luminashdawnwing

[luminashdawnwing]

The Doom of K'aresh (Novella) Artist: Cynthia Sheppard (2025) World of Warcraft: the War within

[luminashdawnwing]

Continued from here.

The table spread between Luminash and Theras bore, in its center, a massive sheet of paper, its slightly furled corners held with books, much of its middle taken up by a sketched diagram.

Luminash's fingers were dark from the charcoal his son had provided from his supplies as he hastily scratched out the final word on the ample page, "void," alongside the final of six intersecting circles, a seventh in their center. A line from the center of each extended towards its opposite, all three crossing in the page's — and seventh circle's — precise center.

"Do you see the sectors here?" A charcoal-dusted finger tapped lightly in one of the divided sixths in the center circle, "Before I begin a full explanation, we must establish our basic proposition."

Theras nodded, his father's slide into the manner of a lecturer hardly offering any new surprises; he had seen it coming the moment the magister had taken up paper and charcoal.

"Let us say that this sector" a tap of the finger, "represents this outer ring's share of the center." Another tap of the finger where the line segment connected the outer circle to the inner, "Would you agree, then, that for each of the outer to have an even share of the inner, their corresponding sectors must be of equal area?"

Theras nodded once more. Such modeling had not been any part of his education among the rangers, but he knew that mages had great love for such diagrams.

"What would happen, then, if this sector began to expand, and alter the position of its edges, would those segments not, at some given expansion, no longer connect to their outer ring?" He lowered his eyes, peering almost upwards, expectantly, at his son.

Theras had the distinct impression that, were his father wearing spectacles, he would be peering over their edges in that manner of a somewhat judgmental teacher. He thought for a moment, envisioning the movement of the diagram in his mind's eye, and nodded once more.

"Look, then, to what these represent," Luminash continued, a finger tracing along the page, following his words, his free hand gesturing about while he spoke, "The six forces that touch upon and shape reality, at least in our standard model."

The magister motioned to the areas where the outer circles intersect, "It might be more accurate in the Arathi's understanding, though, for each of these intersections to be connected to their opposite as well. A veritable web spanning all things. I've..." He cleared his throat, "I have simplified for this initial demonstration.

"When the segments no longer connect to their outer sphere, though," he continued, "Their connection would be severed."

Though not explicitly a question, the ranger nodded in understanding, a strong feeling from his father that it was in fact a question posed.

"If the Void, for instance, should gain too great a share of reality, the balance would be utterly disrupted. This, needless to say, ought not be allowed," Luminash concluded, "The same should be said for any other of these outer spheres. This is why I am here."

"I understand that you view Renilash as such a threat. That was never in question. But you must understand that—"

"It is not that Renilash is merely a threat to reality, but the fabric of everything, Theras!" Luminash hastily replied, seeing his audience slipping, "The balance would be disrupted, and the entire frame of existence could simply...collapse." His son felt the despair in the magister's voice after he paused. Though he might seem maddened, there was a sincerity to the madness, "Just as the Legion collapsed, disorder forced to order. Or the Jailer's failure — one hand seized an entire realm's power, wrenched it away from a delicate balance of order-in-death, of life-in-death, of—"

"Father," the younger Dawnwing stated, an abrupt enough verbal wall to stop even Luminash, his eyes flashing with nearly febrile intensity, "What does hiding away have to do with the pattern of creation? What does it do to stop Renilash? I know you want answers, but how does this stop it?"

Luminash's gaze fell from his son to the diagram before them, where it lingered for a long silence. The magister's heartbeat drummed in his ears. An easy answer eluded him, failed to spring to his tongue.

Theras allowed his father a moment, the mage's gold-tinged eyes closing. This was not the first time it had taken coming up against a wall of questioning to snap the man back to reality.

With a deep breath and a collected mind, its racing thoughts lashed and yoked once more, Luminash replied, voice softer, the intensity of his lecture ebbing, "If the prophecy may be decoded, it may save our people. Not just the world, but our people.

"On Argus," he quietly continued, "I was drawn into a void tear in Eredath by the Shadowguard. Within it, I was bombarded with possible futures, and in it, was the fall of Silvermoon at the tendrils of shadow. Since Eon's Fringe, I have been plucking at the strings of possible futures, and it..." His fingers, still resting on the table, curled, nearly clawing at the paper beneath them.

"Theras, I fear it is coming, and more certain than I'd like the possibilities of the Void to be."

