hemoarchy

[hemoarchy]

the sixth love language is murder

[hemoarchy]

There is mirth in considerate gaze, in how smile becomes a smirk. The raging against the chains amuses her greatly, silly effort that it is. The Ebon Blade may have rebelled enough to get some leeway, but sooner or later that leash will be shortened again, and their master will reign in his stubborn sons. His will is absolute, the struggle utterly pointless; one could not hope to win against a wintry storm. There is no victory to be had against nature.

And why do you believe he had to be the one to trespass father's heart with his sword? Blood binds, liking it or not; the assumption such bond demanded anything positive is one the young prince makes of his own volition. Lana'thel does not see it fit to correct her; the young ones need their steps in false to learn the right path. He wouldn't heed her, either way.

"There is nothing left for me in Quel'thalas," she answers simply. Honest, still; there is no reason to lie. Everything she loved was long lost; her heart was left behind in the land of her birth, even before Frostmourne led her to the grave. There is no heart left anymore to care for parents, were they still alive at all. Thal'ena is the only family she still possesses, and the care shown to her daughter was no less bloody. Nothing would survive the cold of eternal winter. Is it not a kindness, to make her daughter cold before allowing her to truly feel the bite of winter's wrath?

(What tales she may spin, Lana'thel never forgets her face in those last few moments. Thal'ena had not seen a mother, she had seen a monster.)

Was there ever a different path for motherhood, when the birthing bed was such a visceral place on its own? It matters little. All that matters is what is, the tangible of it. Mayhap Thal'ena would yet turn against her, some of the disappointed and frightened thing she had been when last her heart beat still lingering despite the change. Lana'thel wonders what would be done, then. Would a permanent mark be enough answer? Would death?

"A delusional suggestion, princeling. We are — all of us — his creatures." Even you, resentful of it as you may be; specially you, perhaps. The words need not be said: they are evident in her eyes, calm in contemplating the younger one. The provocation does little to irate her. There was but one thing capable of eliciting that particularly pesky emotion, and Lana'thel had done away with it already. "My lord was exceedingly graceful to you, child. He gave you the opportunity to learn, even if you seem averse to taking it, and left you with the reminder, that the same mistake may not be made a second time."

"If Thal'ena were to turn her teeth on me, she would deserve no more grace than that. It falls to the parents to teach their children better — including the harsh lessons."

@hemoarchy continued from here.

The mistake is his own, really.

Deep in his marrow generates forever the instincts of a knight, crawling forth to twitch at his knees and drag his chin down in deference. Servant before master, convict at the gallows --- was there much a difference for them, for here? Your Majesty blooms in his lungs, black petals fat with poisonous earnestness. Caught in the consideration of San’layn royalty once more, he could have never left New Avalon at all. There is an armada burning at his back, and Zoen is not celebrating as much as she should. The Lich King wishes to speak with her.

Her cheek aches. Zoen sinks into the pain, mouth curling into a contemptuous sneer. Irritation ( petulance ) razes him clean. He is Ebon Blade once more.

“ Bound by blood, are we? I’m sure old Terenas would be glad to hear that --- by the by, have you any kin left in Quel’Thalas whom I oughta be sending updates to? Parents of your own? ”

( A genuine offer. It’ll kill you later how genuine it is. )

What else had he expected of the answer? They were all of them maws snapping up whatever fit between their jaws. He couldn’t truly have expected better of the mosquito queen herself. A hand rises to scrape through his wintry hair, claws twining briefly through the pale locks to crush frustration against.

That damned smile on Lana’thel’s face doesn’t help matters at all. Zoen feels it like a maggot, burrowing beneath her cadaver skin in search of some morsel untouched by frost. It worms its way into the soft black soil of his lungs, and makes a meal of the rot within. 

She wonders, with a brief sharp twist of a knife, where Jaina is.

