#do not scroll through my liked posts those are forsaken lands

[part-time-deranged]

i have an. unquenchable. need. to look like Michael Sheen in Wilde (1997).

Look at him. Bitch. Bastard. I hate him. I am obsessed with him. I am in a prison of my own creation

[oblio-k]

forgot to post my ficlet here about Odo finding one of his wacky Hundred siblings who landed in a civilization where they were worshipped instead of being an outcast,, also on ao3 under my handle BubbaKnowlton :^)

The Demigod / Worship

Odo tries his hardest to convince his-

Brother? Sibling? Cousin? Fellow Changeling?

-his fellow abandoned changeling that there is no reason for it nor any of their kind to live in fear and outcast any longer. The Dominion War has ended, the Federation and Bajorans are his friends. He offers protection, offers to teach it all he knows, so it can make a proper life for itself. He assumes that like Laas, like the other ones he’s found since the war ended, like all the changelings who died before becoming the Founders, that it has been persecuted by non-Changelings for its shape-shifting abilities, its inability to properly assume a humanoid form. All the infant changelings had been purposefully made defective.

He doesn’t expect that one of them had landed in the hands of a civilization that saw those defects as divine.

Heaven’s Guide to Armistice / The Surrendering Ultimate / Demigod Ever Shifting, listens to Odo, and then laughs. It presses Odo back, surrounding him in a cage of sharp spines and old bones and brilliant fire, and spins a tale he couldn’t have ever imagined, plunging hands deep into his chest and sharing everything.

Something alien is found in the orbit of a planet no one has ever seen and is brought to the surface. There, it is realized to be alive. When its shapeshifting abilities are discovered, the civilization realizes that what they hold is no alien being, but something from their most sacred legends, a demigod that can’t keep its shape. Heaven’s Guide to Armistice-

“You can call me Heaven, though-” the creature sings outside of the link.

-is brought to their high temple, and worshipped. Its shapeshifting is praised constantly, every need provided. The civilization sings of their legends, and Heaven believes wholeheartedly that it is indeed one of their deities. When it isn’t regenerating, it practices shifting nonstop, never taking a single form, never keeping a single part the same for longer than a few minutes. It still hasn’t taken just one form, it won’t take one form, it can’t.

Odo asks if it understands what it’s like to be something. He forces it to feel what he felt when he first understood what it was like to be a rock, a bird, a tree, a surface. Heaven screams and screams and screams.

The story continues. 

Odo promises not to interrupt. Heaven is melting over him, dripping off of the walls, the ceilings. It’s everything, forcing itself to take up as much space as possible in order to keep him down, to make him listen, feel. They link together even more and Heaven finds it thrilling and repulsive. Odo doesn’t know what to think. He’s never felt a changeling like this.

As Heaven grew and learned, the civilization became more and more convinced that it was indeed their great demigod of legend. Their inability to assume one form matched with the legends- the demigod, born within the chaos of space, unable to cope with its immortality and lack of identity, instead tried to be everything, to appease the formless gods who had flung it into existence. But it could never appease them, for they loved and despised and envied their creation, who would survive their downfall and lead on into a new age.

It is worshipped for centuries, loved and cared for and celebrated. It turns into anything and everything, for endless praise. It’s everything to it, and as Odo feels the love, he understands why Heaven is so perplexed by their linking, which feels like the memory of its worship. Odo can feel that in the peak of the civilization, that worship even rivalled the feeling of the Great Link.

The death of that civilization, however, rivals the loss he’d felt being turned into a Solid, being barred from the Great Link. At least he’d had hope that maybe someday he would be forgiven and accepted by his people again. Alone on a desolate, poisoned world, Heaven had nothing. There it was, formless, forsaken. The civilization was gone, dead and rotting all around it. With the legends proven false, it doesn’t know what it is, what to do. It has nothing. No home, no companions, not even an identity.

Heaven shudders, everything reverting back to its gelatinous form. Odo can barely stay humanoid himself, overwhelmed with the grief, the betrayal, the loss.

“What am I?” Heaven demands of him, its voice reverberating through the room, through their link.

“A Changeling,” he tells it, letting it see all he knows about their people.

“A Founder,” Heaven concludes, taking on a shifting form, a being of bones and gore and fire, the demigod as detailed in ancient scrolls, its favorite form, “...A god. I really am a god.”

He tries to push that they’re not gods, but Heaven forces them to link even further, taking everything it can about the Founders, about the Vorta and Jem’Hadar. It feels the worship from Weyoun, feels the obedience from the Jem’Hadar child he’d tried to save. And from Heaven Odo can feel a hunger, a want. It’s overjoyed that all along it’s been a god, that the civilization was right. Its life wasn’t a lie, a misconception, just a misunderstanding. Heaven engulfs him completely in their link and all Odo can feel is the memory of worship. He fights against it, rejecting it with all of his willpower. Heaven is consumed by its need to be a god and wants Odo to understand, to help it. He refuses.

Heaven rips everything they can about the Vorta and Jem’Hadar, where they are and how they function. It learns what they need to survive, it learns their ritual and devotion. When it has finished taking the knowledge it needs, it ends their link while they’re still attached, ripping from him in an instant.

Odo comes to in a runabout, Dr. Bashir scanning him with a medical tricorder. He struggles to assume his humanoid form, and when he does, Bashir has to catch him from tumbling off of the biobed. He lays him down and asks, “Odo, what happened? I thought you were meeting with another Changeling.”

“I did.”

“There was no sign of another Changeling on the planet when we found you. Your runabout was destroyed, ripped to pieces, somehow.”

“It was Heaven.”

“Heaven?” Dr. Bashir repeats, confused.

Odo nods. “The other Changeling. Its name was Heaven. I’ve made a mistake, Doctor. I shouldn’t have linked with Heaven.”

“What do you mean? The other Changelings only understood that they would be safe in the Federation or on Bajor if you linked with them.”

“It wasn’t like the other changelings, afraid of solids, afraid of being with humanoids. It already believed that it was a god. So when I told it about the Founders, I only solidified its belief. It had been worshipped by an extinct civilization, somewhere in the beta quadrant.”

“You’ve been regenerating for 34 hours. Did it hurt you?”

“I don’t know. Linking with Heaven- it wasn’t like linking with the other Changelings, or with the Great Link. It forced me to see its memories, forced me to show it my memories.” He sits up. “We have to warn Starfleet- I think Heaven is planning to go after the Vorta and Jem’Hadar, to find new worshippers. It wanted to know everything about them.”

Bashir understands his worry, immediately going to a computer console to send a message. There were still Vorta and Jem’Hadar that worshipped Changelings as gods. If one showed up proclaiming to be one, it was bound to attract a following. And if Heaven got ahold of Jem’Hadar, there was a chance it would use them as the Founders once had, as soldiers. Odo hadn’t felt any conquering need from Heaven, but Heaven hadn’t shared all of the legends of its civilization in detail, the failed prophecy too painful. Perhaps the new age promised by the gods had been an age of expansion.

The doctor finishes sending the message and says, “It won’t do anyone any good to have another Founder running around, trying to be worshipped.”

“I’d like to find it again, try to explain the truth to it, that we’re not gods, before it can do anything harmful.”

[roman-writing]

you search the mountain (3/5)

Fandom: World of Warcraft

Pairing: Jaina Proudmore / Sylvanas Windrunner

Rating: M

Wordcount: 26,133

Summary: The borders of Kul Tiras are closed to all outsiders. Sylvanas, Banshee Queen, hopes to use the impending civil war in Boralus to her advantage, and thereby lure Kul Tiras to the side of the Horde. A Drust AU

Content Advisory: horror, blood, gore, typical Drustvar spooky deer shit

read it below the cut, or you can read it here on AO3

Despite the recently signed treaty -- or perhaps because of it -- Sylvanas did not hear from Jaina for nearly a week. It felt like a game. Like a childish staring contest, waiting to find who would be the first to blink. Even Nathanos pointed out that they should begin formal liaisons with Lady Waycrest in order to understand exactly what supplies and reinforcements she needed to fight off the Ashvane forces intent on invading eastern Drustvar. Sylvanas ignored him utterly, with orders to withhold any further gold or aid for the time being. 

And then a rapping came at her door in Swiftwind Post.

Nathanos answered it. The moment he opened the door, the harsh winds made the fire splutter in the hearth, threatening to extinguish the flames. Sitting at her desk opposite the fire, Sylvanas listened even while she continued to read the latest reports from Zandalar. 

“What is it?” Nathanos asked, his voice a gravelly murmur. 

“It’s the bird, Ranger Lord,” came the voice of one of her Forsaken guardsmen. “I know we aren’t supposed to -- er -- ‘develop a rapport’ but he says he has a message for the Dark Lady.” 

On cue, there followed a flapping of wings as Arthur flew inside and landed directly atop Nathanos’ head. To his credit, Nathanos remained perfectly still, holding the door open while Arthur made himself comfortable. 

“Sorry! Sorry!” said Arthur, scrambling to right himself. “It’s just very windy out there. Couldn’t stand it for another second.”

His black feathers were sticking up in all directions, and he looked positively harried. For a raven. 

Sylvanas lifted her attention from the parchment she had been reading. “Do make yourself comfortable,” she said sarcastically.

“Oh, why thank you! Don’t mind if I do.”

“I mind,” Nathanos growled, though his only motion was to shut the door firmly. 

Arthur seemed unconcerned by this addendum, for he began to preen in an attempt to fix his feathers. 

“Arthur,” said Sylvanas sharply.

“Hmm?” Arthur lifted a wing and began running his beak along the longer flight feathers.

“You had a message for me?” she reminded him. 

“Right. Yes. I do.” Shuffling his tail, Arthur righted himself atop Nathanos’ head and said, “The High Thornspeaker has bid you come over for tea. Wait -- you don’t need to eat or drink anymore, do you? A meeting. She bids you come over for a meeting.”

“When?” Sylvanas enunciated the word very clearly, letting her irritation through despite herself. 

“When it suits,” Arthur answered. “And by that I mean: now.”

How impatient humans were. And how mercurial. Rolling her eyes, Sylvanas set down the sheet of parchment and scraped back her chair to stand. “Where are we meeting?” 

“Her house.”

Sylvanas’ steps slowed in her approach to the door. “At Gol Inath?” 