The ranger exhaled, closing his own eyes to hide the look of frustration that he was certain flickered into view on his face, "Father, even if what you are saying is true, is this not only reaction? You fear. You react. What will prevent that outcome? Should you not prefer to cut the choking vine off at the root than merely prune its leaves while it cuts into your stalk?"

The elder Dawnwing could scarcely hide the quirk of his lips as the younger borrowed his own choice of metaphors.

"That is why I am here, Theras. To seek answers. Parts of the prophecy have already come to pass. But what next? It is a great riddle—"

"That might not be solved in time," the ranger completed bluntly, "Father, when I asked before of hope? The Void's messengers seek the hopeless and desperate. Our people will not fall if they are bolstered against it." He shifted his weight slightly, "Tell me honestly: does what you are doing, hunching over diagrams and debating light and dark in Mereldar, does it bring you hope that your vision is averted?"

"I..." Luminash began, prepared to offer some response, any response that might justify his continued research. In his son's gaze, though, he saw the same certainty, the same brightness that his mother had possessed.

That Jaskian possessed, and that had drawn her to Dalaran's ruin.

What would all the libraries of Dalaran reborn be against the shadow? He had once asked himself this question. It had been justification for too long.

An answer to the question that had demanded none began to form.

A bulwark of knowledge, tools to preserve the balance, to ensure the worst did not come to pass.

And while he lingered here, swatting like a beguiled cat at the shadows flickering on the wall, he allowed that beacon of hope to be built without him.

"My son," the magister intoned, without raising his eyes from the diagram, "You've spoken well. And your point...has been made."

(@kharrisdawndancer for Jaskian mention!)

[luminashdawnwing]

The Void of Eredath

As a companion piece (or set of pieces, rather) to Luminash and Theras' most recent discussion, below are the sequence of events referenced by Luminash when he brings up the Void on Argus, all the way from 2017 (back when I could come up with titles)!

Breaking the Silence

Fear of the Dark

An Open Door

In Darkness

Liberation

The "entity" mentioned here will come up again, and I'll compile that bit of background too.

[luminashdawnwing]

Continued from here.

The table spread between Luminash and Theras bore, in its center, a massive sheet of paper, its slightly furled corners held with books, much of its middle taken up by a sketched diagram.

Luminash's fingers were dark from the charcoal his son had provided from his supplies as he hastily scratched out the final word on the ample page, "void," alongside the final of six intersecting circles, a seventh in their center. A line from the center of each extended towards its opposite, all three crossing in the page's — and seventh circle's — precise center.

"Do you see the sectors here?" A charcoal-dusted finger tapped lightly in one of the divided sixths in the center circle, "Before I begin a full explanation, we must establish our basic proposition."

Theras nodded, his father's slide into the manner of a lecturer hardly offering any new surprises; he had seen it coming the moment the magister had taken up paper and charcoal.

"Let us say that this sector" a tap of the finger, "represents this outer ring's share of the center." Another tap of the finger where the line segment connected the outer circle to the inner, "Would you agree, then, that for each of the outer to have an even share of the inner, their corresponding sectors must be of equal area?"

Theras nodded once more. Such modeling had not been any part of his education among the rangers, but he knew that mages had great love for such diagrams.

"What would happen, then, if this sector began to expand, and alter the position of its edges, would those segments not, at some given expansion, no longer connect to their outer ring?" He lowered his eyes, peering almost upwards, expectantly, at his son.

Theras had the distinct impression that, were his father wearing spectacles, he would be peering over their edges in that manner of a somewhat judgmental teacher. He thought for a moment, envisioning the movement of the diagram in his mind's eye, and nodded once more.

"Look, then, to what these represent," Luminash continued, a finger tracing along the page, following his words, his free hand gesturing about while he spoke, "The six forces that touch upon and shape reality, at least in our standard model."

The magister motioned to the areas where the outer circles intersect, "It might be more accurate in the Arathi's understanding, though, for each of these intersections to be connected to their opposite as well. A veritable web spanning all things. I've..." He cleared his throat, "I have simplified for this initial demonstration.

"When the segments no longer connect to their outer sphere, though," he continued, "Their connection would be severed."

Though not explicitly a question, the ranger nodded in understanding, a strong feeling from his father that it was in fact a question posed.