NEVER SO CRUEL, NEVER SO UNCARING --- The admissions rattle those thoughts out of her head. Zoen barely comprehends the words. Was this their unique hypocrisy? ( This is a royal court after all. ) “ Who do you love? ” the Archlich scarred onto her Highlord’s soul, and yet here in the frozen heart itself thrives a mother whose heart bleeds and bleeds. An allowance afforded the San’layn, some quirk born of their warm sanguine diet, or … or something …

“ --- as you are his. ” 

… Regardless.

It pissed him off.

“ Well. Maybe you’ll show a li’l more grace than he had, when she turns her teeth on you. ”

Irritation. ( Petulance. ) She fills her maw to the brim, and lets it dribble messily down her high held chin.

[hemoarchy]

this one article about transcendental horror explains a lot of how i see lana'thel's arc actually?

Not all horror stories work that way. In some, the protagonist does not escape from or kill the beast, but nor is she simply killed in turn. In these stories, the protagonist enters into a state of communion with the very horror that has spent the rest of the movie threatening her life and her sanity. The process may be voluntary or not. The embrace of the evil may be gleeful or reluctant, and the outcome may be triumphant or tragic. But in the end, the dangerous, deranging, demonic forces at work are greeted not as destroyers, but as liberators, freeing the human protagonist from his human concerns once and for all, the life he once led forgotten in favor of a supernatural, superhuman new state of existence.

-

monstrousness affords the afflicted with a shot at immortality or superhumanity, whether or not the characters are able to take full advantage.

-

Because what the narrative offers us is not all that different from what stories of martyrdom, [...] We want to believe that there is virtue in suffering, that pain and has some kind of up side, that whether alive or dead we can reap some kind of benefit from pain, humiliation, torment, torture.

-

Yet on the other side of all this, they see things other humans can’t, and they achieve a power the normal world cannot offer them or abide at all. If you were within reach of something that made every awful thing you’ve been through worthwhile, wouldn’t you reach out and touch it?

[hemoarchy]

“ i’m with you. always. no matter what happens, i will be right by your side. do you understand? ” / from thalorien :’)

always accepting memes !

— @throned

There is something wrong in them, for that devotion to linger even now.

In a past life, they had been two of Quel'thalas' most staunch defenders. Was their blood, spilled in its defense, not proof of it? There is no greater seal of one's devotion. What can one give that is of more value than life itself?

It all seems so meaningless when one's heart stops beating.

Whatever they had been in life, those people are long dead (a memory comes to her: Thal'ena, when first brought to Icecrown; the spite in her eyes at what she had found, the horror when she realized her life was not worth as much to Lana'thel as her death, as being made to stay — their daughter had seen a monster, not a mother, and perhaps she had been right; why bother with the distinction?). The Blood-Queen had not hesitated to leave behind life and its struggles, easily accepting her role in the Lich King's domain. It was an inevitable path, with no other end to be found.

The Lich King leaves little room in his subjects for trifling, unnecessary things such as love. Lana'thel does not question, truly, not once resenting the chains that freed them. That they remained together is enough. Yet the feeling, unfitting as it is, never leaves her, not when it comes to him; she would have died for her beloved before she would have died for Quel'thalas. More meaningful that she would kill for him without hesitation — drown the so-called heroes in their own blood, paint the walls crimson, make a river of their life's essence.

Her loyalty to the Lich King is beyond question, her soul claimed long ago; her heart remained with Thalorien, though. That had never changed.

What shadow of uncertainty he may have seen in her to offer reassurance, Lana'thel dispels with a smile. They had thought themselves heroes too, once, and foolishly believed they could come out of confrontation victorious. Those who come to Icecrown now are no different, and will meet an even harsher end. They would see to it together, as always.

A hand cups the side of his face, thumb caressing his cheek softly. "I understand," she replies simply, with a serenity that isn't at all feigned. There is neither fear nor nervousness on the eve of battle in undeath; but then again, she had always found comfort in the thought whatever happened, they would be together (if the words rattle something deep within, disturb the bones of who the Blood-Queen had once been, echo of similar promise made when their hearts still beat and she feared the moment when they may stop, Lana'thel shuts down the feeling before it has the chance to bloom; if she still possessed the weak heart of the living, she may have shed tears at the thought — be careful what you wish for — but the san'layn had no tears left to weep for a long time now). "We will be together, no matter what comes. They will not stand a chance."

