#WRARP

[talthorn-sylvoran]

The Hearts of Tenacity Festival ( WoW N-RP Event - May 19-21st 2023 )

The Hearts of Tenacity Festival is coming up fast! Embrace this incredible experience with fellow community members with a passion for performances and storytelling! Talthorn and Konietzko Syl'voran are your captivating hosts for this weekend of magic! ✨✨✨✨✨✨

We host our event at Tenacity Isle, a lone isle that is unnamed in game though we've given it a name! The proxy is located as seen below, within Pandaria near the Kun-Lai Summit!

Please join for our DISCORD the most current info or check out our CARRD SITE! https://www.tinyurl.com/HeartsDisc https://heartsoftenacity.carrd.co/

[blixvoronin]

discovery

Summary: Blix finds a new case. Word Count: 875 Warnings: none Mentions: @indraste-darktalon​

Blix strolled into the craft room in the home that she and Indraste shared, her brow knit tightly together as she approached the table where Indy was leaned over an assortment of scrolls waiting to be enchanted. She held a map in her hands, along with a series of hastily-taken notes and a flyer torn from a notice board.

“Check this out,” she said, looking up to Indy as she tossed the flyer down. It was an advertisement – not just any, but one dually printed in Common and Darnassian, requesting a hunter for a string of deaths reported in Ashenvale.

Indy turned her head, picking up the flyer and reading it quickly with a frown. “You think this is a case, moonfire?”

“Yeah. See – I found this flyer in Duskwood,” Blix said. “Not common to see something like this that far out, so I did some digging. It looks like there are at least three victims reported in Ashenvale from the last two months – uh, Sentinel, Sentinel, and… a druid.” She pulled up a chair, laying out the notes she’d taken on the deceased and tapping them with a finger. “What do these guys have in common?”

“… They’re on their home front,” Indy said thoughtfully. “I could navigate Ashenvale with my eyes closed. Orcs have been there for so long that we don’t need help to take them out.”

“Mm,” Blix hummed. “Exactly. Three people, all who know the lay of the land like the back of their hand, and suddenly there’s a search for someone else who can hunt this thing down? Math ain’t mathin’.”

“So, what are you thinking?” Indy asked. “An angry spirit? Something the priestesses couldn’t handle?”

“I don’t know,” Blix admitted. “There’s no detail I can find anywhere on the bodies or how these folks died. That’s why I gotta go out there, figure out what’s going on. If it is something up my alley, y’know, chances are I’m about to see it as somethin’ straight out of my normal wheelhouse. Kalimdor has…” The human drew in a tense breath, frowning. “… a lot of tricks up its sleeve,” she mumbled.

“Just be careful, moonfire,” Indy said quietly. “I know I’ve been busy with preparing for the Tournament and Bertram.”

Bertram. The raven lord they’d recovered in Nagrand some weeks prior. Bertram thoroughly hated Blix after she’d attempted to throw down like a Westfall rodeo to subdue him, and she returned the sentiment after he’d thrown her off his back into a pile of clefthoof bones. The animosity had cooled, some, with Blix bringing a wealth of fish to the creature in an attempt to win his favor and remaining a very respectful distance back as she held conversation with the feathered beast, but he was still acclimating. Hell, he’d almost bitten off one of her flesh fingers two days prior.

Damn bird.

“No, no – wildflower, you’re fine. Don’t worry about that. I’m not worried about it. I want you to come with me.” She raised her brows, reaching out to take Indy’s hand. “You said it yourself – you know Ashenvale by heart. I want you with me. It’s not familiar ground for me, and whatever this is, I want to be able to have you there in case shit hits the fan. You’re fast, but not ‘get from Duskwood to Ashenvale in ten flat’ fast.”

Indy blinked, her brows lofting as she regarded Blix for a long moment. “You know – that makes a lot more sense. I wasn’t keen on letting you go by yourself, to begin with –“

“It’s a no-brainer, wildflower. Anywhere I go, you come with me. We’re a team.” Blix shot her wife an affectionate smile, standing to press a kiss to her cheek. “We’ll leave to handle this as soon as the Tournament’s over. When was the last time you slept longer than five hours in a single stretch?”

Indy’s ears pinned back as she thought over the question for a moment, and Blix plucked a feather that had sprouted out of her braid. “… I’m not sure,” she admitted.

“Mm. Come on. I’m brushing your hair out and you’re going to bed,” Blix ordered quietly. “You can’t work while you’re this exhausted – trust me, the enchantments will be fine until tomorrow. Do you want dinner?”

“Yes,” Indy sighed, her shoulders sagging as she relaxed. “Most definitely. I know I ate breakfast this morning…”

“And worked straight through lunch,” Blix concluded, her head tilting. “Mm. Okay. Food, first. What do you feel like? I’ve got some leftover pork – I can make you some bandil anato-bashore.” The suggestion drew a wide smile from Indy, who rose and wrapped Blix in a hug before pressing a kiss to the crown of her hair.

“Making me Darnassian food?” Indy said softly. “You’re a woman after my own heart.”

“It’s what I do best, wildflower. Go sit – I’ll be with you shortly.” Blix winked, and departed to prepare Indy’s meal. She adored her wife, but she’d be damned if she didn’t see the resemblance to the almost fugue state both of them were susceptible to working themselves into.

Maybe a trip to Ashenvale would be a good refresher for them both, once the case had been addressed.

[terranlloyd]

The Kingdom Market

The Kingdom Market is looking for vendors for its return to Stormwind City! On July 14th from Sixth bell till Ninth bell, the Kingdom Market will be open for business in Old Town. This time around, 25% of vendor proceeds will go towards aiding refugees across Stormwind with a special emphasis for those whose lives were disrupted by the fourth war.

Check out our website: https://kingdom-market.carrd.co/ Join our Discord: https://discord.gg/C5PrdwKurb

Time: July 14th, 6:00 PM - 9:00 PM (WRA Server Time) Location: Old Town, Stormwind City Anchor: Telva-WyrmrestAccord

@wracentral @wraeventscombined @wowrpevents @the-royal-courier

[konietzko-sylvoran]

The Waltzing Owl - Official Performance Outfit

Konietzko has finally finished his official outfit he will be wearing on stage for his first performance. Come let his wheel of light and feathered costume carry you into the air as he takes his first flight.

Artwork done by the amazing @clayscence​ - Word’s can’t express how in awe I am of this stunning reflection of Kon’s work and loud feathered flare in his own costume design as she so perfectly captured it. However credit goes to her fully as she made what was in my head come alive with her own artistic liberty. 

His first performance will be this Saturday on the @succulent-tart stage! - Flyer for the event found here -

[iorine]

A less depressed depiction of Iorine in all her new wild glory. New skin, new hair, leaves everywhere, some ear tattering. But look, her moon is back!

She’ll get there. I plan on writing it soon.

Art is by the wonderful @ninterbit!

[leah-rainweaver]

(forgot to post this here... the piece was done by the spectacular @sbeep )

[the-house-of-the-nine]

In The Wake of her Shadow: Part 2

TAP TAP TAP TAP

“The sound.  That awful, tapping sound.  That driving, piercing, almost mind numbing sound of metal on metal, teeth to bone, what is that.  Gods be damned.  Its Rhythmic. “

TAP TAP TAP TAP

“Why does it mock me?  Why is it there? Why wont it leave? Who is that!”