“What?” Arthur sounded taken aback. “No. Nobody actually lives at Gol Inath. That would be terrible. And uncomfortable. And -”

“All right, yes. I get the point.” 

Holding out her hand, Sylvanas transferred Arthur from Nathanos’ head to her own shoulder. An act which did very little to improve Nathanos’ mood; he glowered mutely at the raven as though he were a stain upon Sylvanas’ pauldron. But there was no point in denying Arthur’s place on her shoulder when he would end up there regardless of what she did. 

“Hold down the fort,” she said to Nathanos before she left. 

For all that Arthur had said ‘now’, it was a four day’s trek by horse to the Crimson Forest from Swiftwind Post. Sylvanas managed to get this down to three days by taking an eagle to Arom’s Stand, and then walking the rest of the way. And even then, Arthur had clung to her shoulder the whole trip. He did not seem to need to sleep, much to her dismay.

Sylvanas had expected Jaina to live in the heart of the Crimson Forest. Somewhere near the great tree of Gol Inath. Or perhaps in a hovel dug into the ground, like a wolf’s den. Maybe in a swamp like a bog witch. She did not expect Jaina to live in a nondescript cabin along the westernmost reaches of the Crimson Forest, where the woods met the cliffs, their branches raking against the overcast sky. The trees were set at a severe angle from the sea, whence the winds raced. Now, the treeline rolled with a slow-moving fog. It obscured the cliff’s edge, so that Sylvanas’ every step taken was wary. She could hear the roar of the nearby ocean. Sea salt scented the air, mingling with the smell of fresh damp earth and the darker smells of the forest. 

The cabin was nestled amidst the trees. It peered out over the nearby cliffside through the mist. It was -- for lack of a better word -- cosy. It had a thatched roof and vine-clutched walls. There was an iron-wrought lantern lit beside the front door. The windows glowed with internal firelight. 

It was not the sort of place a terrifying primal Druid lived. There wasn't a single cursed wicker effigy in sight. 

Jaina herself was walking around the perimeter of the cabin. There was no way she could have spotted Sylvanas and Arthur approaching through the soupy fog, but she looked around when they got within a certain range. At that point, Sylvanas could feel something settling over her skin. As though she had just walked through a spider's web. The wards allowed her to pass however, and she continued striding forward.

"You're early," Jaina remarked, when Sylvanas was near enough. 

"I was told I should arrive urgently," was Sylvanas' reply. 

"Really? I wasn't expecting you for another day."

Sylvanas shot Arthur a scathing look, and he ducked his feathery head in an almost sheepish manner.

"Well, would you look at the time!" Arthur said far too loudly. "I gotta go. Bye!"

And with that, he flew off from Sylvanas' shoulder, heading deeper into the trees. 

When Sylvanas turned from watching his retreat, Jaina was looking at her with an expression of calm amusement. Her skull mask was nowhere to be seen. Even her robes were more casual than during their past encounters. She had foregone the druidic trinkets and the cloak, leaving only a comfortable set of robes that she had hiked up around her knees to free up her stride. Her feet were muddy and bare. Fresh scratch marks adorned her skin in narrow red lines from where she had pushed through the thorny underbrush. Despite this, the robes were fastened high enough at her throat that her neck was covered. Perhaps to ward off the chill in the air. 

"Come on in, then." Jaina motioned for Sylvanas to follow her. 

Sylvanas did so without questioning why she was here. At the front door, Jaina washed her feet in a pail of water that had been left outside for just that purpose. She shot Sylvanas' boots a pointed look. Bending over, Sylvanas unbuckled her greaves and boots. She left them beside the door alongside her weapons before she was ushered inside. 

The interior of the cabin was warm and bare-timbered. Along the wall nearest the door, the skull mask had been hung on a peg as though it were a commonplace gentleman's hat. As though Jaina sometimes were too preoccupied, and would have forgotten to wear it out and about if not for its strategic location by the exit. Jaina moved through the house with a familiarity that spoke of years of dwelling here. She crossed over to the fireplace and swung a blackened kettle over the flames. 

"Tea?" she asked. 

"No, thank you," Sylvanas demurred. 

With a shrug, Jaina went about preparing a pot for herself, leaving Sylvanas to stroll about the main floor. The place was crammed with books and scrolls. Every nook and cranny heaped up with them. They were stacked in corners. They were jammed into shelves built along the walls. They crowded the little table before the fireplace, and even the stairs leading to a loft where Sylvanas could just spy a bed. To climb those stairs would have required someone to pick their way up each step along a narrow path precariously perched with old tomes and a leftover cup of tea teetering near the top rail.  

Picking a book at random from a nearby shelf, Sylvanas inspected its leather-bound cover without any real interest in its contents. “Where did you get all of these?”

“Libraries,” Jaina answered vaguely without turning around. 

Sylvanas lifted an eyebrow at the title of another book’s spine. It was a rare Thalassian text that she herself had only ever heard about in her studies at home. “Drustvar doesn’t strike me as a place that is teeming with libraries. Especially not libraries with books like these.”

“Some of them I inherited from Ulfar. Others I was gifted by Lucille.”

Shuffling idly through a few pages, Sylvanas snapped the book shut between her hands. “And the rest?”

Jaina made a non-committal sound. “The rest I borrowed, you might say. From Dalaran.”

Sylvanas paused. Then, she placed the book back in its place. “So, when you’re not terrorising the local population, you steal books from the Grand Library of the Kirin Tor.”

“Just another one of my charming hobbies,” Jaina drawled. She finished spooning the proper amount of tea leaves into the pot and stoppered the jar, setting it aside. “I used to think it was a game when I was younger. Teleporting into the Violet Citadel and raiding the Grand Library for a new book to read before they could figure out I was even there.”

“I fail to see how triggering the wards of the world’s most powerful wizarding city could be considered a game.”

“Oh, the wards were the best part. They’re fun little puzzles, and you have to solve for the exact right piece to get in without being noticed.”

"You're mad."

Jaina laughed, and the sound was surprisingly light. "Maybe."

"Were you ever caught?"

"Once." Jaina leaned back in her seat, waiting for the water to boil. "But I just pretended to be an Archmage's apprentice, and they let me go pretty promptly. I was young. And afterwards, I was a lot more cautious about my little dalliances outside of Drustvar."

Sylvanas turned back to perusing the shelves. In one corner of the room there was a pantry stuffed full of goods, both fresh and preserved, home gathered and even purchased from the markets of Corlain. Sylvanas could recall a few goods in particular from the weekend markets, but she had no memory of seeing anyone matching Jaina's description there. Perhaps the locals left offerings of food at the edge of the Crimson forest, as if to a vengeful god living nearby. Or perhaps, given Jaina's obvious predilection towards sneaking into places, she had simply disguised herself with a spell and walked through the markets without a care in the world. Both seemed equally likely.

"And Ulfar let you go?" Sylvanas asked.

"As if he had a choice. I was -- how would my brothers put it? -- a filthy little bilge rat brat."

Sylvanas huffed with laughter. "That sounds about right."

"About me? Or about my brothers?"

"Yes." She aimed a smirk over her shoulder at Jaina, who appeared unfazed. "I have siblings as well, you know."

"Let me guess..." Jaina held up her hands as though framing Sylvanas in a canvas picture. "Middle child?"

"Says the youngest. I bet you were spoiled rotten."

Jaina's smile slipped. "Being the baby in the family only got me so far. If anything it made things worse in the end."

With a hum of understanding, Sylvanas dragged her fingers along the spines of a row of books. Motes of dust wheeled in the air in their wake. She paused when she arrived at a wad of pages that had been stuck between two books. There were noises behind her of Jaina swinging the kettle away from the fire and filling the teapot. With her host distracted, Sylvanas dug out the pages, careful to shield her actions with her body.

"Find anything of interest over there?" Jaina asked.

"Why? Are you afraid that I'll steal them?" Sylvanas shot back, keeping her tone light even as she managed to pry the pages free. They were pretty firmly stuck between the books, and the threat of tearing the wafer-thin paper persisted until she had loosened them enough.

"I was about to say you could borrow one, actually."

"According to you, those two things are the same."

A snort of laughter, the creak of iron as Jaina hung the kettle back into place, then the gentle clink of porcelain against porcelain. Turning over the first page in her hand, Sylvanas went very still. One edge of the pages were ragged, as though they had been ripped out of a book. And on the first sheet there was a drawing labelled: 'Fig. 66 - The Hero in Thros.' The drawing was done in a familiar style, all in cross-hatched ink, sketched by a studious hand. It portrayed a man hanging by the neck from a tree. He was impaled through the chest by a broken sword, his toes dangling over a body of water. A massive raven crouched on his shoulder. It was plucking out his eye and eating it.

A sudden chill washed over her despite the warmth of the cabin. Her thumb traced over the side of the image as she studied it.

Behind her, Jaina sighed, and her chair creaked as though she had just leaned back. "Come sit down. Let's chat."

Sylvanas had the urge to steal the pages, to hastily stuff them into a leather pouch at her belt and cause a scene which allowed her to leave without Jaina being any wiser of her actions. It would be a retributive kind of justice. A theft for a theft. Surely, Jaina wouldn't notice the missing pages anytime soon. But instead, Sylvanas folded the pages back up and put them where she had found them. When she turned, it was to find that Jaina was blowing on her mug of tea, which steamed in her hands.

"Chat," Sylvanas repeated. "About what exactly?"

Jaina must have noticed the sudden chill in Sylvanas' voice, for her head swung towards her with a startled frown. "About us. The Horde and Kul Tiras. About our plans moving forward."

"Is that all?"

Slowly, Jaina lowered her mug so that it was cradled in her lap. "What else do you think this is?"

"You tell me. You're the one who invited me here, after playing hard to get." Hearing her own words, Sylvanas' eyes widened fractionally. "Ah. I see. So, that's what this is about."

Jaina's face screwed up in confusion. "What?"

Reaching for her gauntlets, Sylvanas began to unbuckle them. She slid them from her hands, pulling off the gloves beneath them as she went. She approached the long, low-slung couch before the fireplace, tossing the gloves and gauntlets onto the backs of the cushions. "If you had told me this was what you wanted to begin with, we could have avoided this whole song and dance. Honestly, what a bore."

