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Nature Versus Nurture

Mount Cortis, Drustvar 15 months after the Veil was broken.

It took a yeti nearly stepping on her for Tyra to admit she may have made a mistake.

What had started as an exploratory trip up the mountain had been side tracked by bellows from somewhere above her. She had flown straight upward and transformed into an arctic hare, letting her momentum carry her up and over the ledge. Unfortunately for Tyra, her landing zone was a battleground for two brawling yetis. There was no time to shift between landing and the yeti feet that were slamming down around her, so Tyra bolted up the mountain. Hare gave way to a lynx as she ran and dove behind a rock by the mouth of a cave. Once she was safe, she peered over her cover at the fight below her. One of them was ancient by yeti standards. He was missing most of his teeth and had a mass of scar tissue where his left eye should be. He had probably looked haggard even before the upstart had wounded him. He didn’t move right and attacks that may have once been deliberate were now simply slow. His chest heaved with each labored breath as he fended off his attacker.

The other yeti was young and quick. He forsook any kind of technique in favor of raw aggression. He would run in, land a strike or bite, then dance back out of the Ancient’s reach. He wasn’t fighting, he was bullying. Tyra hesitated. She wanted to help, but she wasn’t sure how or even if the Ancient would accept it. The Ancient lowered his head and charged the upstart. The impact was nothing compared to what it should have been for a creature of his size but it was enough. The upstart fell backward , sliding toward and then over the edge. His howl of rage followed him all the way down. It stopped as abruptly as the fall likely did.

The Ancient turned toward the cave. Tyra’s heart froze. She didn’t want to fight him so she was grateful to be on the same side as the creature’s blind eye when it stumbled past her. She heard a single, meaty thump after it disappeared into the darkness.

Tyra looked down at the bloody snow. She should leave. Wounded animals were dangerous, and yetis were easily provoked at the best of times. But she felt guilty for not helping him during the fight. She became a worgen and walked into the cave.

The Ancient had collapsed in what she recognized as a den. Totems made of hair, hide, and bone hung on the walls alongside pieces of broken glass and shattered weapons. The Ancient tried and failed to lift his head to watch her. He huffed at her in resignation. Tyra sat down next to the yeti and softly petted his mane.

“It’s okay.” Tyra said softly. The yeti’s eye fluttered open to look at her. “If, um if you go where I think you will it’s warm. And there’s trees. And prey. You’ll be young again, too.” She thought about the stories dwarves told when they held a wake or the prayers her cousin recited while burying the dead. Neither seemed right, and she was out of words. She hummed one of her mother’s lullabies while she stroked the Ancient’s fur. The Ancient’s eye drifted shut a final time. Its breathing slowed. Tyra wasn’t sure when he passed on but he had gone peacefully. That was all she could do.

Tyra looked around the cave again. It was larger than she expected. Isolated. The local wildlife probably avoided it. An idea started to form. There was no time to work on it now. She had more important things to do before she could start on it. She tossed one of her tracking beacons into the far corner of the cave. She’d come back later. For now, she only had time to lay the Ancient to rest.

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Pretty much.

Safere | Mordecai

Knafi | Delilah

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Hands on hips, Eavyn surveyed her makeshift kitchen. Having aided in campaigns like this more times than she cared to count, she had expertly navigated the bustle of people and pack animals to frame out an area for herself using the crates and sacks of food sent by Eastburg. The centerpiece was a large stone fire ring, and flames already flickered against the underside of a cooking grate. A bar hung far above, holding a wide assortment of ladles, tongs, and other implements she’d make frequent use of.

A smaller fire and grate were situated on the perimeter of her area. The first thing to be set up, it was quickly put to use for warming a cauldron of water and a pot of strong coffee. Those two vessels and the nearby stash of teas and sugar would likely make the smaller fire one of the most oft-visited spots in camp. Given that the coffee and water would be used and refreshed at all hours, Eavyn was happy that she alone wouldn’t be responsible for that during this campaign. 