"If the Void, for instance, should gain too great a share of reality, the balance would be utterly disrupted. This, needless to say, ought not be allowed," Luminash concluded, "The same should be said for any other of these outer spheres. This is why I am here."

"I understand that you view Renilash as such a threat. That was never in question. But you must understand that—"

"It is not that Renilash is merely a threat to reality, but the fabric of everything, Theras!" Luminash hastily replied, seeing his audience slipping, "The balance would be disrupted, and the entire frame of existence could simply...collapse." His son felt the despair in the magister's voice after he paused. Though he might seem maddened, there was a sincerity to the madness, "Just as the Legion collapsed, disorder forced to order. Or the Jailer's failure — one hand seized an entire realm's power, wrenched it away from a delicate balance of order-in-death, of life-in-death, of—"

"Father," the younger Dawnwing stated, an abrupt enough verbal wall to stop even Luminash, his eyes flashing with nearly febrile intensity, "What does hiding away have to do with the pattern of creation? What does it do to stop Renilash? I know you want answers, but how does this stop it?"

Luminash's gaze fell from his son to the diagram before them, where it lingered for a long silence. The magister's heartbeat drummed in his ears. An easy answer eluded him, failed to spring to his tongue.

Theras allowed his father a moment, the mage's gold-tinged eyes closing. This was not the first time it had taken coming up against a wall of questioning to snap the man back to reality.

With a deep breath and a collected mind, its racing thoughts lashed and yoked once more, Luminash replied, voice softer, the intensity of his lecture ebbing, "If the prophecy may be decoded, it may save our people. Not just the world, but our people.

"On Argus," he quietly continued, "I was drawn into a void tear in Eredath by the Shadowguard. Within it, I was bombarded with possible futures, and in it, was the fall of Silvermoon at the tendrils of shadow. Since Eon's Fringe, I have been plucking at the strings of possible futures, and it..." His fingers, still resting on the table, curled, nearly clawing at the paper beneath them.

"Theras, I fear it is coming, and more certain than I'd like the possibilities of the Void to be."

The ranger exhaled, closing his own eyes to hide the look of frustration that he was certain flickered into view on his face, "Father, even if what you are saying is true, is this not only reaction? You fear. You react. What will prevent that outcome? Should you not prefer to cut the choking vine off at the root than merely prune its leaves while it cuts into your stalk?"

The elder Dawnwing could scarcely hide the quirk of his lips as the younger borrowed his own choice of metaphors.

"That is why I am here, Theras. To seek answers. Parts of the prophecy have already come to pass. But what next? It is a great riddle—"

"That might not be solved in time," the ranger completed bluntly, "Father, when I asked before of hope? The Void's messengers seek the hopeless and desperate. Our people will not fall if they are bolstered against it." He shifted his weight slightly, "Tell me honestly: does what you are doing, hunching over diagrams and debating light and dark in Mereldar, does it bring you hope that your vision is averted?"

"I..." Luminash began, prepared to offer some response, any response that might justify his continued research. In his son's gaze, though, he saw the same certainty, the same brightness that his mother had possessed.

That Jaskian possessed, and that had drawn her to Dalaran's ruin.

What would all the libraries of Dalaran reborn be against the shadow? He had once asked himself this question. It had been justification for too long.

An answer to the question that had demanded none began to form.

A bulwark of knowledge, tools to preserve the balance, to ensure the worst did not come to pass.

And while he lingered here, swatting like a beguiled cat at the shadows flickering on the wall, he allowed that beacon of hope to be built without him.

"My son," the magister intoned, without raising his eyes from the diagram, "You've spoken well. And your point...has been made."

(@kharrisdawndancer for Jaskian mention!)

[luminashdawnwing]

Pyraelia wasn't sure she had heard Keranna correctly. Her heartbeat roared in her ears a little, sounding a bit like the north sea on a particularly blustery day, or the whirling rush of a flurry of arcane missiles careening by. How long had it been since she had been to the beach to see the sea at all recently, anyway?

A little under a month, maybe, that was what one did in the summer if they weren't busy with other things, after all. But she'd been terribly busy with other things. Was that why—

Keranna's hands squeezed her shoulders lightly and pulled her out of her rapidly shifting thoughts, "The ceremony is in early August, you're allowed to invite people to join you. I'm telling you in advance in case anyone you'd like to have there may need the extra time to make arrangements to be here, the formal list won't be published for a couple more weeks."