Jaina watched Sylvanas' actions with increasing bewilderment. Yet her gaze followed every small section of exposed pale skin beneath layers of armour. When Sylvanas began to unbuckle her pauldrons and cloak, draping them over the back of the couch as well, Jaina said, "I have no idea what you're implying."

"I've never been that inclined to using this as a means of negotiation, but I suppose you aren't so bad." The gorget was cast aside, and Sylvanas ran a bare hand through her hair. It was bleached in undeath, a pale mockery of its former golden hue. "If you would like to help me with the cuirass, this would all be a lot easier."

"Help you with your -?" Finally, realisation dawned on Jaina's face. Her jaw dropped. And then she began to laugh. It sounded equal parts amused, incredulous, and nervous. "What? No! This isn't -! No. I don't know how you could have possibly gotten that impression."

Hands freezing on the stays of her cuirass, Sylvanas shot her a disbelieving look. "You're serious."

Jaina managed to school her expression, but for the tell-tale curve of her lips in a smile, and the slight pink tinge to her cheeks. "Very serious. This is not a seduction attempt. Though, I'm flattered you would consider it. I think?" She lifted her cup of tea to her mouth for a contemplative sip. "Yes, I've decided I'm flattered."

"Then why have you brought me here? Surely you must want something."

Rolling her eyes, Jaina cupped her mug between her hands. "If we're going to be working together, then I want to get to know you better." Sylvanas’ expression must have been skeptical, for Jaina straightened in her seat, looking indignant. “I mean it. I just want to talk.”

With a lilting hum, Sylvanas rounded the couch. She pushed aside her various articles of armour, and sat down. She did not bother putting it all back on just yet. Not when Jaina’s good eye lingered along the hints of Sylvanas’ figure beneath all that remaining leather and chainmail, before she realised exactly what she was doing and shook her head, as though annoyed with herself. 

Sylvanas casually crossed her legs at the knee and leaned back, slinging one arm over the top of the cushions. “Ask your questions, then,” she permitted in a magnanimous tone that made Jaina snort into her cup of tea. 

Despite the approval, Jaina did not say anything immediately. She thought for a moment. “What is your next step? After Kul Tiras, I mean.”

“Do you mean: do I intend to wage a pointless war with the Alliance, during which thousands of lives will be lost all for the sake of seeing Horde banners spread across a map?” Sylvanas sneered at the idea. “No. I won’t roll over for the Alliance, but I won’t fight them without good reason, either.” 

“So, you think there can be peace between your factions?”

Sylvanas toyed with a frayed edge of the pillow. “I think peace is only permitted when people have nothing to gain.”

“That’s very pessimistic of you.”

“Dying a few times does that.”

For some reason that reply made Jaina’s brows furrow. She tapped at the sides of her mug, then asked, “Do you -?”

“Ah, ah, ah.” Sylvanas raised a finger and waggled it as though at a spoiled child. “For every question you ask, I get to ask one in return. You want to be fair to your new ally, don’t you?”

With a huff of irritation, Jaina sipped at her tea and nodded for Sylvanas to continue. 

Carefully watching for Jaina’s reaction, Sylvanas asked, “If your brother had lived, if he had become the Lord Admiral and this civil war had never happened, what would you do?” 

Jaina answered without a hint of hesitation, “I would attempt to mend bridges between the Drust and the Kul Tirans, starting with my influence with House Waycrest.” 

“Your ambitions are rather…” Sylvanas sought the right word. “...lacklustre.” 

“And yours are rather megalomanic,” Jaina shot back. 

Sylvanas merely shrugged off the accusation.

“My turn.” Sitting forward in her seat to pour herself another cup of tea, Jaina said, “Do you like being Warchief of the Horde?”

“It is an honour, and a title I am proud to bear,” Sylvanas said the words like a mantra she told her constituents. The only thing Orcs loved more than strength was honour. Or at least the loose concept of it. 

“Yes, but do you like it?”

The immediate acerbic response died in Sylvanas’ mouth. She narrowed her eyes, her tongue running over the backs of her teeth in quiet contemplation. “I like power. I like the control it gives me. Do I like being Warchief?” Sylvanas tilted her head side to side as though weighing two options in her mind. “No more than I liked being Ranger-General, I suppose. But most of all I despise being helpless. Weak. At the beck and call of others. That is a fate I will not endure again.” 

Jaina hummed an understanding note. “I understand your past has been fraught -- for lack of a better word. The Emerald Dream can sometimes offer catharsis, if you have the right guide. I can take you back, if you wish.”

“Is that what you did with your horrible wicker man in the woods the first time I was trying to find Gol Inath?” Sylvanas’ lip curled. “I have no desire to Dream again. Nor will I ever.”

“Suit yourself,” Jaina muttered into her mug. 

Sylvanas gestured towards the scar on Jaina’s face. “How did you get that?” 

Reaching up with one hand, Jaina traced the scar that slashed down the right side of her brow and cheek. Her blind eye peered from between the cage of her fingers. “I was foolhardy and brash,” she answered with a tight smile. She lowered her hand. “It’s a wound of overconfidence. I rushed in and my opponent dipped when I thought he was going to dash, so to speak. And I paid the price for it.”

Jaina was dodging the question, but Sylvanas could not deny that she herself had done the same. Instead she remarked, “I’m amazed your eye survived intact.”

“It didn’t,” Jaina said darkly. “But it’s my turn, now.” She waited for Sylvanas to motion her to continue, and then asked, “Are there times you wish you were still alive?”

The contest of who would blink first was back. Sylvanas was strongly reminded of a childhood game she and her siblings used to play. Two truths and a lie. Each player had to guess which of the three statements was false. Vereesa always lost. She was too easy to read. 

Now, Sylvanas wondered if this were really an exercise about building trust -- as Jaina had implied -- or if it were only a means of sussing out the other player’s tell. A pity for Jaina. Sylvanas was an expert at this game. The trick was to cheat and always tell the truth. 

How that truth twisted itself to meet reality was another proposition entirely. 

“Yes. All the time.” The truth wrenched itself from Sylvanas’ lips in a hiss that made the fireplace flicker. “Do you ever wish you had been sent to the Tidesages or the Kirin Tor, instead of being smuggled off to the Drust?”

The firelight played across Jaina’s face, casting her blind eye in shadow so that it seemed to peer like a nocturnal animal’s through the gloom. “Yes,” she said softly. “All the time.”

A log in the fireplace cracked and popped. Jaina set down her tea on the table in order to lean forward and prod at the fire with an iron poker that had been leaning against her seat for just that purpose. She set the poker back down, but left her tea on the table. When she spoke she seemed to address the hearth, “How many times have you died?”

“Why does it matter?”

“Do you want to finish the game?” Jaina countered, turning her head back towards Sylvanas.

So, she thought it was a game, too. Convenient. Baring her teeth in a grim smile, Sylvanas said, “Three times.”

A strange expression flickered across Jaina’s face, but it left as quickly as it had come. Sylvanas tried to figure out what exactly it had meant, why that number was significant, but Jaina was watching her expectantly for another question. And so Sylvanas asked, “When you Dream, what do you see?”

Jaina’s mouth opened, then shut again. She busied herself with unfastening the tucked up hems of her robes so that they hung around her ankles once more. Finally, she said far too casually, “I see many things in the Emerald Dream.” 

“That’s not an answer.” 

Shooting Sylvanas a bitter look, Jaina steeled herself before saying, “I see a tree that grows from the sea. Its canopy reaches the stars. Its roots pierce the depths. I am hanging from its branches. I see my father’s flagship wrestling the waves. He stands on the quarterdeck and yells every vile curse he can think of at me. He calls me a plague upon his House. He calls me the ruin of Kul Tiras. And beneath the shadow of the tree, the Great Fleet burns, and I can hear-” 

She cut herself off, clearing her throat and looking away towards the hearth once more, as though it might offer her some solace. 

“Yes, that sounds very cathartic,” Sylvanas said dryly.  

Drawing herself up, Jaina grabbed her tea from the table and took a heady gulp. “My Dreaming is different. It’s -” she grimaced. “- compromised. I can guide people through, but when I enter by myself, things get complicated.” 

Sylvanas sighed. “Trust a Druid to never just give a straight answer. What cryptic nonsense.”

“Like yours are any better.” Jaina tried to regain her airs of nonchalance, but it was ruined by the way she kept fiddling with the now empty mug in her lap. “Do you really think we can win this war?”

A slow confident smile tugged at the corner of Sylvanas’ mouth. “Now that I’m here? Absolutely.”

Jaina shot her an exasperated look. “Are you always this cocky?”

“Is that another question?”

Waving her away, Jaina said, “No, no. It’s your turn again.”

Sylvanas thought of hanged men. She thought of pages torn out of books. She thought of Gorak Tul, of ancient Drust, of secrets stashed between dusty tomes in Jaina’s personal library. Leaning forward on the couch, Sylvanas rested her elbows upon her knees. “Why don’t you like Arthur talking about what happened in Thros?”

Immediately Jaina’s face hardened. Her once open and amiable airs vanished like a whirl of smoke in a gale. Gone were the teasings of camaraderie, the mutual probing for information -- parry, riposte -- and in its place an unyielding quality in her gaze. Even without the mask and the dressings of the High Thornspeaker, she was once again that terrifying figure who loomed in the maw of Gol Inath, crowned in bone and blood and starlight.  

“I think we’re done with our game for today,” Jaina said with a voice like cold iron. “You may show yourself out now, Sylvanas. No doubt we will be seeing each other again soon.”

--

A gale was spitting down rain at Swiftwind Post. Sylvanas stood at the window of the second floor command building. She watched the tussock grass and heath far below the hills billowing in the wind like a sea of copper and verdigris. The land of eastern Drustvar was dotted with new snow. Patches of white gathered in the saddles of hills and the corners of valleys. Even now the wind drove the bluffs with flecks of white mixed through with rain. The air held a biting chill that would only continue to deepen as the land settled into its winter months with the inevitability of the grave.

Sylvanas’ personal quarters were bare. There was a bed with dark cotton sheets, in which she never slept. A single unoccupied chair crouched in one corner, its legs spidery; they creaked under the slightest weight. She had brought no personal effects with her to Kul Tiras. Indeed, she kept no personal effects in Grommash Hold either. Any scraps dear to her were locked away in the Undercity, or otherwise buried and decaying in Windrunner Spire. This room on Swiftwind Post was a mere placeholder. A simulacrum of personal space. A place where she could -- upon occasion -- be alone with her thoughts. It might as well have been a broom cupboard. 