The knight turned to watch the young man rolling and cutting biscuits on top of one of the large wooden crates behind her. She’d been connected with Beacan- Bex -by Autumnhearth’s secretary, who apparently made a habit of pairing some of Stormwind’s older orphans with mentors. The young man had expressed interest in both cooking and possibly joining Stormwind’s military forces, so Eavyn and Valdyss had been in agreement that assisting her during this campaign might help Bex to make a more informed decision about his future.

“The grate will only hold two of those at a time,” she called out to Beacan as she gestured to some large pans already filled with doughy discs. “Best put those on to bake while you roll out some more.”

The gangly young man set down the rolling pin with a nod and carried the biscuits over to the big fire. “If these are just meant to help tide folks over ‘til the next meal, are we maybe making too many?”

Eavyn smiled. “I’ve found there’s no such thing as ‘too many’ in a situation like this. People are hungry from unloading the ships and setting up camp. And even if they don’t eat all the jerky and biscuits, both can be useful another time. The jerky can be offered up as a snack later and the leftover biscuits can either be re-warmed and served as they are during dinner or broken up and used for a nice bread pudding tomorrow morning.”

The knight laughed at Bex’s widening eyes and what was likely an unconscious lick of his lips. “Right,” she said, taking a playful swat at his stomach with the back of her hand. “Plenty of folks like a bit of sweetness along with their bacon and eggs.”

Taking the pans from her assistant one at a time, she settled them onto the grate and then cranked it up and away from the flames so the biscuits had just enough heat to fully bake without their bottoms burning. With that done, she returned her attention to Bex, who she steered back to the crate-turned-counter top.

“Leftover rice can easily be repurposed too. It’s important to take stock of your provisions as early as possible and plan meals out in advance. Cook the most perishable things first if you don’t have reliable cold storage for it, and know which foods you can stretch or repurpose. You’ll see me doing enough of all that over the coming days to get a better feel for things yourself.”

The two of them fell into a nice rhythm, with Eavyn placing raw biscuits on another pan as Bex cut them out. After around ten minutes, she inhaled deeply and grinned. “Smell that?” Her question was met with another nod. “Then the folks around here do too, and we’ll have visitors soon enough.” 

She pointed towards the big fire. “Let’s get those off the fire and into a basket so we can get the next batch baking.” Eavyn grabbed a large basket off another crate, lined it with a towel, and handed it to Bex. “You get going with that and I’ll hunt down the butter, honey, and jam.”

Eavyn watched her assistant for a minute and, satisfied that he was doing fine on his own, she started pulling out the toppings for the biscuits along with some jerked beef. By the time she’d set that out on a long table at one end of the cooking area, Bex joined her with the basket full of the fragrant snacks and then immediately handed them off so he could put the next two pans onto the grate. Bex’s quiet confidence was much appreciated, and Eavyn prayed that would hold up through the campaign along with his apparent love for what he was doing. If it did, the young man would do well in the future, no matter what path he chose.

(art by the sweet and talented ActualSailboat)

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She used to have much more spikey shoulders.

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Ceramic queen Sam for @kegs-and-pots <3

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I think it's time for an...

UPGRADE

😎

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I think it's time for an...

UPGRADE

😎

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Home

It took her a while to narrow down the right property, but in the end, a fairly rocky but level plot was selected. Originally, Sam had wanted enough land to add a workshop on, but the cost was prohibitive, not to mention most lots that size were set aside for farming.

Instead, she’d have a full size basement dug. The rocks and boulders that would need to come out would be used for a wall around the property and maybe some of the stone work of the house itself. It would depend on what they dug up. But the workshop could go down there, and the kiln could share a chimney with the fireplace. A small shop would be built off the back of it, a place to sell from and stage the pieces that were done. The basement would hold the wheels and clay and pretty much everything else.

A small well would be just behind the kitchen area, plus she planned to use a rainwater catch system for additional water. She’d pay extra for the gnomish kitchen and bath equipment, especially out here, but they’d be well worth it.