TAP TAP TAP TAP

“It is there again.  What is it! Why is it there? Gods be damned why cant I see!”

TAP TAP TAP DRIP

Some sounds are often amplified by the extreme given the situation, the location and the amount of vibration echoing from wall to wall.  The Oubliette down in the darkest regions of the Bastille was something that only those who were destined for great things would see. 

Sound traveled forever here.  Or to the mind of someone who had been secured there for several days without food or water; without anything outside of their own thoughts, to that person, Sound was the most terrifying beast in existence.

Strung by his arms; rusted links of saronite secured around each hand, there was a moderately handsome elf.  Or at least he was at one point.  He was chained to the ceiling, his ankles also secured to the floor.  From what it smelled like; it was a dank sewer.  The smell of musty water and iron were heavy here.  Almost over powering.

The prisoner could not see.  He was blindfolded and was only able to use his sense of hearing and smell to determine what was happening.  Again, sound being the greatest ally, but also the most horrific entity ever known.

The tapping sound came from the rats that were gnawing at the other bones of victims in other cells.  Their own chain links rattling against the bars where they had ultimately been left to rot.  There was no shame in this.  Dark actions meant dark consequences.

The dripping sound; well that was something entirely different.

The elven prisoner would start to feel an overwhelming sense of pain come surging into his body from the back; unbeknownst to him he had already had his clothing removed, there was a reason for the pain.  A large series of stitch marks went along both sides of his spine and neck; someone had already operated and repaired the tissue.

“HELLO!” 

He cried as his senses started to return to him.

“HELLO! SOMEONE?”

The response that would come was not only unexpected, but would also be dreadfully terrifying to hear.

“Good Evening Mister Morningstar, I trust you are beginning to regain some of the sensation to your brain?”

“Whose there! Who is that! What are you doing? Why am I---”

The voice again would shush him, softly; almost consoling him as if the current situation was nothing to fear.

“You will notice that your arms and legs are currently suspended from Saronite chains; you have been this way for over three days.  You will feel nothing in them.  Severing the nerves leading to your brain and spinal column, you have no sensation from your hips and shoulders to your extremities. They have already started to turn; the lose of blood to your arms and the tightness of the restraints on your feet.  You will soon notice the flesh begin to blacken and die off.  But you will not feel this.”

“What in the name of all the light are you talking about! HELP ME! SOMEONE HELP ME! GODS BE DAMNED HELP ME!”

Again the voice would silence the prisoner with a shushing sound.

“There are no mortals that can hear your cries Bartholomew.  This is important so you should probably pay attention.  The rats in this chamber do not get fed.  They expect to be anytime there is a visitor.  You will find that the severing of your nerves will be a good thing, but only goes toward. . .about here.”

The interrogator then reached out and lightly pinched the captive on his triceps, and again on his inner thigh.

“The sensation will begin to return the higher you go on your body.  Your abdomen, penis, testicles, pectoral muscles and organs.  These are still very much active and the pain receptors will register.  You should know Mister Morningstar; my goal is and always was to kill you.  I take great pleasure in this.  Pleasure because you. . .sir, have decided that your own benefits of life outweigh that of the people you hunt.  You’ve chosen to ally yourself with the demon of avarice itself, and will pay dearly for your mistakes.”

“I dont even know who you are, or what you are talk--”

“Raelyndia Duskhollow.”

There was silence again.  The sound of rats gnawing on the last bits of flesh from another corpse could be heard only feet away from them.  It drowned the sound of the chamber in its repetitive song.  The name alone was enough to silence the swinging elven captive.  The name was more than enough to enlighten him.  It was the calling card of his death.

“You know exactly why you are here.  You know what you have done.  And you know that you have taken your last steps basking in the glow of the morning sun.  Taken your last lung full of fresh sweet, autumn air in the gardens of Quelthalas.  You. . . my dear Mister Morningstar.  You have forfeited your life for hers.  And as such; it has been claimed.  And that debt is now ready for collection.”

There was silence yet again as the tapping sound of rats shaking chains consumed the elven mans mind.  He snapped, panicking and shaking the chains he was suspended from.

“I dont want to die here! Please gods, by the Light I will tell you anything! I only wanted the perks! It was beneficial to my House! The Gallows, they promised me tha--”

The voice once again brushed across his mind as the hissing sound of his shushing came through once again.

“The time for talk is all but over, Bartholomew.  While you were unconscious, I was able to dissect a portion of your memory from the hippocampus.  Securing what I needed deep within receptors of your neo-cortex.  You serve no purpose any longer.   I have the locations I need.  I have the names I have been seeking.  And from here out; you. . .my dear friend, are obsolete.”

The chilling reminder that usefulness was only as deep as the information provided soon wrought its ugly head for the captive man.  A sense of defeat, acceptance maybe? 

“What will happen to me. . .”

Footsteps softly padded along the floor, dry and hitting stone at first, but soon masked in a soft squishing sound that would indicate wetness.  Blood perhaps?

“Your cellmates will begin to devour the parts of your body that you currently have no feeling in.  The blood that has begun to entropy inside of the appendages will sustain them for a moment.  But the smell of rot will not stop them; but drive them further.  You will feel them as they devour your thighs and biceps.  As well as every other part of your body.  They will tire eventually.  Growing fat and full.  The saliva within their jaws carries with it a very dangerous toxin.  Most vermin have this.  You will mostly die of blood loss, hunger, fatigue and the infection that will soon follow their biting.  And after all of this, you will  suffer for as long as it takes; you will die here.  Alone, Cold, and aware that you have nothing left to give.”

The realization that there was no reasoning with this madman sunk in.  But it was not enough to deter the man from whimpering.

“I--I am sorry. . .”

The prisoner was then grabbed by the face.  Forefingers and thumb squeezing his cheeks closed as his head was steadied and the man who held him spoke.

“Do not patronize me with your pathetic attempts at redemption now.  You cost the lives of hundreds.  You cause suffering.  You cause fear and pain.  The blood of my people, my friends, my sister. . .is on your hands.  There is not a single word you could whimper to me that would ever convince me otherwise that you are nothing more than a spineless maggot.  And you would have gone on doing as you were; enacting and enabling those horrific acts to continue, had you not been caught red handed by me.”

“I don’t even know you. . .” 

The elven man cried pathetically as he whispered out the fact.

Suddenly the blindfold was ripped from the mans eyes; the flash of fire that caught his pupils from the torch behind the captors face blinded him.  When he focused his attention; a face of pale deathly white peered at him.  Veins of sickening black venom spiderwebbing from his nose, eye sockets and mouth.  They were accompanied by pits of empty blackness for eyes. 

“Then let my name be the last thing you think about before you are consumed by your villainy.”

He moved in closely and whispered softly into his ear; the touch that was accompanied on his cheek fading as the terrifying face and body slowly vanished.  It left the man speechless as the voice burrowed deep into his mind. 

“I am Lazarius Kash’ebahl. . . and we have returned. . .We are The Nine.”