She was looking north, as if trying to see a glimpse of the landscape in that direction. But not even her gaze could pierce the veil of rain and snow that blurred the distance into a canvas of faded white. Barrowknoll was a three day’s march north of their current position. She would need to walk the ground there herself before long.

It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Anya’s reports. Only that she did not trust this place to be what it seemed. And there was something about Barrowknoll that Jaina was refusing to tell her. It made Sylvanas uneasy.

A soft knock sounded at the door. Sylvanas did not turn around. Her reflection in the glass painted a grim overlay to the landscape beyond. “Come in.”

The door opened, and Nathanos stepped inside. Snow melted on his shoulders. He bowed. “You have guests.”

“Who?”

“Lady Lucille Waycrest.”

Sylvanas remained still as a statue, her hands clasped behind her back. “I will receive her here. Have her come up.”

Executing another shallow bow, Nathanos murmured, “Yes, my Queen.”

When he departed, he left the door open a sliver. The sound of voices drifted up the stairs, followed by the hesitant creak of footsteps on the stairwell. Sylvanas did not need to turn around to know that Lucille was dawdling just outside the room; she could hear the intrusion of her breathing, of her furiously beating heart.

“Do you think I am going to devour you in my lair?” Syvlanas drawled, keeping a close eye on the window, even while using the reflection in the glass to see what lay behind her.

Lucille’s reflection cautiously pushed the door open a little wider, but she still did not cross the threshold. “You do seem the type, you know.”

Sylvanas smiled to herself, and with her back turned her amused expression was not visible from the door. “If only your friend in the woods treated me with such caution.”

“She doesn’t scare easily.”

“So, I gathered.” Turning around at last, Sylvanas fixed Lucille in place with her gaze. “What can I do for you today, Lady Waycrest?”

Lucille stepped inside, bracing herself as though for a blow. “Quite the opposite, actually. You once asked me if there was something I could do for you.”

Now, that piqued Sylvanas’ interest. She leaned her shoulder against the window frame. Her armour scraped against the wood there. “Yes. I remember.”

“I have someone who needs shelter, and has sought me out for it. But if I were to give it to them, I would put a target on both our heads.”

Sylvanas lifted an eyebrow. “I fail to see how sheltering someone for you gives me anything of use.”

Shaking her head, Lucille said boldly, "You are mistaken, Sylvanas. I am doing you a favour."

Upon hearing her name, Sylvanas’ face darkened. Her eyes blazed, but when she spoke her voice was deadly quiet. "You will call me 'Dark Lady' or 'Warchief.'"

Lucille took an abortive step back, only to steel herself. "But Jaina calls you Sylvanas."

"You are not Jaina."

Nervously, Lucille wet her lower lip. Still, she held her ground. “Maybe not. But I have something you want, even if you don’t know it yet.”

Arms crossed, Sylvanas tapped her fingers against her opposite arm. The motion made a metallic click every time her clawed gauntlets touched her armour. “And if I do this for you? What do you expect in return?”

“Ten thousand soldiers,” said Lucille without a hint of hesitation.

Sylvanas blinked. “I’m sorry.” She pretended to shift her hood as though it had obstructed her ears. “I thought I just heard you say you want me to nearly double your forces in exchange for giving a single person shelter.”

Back straight, jaw squared, Lucille nodded. “That’s right.”

“I’m struggling to tell whether your intention was to make me laugh, or to make me angry.”

“Just -” Lucille waved her over. “- come downstairs? Please? I’ve brought my guest with me.”

Nathanos had mentioned guests. Plural. And Sylvanas would be lying if she said she wasn’t intrigued by the boldness of Kul Tirans, if nothing else. 

Pushing away from the window, Sylvanas strode towards the door. When she brushed past Lucille, she growled, “If this is a waste of my time, then I’m going to be very irritated.”

“It won’t be,” Lucille insisted, but she sounded less sure of herself when Sylvanas was glaring at her over her shoulder than when Sylvanas was safely across an empty room. 

The stairs did not creak beneath Sylvanas’ feet when she descended to the first floor, though the creaking came when Lucille followed closely after her. Voices continued to murmur from downstairs, growing louder with every step Sylvanas took. When she reached the bottom step and turned, she froze, her ears canting up in shock. 

Katherine Proudmoore was seated in a chair by the fire. She was engaged in a pleasant conversation with a Highmountain Tauren druid standing beside her, who was serving her tea. Sylvanas had not even been aware that they stocked tea at Swiftwind Post, but apparently they did when the Lord Admiral visited. Katherine’s legs were crossed. A silver falcon-headed cane leaned against one side of her chair. 

When the Tauren noticed his Warchief’s presence, he jerked upright, nearly scraping his impressive rack of antlers against the ceiling. The teapot seemed sized for a gnome when clutched between his massive hands. 

For her part, Katherine merely turned to look in Sylvanas’ direction, calmly sipping at her cup of tea. “Oh, good. You’ve finally deigned to grace us with your presence.”

Sylvanas regained her composure quickly. She inclined her head towards Katherine. “Lord Admiral. I was not expecting to see you so soon.”

“Lucky you,” Katherine said dryly. “I would stand to greet you, but -” she tapped the head of her cane with her elbow. “- needs must.”

Eyes flicking towards the Tauren, Sylvanas jerked her head to the door. Without question, he set the teapot down and departed with a bow. 

Sylvanas approached, placing her hands behind her back. “An old war wound or a new one?”

Shrugging, Katherine sipped at her tea. “A bit of both.” 

Sylvanas stopped by the fireplace. There were no other seats, save her own behind the large desk on the other side of the room, and one across from it for the rare occasion when one of her rangers or generals were delivering a report. She cocked her head curiously down at Katherine, then looked over at Lucille. “Why did you bring her to me here and not to -?”

Before Sylvanas could finish her sentence, Lucille shook her head sharply from where she stood at the foot of the stairs. Sylvanas stopped speaking, her mouth shutting with a click of fangs. Katherine frowned between the two of them. 

“Bring me to whom?” Katherine asked, lowering her teacup and saucer so that they rested upon one knee. 

Lucille did not say anything, but she was still giving Sylvanas a significant look that spoke volumes. 

“Nobody,” Sylvanas lied smoothly, her face giving away nothing. “I only meant to inquire as to why Lady Waycrest cannot shelter you herself.”

Katherine appeared entirely unconvinced by these antics. Her storm-steel gaze moved to Lucille, trying to see if she would be the first to crack, but Lucille held her ground. Eventually, Katherine turned her attention back to Sylvanas, and she explained, “My enemies know that my last base of power is within Drustvar. What with my family being from the region originally. Lucille is a distant niece, of sorts. I knew she wouldn’t turn me away, should I be desperate.” 

“I see.” Sylvanas did not mention that Katherine had called Lucille ‘a paltry ally’ during their last discussion, though she was sorely tempted to do so. Instead, she said,  “And you don’t want to give your position away by running directly into the safety of Waycrest Manor.” 

“It’s best that my exact location remains unknown. For now, in any case.”

“Which begs the obvious question.” Sylvanas took a step closer, so that she stood between Katherine and the fire, so that she was silhouetted in flame. “Why?”

Lips pursed, Katherine picked up her cup of tea once more. She seemed to mull over her answer in the dregs, before draining them as if for courage. “The Great Fleet is in turmoil. Lord Stormsong has declared himself Lord Admiral on the basis that I have no Heir, and therefore must give up my claim to the title. He has children of his own. His line is secure.” 

From the sidelines, Lucille added, “He also controls the Tidesages, who are assigned to every major ship of the line.”

But Katherine waved that detail away impatiently. “Yes, but that is not what swayed over half the Navy to fly the colours of House Stormsong.” 

“And what is your plan?” Sylvanas pressed. “How do you intend to win back the Navy’s loyalty?”

At that, Katherine’s eyes flashed. Glowering at Sylvanas, she set aside her cup of tea and sat up in her seat. “The Great Fleet of Kul Tiras remains devoted to the Admiralty. That is not within question. This is a problem of succession, not of loyalty.” 

“Then who do you intend to name as your Heir?” Sylvanas gestured towards Lucille with a sneer. “Her?” 

Lucille looked affronted at the notion. Meanwhile, Katherine shook her head sharply. “Certainly not. Lucille hasn’t a drop of Proudmoore blood in her. Whoever it is must be related to Daelin’s line, or the balance will never be restored. As soon as the Ashvanes and Stormsongs have finished sweeping up Drustvar, they will turn on each other, and Kul Tiras may know civil war for generations.”

And yet for reasons unknown, Lucille had stopped Sylvanas from mentioning Jaina’s name at all. She could tell her anyway. Doubtlessly both Katherine and Jaina would be in her debt. 

But instead Sylvanas smiled. “Well, well. How times change,” she murmured. She approached Katherine’s chair and picked up the falcon-headed cane. “One moment you did not want my help, or even to keep my company. Now you need both.”

Katherine’s expression was pinched and sour. “Elves always did love the sound of their own voices. Spit it out. What do you want in return?”

For a moment Sylvanas merely toyed with the cane, tracing the falcon’s beak with her thumb. When she put pressure beneath the curved beak, the grip came away, revealing that it was in fact a sword cleverly disguised as a mere walking implement. Admiring it, Sylvanas sheathed the weapon once more. 

“Nothing.” Sylvanas handed the cane back over to Katherine. “Yet. You may stay at our encampment on the Eastern Cliffs near Falconhurst. You will be safer there. It’s further from the action.”

Snatching the cane sword from Sylvanas’ hands, Katherine snapped, “I didn’t spend the last six years of my life at sea commanding Azeroth’s greatest Navy only to hide from battle like some milksop.”

“I think the Golden Fleet of Zandalar might have opinions about that particular statement, but I’ll not quibble over semantics.” She stepped away from Katherine so that she was no longer looming over her. “You may remain at Swiftwind Post, but I am assigning you a protection detail.”

Propping her cane back against the side of the chair, Katherine sniffed. “Jailors, more like.”

“Your bodily safety is of utmost importance. And, I’ll admit -” Sylvanas said, “I cannot permit you to just waltz about my camp without some manner of escort. If you speak with me beforehand, I can arrange for my people to take you wherever you need. Within reason, of course.” 