She felt like she was going to potentially vibrate directly into another plane. She blinked down at Keranna and nodded a couple of times before finally finding her voice again, "Sorry. Yes. Thank you. I didn't mishear you, then? And that's not a clerical error?"

"When have I been wrong, dear?" Keranna's laugh carried through that rhetorical question, rich and comforting. "You are going to be formally titled Archmage for your service to the preservation of Dalaran's arcane knowledge. Frankly it should've been sooner, but the due diligence took a bit longer in the wake of everything and attention being firmly diverted to the war."

That had been one of her goals for so long, one of those achievements that firmly tied her to her family's long legacy of having at least one every generation. Fiorenze had briefly been an Archmagistrix but that wasn't quite the same thing; that title was only Magistry based—not that it wasn't impressive, but she hadn't gotten it by being impressive. It had been a promotion through negotiation.

She hadn't been chasing accolades when she set up the Info Drop spell matrix as a fail-safe, and she hadn't been able to save everything—or everyone—either. Or help with the sorting and coordination in the aftermath of the great city's fall. Imprisonment in the Spiral Weave saw to that.

She pulled away from her distant cousin to pace around the kitchen a little to work off some of the nervous energy that simmered directly under her skin, "Where?"

"The ceremony will be in one of the smaller formal ballrooms in the Magister's Terrace on Quel'danas. Makes it easier for some of the Kirin Tor and non-Horde aligned delegations to attend safely," Keranna smiled at her and immediately busied herself with heating up a kettle for tea.

Right.

That earlier bit of conversation about inviting people replayed in her mind briefly. The reason she was being told now, saying it without saying it, was a kind way of giving her the slim chance of potentially having Aerden able to attend. He was still deep in his elite forces training and that wasn't something you could simply take time off from. Still, he'd invited her to his own ceremony—alongside Khaeris and Pollux—when he'd received his Distinguished Service Medal all those years ago, and it was worth at least letting him know. Just in case.

Not that she'd be upset if he couldn't make it, his training meant the world to him. But if he could make it then he'd have to attend in dress uniform for formalities sake and he was extremely attractive in that—

Keranna set a teacup down in front of her as a perfect distraction. Pyraelia picked it up and smiled at the older woman as she held the porcelain anchor between her hands, grateful for the normalcy it offered, "I'll start letting people know. Formal invitations to come?"

"Formal invitations to come. Let me know who in advance, they'll come from the Grand Magister's desk. And let me know if I need to pull any strings, I'm more than happy to," her cousin's eyes lit up at the prospect of calling in another favor or two.

@aerdendios / @kharrisdawndancer /@polluxhale

[luminashdawnwing]

"You wished for a word, Theras?"

The younger Dawnwing nodded, resting his elbows on the railing overlooking Mereldar. Behind the pair, through an open archway, was the library where the magister had spent much of the past few months in study.

"Please," Luminash nudged, "What is it? Why so formal?"

Theras raised one shoulder in response, a half shrug that reminded his father for a moment of himself, a dismissive gesture he had offered many a time before. His son would elaborate no further.

After a moment in silence, the young man picking at his sleeve, gaze focused somewhere in the misty distance of Hallowfall's cavern, he spoke, "Aneyah intends to travel to the surface. She wants to see the wider world, and I intend to go with her.”

“Hm,” Luminash replied, “You are sure of this?” There was no judgement or displeasure in his voice, for which his son let out a grateful sigh, “Though the work we do here is of the utmost importance, it will continue even with fewer hands.”

“That is another point, actually, father,” Theras said, turning from his overlook and towards the magister, “About the work, about it all really.”

Luminash canted his head, “What do you mean?”

“The Order of the Night preys on the hopeless. It creates hopelessness to expand its power,” the ranger answered, emphasizing each point with a motion of the hands, “So if our goal is eradication, pruning the branches does little good, wouldn’t you agree?”

The magister noted his son’s choice of words, his expectant question. He had been listening well to him and to Ryfus, it seemed. He had no choice but to nod in agreement.

“And the Primalists, too. Everyone like them has done the same, so why have we done nothing to save them before they are too far gone?” The young elf’s voice rose, touched by a drive Luminash recognized well, as if peering into a mirror.

“Aneyah hopes the Sacred Flame may bring that to the wider world. People left behind.”

“And she can scarcely do that alone, can she?” Luminash finished, offering his son an understanding smile, “Every great work, however peaceful, finds itself in need at times of a strong arm, does it not?”

