, Andrastyn bowed her head. “I want to learn the Path,” she said quietly. “But I fail to understand the tenets of shapeshifting – how to master my usage of Life. I don’t know what else to do.”

A low, chuffling laugh echoed from the form of the bear, and Andrastyn couldn’t help but be reminded of the way Cuhlan sounded similar in the same form. She chewed on the inside of her cheek as she looked up to the spirit, her tension palpable.

“You… doubt yourself,” the Great Spirit spoke. “And that, my child, is exactly what prevents you from being able to learn. The heart of the bear is strong, courageous – it does not hesitate. Your actions must be pure of intent and forthright. That is strength of heart.” Andrastyn felt a warmth in her chest as the bear spoke, and a sudden vigor seemed to flood through her.

“Strength of the body is the other thing you must understand, child. It is power, swiftness of action. You must keep yourself fit at all times – physically, as well as mentally. The bear’s girth highlights its strength, as it is a ferocious foe in combat.” A tone of amusement drew into the bear’s voice as it continued. “The bear’s girth, however, belies its agility and sharpness of mind. These are surprises you must use to your advantage.”

With that, the vigor seemed to subside – it remained present, and Andrastyn felt it rush through her bones with the same bond to Life that she felt upon reaching out with her aura, but… everpresent. “I have seen your spirit – you are not new to battle. The scars you bear tell your story, child – but answer me this one question before I grant you my blessing.”

Andrastyn blinked, surprised. “… Anything, Great Spirit.”

The bear’s head seemed to tilt before it looked at Andrastyn keenly, its voice echoing forth with curiosity. “Your spirit – and your bond to Life – is not… average. It is augmented with something else. Whose bond do you carry, that changes your spirit so heavily?”

In response, Elyrin took a step forward, curious. Andrastyn, hearing the grass settle beneath the elf’s foot, nodded once and withdrew the amulet from around her neck, embedded with the sigil of the Red Dragonflight.

The Great Spirit, for a long moment, seemed to look over Andrastyn with intent. “… Your own potential remains, young one.” Andrastyn put the necklace back under her clothing, and looked back to the bear. “In fact… I believe that it will be a boon to you. You have my blessings, druid. Go… with strength.”

Andrastyn bowed deeply, whispering her thanks before returning to Elyrin, who peered at the other druid with skepticism clear in her gaze. As the two walked back towards Nighthaven, Elyrin spoke up, her eyes narrowed. “What was that all about?” she asked curiously. “What did the Great Spirit mean, ‘augmented’? Did you bind your soul to someone else’s?” She gasped. “Is it a lover?”

Andrastyn snorted. “Yes,” she answered. “My partner’s – in a way. I carry his blessing, and his own ability to use Life to heal seems to have made its home in my own. I don’t mind it… I don’t think it’s been a blockage, in any way. It just makes things a little more unique.”

“I’ll say!” Elyrin responded. “How do you feel, though? Excited? Nervous?”

Andrastyn took a deep breath, coming to a stop on one of the wooden bridges throughout Nighthaven as she found her gaze settling on the lake again. “Yes, to both, but also… calmer. A blessing is one thing. That understanding, that… potential. That’s something that will have to come with time. I think I’ll go pay my mentor a visit and discuss this with him. Elyrin?”

“Hmm?” the other druid asked, her brows raised.

“If I come back to Moonglade, I do hope I’ll run into you again. Hopefully, next time, it’ll be with less of a need for guidance – and moreso in hopes of finding a friend well off.”

“Hah!” Elyrin laughed, grinning wide. “I hope so too, Andrastyn. Safe travels – and may Elune always guide your path.” She waved before turning away, that same shift to the stormcrow sudden as a thunderclap before Elyrin was skyward and flying off towards the barrow dens. Andrastyn watched her go, her fingertips landing on the pendant around her neck.

“Not average.” Hm. That would be interesting to explore… but for now, she did owe Cuhlan and Lisana a visit.

[andrastyn]

A handy list of poisons for writing reference, provided to you by me, Bella

Poisoning is one of the oldest murder tactics in the books. It was the old equalizer, and while it’s often associated with women, historically men are no less likely to poison you. This is not a guide on how to poison people, you banana bunches, it’s a guide on writing about poisons in fiction so you don’t end up on a watch list while researching them. I’ve taken that hit for you. You’re welcome. These are just a few of the more classic ones.