An expression of hastily restrained disgust flickered across Katherine’s features. “You don’t mean for my guardsmen to be Undead, do you?”

Sylvanas levelled a dark look at her. “You come crawling to my doorstep,” she hissed. “and you have the gall to -?”

To her surprise, Katherine sighed. She brought a gloved hand to her face and rubbed at her brow. When Katherine looked back up, the steel had gone from her shoulders. In the place of the implacable Lord Admiral of Kul Tiras, there sat a tired old woman. Her voice was warmer, softer, more sincere. “Forgive me, Sylvanas. That was inappropriate, given the circumstances.” 

Scowling, Sylvanas bit back the acrid taste of indignation and something uglier that brewed in her gut. She did not realise the fire had dimmed in the presence of her anger until the shadows lengthened across the room. It was a challenge to keep her words low and even. “They will be Tauren, if you prefer.”

To that Katherine said nothing. She merely inclined her head in quiet acceptance. 

From the base of the stairs, Lucille cleared her throat. “So, she can say your name, too?” she accused, pointing at Katherine. 

Sylvanas rolled her eyes. “Last I checked, you’re not the Lord Admiral, either.” 

Sylvanas walked towards the front door and opened it. A quick command was all it took for the Highmountain Tauren from before to tower in the doorframe. He needed to turn sideways and duck down in order to step inside. Once through the door, he stooped, his massive shoulders remaining hunched. 

Sylvanas gestured to him. “This is Tatanka Thunderchaser. He will be your escort and primary point of contact. Tatanka,” she pointed to Katherine. “This is the Lord Admiral, and your new ward until I say otherwise.” 

Katherine was rising to her feet, one hand using the cane and the other pushing off from the arm of the chair. She took inventory of Tatanka’s appearance, his dark shaggy fur, his palmate antlers, the streaks of bold red paint around his face and arms. When he bowed to her, she returned the gesture with surprising grace for someone who walked with a heavy limp in every other step. 

“I don’t suppose you have any more of that excellent tea of yours?” Katherine asked as she crossed the room towards him. “Honestly, you could make a fortune smuggling the stuff into Boralus.”

His answering chuckle was a deep rumble in his chest. “I’m not much of a smuggler, Lord Admiral, but I’m sure we can manage another cup for an honoured guest.”

When he offered his arm, she took it. As the druid was showing Katherine out -- the two of them already engaged in friendly conversation once more -- Lucille went to follow but Sylvanas stopped her with a hand at her upper arm. 

“Not you.” Sylvanas murmured. “I would like a few more words with you before you slip away again, Lady Waycrest.”

Lucille winced, and Sylvanas loosened her grip. She hadn’t thought she had been holding her so tightly, but that seemed to do little to lessen Lucille’s discomfort. Sylvanas released her entirely, and Lucille shuffled away a few steps until there was some distance between them. 

Ah. So, that was the issue. 

“If we’re going to be allies, you’re going to have to pretend to tolerate my presence,” Sylvanas said dryly. The sting of social stigma had long since lost its bite. Sylvanas barely felt it these days. Not unless there was some sudden rude reminder of her past -- seeing her sisters; seeing her homeland. 

“It’s not that,” Lucille insisted, even as she balled her hands into fists and looked anywhere but at Sylvanas. “It’s just -” She made a weak gesture towards the cabin that served as Sylvanas’ headquarters. She appeared faintly ill. “I have bad memories. Of the Undead. Of witches. Of my family. It’s not you, or your people.”

Sylvanas had heard stories of the Drust incursion some years ago, the conflict that took the lives of the previous Lord and Lady Waycrest. How Lady Meredith Waycrest had attempted to summon Gorak Tul into the mortal world, leading a coven of witches, corrupting her husband into a ghoulish construct, defiling Waycrest Manor until it was a ghostly shadow of itself, teeming with undead. The people of Corlain still whispered that the place was haunted. What Sylvanas had seen of it atop the hill had loomed like a gothic portrait, all spires and gargoyles and clinging darkness lanced through with lightning, something she might read about in a penny dreadful sold on the streets of Dampwick Ward. 

“I shall maintain my distance, then.” Tilting her head, Sylvanas indicated that Lucille should take a seat upon the chair opposite her desk. She herself rounded the desk and sat in her own seat. Sylvanas waited until Lucille had made herself comfortable -- or at least given the semblance of comfort, given her obvious uneasiness around the Undead -- before speaking, “Now, tell me: why the secrecy about our beloved High Thornspeaker?”

Lucille did not answer immediately. She fiddled with a pleat in her dress. “I’ve known Jaina for a long time. Since we were children,” she finally said. “When she disappeared into the forest, I didn’t see her for years. And when she came back out she was -” Lucille shrugged. “- different. Harder. She’s had every opportunity to go back to Boralus after her father died, but she’s never done it. I may not know the reasons why she stays away from her family, but I know better than anyone that family can be...complicated.” 

Sylvanas grimaced. Her only reply was a hummed note of distaste and understanding in the back of her throat.

Clasping her hands together in her lap in an attempt to keep herself from fidgeting, Lucille straightened in her seat. “Use Katherine as leverage, if you must. Oh, don’t give me that look. I know what this is about. I’m not stupid. But please -” Lucille cast Sylvanas a pleading glance. “- speak with Jaina first before saying anything. That’s all I ask.”

“That rather defeats the purpose of leverage,” Sylvanas drawled. “But your point is well received. I am not as cruel as you might have been led to believe.”

Lucille’s expression could only be described as wary. Like a prey animal that was locked in a cage with a lion. “Aren’t you?”

Sylvanas smiled at her, baring a bit of fang. “Only to my enemies, Lady Waycrest. Are you my enemy?”

Hastily, Lucille shook her head.

“How fortunate, then.” Picking up a pen, Sylvanas dipped it into an inkwell. She pulled a fresh sheet of paper towards her, and began to make notes. “Now, I’m going to need some information from you about your latest deployments and military expenditures. How is your supply corps holding up?”

Lucille seemed startled by this sudden line of questioning. “They’re fine, as far as I’m aware. We have enough food to sustain us through to next spring even without Jaina's help. Why?”

“Because,” Sylvanas shot her an amused glance over the table, “I’m going to need to know, so I can give you those reinforcements you asked for.”

--

For the last two weeks, Jaina had been sending information regarding troop positions and plans via Lucille or Arthur. He would arrive in various animal forms outside Sylvanas' command centre at Swiftwind Post. Not once had he appeared human. Most notable was the time he shoved his way through the front door as a bear with twisted branches for legs and a bleached skull for a face. The Forsaken guardsmen had long since learned to recognise him on sight and let him in without any hassle, but Nathanos maintained that Arthur's manner was utterly inappropriate. Moreover, that Arthur ought to be taught a lesson on propriety in the presence of one's social betters. Nathanos would often say this while stroking the handle of an axe, glaring holes at Arthur, who in turn was completely unconcerned with the murderous intent nearby. 

Today thankfully he arrived in the form of a raven, which seemed to be his preferred form most times. "Knock, knock!" Arthur said as the Forsaken guard opened the door and allowed him to fly inside. 

When he landed on Sylvanas' desk, she did not even glance up at him. She continued reading her latest reports from Orgrimmar, news of border disputes and power plays between various internal factions. "Long flight?" she asked. 

"Not too bad, thank the Tides." 

"I hope you have good news for me."

He held out his leg, to which paper had been tightly bound in a coil. "Nothing but the best for you, Dark Lady."

She did look up at that. "My, my," she murmured, setting down her report and reaching forward to untie the scroll from his leg. "I see Nathanos has finally managed to teach you some manners."

Arthur held still until she had finished taking the scroll off, at which point he shuffled his feathers. "Anya told me I should call you that in private, and then call you by your first name when he was around."

Sylvanas snorted. "And you listened to her?"

"I like Anya. Even though she cheats at whist. And dice."

"Have you considered that Anya told you that so Nathanos would be even more tempted to shoot you?"

Arthur cocked his head in a very birdlike manner. "Maybe. She did seem kind of angry when I helped that old lady beat her at cards. But it seemed only fair."

A small chuckle escaped Sylvanas in spite of herself. She began to unroll the paper, but stopped with a furrow in her brow. "Wait. Old lady?"

"Yeah!" Arthur hopped around her desk, inspecting the map of Drustvar and its troop movements. "The one with the cane and the nice coat. Is she a defect from the Navy or something?"

Sylvanas did not know what information was more startling. That Katherine played Anya at cards and won -- no small feat in and of itself -- or that he did not know who the Lord Admiral of Kul Tiras was on sight. Perhaps it spoke more to Arthur's own seclusion within the region. The Drust were not particularly fond of the Navy, and with good reason. Years of the press and other indignities did not endear them to Kul Tiras' ruling body. Or perhaps the Lord Admiral really was so lofty a position that the average citizen could never dream of seeing her in person. She had not noticed Kul Tiran currency stamped with the faces of their rulers, as was the custom in many other places. The coins and banknotes here tended towards abstract images: anchors, ship’s wheels, cephalopods, oars, and the like. 

Regardless, it was a mercy. Arthur was the High Thornspeaker’s eyes and ears at Swiftwind Post. News of Katherine’s presence in the camp would not have reached Jaina yet.

“You might say that, yes,” Sylvanas said. She tapped the scroll against her wrist, watching Arthur. When he began to pick up tokens in his beak and move them around the map -- as if purely out of corvid pique -- she rapped her knuckles against the desk, startling him. “Stop that.” 

He stopped, but only to hop over to another part of her desk, where he began fiddling with the bronze cast base of a candlestick. She placed the tokens back into place, then unfurled the scroll. It was a dry tally and update of the mustered Waycrest cavalry units at Corlain that would be making their way over the pass at Arom's Stand before the snows got too deep. Sylvanas made an unimpressed noise as she read over the brief report. There were barely enough mounted units to justify two cavalry battalions. But they would have to do for now, until the Horde reinforcements could arrive in three months time. By that point, the Waycrest forces would be wintering in Fallhaven and repelling a full-blown siege.

If only Jaina hadn't been so stubborn. They might have been able to muster a force to Drustvar's shores sooner.

Setting aside the report, Sylvanas picked up a pen from its inkwell. She tapped a swell of ink from its nib and then updated her own ledgers. "Arthur," she said.