[hemoarchy]

I think every day about lana'thel weeping for her people knowing they'd die in the journey to northrend (without knowing she'd be the cause of many more deaths)

[hemoarchy]

today we have elves of various types, humans and orcs, with the optional cultist or mage flavors but if you want anything else it can most certainly be arranged c:

I hate this. I hate you. I'm taking a nap again.

[hemoarchy]

hate me as much as you want but take a bath before you go take a nap

I hate this. I hate you. I'm taking a nap again.

[hemoarchy]

at least brush your hair. change into something clean? it's been months

>:( No.

[hemoarchy]

please for all that is unholy just take a bath.

I DON'T WANNA AND YOU'RE NOT THE BOSS OF ME.

[hemoarchy]

undeath is no excuse to not take a bath*

[hemoarchy]

I hope that wasn’t too much trouble, Sylas. Delilah, my dear, it was nothing.

[hemoarchy]

Queen Lana’thel eagerly carried out her new duties, but every time she looked at her blade, maddening anger would swell within her as she remembered her former life. She could not afford such distractions, and with a scream that echoed throughout Icecrown, she shattered Quel’Delar and flung the fractured pieces as far as she could.

drama queen we love to see it

[hemoarchy]

His will is sovereign. Even as request is made, Lana'thel is not blind to the truth of it: hers is but an extension of it, and her rather loose leash could be snapped close in a second, much as any of the others. Had the iciness of his demeanor not been obvious, the show of his temper in the glacial weather would denounce it. Perhaps she should turn back — cut her losses before her request could irate him further. In this, though, she cannot accept the lesser loss would be simply to maintain his favor.

Arthas calls it a slip, yet even that is no cause to flinch. "I would not say it is a slip when I have never tried to conceal it, master. I want her here, is the point, if my choice of words was poor. She should be brought back to the fold, as should your other unruly children." Obvious, written in red blood upon white snow. He rules above them all, and should his ruling be that Thal'ena is left behind, there would be no outburst, no enraged response — only acquiescence in light of his will. Even her daughter is not above it, as Thalorien had not been above it, as her past life would never be above it. Choice is but an illusion he allows until he allows it no longer; but he had given her Thal'ena before, and not for a moment had Lana'thel shown herself as anything other than eager to keep her.

If it had taken spilling her daughter's blood for that, still it was a small price to pay.

This unwillingness tests her lack of opposition to the chains that bind (resentment festers so easily in them, made to the darkened image of their god-emperor); yet attachment would not stand in the way of divine-given freedom.

"Dalaran is filled with the united forces of the strongest in Horde and Alliance both, beyond some of its greatest mages, all gathered to fight the demons. Powerful and skilled as my princes are, the opposition they may find is above them." She doesn't lie (he would see it in her mind and heart, even if she tried). There is clear reasoning, a reluctance to risk pieces that may be lost, that could be more fruitfully employed elsewhere. There is also a hint of desperation, deep below. It has to be me. "But not above me."

"I know the city as few of our number do," In life, she had been one of those closest to Kael'thas; a powerful mage in her own right, as well. And Dalaran had not always been hostile to their kin, who taught humans so much of the magic they now claimed as theirs. Much may have been changed, but she knows what to expect — knows, in theory at least, what is within the Violet Hold. Knows it wouldn't do for another to find her daughter, weakened and insane with hunger and more vulnerable others had the right to see her. It has to be me. "It would be more efficient to send me, my lord."

@hemoarchy continuing this

This is a joke.

Share your woes, his father once invited their gutless rabble of a populace, throne room made a forum for all the hat-in-hand representatives ( wickermen ) pathetic enough to be awed by this show of magnaminty. They had come shuffling in one by one, shoulders bowed, heads high, pleas tripping as water from a stream. What adoration they heaped upon him. How approachable our king, they thought. How well he understands us.