Silence, Terror, Echos of madness.  Morningstar hung there in shock, his mind racing.  There was little he could do.  And as soon as he was alone; that familar sound returned.  And he screamed until his vocal chords bled; trying to drown out that insufferable. . .

TAP TAP TAP TAP. . .

[zephyrwise]

woah hey i’m not dead!

[liliesofthevale]

LFC: Lady Vereena Aurum’rosa

NAME: Vereena Aurum’rosa

CLASS: Noble House of Silvermoon(Minor)

AGE: 575 years old

BIRTHDAY: October 18th

RACE: Sin’dorei(Blood Elf)

GENDER: Female

SEXUALITY: Heteroflexible

MARITAL STATUS: Widowed

RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Single

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

HAIR:  Blonde

EYES: Golden

HEIGHT: 5′8”

BUILD: Average / Slender

DISTINGUISHING MARKS: Small battle scares, nothing major.

COMMON ACCESSORIES: A piece of jewelry around her neck; A gold choker with a rose-shaped attachment to it. The charm would not seem of much value if it were to be sold, but still seems like an elegant piece of work that is worn by her at all times. Even despite the charm not being worth a lot, it is seen as her most precious possession

PERSONAL

PROFESSION: Field-Medic | Priestess of the Sunwell | Tea Master

INCOME SOURCE: Family Wealth & ‘Tealightful Tea Company’

HOBBIES: Reading / Tea Enthusiast / Playing the Harp / Herbalist

LANGUAGES: Thalassian / Orcish / Common

RESIDENCE: Eversong Woods

RELIGION: Eh...

FEARS: Failing at protecting those close to her / Open Water

RELATIONSHIPS

SPOUSE: Aelrin Dawnheart(Deceased)

CHILDREN: None

PARENTS: Lady Alisanda Silenthope(Deceased) / Lord Taelison Silenthope(Deceased) 

SIBLINGS: Unknown

OTHER RELATIVES: Unknown (Currently)

FRIENDS: Small Circle - Unimportant

PETS: Moonflower (Moth Companion)

TRAITS

extroverted / introverted / in between

disorganized / organized / in between

close-minded / open-minded / in between

calm / anxious / in between

reckless / cautious / in between

patient / impatient / in between

outspoken / reserved / in between

disagreeable / agreeable / in between

empathetic / unemphatic / in between

faithful / unfaithful / in between

optimistic / pessimistic / in between

traditional / modern / in between

hard-working / lazy / in between

SMOKING: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess

DRUGS: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess

ALCOHOL: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess

QUIRKS

She absolutely ADORES tea. She owns her own tea brand and Tea house known as ‘Tealightful Tea Company’. So you more than likely will catch her having a cup of tea in the middle of Silvermoon or discussing tea with others!

She has a tendency to stick to traditions and things she is familiar with, which causes her to be paranoid and anxious around newcomers, especially non-Thalassians. This may result in a judgmental and moody outcome. However, once she gets comfortable, she is kind and caring.

WHAT I AM LOOKING FOR

• I am looking for anyone looking to be friends with Vereena, whether that be on Tumblr or in-game. I am primarily an RPer in-game, however, I am more than happy to build my presence here on Tumblr!

• House Silenthope is also something I’d be happy to grow as well, rather than just my own characters and head canon. Just contact me with your ideas! • Storyline! Events! Growing the Thalassian Community!

WHAT I AM NOT LOOKING FOR

• Out of Character Drama - I am more than happy with In Character drama but OoC drama needs to stay away. We are all here to have a good time and make friends! 

 • Erotic Roleplay(ERP) - Please do not attempt or even ask. Not interested. 

CONTACT INFO: Feel free to contact me on Tumblr or seek Vereenà out in game!

[stormwinduniv]

Lecture 10/17

Join us TONIGHT at 7 server at the Dreamer’s Pavilion for Professor Elvae Windcrush’s lecture on The Rise and Fall of Apexis. This is a neutral event, so don’t forget your potions! Hope to see you all there!

[talthorn-sylvoran]

Talthorn's Fire Fest Performance 2021

Part Two

Kael'thas reappears in his past form for a couple of moments. With that first step out of the illusion of the image, he steps into the light and color in reds and golds. His slow, sly smile spreads over his lips as he outstretches his hands on either side to present. He moves his finger out in front of him to waggle in front in Sin'dorei fashion, to time with the song to not look away with a reforged Silvermoon in the background.

Kael'thas produces a much smaller embodiment of M'uru and hovers his hands over it, siphoning the entity for its life energy. He concentrates on the n’aaru for a while with a maniacal grin before gestures as if to hand it over to others with glorious intent in his eyes! He begins to channel the energy before everyone swelling with more and more power! There is a portal being made before everyone’s very eyes!

The summon completes and the Prince bursts into the air and seems to disappear!

The thuds of the music are in timing with the feel of an earthquake at the audience's feet. The swelling pool of light and power has a ghostly Eredar of massive proportion pulling itself up pulsing in flames! Wings extend up and umbrella out smashing apart the echo image into vibrant color. The rumble of his voice rolls over everyone while his eyes pierce over all the heroes that dare to show themselves to him! The slow-motion of this gives chills up your spine.

"The expendable have perished... So be it! Now I shall succeed where Sargeras could not! I will bleed this wretched world and secure my place as the true master of the Burning Legion. The end has come! Let the unraveling of this world commence!"

The entire stage is bombarded with explosive effects! Waves and bursts of fire and arcane are everywhere! Kil'jaeden opens shadow portals and sends darkened spells over the crowd. Rains of fire keep coming as those wings flare out to make everyone feel that doom was upon them! As his hands keep lashing wave after wave!

Suddenly it looks like the Eredar is being electrocuted! Snarls fill the air as he yells. "Aggghh! The powers of the Sunwell... turn... against me! What have you done? What have you done???" The ground swallows the demon right back up and seals the portal to this world!

As the illusion dust washes this part of the Sunwell battle away, in the background is the image of Silvermoon, and more come into view once again. Talthorn speaks as the narrator to highlight everyone. "Lady Liadrin stands strong as the Blood Knight Matriarch. No longer does her faith in the light falter since the revitalization of the Sunwell. She leads her order with strength and conviction, ready to defend her people and the world from external threats."

"Grand Magister Rommath remains one of the Regent Lord's trusted personal advisors. Dedicating himself to ensure that history shall not be repeated with the betrayal of the last Prince, this leader of the Magisters continues to offer his unfaltering loyalty to Silvermoon and her people."

"Ranger-General Halduron Brightwing remains military leader of Silvermoon, high commander of its defenses, and leader of the Farstiders. He is Lor'themar's most loyal and trusted comrade and friend, serving with unwavering courage and integrity. No matter the peril, no matter the war, he will be there to help reforge a new future for the Sin’dorei."

"Regent Lord Lor'themar Theron is the appointed ruler of Sin'dorei people of Azeroth. He has never wished for a royal title and has always insisted that there be a council among his people where issues are concerned. Despite all of the wars he has been a part of and still continues to support in, he remains ever strong for the people of Silvermoon, knowing that they will endure and overcome any obstacle. They will always rebuild for anything! Even…..from dust." He salutes to signal the end of the show!