"Hmm?" Arthur was busying himself with prying apart the candle-holder's handle with his beak. Better that than her maps and charts, she supposed.

"I need you to send a message to Jaina for me."

At that, he turned a milky white eye upon her. He did not seem to need to ever blink. "Sure thing. Do you want me to take a scroll or something?"

"That won't be necessary. Tell her -" Sylvanas set the pen away once more. She considered the words of her message very carefully before saying, "Tell her that I must speak with her urgently. About her appalling cavalry numbers."

"Appalling cavalry numbers," he repeated slowly under his breath, as though reciting it to memory. "Right. Got it!"

She added quickly, "And tell her I will come to her again. Save her the trip."

"No problem. I'm on it."

Despite his words, Arthur did not move. Sylvanas picked up another report but paused as he continued to watch her expectantly. "What?"

He lifted a clawed foot in her direction, his talons grasping the air. "Can you open the door for me?"

She scowled at him. "Turn into a human and do it yourself."

"If I call you Dark Lady again, will you do it for me? Please? Oh, Queen of the Forsaken?"

Sighing irritably, Sylvanas stood and crossed the room to open the door just to get him to leave. 

Less than a week later, Sylvanas was once again making her way through the Crimson Forest with Arthur on her shoulder. The fog had retreated from the sea. When she arrived at the white cliffs, she could see well into the distance, where the ocean silvered beneath an overcast sky. Her wine-dark cloak whipped about her ankles. The wards permitted her presence once again without issue, but Jaina was nowhere in sight. 

Sylvanas gave Arthur a questioning look, but he lifted his wings in an avian shrug. A brief reconnoiter around the cabin proved that Jaina was not there. Sylvanas was about ready to ask Arthur to see if he could scout around, when she heard a rustling in the trees behind them. Her long ears twitched towards the noise, and she turned. 

Jaina was trudging slowly towards the cabin. For a moment Sylvanas thought she was wearing the skull mask, until she saw that the antlers belonged to a stag. She was carrying the dead animal from the shadow of the woods, its front hooves draped over her shoulders so that its back hooves dragged along the ground behind her. Blood soaked her robes. It dripped from the animal carcass and down her neck. She left red footprints in her wake. When Jaina looked up, her eyes seemed to gleam through the dim dusky air, but that might have just been a trick of the light. 

"You have a habit of catching me at bad times," Jaina said by way of greeting.

Sylvanas nodded towards the stag. "Did you go hunting?"

"I did."

Jaina continued towards the cabin, dragging the stag beneath a partially covered awning that Sylvanas had originally thought existed for gardening purposes. She heaved the carcass onto a workbench, then wiped at her face with her hand. All it accomplished was smearing the blood even more. It was then that Sylvanas noticed her hands and arms were wrought of dark and twisted wood again. 

Jaina pointed to the hilt of the hunting knife tucked into Sylvanas' boot. "Can I borrow that?"

"Only if you give it back." Even as Sylvanas said it, she reached down to pass it over. Arthur shifted on her shoulder so that he could maintain his balance. 

Jaina took the knife. She carefully ran her thumb across its edge. The moment she did so, the woodgrain began to crawl down her arms, retracting into her skin until her hands were mere flesh once more. "I thought your people preferred gold over silver."

"If you are referring to the sin'dorei, you would be correct. But my family liked to give me gifts of silver as a reminder of my namesake." 

Jaina took a moment to admire the blade. "It's a fine piece of craftsmanship," she said. Then with a fluid motion she stuck its point into the deer's stomach, cutting a slit from its neck all the way down its belly. "You wanted to talk to me about my -- how did you put it? -- appalling cavalry numbers?"

With a glance at the raven on her shoulder, Sylvanas said, "Arthur, give us some privacy."

Arthur waited for Jaina's nod before he took flight and winged off back over the trees. 

“Well, now I’m worried,” said Jaina dryly, even as she returned to gutting the stag. She worked quickly and efficiently, dumping the organs into a bucket on the ground -- all but for the heart, which she carefully severed from the carcass. When she pulled it free, she inspected it thoroughly before setting it aside in a wicker basket on a corner of the benchtop.

Leaning against the wall of the cabin, Sylvanas crossed her arms in a creak of leather and chainmail. “An unexpected guest has shown up at my door at Swiftwind Post.”

"Are we playing a guessing game this time?" Using the knife, Jaina began to make strategic cuts in the deer's hide. "Was it Lady Ashvane? She is the type to be lured by the promise of coin, of which you seem to have plenty to spare."

Sylvanas watched as Jaina set aside the knife on the counter in order to lift the carcass onto a hook from the awning's frame so that the stag's head dangled almost to the ground. She would have offered her help, but Jaina hauled the dead weight around with surprising ease. 

"No," Sylvanas murmured. "In fact, it was your mother."

Jaina went stock still. Beneath the bloody smears, her face paled. She turned slowly to stare. "What?" she rasped.

"Lord Stormsong has proclaimed himself Lord Admiral, and she has lost the support of the Navy due to her lack of an Heir," Syvlanas explained. 

Jaina's hands were trembling slightly. She swallowed. "Does she -? Did you tell her about -?"

Sylvanas shook her head. 

A sigh of relief escaped Jaina. She chewed at her lower lip, then snatched up the knife, gripping it tight, and turned back to the carcass. "Good," she said. Then repeated more firmly. "That's good. That's -" Jaina had begun to use the knife to peel the hide starting at the stag's hind legs, but stopped. "Why didn't you tell her?"

There was suspicion in her voice. She was gripping the hunting knife in a white-knuckled grasp, her hands slicked red and gory. 

Sylvanas cocked her head and replied calmly. "Should I have?" 

"I don't know. I am trying to think of what you have to gain by coming to me first. Or maybe you're lying again."

"You can come to Swiftwind Post and see for yourself. She's currently terrorising my Dark Ranger at cards. I'm sure Anya would see your intervention as a kindness," Sylvanas offered with a shrug. "Or you can just ask Arthur."

Immediately Jaina shook her head. With jerky motions, she set the knife back down and began tugging the hide free in a single unbroken sheet with nothing but her bare hands. "No. I'm not ready. I can't -" Jaina drew in a deep shaky breath, and pulled hard on the hide. "I can't talk to her yet."

"I understand." 

Blinking in shock, Jaina stopped and turned her wide-eyed gaze upon Sylvanas. 

"Family reunions can be difficult. Especially when they thought you were dead. Or worse." Sylvanas gestured to herself. "So, yes. I understand. And I will keep my silence. It is, after all, not my secret to tell."

Jaina's shoulders sagged in relief. Some of the colour was returning to her cheeks. "Thank you," she breathed. "I did not expect that of you. In fact, I - I owe you an apology."

Grimacing as though at a bad taste in her mouth, Sylvanas waved that notion aside. "I would prefer it if you didn't."

But Jaina continued as though Sylvanas hadn’t said anything. "I misjudged you. And for that I’m sorry. I thought you would use this as leverage against me somehow."

Her expression was far too sincere. It made Sylvanas uncomfortable. She much preferred it when Jaina was acting lofty and bored. So, of course she said, "I haven't ruled that out, mind you. I’m not above a little blackmail." 

"You won't. Not with this, you won’t.”

The confidence with which Jaina said that and returned to her task was perhaps the most aggravating part about this entire encounter. Mostly because she was right. Sylvanas hated it when she was right. How utterly infuriating. 

Jaina wiped the bloodied knife clean and handed it back. “You said silver was a reminder of your namesake?”

“A nickname. My sisters used to call me Lady Moon.” Sylvanas propped her foot atop the bucket of offal in order to sheathe her hunting knife once more in her boot. Its silver handle gleamed at her calf, always within easy reach. 

“And I presume they didn’t take it very well?” In explanation, Jaina made an all-encompassing gesture at Sylvanas. 

“They did not.” 

Most times, Alleria refused to talk to her. When she did, it always ended up in a screaming match, which benefited no one. And Vereesa spoke to her as though speaking over a grave. Everything in the past tense. Lots of tears involved. Sylvanas could hardly stand it. Not to mention, she wasn’t allowed anywhere near her nephews. Both for being Undead and for being Horde. 

But as Lucille had said: family was….complicated. 

Jaina had returned to skinning the deer. She seemed more relaxed now. She certainly didn’t give the impression that she wanted to be alone. Sylvanas had learned from her last visit that Jaina could, at will, have an aura of menace that rivalled her own. But she didn’t have that now. 

“When was the last time you saw Katherine?” Sylvanas asked. 

Giving a particularly vicious yank downwards on the deer hide, so that it peeled away from the membrane that attached it to muscle, Jaina grunted. “At the gallows in Unity Square. She made me watch them hang Tandred. And later that night, she had a loyal guardsman put a bag over my head and drag me to Drustvar.”

Sylvanas frowned. “Human ages are strange to elves, but twelve seems rather young even for humans.”

“It is.” Another vicious tug at the hide. She pulled it over the carcass’ shoulders. “My brothers were quite a bit older than me. Tandred was nineteen when he died.” 

“Hmm.” Sylvanas nodded. “There’s an age gap between myself and my siblings as well.”

“Oh?”

“That’s not an invitation for me to talk about them, though.”

Jaina snorted. “Hypocrite.” 

Gamely accepting the accusation with a shrug, Sylvanas said, “I will make sure Katherine stays at Swiftwind Post, so you don’t go running into her by accident. I propose our future meetings to discuss the coming battles be either at the Horde encampment on the Eastern Cliffs, or here. Whichever you prefer.” 

At last Jaina managed to tear the hide the last of the way free. It peeled back like the rind of a nectarine from the incisions around the stag’s neck and legs, so that she held it up in one sheet, perfectly intact. She folded it into a roll, and then placed it on the ground by the workbench to be dealt with later. Wiping at her brow with the back of one hand, Jaina nodded towards her. “Do you still have that token of mine?”

Jaina was holding out her other hand, still grimy with dried blood. Digging around in one of the leather pouches at her belt, Sylvanas passed the fang to her without question. Jaina took it and without another word, stepped around the deer carcass and started walking around the cottage. Puzzled, Sylvanas followed. A short stint found them both standing near the front entrance, where Jaina unexpectedly squatted down on the ground. Daubing a bit of coagulated blood from her clothes onto her fingers, she drew a series of runes on the ground. When she whispered in an ancient unintelligible tongue, the sound echoed faintly on the breeze, and the hair on the back of Sylvanas’ arms and neck stood on end. 