Theras’ eyes flitted to his spear, resting against the doorway. He nodded in reply, although with some reluctance.

“Which brings me to my final point, father,” the ranger ventured.

“Ah, you have done well so far. I will hear you. What is your last concern?” Luminash approached the railing and leaned next to the younger Dawnwing.

“It is…about you. And Jaskian. Dalaran.” Theras, in that moment, found it hard to meet his father’s gaze, though it showed only curiosity, an invitation to continue, no anger.

“Do you ever feel that you have gone…still? Stagnant?” A twitch of the cheek in the magister. The word, like a spear itself, had hit its mark, “That you have found yourself reacting rather than acting?"

Luminash was silent, only the furrowing of his brow indicating any perturbation. The thought had clearly crossed his mind.

"I'd grown up hearing stories from Tel, about what my father was doing: you betrayed your own kingdom on your pilgrimage to Outland because you saw who the Sunfury had become. You agitated in Silvermoon against Kael'thas, even before his betrayal was known. You advocated for more exchange with the Horde in the early days. Your research—"

"Has raised many an eyebrow. You needn't list all of my accomplishments," Luminash cut in, a chill in his voice, "My research is precisely why I am here yet. Renilash—"

"Has become an obsession, father," Theras sighed, "All your work since the fall has been for your people. You saw a problem and you sought to solve it! But you are league beneath the earth, chasing down the Order of the Night with the only end being elimination. What about a solution? What about—"

Luminash's gloved fingers gripped the railing as his son's words washed over him. All were true, he knew, but a force he could scarcely explain held him here.

As much as it pained him, though, he had to try.

"Theras," Luminash snapped, stopping the young ranger short.

Stubborn, a trait the pair shared, Theras continued, "What about hope?"

Collecting himself, the earnestness in the boy's voice piercing his heart, Luminash spoke, the gentle, reassuring tone of a proud father, "Not a word has been said untruthfully. But there are...one might say, complications?"

When Theras only canted his head in response, the magister motioned back inside with a jerk of his own, "Come. There are some things you must see."

(@kharrisdawndancer for Jaskian mention!)

[luminashdawnwing]

"You wished for a word, Theras?"

The younger Dawnwing nodded, resting his elbows on the railing overlooking Mereldar. Behind the pair, through an open archway, was the library where the magister had spent much of the past few months in study.

"Please," Luminash nudged, "What is it? Why so formal?"

Theras raised one shoulder in response, a half shrug that reminded his father for a moment of himself, a dismissive gesture he had offered many a time before. His son would elaborate no further.

After a moment in silence, the young man picking at his sleeve, gaze focused somewhere in the misty distance of Hallowfall's cavern, he spoke, "Aneyah intends to travel to the surface. She wants to see the wider world, and I intend to go with her.”

“Hm,” Luminash replied, “You are sure of this?” There was no judgement or displeasure in his voice, for which his son let out a grateful sigh, “Though the work we do here is of the utmost importance, it will continue even with fewer hands.”

“That is another point, actually, father,” Theras said, turning from his overlook and towards the magister, “About the work, about it all really.”

Luminash canted his head, “What do you mean?”

“The Order of the Night preys on the hopeless. It creates hopelessness to expand its power,” the ranger answered, emphasizing each point with a motion of the hands, “So if our goal is eradication, pruning the branches does little good, wouldn’t you agree?”

The magister noted his son’s choice of words, his expectant question. He had been listening well to him and to Ryfus, it seemed. He had no choice but to nod in agreement.

“And the Primalists, too. Everyone like them has done the same, so why have we done nothing to save them before they are too far gone?” The young elf’s voice rose, touched by a drive Luminash recognized well, as if peering into a mirror.

“Aneyah hopes the Sacred Flame may bring that to the wider world. People left behind.”

“And she can scarcely do that alone, can she?” Luminash finished, offering his son an understanding smile, “Every great work, however peaceful, finds itself in need at times of a strong arm, does it not?”

Theras’ eyes flitted to his spear, resting against the doorway. He nodded in reply, although with some reluctance.

“Which brings me to my final point, father,” the ranger ventured.

“Ah, you have done well so far. I will hear you. What is your last concern?” Luminash approached the railing and leaned next to the younger Dawnwing.

“It is…about you. And Jaskian. Dalaran.” Theras, in that moment, found it hard to meet his father’s gaze, though it showed only curiosity, an invitation to continue, no anger.