Once she had the lot sized, it was a simple matter to sketch out her ideas and have an architect make some plans from them. Once she approved of his sketches, the general plans would be ready in a week, the full build plans in two.

It was going to eat up almost all of the coin she had gotten when she sold the rings, with a good chunk of the gold going to the bathroom and kitchen fittings, as expected, and the two kilns she was having put in.

But it was going to be worth it. With any luck, they could start building in a couple weeks and the whole thing would be done before the end of the year.

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If she thought about it too much, she’d cry.

Having spent the first two-thirds of her life in Stormwind and the rest of it either at war or escaping it, Valdyss had never experienced a whole community pull together to do its best. In the days since the protectors’ victory over the witch knight and her evil forces, the people of Autumnhearth and its allies had come out in force to do just that.

For all but the darkest hours of night and early morning, the manor grounds buzzed with activity. Sections of the house that had been tainted and burned by witchfire were being cut away and turned to ash in bonfires fed by rowanwood and stoked with poles tipped in silver. Supplies were coming in by the wagonload as were craftsmen and other volunteers from Easthallow, Crowsfield, and family settlements located everywhere around and between.

Many aided in the repair of the manor, and their numbers were nearly matched by those arriving to offer other support. The injured were receiving around-the-clock care, water containers were filled and refilled, the cooking fires and bonfires were kept burning, and food was made available to keep all of those helpers running just as well.

The mage’s stomach growled. A part of her knew that she’d currently be better served by having a plate in her lap rather than a journal filled with lists, but she pushed that thought away nearly as quickly as it came. Though the work crews were largely self-sufficient, they still ultimately reported to her until the Hallewells returned. So too did the other volunteers turn to her with questions or reassurances. It was a fulfilling position to be in, and one she was so very honored to fill. If there was ever a time to prove to others just how seriously she took her duty, now was the time… and the weight of that was something Val could not escape.

“Hello.”

Valdyss jerked her head up with a surprised yelp and found herself staring at the blonde woman who seemed to move back and forth between the manor’s kitchen and the makeshift infirmary with the consistency of a clock’s pendulum. Her nose twitched at the scent of whatever it was in the small crate the woman supported with both hands.

“Hey,” Val replied, her voice hoarse. “What can I help you with… Eve, right?”

“Close!” the other woman said brightly. “It’s Eavyn.” She cut off the apology she saw coming with one finger held aloft and a shake of her head. “You should hardly be expected to mentally keep track of everyone’s name too.”

Eavyn sat the wooden box down on the hay bale next to Valdyss. As she plucked Val’s journal from her grasp with one hand, she reached inside the crate with the other and presented the mage with a paper-wrapped sandwich, grilled and stuffed with meat and melting cheese. 

“Hey!” Valdyss reached for her lists with her free hand, but found the journal just out of reach. “I need that!”

“And so I’ll give it back in just a minute,” Eavyn replied calmly. “But I first want to point out that you look tired enough to take a bite out of that book by accident if left to chance.”

Val eyed the blonde and, though she gave a frustrated huff first, she did pull back the wrapper and bite into the sandwich. A contented hum filled the silence between the two women a few seconds later.

“There’s a canteen of water in there,” Eavyn explained, pausing to rap her knuckle against the side of the box. “I brought an insulated flask of coffee as well. Cream and sugar to the point of nearly altering its state, right?”

At Val’s widening eyes, the paladin laughed and gave a little shrug. “I noticed at breakfast yesterday morning.”

Finally, Valdyss had finished her mouthful. “Thank you. Light… I don’t think I realized how hungry I am.”

“That’s just as bad as knowing you are but not taking the time for yourself,” Eavyn countered as soon as Valdyss had taken another large bite. She’d found it a good strategy for getting a word in when she might not otherwise. “In any case, there are two apples and a little bundle of cookies in the crate as well, should you realize you’re hungry again before dinner.”