The fang hung from its string over the runes, suspended in air even when Jaina let go of it. As soon as she finished mumbling whatever spell she was casting, the fang dropped to the ground with surprising weight, heavy as a lodestone. 

Clearing her throat, Jaina picked up the fang and stood. She casually handed it back to Sylvanas as though nothing out of the ordinary had just happened. “There,” Jaina said. “If you ask this token nicely, it will now teleport you to this spot.” She indicated the runes on the ground with her foot. “And when you use it again, it will return you to the exact location you were before.” 

Rather than be pleased, Sylvanas glared at her. “You couldn’t have given this to me sooner? You know it takes at least three days to get here?”

“I didn’t trust you sooner.”

With a disdainful sniff, Sylvanas nevertheless stuck the fang back into her pouch. “I don’t suppose you have a map inside? We should go over a few things while I’m here.”

“I do. But I was rather hoping to take a bath before it grows dark. In case you haven’t noticed -” Jaina gestured to the blood and mud caked onto her clothes, her arms and legs, even on her braid. “- I’m filthy.”

“Tomorrow?” 

Jaina thought about it before saying, “I should be free in the evening, yes. So long as you don’t mind if I eat while we talk about military matters.” 

“Fine,” Sylvanas relented. "I meant what I said, by the way.”

Blinking in confusion, Jaina said, “About what?”

“Your cavalry numbers really are abysmal."

Jaina laughed.

--

When Jaina had said she needed to ‘ask the token nicely,’ Sylvanas hadn’t thought she had meant that literally. Standing in her private quarters at Swiftwind Post, Sylvanas held the fang by its string. 

"Take me to Jaina," she said. 

Nothing happened. 

With a scowl, she lifted it to eye level. "Take me to Jaina," she growled, then added, "Please."

There was a wrenching sensation in her gut, as though a harpoon had been lodged in her stomach and then yanked. A whirl of colour and darkness, and suddenly she was standing on the glyph of blood marked outside of Jaina's cabin. She stuffed the fang back into her pouch, then knocked on the door. 

Jaina opened it and waved her inside with a wooden cooking spoon, "Shoes off, please." 

It took Sylvanas a moment to rid herself of her greaves and boots, leaving them at the door along with her weapons. Jaina had already disappeared back inside. The skull mask greeted her on its hook by the exit. Closing the door behind her, Sylvanas stepped further into the living room.

The house was filled with the smells of cooking. Jaina was already spooning herself a serving of what appeared to be a hearty stew into a bowl. She did not offer any to Sylvanas. That suited Sylvanas just fine; she did not like eating unless absolutely necessary. Usually that necessity was due to the living wanting her to keep up appearances for their sake. She had not needed to eat to sustain herself for years. And ridding her stomach of whatever she consumed was always messy. 

This time, the table before the fireplace was stretched with a map of Drustvar. It was far more detailed than the one in Sylvanas' outposts. Extra notes had been scribbled here and there in Jaina's cramped handwriting. Most notably were the addition of extra sites that Sylvanas had never encountered during her time here. All with the 'Gol' preffix before their names. Drust sites, then. 

Jaina sat in the same chair she had frequented last time, gesturing for Sylvanas to take the nearby couch again. She tucked into her stew, balancing the bowl in her lap so she could study the map while she ate. "You'll be pleased to know that I've managed to levy an extra five hundred infantry."

Sylvanas' eyebrows rose. "Since yesterday, you mean?"

Spoon in her mouth, Jaina nodded smugly. 

"You work quickly," Sylvanas murmured. She sat on the couch, resting her elbows upon her knees and leaning over the map. She pointed at Fletcher's Hollow. "Ah, yes. I see them here. Do you have a spare pen I might use?"

"Mmm!" Jaina hummed a note of affirmation around a mouthful of food. She set the bowl down on the map, and went to bustle around a bookshelf. When she returned, she handed Sylvanas a quill and inkwell. 

"Thank you," Sylvanas murmured, taking the items. 

She pulled a small ledger from a pouch at her belt, a mirror of the larger one she kept at each Horde outpost. While she updated it, Jaina sat back down and returned to her meal. 

Sylvanas looked up from her notes. “I don’t suppose you’ve acquired any more cannons in the last twenty four hours as well?”

“We now have a total of fifty,” Jaina said. “And roughly two thousand artillerymen to man and supply them.” 

Flipping to another page in the little notebook, Sylvanas scratched a few figures onto the parchment. “Make it one hundred guns and four thousand artillerymen.”

“We can’t. We simply don’t have that number.”

Sylvanas shot her an exasperated look. “No, I am giving you those numbers.”

Eyes narrowing in suspicion, Jaina’s chewing slowed. She swallowed, then said, “You told me you weren’t storing munitions at your sites.”

Sylvanas blinked innocently at her. “I wasn’t.”

“Sylvanas.”

Lifting one shoulder in an elfin half shrug, Sylvanas said, “I was stowing them offshore. In Suramar, if you must know. And since it’s only four weeks to sail from Drustvar to Suramar, I ordered them to begin shipment three weeks ago. They will arrive here just in time for whatever action we may require.”

Jaina made an irritated noise.

“You can hardly be angry with me for being a bit inventive,” Sylvanas said.

“I can. And I will.”

In reply Sylvanas rolled her eyes. She lowered the notebook and pen into her lap, hand poised to continue writing. “I received news from Zandalar recently. We managed to sign a treaty. They are now going to be counted among the ranks of the Horde. Which means we’ll have ships to help break the siege of Fallhaven come spring.”

Slowly Jaina lowered her spoon back into her bowl. She regarded Sylvanas carefully. “Congratulations, I suppose.”

“Thank you.” 

“Another notch for your belt.”

Sylvanas sniffed. “How crude.” 

“But true.” Setting aside her bowl as though she had lost her appetite, Jaina said, “Don’t ship them off just yet. I’ll need to ensure we can properly support them. Food isn’t a problem of course, but other supplies might be.” 

“And how many battlemages do you have in total now?” Sylvanas asked.

“House Waycrest has none they can spare. Many either died during the incursion a few years ago, or are no longer able to fight. Too young. Too old. Too injured.” Crossing her legs and leaning back in her seat, Jaina said, “But I personally have about forty druids that we can field. Including myself.” 

Sylvanas could feel her eyebrows rise in spite of herself. Back when she was the Ranger-General of Silvermoon, battlemages were parcelled out to her very rarely. She’d had to rely far more heavily upon standardised artillery than upon mages in wartime. Even now as Warchief of the Horde, having forty mages attached to a single division was -- in short -- a luxury. 

Mages were both like and unlike fancy artillery pieces. On the one hand, you couldn’t just order in a new set from some goblin factory. But on the other hand, they could win you the battle through feats of raw firepower alone. Quite literally, in some cases. 

“And you expect that we won’t finish until next year?” Sylvanas said incredulously. “When you have forty battlemages?” 

“Druids,” Jaina corrected. 

Sylvanas waved away the technicality. “Do the Ashvanes even have battlemages of their own?”

“We have to assume they are still using Tidesages for now.” Sighing, Jaina rubbed at her forehead. “Have your backup artillery and soldiers ready to march for Barrowknoll soon. We’ll group just north of Swiftwind Post, and move from there.” 

“Have there been any Ashvane movements that I should be aware of?”

“None yet. But there will be. Call it a hunch.”

“One you can see from orbit.” Checking to see if her words were dry on the pages, Sylvanas set aside the quill and ink. She snapped her little notebook shut. “In any case, you look tired, and I should take my leave for the evening.” 

Still kneading at her brow, Jaina gave a little murmur of appreciation. Sylvanas rose to her feet and turned to leave. Jaina said nothing further on her way out, though Sylvanas paused at in the entryway. 

The skull mask watched her. And just below it on the ground was the singed little wicker effigy made by Mace. She had not noticed it when she had first entered the cabin. Now, a chill raced across her skin. She glanced over her shoulder, but Jaina was scowling down at the map and scrawling more notes on its surface. 

Jaina must have felt the weight of Sylvanas' gaze upon her, for suddenly she looked up. She smiled, but it did not seem to reach her eyes. "Good night. Will you come around again tomorrow."

"The day after," Sylvanas answered. "I have a few things of my own to attend to."

"I look forward to it."

Yanking open the door, Sylvanas stepped outside and left. 

--

Even when she had been alive, she had always been suspicious of events going according to plan. There was always something that threw a wrench into the mix, so to speak. Over the next week, Sylvanas kept a watchful eye out for any such wrench, and was stymied when she could not find it. 

The ships from Suramar arrived, slipping up the eastern coast of Drustvar and past the Ashvane forces without any hassle, even though Sylvanas had contingency plans put in place just in case. Her rangers were not needed to save the ships from a watery grave, and the arrival of guns and artillerymen were well received. Jaina and Lucille had both been equal parts thrilled and relieved to hear the news. 

Mostly relieved, if she were being honest. And she could hardly blame them. One could never have too much artillery. Back when she had been Ranger-General of Silvermoon, her troops had teased her for her increased emphasis on artillery, calling them 'Windrunner's Kings.' The artillery division had even given themselves patches with a crown insignia on their uniforms, a fact which Sylvanas had always dreaded would make its way back to Kael'thas one day. And indeed there had been political hell to pay for a few years when it had. 

The arrival of more artillery did little to brighten her mood, however. Sylvanas approached the Highmountain Druid assigned to Katherine one day, questioning him about the Drust. He proved himself next to useless. While he thought the Drust odd, he could find no fault with their magic even if it was rather more macabre than most other Druidic schools. When he started droning on about 'the balance between life and death' and 'the fascinating equilibrium of mortality,' Sylvanas lost all interest. 

If there was one thing she had never been good at, it was listening to long-winded explanations of magic. And Druids were the worst sort. Always on about vague mysticism this, and restoring the balance that. What drivel. 

Jaina herself was no help either. Now that Sylvanas could take frequent visits without wasting precious time, she did so. Based on how long it had taken her to convince Jaina to agree to this arrangement in the first place, Sylvanas had prepared herself for the worst. As it turned out, Jaina was surprisingly cooperative now. Mostly this seemed to extend to the fact that Sylvanas had not told Katherine about her daughter. 