Hemlock: Hemlock (conium maculatum) is one of the more famous ones, used in ancient times most notably in Socrates’ forced suicide execution. So it goes. The plant has bunches of small, white flowers, and can grow up to ten feet tall. It’s a rather panicky way to die, although it wouldn’t show: hemlock is a paralytic, so the cause of death is most often asphyxiation due to respiratory paralysis, although the mind remains unaffected and aware.

Belladonna: Atropa belladonna is also called deadly nightshade. It has pretty, trumpet-shaped purple flowers and dark, shiny berries that actually look really delicious which is ironic since it’s the most toxic part of the plant. The entire plant is poisonous, mind you, but the berries are the most. One of the most potent poisons in its hemisphere, it was used as a beauty treatment, so the story says, and rubbed into the eyes to make the eyes dilate and the cheeks flush. Hench the name beautiful lady. The death is more lethargic than hemlock, although its symptoms are worse: dilated pupils, sensitivity to light, blurred vision, tachycardia, loss of balance, staggering, headache, rash, flushing, severely dry mouth and throat, slurred speech, urinary retention, constipation, confusion, hallucinations, delirium, and convulsions. It’s toxic to animals, but cattle and rabbits can eat it just fine, for some reason. 

Arsenic: Arsenic comes from a metalloid and not a plant, unlike the others here, but it’s easily the most famous and is still used today. Instead of being distilled from a plant, chunks of arsenic are dug up or mined. It was once used as a treatment for STDs, and also for pest control and blacksmithing, which was how many poisoners got access to it. It was popular in the middle ages because it looked like a cholera death, due to acute symptoms including stomach cramps, diarrhea, confusion, convulsions, vomiting, and death. Slow poisoning looked more like a heart attack. The Italians famously claimed that a little arsenic improved the taste of wine.

Strychnine: Strychnine (strick-nine) is made from the seed of strychnos nux vomica and causes poisoning which results in muscular convulsions and eventually death through asphyxia. Convulsions appear after inhalation or injection—very quickly, within minutes—and take somewhat longer to manifest after ingestion, around approximately 15 minutes. With a very high dose, brain death can occur in 15 to 30 minutes. If a lower dose is ingested, other symptoms begin to develop, including seizures, cramping, stiffness, hypervigilance, and agitation. Seizures caused by strychnine poisoning can start as early as 15 minutes after exposure and last 12 – 24 hours. They are often triggered by sights, sounds, or touch and can cause other adverse symptoms, including overheating, kidney failure, metabolic and respiratory acidosis. During seizures, abnormal dilation, protrusion of the eyes, and involuntary eye movements may occur. It is also slightly hallucinogenic and is sometimes used to cut narcotics. It also notably has no antidote. In low doses, some use it as a performance enhancer.

Curare: Chondrodendron tomentosum is lesser known than its famous cousins, but kills in a very similar way to hemlock. It is slow and terrible, as the victim is aware and the heart may beat for many minutes after the rest of the body is paralyzed. If artificial respiration is given until the poison subsides, the victim will survive.

Wolfsbane: Aconitum has several names; Monkshood, aconite, Queen of Poisons, women’s bane, devil’s helmet) and is a pretty, purple plant with gourd-shaped flowers. The root is the most potent for distillation. Marked symptoms may appear almost immediately, usually not later than one hour, and with large doses death is near instantaneous. Death usually occurs within two to six hours in fatal poisoning. The initial signs are gastrointestinal including nausea, vomiting, and diarrhea. This is followed by a sensation of burning, tingling, and numbness in the mouth and face, and of burning in the abdomen. In severe poisonings pronounced motor weakness occurs and sensations of tingling and numbness spread to the limbs. The plant should be handled with gloves, as the poison can seep into the skin.

Foxglove: Digitalis is large with trumpet-shaped flowers that can be many colors, but usually a pinkish shade. It may have from the term foxes-glew, which translated to fairy music. Intoxication causes nausea, vomiting and diarrhea, as well as sometimes resulting in xanthopsia (jaundiced or yellow vision) and the appearance of blurred outlines (halos), drooling, abnormal heart rate, cardiac arrhythmias, weakness, collapse, dilated pupils, tremors, seizures, and even death. Slowed heartbeat also occurs. Because a frequent side effect of digitalis is reduction of appetite and the mortality rate is low, some individuals have used the drug as a weight-loss aid. It looks a bit like comfrey, which is an aid for inflammation. Make sure not to confuse the two.