“Look, I appreciate the food, but I don’t need to be moth-”

“You can’t pour from an empty vessel,” the paladin interrupted. Her voice was firm and kind. “Clichéd, but true.” She gestured towards the manor with a sweep of her hand. “They see you as a leader in the Hallewells’ absence and treat you as such, and that is exactly why they must witness you eating and resting as well.”

Realizing she had no good argument against that logic, Valdyss could only sigh. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“That’s not apparent, nor is it permanent.”

Valdyss laughed, couldn’t help it. “So you’re saying I have them fooled?”

“I’m saying you’ve earned their confidence, and that hardly makes them fools.” Eavyn waited for Val to take another bite before she added. “And I’ll add that sometimes compassion comes hardest when one must extend it to oneself.” 

With that said, the paladin turned to head back to the manor, calling “See you at dinner!” over her shoulder as she went.

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Unwelcome return...

Sam had come ‘home’ late. Late being relative given she’d been gone for months again. Eve had kept up the rent on the shop she rented in the dwarven district for her, knowing she’d show up eventually.

As it was, it really was late when the undead woman slipped in the door, to find Eve sitting in the chair by the fire, fully kitted out. “Oh, hey..why...what’s happened?”. Eve got to her feet and met her by the door. “Drop your pack. We are going to your shop. We need to move what's left by morning or it's all going to be tossed”.

Sam looked confused. “What? Why? I paid ahead on the rent and locked it up tidy and all”. Eve shook her head “You’ll see. Also, that means your landlord owes me as I’ve been paying your rent there too”.

It wasn’t a quick walk to the shop area and Sam caught Eve up on her travels. Her trip to Northrend, seeing Bronn’s homeland and meeting his daughter and her wife. Staying there a good week and in the general area for the better part of the past few months. Eve smirked at her “Another home?”. Sam shook her head “Vacation spot. Autumnhearth is home. That much I’m sure of. I just need to find a plot and build a place for the shop with a guest room for when you come visi….”

She trailed off as they rounded the corner and first caught sight of the shop. A group of angry dwarves stood before it, the owner between them and the entry, trying to keep his property safe. As the two of them came into sight, the crowd turned, angry yells and slurs thrown at them. Sam looked shocked, Eve just sighed and stepped forward. “Done told you lot she wouldn’t do that, didn’t do that and you've no proof”.

Sam surveyed the scene. Her wares...months and months of back-stock built up, smashed. Glazes, tools, even her wheels likewise ruined. She stepped forward, a dwarf made to get in front of her.

She looked down, shaking her head at him. “Lass, yer kinds not wanted ‘ere. Git!”. He raised his blacksmith’s hammer in threat…

Sam shifted so fast, clawed hand catching the hammer before he could even make to swing it. There was a low rumbling growl as she lifted the man off his feet so he was eye level “Hogral, you have worked beside me for nearly a year. Welcomed me to drinks even. What in the hells is this about? Who did this?”.

He released the hammer, dropping to the ground and scrambling back as the rest parted, revealing the graffiti on the side of the shop. A caricature of Sam, done in black and blue, stabbing a dwarf followed by another where she made a bowl from the dwarf’s skull. Written beneath it in red was ‘Don’t buy from the Death Knight! Or you’ll be next on the shelf!’

Sam dropped the hammer, shifting back to human form as she got closer, noting a boot print in paint nearby and a few bottles of a decidedly non-Ironforge beer. She stepped inside the shop to survey the damage.

Eve walked over to stand in-front of the scrawl. She picked up one of the beer bottles and turned on the crowd. “And how many skull bowls did you find in there? Hmm? Or bone flutes, or whatever you thought you’d find? You, Adlin, who I know bought tankards here. Or you Grinhilda? How many plates grace your hutch? You have known my sister how long? Me? And you do this? With out even asking?”

Inside, the landlord, old Dorgan bent down to right a stool and sat. “I’m sorry lass, but I want you out. I know ye didna do tha’ but, its bad fer business. I can’t lose the shop space…”

Sam turned slowly, noting the kiln was perfectly intact. The one thing that wasn’t hers. “You owe my sister all the rent you took knowing I had already paid you. I notice the locks not broken either...so you can clean up the mess you allowed to happen here”.