“Do you ever feel that you have gone…still? Stagnant?” A twitch of the cheek in the magister. The word, like a spear itself, had hit its mark, “That you have found yourself reacting rather than acting?"

Luminash was silent, only the furrowing of his brow indicating any perturbation. The thought had clearly crossed his mind.

"I'd grown up hearing stories from Tel, about what my father was doing: you betrayed your own kingdom on your pilgrimage to Outland because you saw who the Sunfury had become. You agitated in Silvermoon against Kael'thas, even before his betrayal was known. You advocated for more exchange with the Horde in the early days. Your research—"

"Has raised many an eyebrow. You needn't list all of my accomplishments," Luminash cut in, a chill in his voice, "My research is precisely why I am here yet. Renilash—"

"Has become an obsession, father," Theras sighed, "All your work since the fall has been for your people. You saw a problem and you sought to solve it! But you are league beneath the earth, chasing down the Order of the Night with the only end being elimination. What about a solution? What about—"

Luminash's gloved fingers gripped the railing as his son's words washed over him. All were true, he knew, but a force he could scarcely explain held him here.

As much as it pained him, though, he had to try.

"Theras," Luminash snapped, stopping the young ranger short.

Stubborn, a trait the pair shared, Theras continued, "What about hope?"

Collecting himself, the earnestness in the boy's voice piercing his heart, Luminash spoke, the gentle, reassuring tone of a proud father, "Not a word has been said untruthfully. But there are...one might say, complications?"

When Theras only canted his head in response, the magister motioned back inside with a jerk of his own, "Come. There are some things you must see."

(@kharrisdawndancer for Jaskian mention!)

[luminashdawnwing]

The best part about knowing Latin plurals is using them incorrectly on purpose and seeing if anyone who knows why you're full of shit is within earshot. Insist that the plural of of "waitress" is "waitrices". You know you want to.

[luminashdawnwing]

May DWC 2025

Day 2: Placate / Graceful

“Ther?” Aneyah asked, her already soft voice barely a whisper above the crackle and hum of the little keyflame that kept the darkness surrounding their camp away during Beledar’s Shadow, “Something has been bothering me.”

Theras’ ears quirked as he looked up from his sketchbook. Though she was not behind him, he reflexively placed a hand over his unfinished work, “What is it? Is something wrong?”

She shook her head, brushing a strand of hair from her eyes, “No, not at all. I was just thinking of…” She trailed off, “There was some tension when last I brought our recovered possessions to Ryfus and your father.”

The ranger furrowed his brows, “What do you mean? Has something happened?” The flutter in the young man’s stomach irked him, yet it rose nonetheless.

She shook her head, the way her hair and earrings – small hoops of gold with a single crossbar, made to look like the symbol of the Sacred Flame – caught the light, a momentary distraction to the man, a shimmer of grace in the washed-out violet of the Shadow, “Nothing more than a disagreement over the Order of the Night. I’ve thought about what you said, about how…they’re scared.”

Theras sighed and set his sketch aside, leaning forward on his bedroll and wrapping arms around his knees, “And they disagreed?”

“Not in so many words. More, they were simply adamant that their shadows be burned away, regardless of cause or intention behind their deeds.” The golden light of her eyes dimmed as she shifted her gaze towards the ground, “I felt the same, until I’d…thought on it. Have I told you much about Wenren?”

A shake of the head in reply, “Just that he was a fine mage, the last of them that the expedition had. And that he was going to be a way home, until…” Theras trailed off, unwilling to dredge up further pain.

“He was a beacon, Ther. I do not know if he knew I felt so, but not a day goes by that the hurt is not there,” she whispered, closing her eyes, “And I felt nothing could placate it but hunting down those who did it. Because if the best of us have to live in fear of their daggers, why should they not fear our retribution?”

The ranger only listened, resting his chin on his knees now.

“But they kept their tinderboxes, the same ones we are taking back. They are symbols of hope, and of connection to the Flame,” she continued as she shifted her eyes towards the chest where the pair stored their reclaimed tokens, “Why keep them if they had lost all hope? They felt the dark creeping in, and when it frightened them, they wrapped themselves in it like a cloak.”

“One way to overcome fear is to inure yourself to the object of that fear,” Theras added, a question in his voice.

“So they embraced what they thought an inevitable end. Why fear the dark when it is all around you, and part of you?” She paused, “Ther?”