[andrastyn]

Andrastyn had gotten her niece settled into bed at a reasonable time. She had been none too far behind, herself – as of late, looking after the child and trying to find somewhere, anywhere, that wasn’t haunted by the undead had been absolute hell. When she slept, she found herself troubled. Memories of Arathi, of Northrend, of years long gone, they all flicked through her memory. She awoke a few times, tossed and turned for a few moments, and eventually settled into a restless sleep again.

The last time she fell asleep, it was peaceful, for a short moment. Andrastyn realized she was somewhere cold. Shadows surrounded her on all sides, and she felt herself grab her shoulders for warmth. That was strange – the cold didn’t normally bother her too terribly. Looking around, she saw a forest, but the features seemed… off, somehow. Wrong. Threatening.

She couldn’t feel Elune, here.

Andrastyn came to that realization with the same rush of adrenaline that came with entering combat; she took off at a full-tilt sprint, briars and thorn nicking her flesh and drawing blood. A moonless sky hung overhead, and she tried to ignore that fact as she raced for some kind of break in the treeline.

Eventually, she came to such a break, and came out on a cliffside. Her eyes searched for a moment, but she saw nothing of note besides some towers and buildings in the distance. They looked regal, ancient, and powerful. Everything in her body screamed for her to not go in that direction, so, Andrastyn reckoned she would listen.

She fled along the cliffside, a clearing opening up on her right side as she became tired. What made her stop was the silhouette of a human woman, standing alone on this cliff. Tattered, bloodstained garb clothed her, and she stood in silence, arms hanging limply at her sides. She was barefoot, Andrastyn noted. Dark hair clung to her form in greasy, tangled webs, and as the elf came to a stop, the human turned.

Andrastyn found herself locked into place as the eyes that locked with hers stared wide, too wide, with a cloudy gaze that must have once been green. Waxy, pale skin was marred by scars – everywhere. Triangles. Self inflicted, the physician in her said. Dangerous, corrected the soldier. It took a long moment before Andrastyn finally recognized who looked her in the face, and all the air came whooshing from her lungs as the barefooted woman stepped forward.

Tears leaked from the very dead Timira Redsummer’s eyes as Andrastyn registered what was happening. She realized that it was blood, or something similar – too dark to be venous, too dark to be human – dripped down Timira’s face and evaporated away into a reddish-black, smoky mist. She couldn’t move. Why couldn’t she move?

Timira came just a few short feet from Andrastyn, eventually, still silent. Her mouth parted as if to speak, and the words came too late, out of sync with the movement of her lips. Her voice was wrong. Too hoarse. Too weak. Much, much too angry.

“You aren’t supposed to be here,” Timira hissed. That blank expression that stared Andrastyn down narrowed in recognition. “Why did you come?”

“I… I do not know,” Andrastyn managed. Timira bared her teeth, yellowed and gumline receded. Decayed.

“Liar,” the human responded. She raised her hands, and Andrastyn could see where the skin had shriveled back to reveal long nails, chipped and jagged at the edges. “Tell me. Why did you come here?” Timira reached to seize Andrastyn by the shoulders, and a chill ran down the priestess’ spine as she realized the barrier she prayed for never came.

“I do not know!” Andrastyn responded. “Timira, please -”

“You do not belong here! I will rip your soul to pieces -” Timira halted, recoiling as if burned. “I will -” A shriek ripped from the frail human’s throat as she collapsed to her knees, clawing at the soil. “No! No! I will not let you take me again!”

Chains materialized, wrapping themselves around Timira’s wrists and neck, pulling her towards the soil. The woman writhed and screamed, and Andrastyn finally managed one long-awaited step backwards. It reminded her of Laila’s death. Elune, help me, Andrastyn prayed desperately. Take me from this place! Take me away from her!

Timira looked up, all fury and bloodlust as she locked eyes with Andrastyn again, now waist-deep in the soil. “Bring me Aurhim,” she hissed. “Bring me the one that abandoned me! Tell him to restore my flesh! Tell him to come, tell him I said he’s a coward for leaving me here! He’ll pay, too! He’ll pay the same price I did!”