A quick glance showed there was nothing to salvage. Every tool was as broken as the crockery. Even her clay had been ruined. She shook her head. He started to protest but she walked past him and out. She looked across the faces of people she thought were friends. Though after a moment, she shook her head, motioned for Eve and walked off.

Eve followed, glancing back “But Sam…?”

“Only a couple of familiar faces there, Eve. Likely caught up in the small riot Dorgan planned. I don’t think he planned this but he’s wanted to raise my rent ever since I started making coin. I’m sure he has someone lined up for the space. The others? Hogral complains all the time the clay dust messes up his smithing. Adlin and Grinny likely came to see what was going on, by the look on their faces. No…”

She stopped, looking back. “They broke everything of mine. Over bad art they knew wasn’t true”.

Eve held up the bottle she still held. “Well, whoever drew it, I’d wager it wasn’t a dwarf. Boot print was too big and this is Stormsong Stout…”. Sam looked the bottle over “I know a few folks who drink that but...I’d not suspect any of them doing this”.

@saferemercer

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☿ : A trope you dislike?

If we're talking Warcraft roleplay specifically, cartoonishly evil Forsaken and/or Death Knights are exhausting to me.

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Just a Bird

Safere was having a good dream, for once. 

She was flying on Buddy’s back, the gryphon soaring through the clouds above Boralus. Anna’s hands were lightly gripping her waist, behind her. Looking back, she could see her lover’s head resting against her shoulder and smiling. 

Life, as they say, was good. Which made the sudden banging noise and cut to darkness all the more jarring, even after she opened her eyes. 

The room was dimly lit, the dying fireplace providing a golden gleam over the cabin interior. Safere took a moment to adjust to her new...or rather, her old surroundings. 

One thing at least, was the same. Anna remained behind her, her hands cuddling her bare stomach. She could feel her steady breath and heartbeat, as she slumbered still. A heavy sleeper, her fox was. 

Safere evidently, was not. What exactly had woken her from such a pleasant dream? Scanning the room didn't provide an immediate answer. Anna's cabin looked as cozy as ever. The table and chairs stood, undisturbed. As did the armchairs by the fire. The potted plants on the bookshelf remained intact and green. 

It was only as she stared toward the front door, that something caught her eye. One of the windows nearby...a spider web crack across the glass. Damage that was not there when Safere had entered. She knew this, having looked through it hours ago, while Anna had fiddled with her keys. 

Taking a deep breath, she carefully extricated herself from Anna's loving grip. Her lover groaned softly, her arms falling slack. But she did not wake, to her relief. 

Standing up, Safere became more aware of her state of...undress. Spotting her discarded trousers on the armchair nearby, she tip-toed over and slid them on. Drawing her pepperbox from the holster, she silently hoped she wouldn't need it. 

Creeping towards the door, she pulled back the deadbolt and slowly opened it. All that greeted her was the autumn evening air. Safere dug out a match and lit the hanging lantern by the doorstep, illuminating her immediate surroundings. 

Nothing. The dirt path leading to Anna's cabin was barren, aside from the faded footprints she recognized of her own boots. The bushes wobbled in the early morning breeze, the crickets chirped and some unseen owls said hoo-lo, but there was nothing that seemed...dangerous. Nothing that felt out of place. 

Safere lowered her pepperbox and sighed. She turned to look at the cracked window. Something had hit it just hard enough to crack it, but not shatter it. Maybe a wayward bird? Perhaps...some idiot local prankster had followed the two of them, tossed a rock. 

“Merry, if you’re out there, I’m gonna get you back so bad…” Safere grumbled. 

Nah, she thought. This doesn’t feel like her style. Flaming sack of dog shit on the doorstep, sure, but just...a broken window? Too dry. Too boring. 