( the confusion on his face, its slow roll into terror --- your subjects, their screams ---   yes. you can see the resemblance. )

It’s not a tradition Arthas maintains. There is no need. Nothing of his empire lies beyond his reach, no matter how distant nor vulgar. They are his --- they are him, his divinity made manifest in every shard as a sprawling, pestilent mirror. ( A better reflection some days than others. ) But he can appreciate a well-wrought pantomime, and there are few amusements more charming than spitting on the old man’s grave --- thus they find themselves here in this reflection of the old Capital, king and petitioner, silhouettes the same as years gone by were there light enough to support such puppetry.

“ I despair of you. ”

With minor changes.

Irritation makes a wasteland. Half a foot of snow and twice as much of ice blankets the saronite floor, while the banners hang in icicle stillness. Only a fraction of this is the fault of his Blood-Queen --- lion’s share belonging to the demonic fever that has become his skies these last weeks --- but it is enough. It is hers. 

“ Seeking her salvation … such an interesting turn of phrase. You’re usually more careful than that --- should I take this as proof of you slipping? ”

Bite laces his words, though the teeth are smaller than he’d prefer. Fondness is a maggot eating away the hollow of his chest; it squirms over the rejection that should be at his lips, yet cannot rise further than his sternum. He has little enough patience for saviors when they are not draped in his Blood-Queen’s finest, yet …

( I would not leave my subjects to be slaughtered by this rabble. )

The mirror has had better days.

He sees nothing of Lana’thel’s shift. Her spine straightens for none; the set of her jaw goes unnoticed. His eyes have shut to the tableau before him, lulled by recog boredom. There is no reason to watch this sad display, when all she brings before him are these petty, insipid desires he thought long purged from ---

“ Those beasts took her from me. ”

This vicious wrenching snap --- her voice like barbs, dug into the words to let blood spill upon his wintered grounds … where has he heard this before? Never from her, surely, else he’d never have allowed her the gift. It reminds him of 

( a smear of gold in the discard pile, overlooked and unconsidered --- irrelevant, barely worth a glance --- until …  and then this ... this is --- )

nothing at all.

“ … Indeed. ”

Still, the refusal festers at the bottom of his ribs.

" I suppose it is quite the insult we have suffered as a result of this. That does not explain why you must be the response. Are your princes so inadequate? "

[hemoarchy]

What are the Blood Court's relationships with the other Icecrown wings like? Do they ever prey upon (or at least fatally attract) the cultists living in the citadel, do they have any interest at all in Putricide's works?

always accepting asks

— @necroarchy

The Blood Court, in many ways, functions independently from the rest of Icecrown's inhabitants. Occasional interactions are bound to happen, specially considering they are like to be one of the most willing sectors to play court when it comes to Icecrown as a whole. Ultimately, I think the easiest way to explain it is that those who belong to the Blood Court can be found all over, but outsiders aren't as welcome within Lana'thel's court.

They have a healthy work relationship (?) with Putricide and the denizens of the Plagueworks. Occasionally, if needed, the Blood Court may lend its aid, but it's never without a price — and if there's no price, there's interest in information, in keeping up with what's being developed there. (It wouldn't do to be caught unawares by what is being developed there, and i believe some of the san'layn may just be genuinely interested in spreading blight and plague and making it worse)

The Frostwing Halls and the domain of the Frostbrood is where the Blood Court would be less present, I think. Sindragosa keeps to her brood, and much like Lana'thel, I don't think she generally welcomes anyone that isn't them in her little domain (with the crucial difference regarding the reception of their master, because where Lana is loyal to Arthas, Sindra will never not resent her chains). I think the Blood Court would respect the wyrms space, and keep their distance. There is little of interest for them there for the most part, but I don't really see outright enmity in any form.

With the cultists, well — you pointed it out right. They are living things, with beating hearts and veins full of warm blood. How can they resist it, when the prey lurks so close to home, readily available and perhaps willing? Deathwhisper likely does not enjoy the san'layn getting too close to her flock, but as long as it doesn't cause actual problems to the inner workings of Icecrown and Arthas' plans, Lana'thel doesn't bother to enforce to her court they should stay away from the cultists (why, are they not doing the mortals a favor by freeing them from the curse of flesh? c:). Much like cats, I bet they enjoy toying with their prey, too, so that is like to happen; the Blood-Queen herself is not above it, if any of them catches her eye for whatever reason, be it hunger or seeming particularly delectable.