(( This performance has been indeed been my most intricate yet! I adored putting it together and giving the beautiful people at Fire Fest a visual story I hope they would not forget. I poured passion and love into this and I am every soooo elated it was well received! I have so much happiness and gratitude for everyone that was able to be a part of this, then and now.

A big thank you to @succulent-tart for always supporting my character and giving him a stage to work his magic on! And the most huge thank you to @konietzko-lumenstone for being my anchor. In the WoW and in the supportive sense! This would not have been successful without them as they were so kind to help with fire effects too! All these beautiful screenshots are from them and I am so grateful. ))

[syrista]

Syrista's witchy-poo aesthetic

[terranlloyd]

The Kingdom Market: Westfall

Vendors wanted! The Kingdom Market Westfall will be located in Alexston Farmstead, Westfall on Saturday, June 26th from 5:00 PM till 7:00 PM Server time. This time around 25% of vendor proceeds will go towards helping repair and expand Westfall's infrastructure! This month we would like to encourage (but won't require) our vendors to shift their focus towards Westfall themed goods. Food, meals, homemade crafts! If you'd like help brainstorming menu items that fit this theme please DM me ( Discord: TheHatMan#4547 ) I'd love to offer any help I can.

Check out our website: https://kingdom-market.carrd.co/ Join our Discord: https://discord.gg/C5PrdwKurb Time: June 26th, 5:00 PM - 7:00 PM (WRA Server Time) Location: Alexston Farmstead, Westfall Anchor: Telva-WyrmrestAccord

[konietzko-sylvoran]

Waltzing into the Wheel of Light

Introducing Konietzko and his LED Cyr Wheel Performance 

Artwork done by DeanAnC of Konietzko practicing for his new act. His first performance will be this Saturday on the @succulent-tart stage! - Flyer for the event found here - His second performance will be the following Friday at the @howlingowl-wra​ Untamed Night! - Flyer for the event found here -

Kon is also up for Auction along with his fellow tart’s for a date to the lucky winner, don’t miss your chance to bid and win a memorable experience with this charismatic elf. 

- Date Auction info found here -

- Kon’s Personal Date Profile found here  -

[automaticenemycrusade]

Dya - Chapter 1

Words: 5308

           “What…is that?”

           “Maybe a featherless aarakoa?”

           “It’s ears swivel like talbuk!”

           Dya’s first impression of Garadar wasn’t pleasant. Her ears sat flat against her head, and as Wa’tar carried her tiny, malnourished body through the town she was desperately trying to catch herself on fire again. As people got a bit too close, she let her eyes glow brighter and she bared her fangs. While her parents had told her it was a rude and unbecoming action, especially for a child of noble blood, it was better than trying to speak to the strangers. All it seemed to do was amuse them. They bared their teeth back, almost mockingly, and she fervently wished that she could just disappear.

           It had been difficult getting out of Hellfire Peninsula. That was what the orc had called it. He’d arrived in the nick of time. He’d shot lightning from his fingertips, killing a few of the bugs and scaring even more. They’d vanished after that. Wa’tar had just looked at her, and then gestured slowly at the corpse. He said something to her, very softly, but she couldn’t understand him. At that point she’d just been glad he wasn’t hostile. Dya had turned from her father’s body and shook her head.

           “I don’t wanna,” she said, sniffling. He seemed to know what she meant, but afterward there was a distinct challenge. He couldn’t understand her, and she couldn’t understand him. He’d noticed Sloofun a second later, and Dya recognized the look in the orcs eye. Just as it had been when he slew the bugs. He snarled, preparing another lightning bolt in his hand and Dya threw herself in front of the demon. He looked at her with a bewildered and annoyed expression on his face, and Dya yelled at him.

           “Sloofun is the reason I’m alive!” she yelled. She managed to summon up another spurt of flames around her body, and the orc looked taken aback, but the problem still wasn’t solved. She couldn’t talk to him, and he most certainly couldn’t talk to her. He’d rifled through a satchel on his belt and took out a potion. She watched skeptically as he drank a little and then he handed her the rest. She raised an eyebrow, but not knowing what else to do, she drank it.

           “Can you understand me now, little one?” He asked, Dya hesitantly nodded.

           “Can you understand me?” She asked back. He didn’t respond to the question, merely jutting his chin out at the corpse.

           “Who is that?”

           “My father.”

           “Where is your mother?”

           Dya had no answer, merely shrugging her shoulders. She didn’t want to tell him what happened, that her mother had just up and left her. That she was likely as dead as her father. That Dya was now as alone in this strange land as could be. The orc took her silence as an answer and asked another question. He pointed back at the body.

           “Is he the one who taught you fel?” When she looked puzzled, he revised his question, “Did he teach you how to summon that?” He pointed at Sloofun. The demon whined, as though offended.

           Dya nodded, a little confused, and he scoffed. He didn’t say much more, only walking over to the carcass. He propped the corpse’s mouth open and ripped out one of Duke Than’rel’s fangs. Dya wasn’t sure she wanted to know the reasoning. When he returned, he stared her down a moment, as though considering what to do.

           “Get rid of that,” he said, pointing to Sloofun. Dya immediately bristled.

           “If it weren’t for that demon, I wouldn’t be alive,” she reiterated, “I need him to hunt.” The orc considered that. He seemed to be analyzing her, trying to figure something out. He snorted.

           “I’ll teach you how to hunt. You can come with me, but only if you dismiss the demon.”

           Sloofun had whined, but he nuzzled her hand. Licking her fingers and wagging his spiny red tail. As though saying he’d be fine back home until she needed him again. Dya nodded.

           “Okay,” she said.

           And that was how she ended up here, like a sideshow circus animal for the orcs to gawk at. She didn’t like it, and she made no secret of the matter. She spoke rather loudly, for a moment forgetting that the other orcs couldn’t understand her.

           “Wa’tar, if one more person pokes their fingers in my face, I’m gonna bite them off!” She looked up at the orc very seriously. The big man laughed.

           “I’ll be sure to let them know.”

           Dya spent the rest of the day grumbling, but she couldn’t deny that her situation had improved greatly. Watar had sat her on something called a wyvern. They’d flown high above the mountains, through clouds over giant mushrooms. He’d taken her someplace that most certainly didn’t look like it belonged on the same planet as the red desert. Nagrand was everything she’d wished to see at the end of the journey. It looked nothing like Quel’thalas but there was grass, trees, rivers. She had gotten more than the bare minimum of what she’d been hoping for, and she had to admit she was grateful for that.

           Wa’tar, true to his word, told the other orcs what she’d said. They’d laughed but respected her space from then on. A particularly nice woman had even offered her a few pieces of fruit. Curious, rather than nervous, her ears had straightened some. She’d even managed to ignore the delighted squeal of a bystander as she ate the cherry, debating how she liked it. When she offered a tentative affirmation, the orc looked pleased. Dya was offered a few other types of food to try, and she looked up at Wa’tar questioningly.

           “She wants to feed you. You look too small.”