Frowning, Safere rubbed her tattoo and shrugged. This mystery could wait until morning. She stepped back inside and pulled the deadbolt shut. Hesitating for a moment...she nevertheless hefted an armchair over to the door and propped it up against it. Reaching into her pocket, she took out a handful of copper pieces and made a small tower of coins on the armrest. 

Satisfied with her makeshift intruder alarm and...feeling pretty silly about the whole thing, she slid back under the covers, feeling Anna’s sleepy hands unconsciously grip her belly again. 

Everything was fine. She was safe. Anna was safe. It was just...just a bird. She closed her eyes. 

---

Outside in the trees, the man waited for another hour, completely still. Then he climbed down and walked away, grinning behind his mask. 

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Ask the mun!

😡 :  Worse role play-related encounter and what advice you would give to others to avoid similar situations?

✌ :  Fondest role-play memory, between muses?

✿ :  Fondest role-play memory, between muns?

웃 :  An existing character you’ve played in the past that you miss?

ツ :  An OC you created that you are proud of?

유 :  A role-play related instance that you regret/are ashamed/not proud of?

♂ :  Do you have a role-play/writing routine? If so, what is it?

♀ :  A trope you catch yourself falling back too often?

☿ :  A trope you dislike?

✍ :  Offer 3-5 tips on how to get other role players started on interacting with your muse.

✉ :  On average, how long does it take you to write a reply that you’re pleased with?

❅ :  Advice to non-role play blogs that want to get started?

✔ :  What drew you to the character you currently play? What types of characters are you generally drawn to?

☯ :  Greatest challenge to writing your character?

✘ :  Any head canons you’d like to imply on you character but know they wouldn’t fit?

✯ :  A head canon someone else has inspired you to adopt?

➳ :  Do you prefer writing on your own, on tumblr/a forum, or on an IM platform? Why?

▲ :  What sort of information do you like to see on someone’s role play page that helps you determine whether or not you would want to write with them?

▼ :  Are there popular head canons for your character that you disagree with? Why?

♫ :  Are there parts of your own personality that you reflect onto your character? How do they work?

❤ :  What are some role-plays that you have done/are doing that you particularly enjoy and wish to share with your followers?

✈ :  What do you think is your reputation in your role-play community?

⌘ :  Where do you get some of your inspirations for plots/head canons? Offer an example, if possible.

ღ :  What sorts of plots/characters/scenes do you have the most difficulty writing, and why?

☂ :  Spread some love: mention someone you’ve met that has influenced you or your writing in a positive way, and explain how.

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"Active" might be pushing it, but I'm trying haha.

Please like or reblog if you’re an active RP blog on Wyrmrest Accord or Moon Guard

My dash has slowed significantly since tumblrs fun little tiddy ban, so hook a nerd up with some new faces to follow! Alts, mains, aesthetic blogs, IC blogs. I’ll take em all. 

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I wrote this little primer on Silver Hand RP! It's from an IC perspective, so keep that in mind if anything makes you scratch your head.

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A Moment to Grieve

A few tears stained the pages beneath Merellia as she knelt in prayer by the window, an errant moonbeam falling on her face as she finished her time of supplication. The prayer book had been opened to a prayer against the onset of demons- an old one she had penned during the height of the Third War all those years ago.

The inquisitor had not slept since the incident. Eyes burning with Fel magic still sat at the forefront of her memory. Her throat still ached where she had been choked. 

The most weary of all was her soul. She had tried to pretend it wasn’t an issue. She had tried to pretend that there was nothing wrong… but it had only delayed the inevitable. Things had come to a climax now, and there was nothing that could be done to change it. Somebody had to get rid of the demon… but it could not be done at the cost of a life she valued so much.

The inquisitor took a breath to steady herself. Then another. There would be time to grieve further later. It was now time to act.

Merellia stood, collecting her book of prayers and closing it. It was set down upon the nearby table, and she sat down there, 

The Order of Embers fights with knowledge guiding their blades. 

She needed knowledge, and she did not have it. Her action, for once, was clear.

Merellia dipped her quill in the ink bottle, and selected several pieces of parchment. The quill scratched against the page as she began to write…