Another step back. Andrastyn felt as if blood were just coming back to her legs, and she tried to force herself to slow her breathing and calm down. She had to calm down.

“Bring him to Sinfall!” Timira shrieked. “There, he can determine his own fate! Soul to soul!”

Andrastyn watched in horror as the earth itself swallowed Timira whole. She couldn’t focus. Couldn’t think.

She awoke in a cold sweat, sitting bolt upright in her bed. Her hands shook as she reached across the way to draw open the curtains and look to the shattered sky. Andrastyn stood, pulling on her tunic and preparing a cup of coffee, knowing she wouldn’t sleep again for the night.

What would she tell Aurhim, when the world came to its end?

(( @timirared​ @aurhim​ ))

[andrastyn]

@the-royal-courier @wowrpevents @wraconnect @wracentral @warcraftisastage

[andrastyn]

The harsh air cutting through Arathi met Andrastyn’s skin like a slap as she stepped out of the barracks. The Corporal’s lips formed into a hard line when she looked across the stone path to the complex of medical tents. Since Aerimell had told her he would be leaving, she had been in and out of the tents preparing for the quel’dorei’s absence. With the loss of Master Sergeant Brightmaul on Thoradin’s Wall, Andrastyn had found a seemingly-endless flow of paperwork and responsibility to fill the role. Corporal Silvershine had certainly been a large help, but at times, Andrastyn found herself dreading the day she would become a non-commissioned officer. It seemed a necessity at this point. At the same time, she far preferred the ease of merely healing her troops and learning the intricacies of surgery from Aerimell.

While she had received her doctorate more recently than he, she also knew his training in Silvermoon offered much different scopes and viewpoints than the Stormwindian medical approach. She valued his input deeply, and it was part of what had originally caught her eye about him. His knowledge, his capability and his warm approach to his patients. As she shuffled some paperwork between her hands, a smile threatened the corners of her mouth.

He had left that morning. No chance to say her goodbyes (decorum, after all, forbade her from it,) but she held no bitterness toward it. At least he would have a chance to see his daughter and verify her safety, along with her tutor’s. That was all that mattered to Andrastyn – was that the three of them all remained safe. They were close to her heart.

Looking down at the supply list she held, the doctor’s face settled back into an all-too-familiar frown as darkened eyes landed on the item that had been haunting her for days. Oxycontin, she knew, was an opioid given for moderate to severe pain; the side-effects of drowsiness it held made it tempting to use as a sleep aid, in some cases, not to mention the inherent addictive properties of any opiate-based medication.

For six days, the count had consistently come up short. When she had thought of Aerimell – and the apparent fugue state he now lived in – it seemed to line up. He had been seemingly well-rested, all of a sudden. But, when she had asked… The memory pained her. She shouldn’t have accused him. She knew better. She wanted to know better. Perhaps she was projecting. If anyone could survive this pain, it would be Aerimell.

When Andrastyn entered the medical tent, she nodded in acknowledgement of the physician on call, who raised a hand in response. His voice was quiet, giving her a quick rundown of all the patients they still held; she had been assigned to the trauma ward, and she listened intently. Taking a copy of the census, she made notes and wrote her patient care scheme on the margins as the other doctor spoke to her. She, herself, remained silent save for necessary questions. She didn’t feel the need to speak.

Her eyes came back up to study the other physician – a Gnome, with attentive brown eyes and a curled pink moustache the only distinct features on an otherwise bald head. A few scars ran across the Gnome’s face, presumably from whatever injuries he had sustained in the field. She struggled to place the name. Gearsprocket? No. That was someone else entirely.

Looking down subtly to his nametag, she cleared her throat. “Thank you,” she said quietly, “Doctor Boltwelder. You are more than free to go – I imagine you desperately need the rest.” The gnome chuckled in response, putting his hands on his hips and leaning left and right. His back popped loudly, as if in agreement.

“You’re darn right on that one, Sundershade! Heck, at this rate, I’ll sleep better tonight than I have in ages. Thanks a ton for taking over, I know Cap’s on leave.” Andrastyn offered a polite smile and a nod in response as Boltwelder made his way out of the tent and off toward the NCO quarters.