           Either way Dya wasn’t going to say no to free food. Especially since she’d spent the past several weeks eating sandworms. The woman was nice, and Wa’tar was willing to sit and translate while she ate. They could finish stocking up on supplies after. The woman introduced herself as Ursa, and though she had tusks, height, and a long if spikey braid Dya didn’t find her the least bit intimidating. She asked Dya questions about where she was from. How old she was. If she had any friends back home. So, she answered.

Dya told Ursa about the estate in Quel’thalas. How her father had insisted she learn magic, and that she’d never been allowed any friends as it would interfere with her studies. She had a house full of servants, for the sole purpose of allowing her more time to learn. On the rare occasions she was let out, she had to be pretty and silent. If she ever spoke in public, she’d be sent to bed without dinner. Dya wasn’t sure why Ursa seemed saddened by those answers. As Dya finished up the woman cleaned after her, telling Wa’tar that she’d have to learn to do dishes after growing up so spoiled.

           Then another orc barged into the small hut. He looked angry, but Dya had met her fair share of angry men. Though he was bigger, and arguably looked a bit scarier, nothing could ever frighten her as much as her father had. Something he could do no longer. Dya paused to consider the ramifications of that as the orc stomped his way in.

           He was mean, the orc. His dark brows furrowed over his eyes. He bared his teeth in a vicious snarl. His head was bald and scarred, and he looked upon the little girl with no small amount of disdain.

           “What have you brought into Garadar Wa’tar?” He snarled, pointing at her with an armored hand. To his credit, Wa’tar rolled his eyes. He looked unworried.

           “A child,” he said simply, sipping from a waterskin.

           “It’s fel,” the stranger growled. Wa’tar stood up.

           “By no fault of her own. Why don’t we take this argument outside?” He stood up, and though he was graying the other orc looked a bit nervous. Dya watched as he agreed, and they started shouting. She could feel Ursa staring as she sighed, merely sipping at the glass of juice she’d been given. The orc woman studied her.

           “So small, but so brave. You’re truly not afraid, are you?” She asked. Dya snorted, shaking her head and smiling. That was when she was toppled over. She let out a startled shriek and looked up to see a boy laughing.

           “Hah! It must’ve been the runt. It fell way too easy.” He cackled. Dya felt her eyes narrow. She leapt up, summoning fire to her fingers. The boy looked dismayed for but a moment, then he sneered. But before he had the chance to say anything, Ursa intervened.

           “Varuk!” She boomed, “That is enough!”

           “But Ursa–”

           “No buts, apologize now. She is a guest.” Ursa scolded him, an undeniably frustrated look on her face. Dya looked at the boy skeptically. He had a long black braid hanging down his back, one of his tusks decorated with a small gold ring. He looked down at Dya and huffed.

           “Sorry,” he mumbled, before going back for one last shove, but Dya had had enough. Her day had been hard, to say the least. She’d been on the verge of starving to death out in Hellfire Peninsula. She stumbled upon her father’s desecrated and destroyed body by accident. She had no idea where her mother was, and she was quite certain that she’d never see her homeland again. At only twelve years old. So, could she really be blamed for what happened?

           As Varuk shoved her, she snapped. As quickly as his arm shot out, she grabbed his hand and made good on her threat. Though the orcs mocked her teeth she knew just how sharp they really were. It was all too satisfying when the boy let out a high-pitched shriek as her tiny fangs ripped through the flesh of his forearm. Ursa looked shocked as Varuk fell to the ground, tears in his river blue eyes, calling for his father.

           Dyalara stuck her tongue out at him, his blood dripping down her chin. It was only after the fact that she bothered to think that there could be consequences for this. She was sure she’d get in trouble, possibly abandoned by Wa’tar or worse for this transgression. She fully expected Ursa to throw her out of the hut and tell her to never come back, so imagine her surprise when Ursa laughed. As the boy sobbed, bleeding on the floor, Ursa spoke.

           “Well, Varuk, I think you’ve gotten your very first set of battle scars.” This was said almost as a consolation. Indeed, the wound would likely need stitches. It was deep, and the blood had stained almost everything the boy had on him, from his clothing to his knife to what looked to be an herb bag on his belt. The bald orc came barreling in, Wa’tar close behind. He took in the surroundings and presumably trying to figure out why his son had screamed. He caught sight of Varuk, blubbering and pointing at Dya. She still hadn’t quite bothered to wipe the blood off her face. The bald orc looked angry, but Wa’tar looked like he was trying to suppress his laughter.

           “Would you look at that!” he said, before Varuk’s father could do anything, “I’m a father for less than a day and my ‘fel runt’ has already bested your young warrior.” The other man looked like he was going to explode.

           “Is this really the most productive way to grieve, Wa’tar?” He asked, pulling Varuk up to his feet. Wa’tar’s gaze darkened.

           “Do not speak of my wife.”

           The room seemed to get colder almost, and Dya stood awkwardly at the side. She wasn’t sure what to do or say. She stood as still as possible, as though the orcs could only see her if she moved. Ursa came up to her, handing her a piece of cloth and gesturing to clean her face off. So, she did. As Wa’tar glared the other man down, Varuk was dragged away out of the hut. Dya still had no idea what to do and looked to the other two orcs for guidance.

           “Am I in trouble?” She asked quietly, her ears pinned back. Wa’tar shook his head, though his mood hadn’t seemed to improve. Ursa only laughed.

           “Not at all,” she said, “you’ve established yourself in the hierarchy. You’ve shown the children that you are not to be messed with.”

           Dya thought that sounded very fake, but she wasn’t about to argue. All the same, she couldn’t stop herself from raising an eyebrow as she nodded slowly. It was at this point Wa’tar made a remark on the sun, saying that it was getting late and he should get Dya set up in her new home. Dya was inclined to agree, for no other reason than that she wanted to sleep. Sleep sounded nice, especially since Wa’tar said she could choose from some of the furs he had for her bed. She’d never seen real fur before.

           Yet, as she exited Ursa’s tiny hut, something else awaited her. A small group of children, staring at her curiously. She wondered if she’d have to use her teeth again when one of them ran up to her. Another boy, still taller than her. But instead of shoving her he smiled and waved.

           “Are you the one that bit Varuk?” He asked. He didn’t seem unfriendly. When Dya nodded he cackled. “Ha! It’s about time someone showed him up. I’m Dar’zok.”

           Dya shook his hand carefully, wary of any potential trick, but there was none. Dar’zok seemed nice. He told her a few things about Garadar, that it was really nice and she’d like it there. She was too tired to really pay attention to the details. He tried to ask her something, but Wa’tar had come up and placed a hand on her shoulder.

           “I appreciate you trying to welcome our new friend here Dar’zok, but it’s been a very long day for her. She needs some rest.” Wa’tar was gruff, but not mean. Dar’zok looked a little embarrassed.

           “Oh. Right. I’ll talk to you later! Maybe you’ll tell me your name next time.” He laughed, and then went off to join the other children. Wa’tar led her back to the stable where he’d put his wind rider. People still stared and whispered curiously, but Dya was glad that they had stopped coming up to her. The novelty was wearing off already it seemed, and Dya was grateful.