The ranger canted his head to the side, in that same birdlike manner as his father.

“What if we tried to show them new hope, not take away what little remains? Will you help me heal my people, Ther?”

@daily-writing-challenge (belated, with more to come)

[luminashdawnwing]

[luminashdawnwing]

May DWC 2025 Day 3: Linger / Gaze

Why do you insist on lingering here, deep beneath the earth, far from the sky, far from the ruins?

The thought kept Luminash awake many nights, even if his racing mind could drag itself from the minutiae of arcane theory, from the binding of Light and flame, from the nurturing of his own Sacred Flame, from the darkness. Always the darkness, Renilash, the gnawing dread.

He could take some comfort from the curled warmth of Jaskian in the back of his mind most times, but there was a cold there, a sorrow since the fall of Dalaran.

How can I face it? Face everyone there? What will it mean if the Sureki are not burned away?

If Renilash comes?

The magister forced his eyes shut. The drapes of his room in Mereldar were drawn tightly, blocking out the brilliance of Beledar, and he let the darkness wash over him in the vain hope he could fool his body into embracing the false night.

Behind his eyelids, images of memories – illusions wrapped in illusion.

A wave of the hand, a tightening grip, and the nerubian rose, only to be dashed against the earth, a sound like the screech of metal on metal mingling with an abrupt tear of fabric as arcane power shredded his foe, a flash, and little more than a stain of ichor on the ground.

Every Sureki defeated here was some semblance of peace for those above who sought to rebuild the Kirin Tor’s home. Every flicker of Light delivered to the shadowed crevices of these depths was hope for the future. Each act a delay of the inevitable, time bought performing their important works elsewhere.

Renilash comes. What future awaits?

The prophecy had rooted itself so deeply – too deeply – in the magister’s mind. He knew Jaskian could feel, nested in his excitement for the work done here, in the adrenaline of battle, in the sense of peace Beledar offered him, a knot of dread.

Why linger here? What other choice is there? The first line of defense against Renilash is here, and so I must be too.

What will all the libraries of Dalaran restored be in the face of the encroaching dark?

@daily-writing-challenge (and @kharrisdawndancer for Jaskian!)

[luminashdawnwing]

May DWC 2025 Day 5: Restless / Faith

“Taking too much on faith – spending too much time lost in thought about faith – has always proven more inconvenient than otherwise,” Luminash posited. Ryfus, the Arathi loremaster, offered a slight shrug in response – noncommittal, certainly not true disagreement, for faith was his bedrock, the Arathi’s foundations, but reserving judgement.

“You prefer action, do you not, magister?” Aneyah questioned. The cleric – young, perhaps, but wiser than her years, an echo of loss and suffering haunting her eyes – had taken to her role assisting Ryfus with the management of Mereldar’s records well.

And taken better to ranging the depths of Khaz Algar in search of Order of the Night, Luminash reflected. His son had said as much. He saw in her – and the fiery haired ranger – a glimpse of own restlessness. His own drive for action. Perhaps better that they draw some of it from their elder, and leave him to pursue his projects in the quiet of peace.

But what is lost by cloistering yourself, the thought rose unbidden, though the magister shrugged it off.

“I suppose I do, at that,” he replied, “Awaiting what may come with hope is all well and good, but I struggle to see the merit in simply awaiting the fulfilment of prophecy, or waiting for a greater power to intervene.”

Ryfus broke in, then, “I sense a debate in these words, my friend.” A challenge laid, a slight smile tugging on the man’s lips, “I do not disagree, now that you’ve clarified, but what is one to do when prophecy is vague, or lends itself to interpretation?”

Renilash. The shadow that hung like a blade dangling by a horsehair over all Arathi.

“Then I say interpret and act. All puzzle boxes have some solution, yes? Even if the solution is, in the end, to simply shatter the box, or pry apart its panels.” As he spoke, he caught himself gripping the edge of the table at which the trio stood, piled high in relics liberated from Order of the Night cultists.

“You do have faith in the words, then,” Aneyah ventured, a note of questioning in her voice. Seemingly content to let that linger, she continued, “And act upon it.”

“Ah, after deliberation, yes,” Luminash clarified, “Blind faith drives rash action. True faith, I think, involves seeking a deeper understanding.” He motioned to the profaned tinderboxes and crudely annotated scrolls and codices before them, “The Order does not grasp this. They rush ever onward into darkness, heedless of their own lack of understanding. They see the end come and throw themselves into its maw, convinced they alone have seen the truth of the matter.”