Proceeding towards the back of the tent, where she had recently made her home at a small space near Sergeant Brightmaul’s now-abandoned desk, a flash of white caught her eye. A coat laid abandoned on the floor nearby, near Aerimell’s usual haunt. Andrastyn chuckled quietly, shaking her head and moving over to retrieve it.

“Silly man,” she whispered. “Leaving your coat unattended. Come on, now.” Leaning down, Andrastyn picked up the coat and lifted it, her ear flicking as she caught the sound of something small hitting the floor. She draped Aerimell’s coat over her shoulder as she followed the sound, and her brow furrowed as her eyes landed on a lone, white pill on the floor.

No.

Her stomach dropped and she could feel her pulse race, acid raising in her throat as she picked up the pill, inspecting it. Circular, with “OP” imprinted on one side, and “10” on the other. Her fears, silly as she had made them seem, were confirmed – this was oxycontin.

Her eyes narrowed dangerously and her lips twitched as she moved robotically to Aerimell’s station. She draped the coat neatly over his chair, and retrieved a small bag to place the pill into. She couldn’t think. She couldn’t focus on what she was doing as she placed the bag into her own pocket.

She had kept secrets for him before. She still did. She had begged him not to lie to her, not to close her out. He had done it anyway. Despite everything, Aerimell had lied to her.

Andrastyn swore she smelled embers as the world seemed to burn around her. Walking out of the tent despite the questions from the nurses on her way, she retrieved a cigarette from her cargo pocket and struck a match to the end, her hands shaking. She wasn’t sure if it was from rage, or from heartbreak.

He had lied to her.

She took a long drag, and the smoke filtered skyward as everything seemed to collapse inwards. She had trusted him, opened herself up to him, done everything she could to try and convince him she was worth it. The investment. The truth.

He had lied to her.

Arathi be damned. This was a breach that struck deep. Perhaps he was just ashamed. The reasonable part of her knew he was prideful, and hardly wanted to appear as if he had fallen back into a hole. She had shared parts of her history she much preferred to forget in an effort to relate to him, help him understand he could trust her.

And he had lied to her.

Andrastyn normally savored her time when she smoked, but now, the cigarette fell to ash in record time as she let out a shaking breath, tears she attempted to hold back rolling down her cheeks as she attempted to stare a hole into the wall of the barracks she had just emerged from.

The unit needed her, but she promised herself that when Aerimell returned, they would have a long conversation. She was absolutely devastated – war was one thing she could handle, now, as was heartache for the fallen. That betrayal that she had discovered was much, much worse.

Ashing the cigarette on her boot, Andrastyn embraced the chill of Arathi as it froze her over. She flicked the butt away and returned to the tent, to her desk, and set to work. When all else failed, medicine was the one thing she could love that would never hurt her in return.

[andrastyn]

*cups your stupid lil face with my hands and kisses your lips*

[andrastyn]

Nightmares

Andrastyn woke suddenly to the sounds of retching and soft sobs, unmistakable in the night. Being kaldorei, having to adhere to a daytime schedule did not come easily; as a result, when she awoke, dark eyes had to take a moment to adjust.

Standing, her fingertips brushed the canvas of her aid bag as she looked out the tent at Master Sergeant Keladry Brightmaul, shaking and recovering from a fit of nausea.

Andrastyn knew that look well. Nightmares. One didn’t live for over two-thousand years without their fair share. 

She left her aid bag be, for now, instead opting for a spare canteen of water as she exited the tent, padding over to the Master Sergeant and silently setting the canteen down. Nodding once, she looked upwards to Elune, hanging solemn in the sky.

Show her the way, Lady Moon, Andrastyn begged. Show her peace. This land torments her.

Andrastyn returned to the tent, settling back onto the rack with a heavy sigh. Their time here, specifically near Grafenwohr, had been filled with tension and recourse at every turn.

She had hardly seen Aerimell, except in passing, since they had arrived.

Absently, she wondered if he was avoiding her. Surely not.

Regardless, dragon’s eyes and shadows filled with the damned haunted her as she fell back into her own fitful sleep.

After all, one didn’t live for over two-thousand years without their fair share of nightmares.