           Wa’tar flew further west, up onto a hill with a small hut. Dya could hear a waterfall nearby, and she saw a family of owls in one of the trees. There were brightly colored snakes slithering along the ground, but Wa’tar assured her they were harmless. They’d only attack her if she provoked them, and Dya made a mental note never to mess with the wildlife. He told her about the river further up the hill. It was a source, so it was some of the purest water in Nagrand. They would often have visitors coming to collect some, especially in times when the water purifiers were in disrepair. After running over the few rules he had, he led her over to a large rack covered in what looked like swaths of unwoven fibers.

           “These are the furs I have. There are blankets too, but it gets very cold at night. You may choose three to take to your bed. I’ll go ahead and set that up while you pick. As you get older, I’ll show you how to get your own furs, and you can have those instead.”

           Dya liked that notion, getting something herself. All the furs were pretty colors, ranging from plain browns to blues to whites. Dya wasn’t sure how to pick, so she looked for the softest ones, gently holding corners in her fingers as she tried to make her decision. One was a dark shade of brown, one white, and one a pretty shade of blue, but there was a problem. Unsure of what to do, and unwilling to mess up the rack, she waited for Wa’tar to come back.

           “How do I get them down?” She asked softly, and it seemed as though it was only then Wa’tar realized how much taller the rack was than her. She remained quiet as he mulled over it a moment.

           “I’m going to show you how to build some stepstools, but that can wait ‘til morning,” he said, hefting her choices off the rack. He handed them to her, looking entirely unfazed as she almost fell over under the weight, “You can’t be relying on me for everything.”

           His tone said he was scolding her, but Dya had gotten enough real scolding’s in her life to know he wasn’t ill-intentioned. She nodded solemnly and followed him to another small room in the house. It looked like it was meant for storage, and he’d just cleared off some space for her to sleep. A small curtain separated it from the rest of the house.

           “We can make an addition for you, little one, but you will have to remain here while it’s built. And you’ll have to help,” he seemed to be waiting for a reaction. Dya only snorted.

           “It’ll be nice to have something permanent, instead of pitching a tent and destroying it every day,” she looked up at him pointedly, as if to say that she’s done much worse. Wa’tar snorted.

           “So motivated for one so spoiled, you will make a good student yet,” he remarked. Dya couldn’t help but bare her teeth as she spoke. After all, it seemed her teeth were how she’d make the orcs respect her. At least, it had gotten the other children to.

           “I have always been a good student!” She exclaimed, bristling. For the first time in her short life, Dya felt genuinely offended. Wa’tar snorted, gesturing to her fangs.

           “Save that for the other children. Adults will not take kindly to it,” he warned, and that made Dya’s brows furrow.

           “Then how do I get the adults to respect me? Magic? Reading? Dressing well?” she demanded. Wa’tar looked a moment confused. He knelt to her height as she struggled to keep the heavy furs in her arms aloft. She stared back, determined, trying not to look desperate. After all, securing an adult’s respect meant keeping food, shelter, a warm bed each night.

           “How about, before we get to things like respect, I show you some skills. How does that sound?” His brusque voice was not unkind, but it only made Dyalara’s distress heighten.

           “No! I need to know how to make them respect me! If I don’t, they’ll make you get rid of me!” Dya was beginning to panic, and Wa’tar didn’t seem to know what to make of it. He looked down at her, pushing his hair aside as he considered her. He put a hand on her shoulder.

           “This is not that kind of place,” he said gently, “we do not cast out children, we help them grow and learn. Your fate will be what you choose, but when I say that I mean in terms of…hobbies. Occupation. What you choose to do with your life skills. You will not be removed for a lapse in manners or getting an answer to a question wrong. Do you understand?”

           Dya was quiet for a few seconds, considering Wa’tar and the consequences of his words. Or rather, the lack of consequences. It didn’t sound right, but then there were a lot of things about her current situation that were not right. Slowly she nodded.

           “Okay,” she said. She turned around, dropping the furs into the tiny cot Wa’tar had prepared for her. He watched quietly as she arranged them to perfection, taking far more time than it likely should have, and only left once she’d crawled in to go to sleep.

/*\

           Four Years Later

           It was getting close, and Dya was trying her best not to get too excited. It was her fourth summer in Nagrand. She was going to be sixteen in a handful of days, and with that came a very important ceremony. Wa’tar had argued with several nosy townspeople over it, over whether she should be allowed. Some said she was too small. Any animal in Outland would thrash her. Some said that her hunting skills were lax, having started her education in the subject far later than her peers and that if the ceremony were to take place then it should be further out. Others simply stated that she wasn’t an orc, and so shouldn’t be “forced” to participate in their traditions.

           There were lots of less tactful comments, but Dya had long since learned to tune them out. She twirled the iron spear in her hands one last time before jogging up the hill to the little pond. Dya was quite certain it was magic, the pond. Water dripped from a ledge into an impressive waterfall. It fueled one of the branches of the rivers, but it all seemed to come from this one tiny little pond. Producing more water than it needed. Regardless Dya wasn’t too inclined to dwell on it. She cupped her hands in the water and took a drink. When she was finished she looked down the waterfall, gazing at the slightly larger pool they used for bathing.

           She bounded down the hill, taking the turn to the next pond. The water was freezing. It always was. It was one of the few things she’d ever lamented, wishing she could go back to Quel’thalas for. There was nothing in this life like a hot bath, and Wa’tar told her that if she wanted a hot bath she’d have to build herself a tub. And a heating spot. And a few privacy walls. Which she had done! Most nights she carried bucket after bucket of water into the house for the sole purpose of heating it up for her bath, and then she had to carry bucket after bucket of dirty water back out. It was worth it.

           But right now, she didn’t have time for that. She needed to bathe quickly, and that unfortunately meant using the freezing droplets right from the source. She shivered as she scrubbed her hair, looking longingly at the towel that waited for her on a nearby tree branch. She rushed as quickly as possible. Though Wa’tar had never let someone stumble upon her in these moments of privacy, she desperately did not want that to change.

           She pulled her clothes on, a simple linen dress, and carried her armor home. She was careful not to let it bend in the wrong place, and she made a mental note to scrub it down with leather soap later. Just as she placed her spear in its spot, she heard a familiar voice call a greeting through the doorway. She opened the door and a tall man entered, long hair almost brushing the floor. For once, it was a guest she liked. Dar’zok had never been bad company. It was lucky that he was the only remaining student of Elder Windfang.

           “I take it you’ve run out of felweed then?” she stated casually, ladling some clean water into a kettle. Even if the guests didn’t want tea, she’d still prepare and offer. Besides, even if it was rejected, she usually liked to have a cup for herself.

           “Unfortunately, yes,” Dar’zok said, “Ever since Elder Windfang lost her patience and told Varuk to leave, our supplies have been dwindling a little more quickly than they should.” He snorted. Dya huffed. As she was about to make a remark on Varuk’s character Elder Windfang jabbed a finger in Dar’zok’s stomach. He yelped in surprise.

           “You knock that off!” the old woman scolded, “Varuk can be a but much, certainly had no talent with the elements, but we have no evidence that he’s a thief.” Dya had always liked Elder Windfang. She was an elderly healer of Garadar, another shaman like Wa’tar who tended to keep to herself away from the town. She was so old she hobbled about with a cane, and every hair on her head was gray. One of her tusks were chipped, but she never acknowledged it. Despite all these qualities Dya had long since learned to never offer her a chair. Despite her limp, she was a spry old woman. Sometimes, Dya thought, sprier than Wa’tar.