That seems to me, perhaps, the greatest extent of the Blood Court causing real trouble in Icecrown (and is it that great, really, when more mortals can always be found to replace the ones that become food?). For the most part, they are willing and devoted servants, and this includes coexisting with the rest of the Lich King's forces at least somewhat peacefully. The Blood Court is not above using any of the others to their own ends, be it food, entertainment or maybe even power within Arthas' little kingdom, yet they are always careful to not overstep, knowing they would face the consequences of getting in the way (be it from their queen, because I believe she is high ranking as she is because she is capable of running things as it suits her liege lord, or Arthas himself) But they have no real rivalry with anyone else. That would demand they acknowledge the others as being on their level.

[hemoarchy]

Interactive :: House Saints by Hala Alyan

[hemoarchy]

“ Your daughter. He let you --- he let you choose? What to do with her? ”

Intensity roils beneath the hollow grave echo of his voice --- it spills out into the world in a thin coat of rime, cracked to glittering dust with every nervous rock from one heel to the next. She is never still. The solidity of ice has never taken root within her, like it has with ---

“ Explain. You could have done anything. You could have let her go, let her stay dead, why did h-- why did you --- ”

But its brittleness, its propensity to crack --- to shatter ---

“ What was the point? ”

That, she has inherited in full.

spicy drama ♡

— @acherys

The similarities are striking in certain lights. A line in facial structure, a shadow of demeanor. This time, it is the commanding tone — Explain — as if he is the Lord and not his father. 

Who is she to question the heir to the Throne, regardless of the fact he is never meant to inherit?

The question does not move the Blood-Queen from her apparent calmness, not even when presented with such turmoil. Why? It makes her think of Thal'ena when she was brought to Icecrown without her knowledge, returned to her as reward for her loyalty (a frightened little thing, so fragile, so mortal, so easily lost had Lana'thel taken one false step). You could have let her go, he says, and isn't it such a fitting sentiment for a daughter, to think it would be so easy to let go? To want it, freedom, desperately and above all things? To think she knows better?

Lana'thel smiles. It is not wry, really, perhaps motherly even. Sympathetic. Zoen needs not to pry for her honesty; it is freely given, saccharine in her justification. "I would never be so cruel as to condemn her to the fear and powerlessness of the living. I would never be so uncaring as to abandon her to simple death if it could be avoided, if she could be kept by my side."

"You are young, little prince, and not a parent yourself. Perhaps that is why you cannot understand. I could tell you a story, spin the tale of beautiful Quel'thalas and all that was lost in its fall," All that could not be recovered, memory a stab in the chest even now. She will not think of him. "But you are familiar with loss yourself. I could speak of powerlessness and inevitable ruin, but who among us did not taste bitter defeat in facing the Scourge, in some way or another?"

Were Zoen not obviously distressed, a gentle finger may have soothingly brushed the scars upon his face. Lana'thel will not test her limits when the signs are so obvious in the way he speaks, in the restlessness displayed. Instead, she tilts her head, eyes upon the prince. "The answer is simpler than that."

"Take it from one well-versed on the matter: blood is not a bond easily denied." The pause does not give edge to her velvety voice, regardless of how steely resolute in the certainty of her choice. There was no other path. There is no version of events where she asked for her child to be spared, kept alive, sent home safely, never to be seen again. That would have been losing her once more.

There is no version of events where Arthas gazed upon the face of his child and chose to leave her dead. "The point, darling, is that Thal'ena is my daughter — as you are his."

And it is all in that one word, is it not? Mine. If she shares one thing with her king, it is that neither of them is good at letting go. 

[hemoarchy]

ma'am. did u hide the mosquito repellant.

always accepting asks ♥️

— @acherys

........ yes.