“And so it falls to us to cut the darkness out at the root, and preserve what we can of what they left behind in their leap from reason,” Ryfus finished as Luminash nodded in agreement, “Well said, dear magister.”

Aneyah pursed her lips, brows downturned, “I think…” She said in a small voice, raising her own gold-flecked eyes to meet Luminash’s, “Their roots only need clean water.”

@daily-writing-challenge

[luminashdawnwing]

DWC May 2025 - Day 4 - Dangerous/Tremendous - Jaskian

Jaskian felt the loss like a weight inside her heart. Dalaran had been gone for many months now, but even still, that was her first instinct when she drew up her hands to conjure a portal. When she thought of shopping. When she wanted a library. When she wanted to surround herself with magic and learning. She had lived and studied there for her formative years. The Kirin Tor more than the Magistry had shaped her. She had done her thesis based out of Dalaran when it had been over Northrend, and she had taken to visiting often when it was elsewhere.

She knew the alleys and the arenas. She had been one of many students who had frequented the Legerdemain Lounge for coffee and late night cram sessions. She and Luminash had walked its streets together hundreds of times, enjoying the parks and theater. It still felt like a little piece of her lived there. Had crashed with it. Shattered into fragments scattered over a beach far from familiar shores.

Hunks of marble that used to be plazas and towers dotted the land like the tears of a Titan. The loss of this beloved city and so many of her people still took her breath away, and Jaskian felt her hand rise to her chest. The loss was tremendous and no one who had loved her was unaffected by Dalaran’s loss.

She had always been the more nostalgic of the two. Luminash was working in the future, ever forward, and Jaskian was still spending her days helping the Kirin Tor remnants rebuild their society, if not their city. She reached out to her soulbound husband and let the dangerous melancholy she’d built up fade in the face of his current excitement. He was good for getting her mind off the things she let trouble her. @daily-writing-challenge

mentions: @luminashdawnwing (( I don't know @guardevoir but the art is so well done, I love it! Go give them a follow! They have a really lovely, painterly style!))

[luminashdawnwing]

diviners with lichtenberg figures. pyromancers with ashes on their hands. thaumaturges surrounded by snowflakes. conjurers that don’t show up quite right in photos. theurgists hands always being stained green. necromancers with distant shadows behind their eyes. sorcerers that always know the flow of time.

wizards that get more Weird the more they study magic. send tweet.

[luminashdawnwing]

DWC May 2025 Day 1: Cruel / Beauty

"How can any of our people have given themselves over to such cruelty?" Aneyah asked. She spoke in hushed tones as she sifted through the recovered belongings of a Nightfall cultist. Theras shook his head, the rasp of whetstone on the edge of his glaive offered in reply before the younger man spoke, "Father would say they are fools who have looked too deeply into the Void. That they believe its lies, and have become something else."

The Arathi's lips turned down at their corners, fingers tracing the delicate ornamentation of the cultist's befouled tinderbox, "But he is not here, is he? Tell me what you think, Ther."

The whetstone stopped for a moment. In the weeks they had spent rooting out Order of Night activity among the Sureki remnants, the cleric had gained his trust. Only in recent days had she started calling him something so familiar, and it still caught him off guard.

"You know how a lynx gets when it gets backed into a corner? I think they're scared." The ranger added quietly, "I don't think they're doing what they're doing out of malice. I think they're just...so, so frightened."

The tinderbox flipped open, revealing a darkened shard of crystal embedded within. Aneyah shuddered, clapping it shut once more, "What fear could do this? Could..." She choked. Months had passed since Wenren's murder, but the wound was still fresh, the embers the cleric once held within her breast yet warm.

"People will do a lot to avoid facing the unknown alone. If Renilash really is approaching, like you think, Aneyah, they...probably don't have the heart to face it alone." He eyed the edge of his weapon with satisfaction and stood, placing it with great care of its rack.

"Ther? If something should happen? If I ever lack the heart to..." She rasped a sigh, her shoulders trembling with it, "Please do not let me face it alone?"

The young Dawnwing nodded solemnly, though he found himself, as often, at a loss for words.

@daily-writing-challenge

[luminashdawnwing]

University really is about looking at the worst pdf known to man huh

[luminashdawnwing]

I should be allowed into every museum’s archives actually