           Dar’zok shrugged but gave Dya a look. It typically meant the two of them knew better, and as Dya went over to collect the leaves from the right shelf Dar’zok deigned to make conversation. He walked over to the window, studying the young talbuk in her makeshift stable.

           “So, how’s the training going? Settle on a name for her yet?” He asked. The animal was asleep, having virtually buried herself in hay. Dya laughed.

           “I think I’m going to call her Xayla. That was the name of my hawkstrider chick back in Quel’thalas.” One of the few good things about it. She tacked on silently. Dar’zok made a face.

           “I still don’t understand what that is,” he said, “birds aren’t big enough to ride, and if they were they’d probably be predators. Much more likely to eat you than be trained!” As always, Dya laughed at him.

           “You know, the same could be said for wolves. Pack animals that don’t like being told what to do.” She finished transferring the herbs he needed into another jar and passed it over. Dar’zok only rolled his eyes.

           “Well, Xayla is a fine name. She will make a good hunting companion. I hear talbuk make excellent bait for large predators.” He teased. She snorted.

           “Here’s your felweed Dar’zok,” she drawled, “be sure to come back if you need anything else, should this ‘unknown thief’ return.”

           Dar’zok nodded, looking unusually irate. As he left the hut Dya sighed. The kettle hadn’t even gotten to whistle before they left. Granted, it had been all business, but Dya would be lying if she said she didn’t get lonely sometimes. Especially now that Wa’tar was making more and more trips into Garadar, leaving her to tend to the hut. Rare moments like these were nice, and as she steeped her tea and sighed, she heard a knock at the door again. She looked around the room. Had they forgotten something? She didn’t see anything amiss, and so opened the door. It was just Dar’zok.

           “Is something wrong? Did I give you the wrong leaves? Not enough?” She started going over everything she could have done wrong, and Dar’zok laughed, some hair getting in his face as he shook his head.

           “No, no, nothing like that. Elder Windfang just said that she wanted to take the walk home by herself, so I figured I’d stay behind and talk to you for a while,” he explained. Dya could feel her nose scrunch up a tad.

           “Is that really the best idea? What if she loses her cane? Or a large animal finds her? I know she’s a powerful shaman, but she is pretty old…” Once again, Dya’s mind went immediately to the worst-case scenario but Dar’zok shook his head.

           “Okay, first of all, stop worrying,” he said, “and second, I want to see what the old man had been teaching you. Show me what you’ve learned with Xayla so far.”

           Dya immediately perked up. It was nice to spend time with Xayla, she’d take any excuse to keep playing with the young talbuk and Dar’zok had given her the perfect one. Setting down her teacup, knowing it would likely be cold by the time she got back in, she led Dar’zok over to the stable.

           As Dya offered a more edible kind of hay to the sleepy animal she listened to Dar’zok talk. When Dya told him about the weapons, the saddle, the hunting techniques, the traps, he’d listened intently. When she finished, he offered up information of his own. He talked about his studies with Elder Windfang. How he was doing well with healing and even better with combative magic. He even got up and shot a lightning bolt harmlessly into the air, looking over in excitement. Dya did her best to smile, nod in encouragement.

           “That was good but if I may make a suggestion?” she stood up and corrected the positioning of his hands, his fingers, “I don’t know if it’s the same with shamanic magic, but if you do it like this you might get a stronger reaction. If I know one thing about magic, it’s that confidence is key.” Dar’zok nodded and tried again. Indeed, her advice had worked. The lightning bolt went further, the thunder louder. He looked delighted.

           “I appreciate the help Dya!” he exclaimed, “Is there anything I can offer in return? I don’t know much about talbuk other than how to cook them, but I’m sure I could find something out that’s helpful!”

           Dya appreciated his enthusiasm, but as fading sparks of mana trailed along his Frostwolf tattoos, she couldn’t help the vicious jealousy that swirled in her stomach. Magic wasn’t for her. Even though she’d loved it, been good at it, Dya had to put the spellbooks down and walk away. After so many months of trying to get off the fel, learn different types of magic, it became abundantly clear that Dya would never escape the corruption within her. Wa’tar had told her many times that it wasn’t her fault, that her father had no business exposing her to the fel. Especially at such a young age. Yet it still felt like a magnanimous failure on her part. She still had nights when she wondered what she could be if she chose to go back to wielding that power. If she chose to summon flame and fiend once more and be as strong as she was when she was merely twelve.

           But it wasn’t a thought worth entertaining. She grinned and told Dar’zok that she’d love to hear anything he learned about talbuk, even if was a minor and irrelevant fact. Apparently, their horns could be used to make certain types of medicine, most commonly a paste for bruises and soreness. Dya didn’t tell him she already knew that, merely nodding and thanking him for that piece of information. With that, his debt was paid.

           They trailed off into other subjects. The incoming ceremony for all the children who were coming of age. His own hunt, coming in a matter of days. He still wasn’t quite sure who he wanted to bring with him. Despite the warnings he told her he was going to try and take down a clefthoof on his own. It would feed the whole village for days. Dya told him she was confident in his abilities. They whiled away a few hours just talking, playing with the talbuk in her stable. Finally, he had to go. His mother needed help with something back at their house in Garadar, and he was going to be late as it was.

Dya couldn’t help eyeing his arm as he left, the tattoos that helped him channel and control his power. Though she enjoyed hunting, the training with Xayla, the ever-growing physical strength in her legs and arms, there was still a part of herself that felt indignant and enraged. As Wa’tar had told her so many times, it hadn’t been her fault. But she still remembered what magic meant in Silvermoon, to the elves. How to be without magic was to be less than. Despite everything, she still wanted her power back.

[cuthie]

Cuthbert: The Benny Of Many Names

  Outside of the Feathermoon stronghold, deep into the woods, a circle of six kaldorei women dropped to their knees. Arms stretching out to the heavens, they threw themselves forward into the grass, worshipping at the feet of another elven woman who’s entire body was made from tree bark. The wooden elf woman gently clapped her hands before her bosom, bowing her head as her worshippers praised her. Beyond the circle of kaldorei, a dark skinned high elf watched, rolling his glowing blue eyes.   Oblivious to his presence or simply unperturbed, the circle continued their praises as a white haired woman rose back to her feet. “Quer’coos, daughter of nature, please grant your children a word of wisdom and comfort in these troubling times. Our faith has been shaken, the skies have been opened, our people struggle and look for answers. It has been long since we were blessed with your presence, but please know that we are as uncertain and fearful as we are humbled before you.”