(( mentions:

@keladryhawklight​ ))

[andrastyn]

What Lurks in the Night

Sep 627 - Grafenwohr, Alterac - 3 Bells past Midnight

The smell was what alerted her first it seemed. Something was burning; something she recognized the scent of. The insidious crackle of flame lit the darkness of her vision, bringing light to the scenery around her. She gazed, finding through the haze of darkness what it was that she could scent.

A funerary pyre rose before her, stacked high with bodies. Afflicted, wounded, blighted bodies of the poor souls that had been lost in this lonely village. She drew closer, her feet crunching across the chilly ground as she crossed through the copse of dead and dying trees. It didn’t seem to affect her overly, this cold. It was strange, she thought. Everything had a haze to it, as if she couldn’t quite focus. She could make out some of the details as she came into the light cast by the pyre. 

They were. No. No, this wasn’t right, her mind raced. It could not be. It would not be. A soft noise escaped her. For the faces she saw, hazy and half-illuminated in the darkness weren’t the villagers of Grafenwohr. No, they were not strangers. 

It was the faces of the 47th that stared back at her as the pyre continued to burn, staring through her to the darkness beyond. The scent of burning flesh grew stronger, filling her senses. Nauseatingly putrid. A bead of sweat dripped down her neck as the heat fanned against her. 

Chains rattled behind her, followed by the echo of dead bones rattling as their host made it’s way through the night. Half-turning, she came face-to-face with a broken smile sunk into a rotten face. Insane eyes lit bright red against the blackness of the woods beyond as they stared into her. Bore holes through her. The dead come alive, her mind gasped in horror. 

A bony hand reached out towards her, the limb wrapped in the rotting remains of flesh long lost. Frozen, she could do naught. Could not move, could not even call forth the Light to aid her. The beings touch was cold, the fingers wrapping around her neck. Bone-chillingly cold, so much so that she felt it. Gasped as the shock of pain rolled through her. It leaned in towards her, red eyes pinning her on the spot, even as the hand that grasped dragged her closer into its grasp, until she hovered off the ground about an inch from its face. They stared at one another, in absolute silence for a long moment, before it opened the remains of its jaws. 

“Die,” it breathed, as the scent of rot rolled over her. Its hands squeezed cruelly about her neck in a vice, completely closing off her air. 

She came awake in an instant, rolling off of her cot onto the frozen ground. As her boots found purchase, she scrabbled to her feet, ignoring the sleeping woman opposite her. She grabbed her canteen, and ducked out of the tent, jogging for the tree line. She made it, just barely beyond sight of the camp, surrounded by the privacy given by the dark forest, before her stomach pitched completely. 

Falling to her hands and knees, she vomited. Once. Twice, until there was nothing more to come up. Her throat and nose burned as her body continued to try. Soft gasps escaped her as she sucked in long breaths. Her frame shook like a leaf in the wind as she sat back on her rear against a tree to recover. The water in her canteen was a blessing, as she rinsed her mouth out, spitting it back onto the ground nearby. 

Light, her mind whispered. Light, that was bad. That was.. bad. Those dreams, those dreams that provoked such a visceral reaction, she had thought them gone. Over. She was healed, and had moved past it. They had plagued her for months, and occasionally in the Hollow. When it had fallen, they had returned for a brief spell, but not to this extent. With her boot, she absently covered the evidence she had been there.

“Damn this place,” she murmured quietly, leaning back against the tree to catch her breath. “What will it take from us this time, I wonder. What will it demand.” 

[andrastyn]

jenny slate / two, sleeping at last / an oresteia, euripidies (trans. anne carson) / the chaos of stars, kiersten white

[andrastyn]

Faction: Alliance Server: WyrmrestAccord (All are welcome, however) When: August, Saturday 15th, 2020 @6:00PM server. Invites will start at @5:45PM server. Where: Up in the mountains, south of The Thornsnarl Lake, Camp Narache, Mulgore. Coordinates: 88.39.32.57 Host: CMD Kenorian Felmourn and CPL Laurel Sullivan Contacts: (Kenorion-WyrmrestAccord) and/or (Laurelania-WyrmrestAccord) Attire: Dress for the Summer! Swimming included!

Do we have games and prizes to give away? Of course we do! Get down with the 47th and their partying style!

@wraallianceevents​ @wracentral​ @the-royal-courier​ @wraconnect​ @the-fortyseventh​ @warcraftisastage​ @wowrpevents​