  Speech finished, the speaker returned to her knees in a deep groveling bow. The figure of oak bark threw her head back, brown hair transforming into antlers. Taking a step forward, soft elven feet transformed into hooves as the figure grew double in size. As each hoof touched the ground, flowers began to sprout in her wake, until finally she reached the speaker. Gently her fingertips stretched out, growing akin to the branches of a great tree until they brushed against the night elf’s cheek.   As the Wild God’s carved lips opened, her voice poured out like honey, “You all have my blessing. Carry it forward, protect this realm from the agents of evil. As for what lies beyond the veil, put your faith in me and mine.” With that, the wooden woman pointed beyond the circle, out to Cuthbert Allbright. Not sure how to react, Cuth just ran a hand through his hair and gave the ‘girls’ a confident nod.   Each woman in the circle gave Cuthbert an appreciative smile. It was an entirely new experience for him. Generally people looked at him with either exhaustion, annoyance or doubt. But this hopeful confidence? It was kind of hot. Should- should he take his shirt off or something?   Before he could even savor the moment, it had passed. The Wild God had spoken to her worshipper Sentinels and sent them on their way with a small magical boon. Turning to walk towards Cuth, her body shrunk in size as white robes just folded out from the wood of her skin. Her beautiful angelic face distorted, morphing into an expressionless metal mask. The once sweet feminine voice had become the familiar whisper of The Benefactor. “Cuthbert, are you quite finished following me?”   Cuthberted hopped down from the large protruding root, landing before his mysterious ‘friend’. “Well Benny, or should I say.. Coocoos? I’m gonna keep following you until you let me in through the sky like everyone else.”

There was a sound of chimes coming from behind the mask. “Quer’coos is the name my Kaldorei and Shu’halo followers call me.”

Cuth popped his collar, “Oh, did they sign your Book of Love, also?” The Benefactor slowly shook their head, “There was no need for that. They love of their own volition.”

Cuthbert wrinkled his nose, “How come you didn’t turn into a big bug like last time?” “Not just a bug. The noble beetle. When I address my Troll practitioners I approach them as Tenki’massa, the  Loa of Gift Giving, and whatever form they need to see me in at the time. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have an urgent matter to tend to.”   Without another word, The Benefactor raised a hand to their side, opening a swirling rift of blinding white magic. As Cuthbert shielded his eyes, the magic widened, bursting and taking the ‘Deity’ with them. -----   In a dimly lit wooden room, a Pandaren child rested still in a casket. Her parents wept on their knees, uttering prayer after prayer. Behind them, a small white cat leapt from a swirling powerful white sphere. Noticing the pretty kitty, the child’s spirit reached out to pet her.   Before she could reach the cat, the world began to fade away. The blackened horrors of an ancient realm of binding opened up, claws grabbing hold of the ghost child. However, the cat hissed and batted the evils away, protecting over the lost cub.

The parents continued to weep, oblivious to everything, even to the dark skinned high elf frowning in the corner.

<Hold her Cuth, do not let her go.>   Without being told twice, Cuthbert dove for the Pandaren girl, wrapped her in his strong arms. It was like trying to wrangle a tie out of a goblin blender, or at least, that was the closest experience Cuth could compare it to. All he knew was that his friend Benny needed him to hold a child and keep them away from.. From something bad. Without question, he was ready to exchange his life for that child’s, diving betwixt her and whatever evil had been summoned to take her away. That’s when he heard it. A little girl’s cry for help. And another.. And another and ten more, a hundred more, a thousand more. Desparate souls colliding against one another, confused and in agony and terror as their screams grew louder and rose higher and higher in pitch! And as he feared losing his grip, the world faded to white.

  Blinking, a cold chill ran down the quel’dorei’s spine as he clung the cold spirit to his chest. They were no longer in that sad dark room. There was no more blackened magick tugging at the girl. There was no anything, just a void of white and grey and wind? <You can let her go now, thank you.>   Cuth’s gaze looked up, beyond the white sphere he had been trapped in. The little kitty who had come for the girl’s soul was now a bajillion feet tall. Bright green cat eyes dwarfed Cuth, as if they were blinking at a spec of dirt. Gulping, Cuthbert released the Pandaren girl, feeling her aura as if it were a physical palpable thing. Her fears were being soothed, her sorrows drifting away, and then.. She was gone.   A giant paw threatened to bat the realm away as if it were simply a ball of yarn, yet Cuthbert stood his ground. He didn’t care if he was the size of an ant or ten feet tall. Nobody was more better than him, not even cat gods. Puffing out his chest defiantly, Cuthbert watched as the paw collided with the ceiling of his new swirling white world.

     In the blink of an eye, Cuthbert was standing outside beneath a extended roof attached to a humble Pandaren noodle bar. The rain was beginning to trickle, splattering against his forehead. The white cat, now cat-sized instead of god-sized, rubbed herself against his leg. <Thank you. That shouldn’t have been as difficult as it was. They’re getting stronger now.> “They?” A Pandaren woman behind the noodle counter looked towards the strange elf talking to himself.

<How are you following me, Cuthbert? That shouldn’t be possible.>   Cuthbert wrinkled his nose towards the Pandaren, “Hey, mind your business, I’m feeding my cat.” Shaking his head with a sigh, he returned to The Benefactor, “It’s your fault. You gave me the magic to do it, just sayin’.”   There was the sound of a ticking clock before the cat’s voice returned to his mind. <Explain your process, please.> “Well, I see little bubbles of arcane or.. You know I’m not good with words. Bubbles of magic, whatever portal magic you’re using. I then just concentrate and poof inside.” <You poof?> Cuthbert disappeared in a ‘poof’ of smoke, reappearing on the bar’s rooftop a good fifteen feet up. A few moments later and the white cat likewise ‘poofed’. <Short range teleportation utilizing the shadow magic I bestowed upon you. I didn’t think it would be capable of tracing spellwork. You’re a peculiar creature, Cuthbert Allbright. But I owe you, for assisting with my duties. Ask of me one thing and it shall be yours. Anything.>   Cuthbert scratched at the back of his head. Anything, huh? “Okay, then tell me what we just did. And your REAL name! And what’s goin on.” Chimes rung. <I am The Benefactor. I am Quer’coos. I am Tenki’massa. I am Jhizu, worshipped as a Guardian by the Pandaren. These are not lies, they are all my names, my duties. Today you assisted in ferrying a child’s soul to the Spirit World, to the Shadowlands. There she will wait without hunger, fear or harm, until she can be reunited with her family in my realm.>   Cuth scratched under his chin, “My mind’s goin like a mile an hour. You got me all twisted and dizzified trying to figure out your words and.. Stuff. I. So you sent her through the sky? But you won’t send me? That’s kodoshite.” Somewhere a glass broke. <That is not a place for mortals, Cuthbert.> “You said you owed me.” <And I repaid your favor by answering your questions.> “So you’re not gonna help me get up there? You know, they opened up a portal in Stormwind. I’m sneaky as fel, I could get in there without anyone even knowing. So you may as well let me take a peek.”   The cat nuzzled Cuth’s leg, her purr sending shivers coursing through the elf’s shoulders. <I promise you, when I have need of you, I will call upon you. I know you’re eager to serve.>   Cuth scratched the cat behind her ear, “Mmhmm.. I just wanna go up there and be the big hero that fixes everything. Is that so much to ask?”   Jhizu’s reply came in the form of a familiar portal. Beyond the tinge of magick shimmered Feathermoon. Knowing the conversation was over, Cuth sulked with drooped shoulders as he hopped through the portal.   Ugh.. When was he gonna get to be the hero again?