And even Katherine was not as difficult to deal with as Sylvanas had originally thought. The world really was coming to an end. When Sylvanas started probing for more information about the information Katherine had received during the Drust incursion, the Lord Admiral merely leaned back in her chair before the fireplace with a mournful look.

“This is what you interrupted my game of cards for?” Katherine asked, though she sounded more weary than belligerent. “I would have beaten your little Ranger again, too, given a few more minutes.”

“I have no doubt of that. Tea?” Sylvanas offered a cup, pouring it from a pot and adding a splash of milk. It had been how she’d lured Katherine away in the first place. 

“Thank you.” Katherine held out her hand and took the cup and saucer. “Why the sudden interest in the Drust incursion?”

Sylvanas propped her ankle atop her opposite knee, sitting with one leg splayed. She did not partake in any tea herself. “Originally, I’d thought you only had two children, but I’ve recently learned you had three. A daughter. Jaina.” 

The cup stopped dead in its tracks before Katherine could take that first sip. She set it back upon its saucer, then balanced both atop the arm of her chair. “I did,” she said softly. 

“What happened?” Sylvanas asked. She kept her voice delicate and aloof.

With a sigh, Katherine picked up the cane that was leaning against her bad leg. For a moment Sylvanas thought she was going to push herself upright and hobble away, but Katherine only turned the cane between her fingers, as though admiring the falcon head wrought from pure polished silver. “It’s not that complicated, really. She developed magical talents very young. Her father and I fought about it. There’s no magic blood innate in his side of the family, you see. So, of course it was all my fault. And then he wanted to cloister her away with the Tidesages, to live out her days as some mute, robed Sister.”

Katherine snorted in derision and shook her head, falling silent. Sylvanas said nothing. She waited for her to continue. 

“I thought that by sending her away to the Drust, I was protecting her. And then -” Katherine gave a wave of her hand. “For naught. In the end, I might as well have let Daelin send her to the Monastery. Grief comes for you in strange ways,” she mused, fiddling with her cane. “The news came to me over a week after she had died. Somehow, the idea of her being alive was a hope in and of itself. And after I knew she was gone, I saw emptiness everywhere.” Then she gave an unexpected snort. “I was even sad to hear the Old Bear had passed away.”

“Old Bear?” Sylvanas repeated, puzzled.

“Ulfar. The last of the great High Thornspeakers.” Katherine smiled wistfully at the flames dancing in the hearth. “I remember my grandfather telling me tales when I was a child of Ulfar haunting the forests and mountains. A great bear lashed together by bone and vines that would protect the animals from greedy hunters by eating their livers.” 

She chortled, and Sylvanas shot her a puzzled look. Kul Tirans had a very queer sense of whimsy, indeed.

“From what I understand,” Sylvanas said. “The last time she was seen in Boralus was at her brother’s gallows.”

Katherine went white. She jerked in her seat so suddenly she nearly sent the teacup and saucer crashing onto the floor. “Who told you that?”

In reply, Sylvanas only shrugged. 

Setting down her cane to steady the cup, Katherine took a moment to collect herself. She fussed over the spot of tea she had spilled onto the saucer before answering, “Whoever your sources are, they’re very good.”

“They also wish to remain anonymous,” Sylvanas said. 

“Hmm.” Katherine pursed her lips. She took a sip of the tea. “It’s true. And she was wroth with me. As wrathful as only a child can be. But it served its purpose.”

“What purpose?”

“Well, she never did try to come back when her father was still Lord Admiral, did she?” Katherine gave her a thin smile and added, “Better angry with me and alive, than the alternative.”

--

Through the second story window, Sylvanas was overlooking the valley below Swiftwind Post when she received the news. In her hand, she toyed with the fang token, rolling the texture of it between her fingers. She hummed to herself idly, a half forgotten tune of home. The notes lingered in the dusty corners of the room that she called her own here in Drustvar. This place could not have been less like Quel’Thalas, yet the memory of home had washed over her today like a storm. 

“You’re in a good mood,” remarked Nathanos from the doorway behind her. 

The song trailed off in the back of her throat, but her next words still held onto it, as though reluctant to let it go. "There's no threat of the Legion. We have signed a treaty with Zandalar. We have the Alliance on the back foot. And we are on the cusp of instigating a revolt in foreign lands." Sylvanas said. Her reflection in the glass smiled, and she turned around to face him. "I haven't had this much fun in years."

"Perhaps I should caution you on having too much fun." Nathanos gave Jaina’s token a pointed look.

Sylvanas stiffened. Her hand gripped the fang so tightly she could feel its point dig into the leather of her glove. She aimed a glower at him and stashed the token away again. All levity vanished. "And perhaps you should hold your tongue."

He inclined his head in a quiet apology. But what he said was, “I do not share your ease, I’m afraid. This whole situation feels off. I keep expecting to find something behind every corner. Like a Draenei nesting doll. Hosts within hosts within hosts.”

Her mouth twisted to one side, but her ears cocked inquisitively. “Yes,” she said. “I can understand that sentiment.” 

Nathanos held up a small scroll, the kind that was usually wrapped around Arthur’s leg. “The High Thornspeaker has sent another message.” 

In reply, Sylvanas held out her hand. He crossed the room and gave it to her, then stood back in respectful silence while she unfurled it. Her crimson gaze skimmed across the message. She looked at him over the scroll, then handed it back to him. 

“Assemble the troops,” she said. “We march on Barrowknoll tomorrow morning.” 

With a bow, Nathanos turned heel and left to do as ordered. 

It took two days for a division of twelve thousand soldiers to march west for the hills due south of Barrowknoll. Sylvanas was used to personally commanding more impressive forces -- at the very least whole corps fifty thousand strong -- but she had fond memories of smaller detachments like this. Back when little had been expected of her, when her older sister was next in line to inherit the title of Ranger-General of Silvermoon, and Sylvanas was left to the excitement of border skirmishes and tactical missions with a trusted coterie of colonels and captains at her beck and call. 

Now, Sylvanas rode, bored, at the head of a force her younger self would have been eager to command. The horse beneath her clattered softly with every step, the rattle of its bones muted only somewhat by a saddle and royal drapery. She had been able to summon a skeletal horse to ride. This far east, Jaina’s iron-clad will over the dead was not as strong as it was in the heart of the Crimson Forest, allowing Sylvanas to snap her fingers and bones to rush from the ground with soothing familiarity. 

What wasn’t so soothing was the Lord Admiral’s presence at her side. Katherine rode as though she had been born in a saddle. Her wound did little to diminish her skill. Her bad leg was set in a brace, and her silver-headed cane strapped where a cavalry sword would have normally sat for easy access. She wasn’t the chatty sort -- thank the Sun -- but Sylvanas always had the impression that Katherine’s silences were secretly passing judgement. As though every order Sylvanas issued could have somehow been improved. Sylvanas ignored her as best she could, speaking instead to her rangers to pass the time.

On the end of the second day, they met Jaina and Lucille at the foothills southeast of the pass from Arom’s Stand. The two divisions combined created a motley army, all a-clash with colour and equipment. If Sylvanas had been younger -- and alive-- the lack of standardisation and coherence would have given her hives. As it was, she merely wrinkled her nose.

Sylvanas was already ordering camp to be made for the night, when Jaina and Lucille rode up to greet them. While Lucille sat astride a smoke-dark charger, Jaina’s mount was a more unconventional stag. It looked like the Wild God from the forest, but smaller and with a less lustrous white coat -- an offspring of Athair, perhaps. With her skull mask, and her dark mantle of leaves, and a massive raven perched on her shoulder, she looked every inch a High Thornspeaker. 

Straightening in her saddle, Sylvanas said, “You’re not looking so unkempt today, Arthur. Did you finally discover the joys of a bath?”

The raven on Jaina’s shoulder snapped its beak in reply. Sylvanas lifted an eyebrow in surprise. 

"That's enough of that now, Adalyn," Jaina chided. Then she turned to Sylvanas. "Don't mind her. She's just very protective."

"I can see that,” Sylvanas murmured. “I trust the mountains weren’t too difficult to cross?”

Lucille shrugged and answered, “They could have been worse. We won’t be getting back over them anytime soon, though.” 

At Sylvanas’ side, Katherine shortened her grip on the reins when her horse stamped an impatient hoof and began pawing at the soft ground. “You must be the new High Thornspeaker.” She nodded curtly to Jaina in a greeting. "Katherine Proudmoore. Lord Admiral."

"I know," Jaina answered. Her voice was even and cool.

Frowning in confusion at this chilly reception, Katherine remarked, "You're not a bear. Or any other type of animal."

"No. But I can be."

"And what is your name?" Katherine asked.

Jaina's answer was wintry. "You may call me: High Thornspeaker."

An uncomfortable silence descended over them. Eventually, Lucille cleared her throat awkwardly and jerked her head for Katherine to follow her. “If you’d like to come with me, Katherine.”

“I think I would.” Katherine shot Jaina one last puzzled look, then kneed her horse to trail after Lucille’s. The two of them rode off towards the Waycrest camp.

Sylvanas watched them go. “Follow them,” she said to Velonara and Tatanka. “Keep reporting back, as you have been.”

Both nodded, and went after the pair, leaving Jaina and Sylvanas alone. Apart from Adalyn, who continued to glower at Sylvanas with a peculiarly corvid intensity, and Nathanos, who matched Jaina’s raven bodyguard glare for glare. 

“Well then,” Sylvanas said after another moment of awkward silence. “I thought that was a good start.”

“Don’t,” Jaina warned, her tone dark and echoing beneath the mask. 

“I am being very sincere right now.”

“Sylvanas.”

Throwing caution to the wind, Sylvanas continued talking, “To be honest, I am disappointed. There wasn’t a single punch thrown.” 

And with a sound of disgust, Jaina wheeled her stag around, riding off towards her own Drust troops. 

After she had gone, Nathanos said, “Remember what I said about having too much fun?”

“In fact, I had already forgotten,” Sylvanas drawled. “But I am sure you’ll remind me.”

He bowed in the saddle. “Only doing my duty for my Queen.” 

“Yes, that is the problem.”

--

On the third day, they rode north, abandoning their hold on anything further south than Swiftwind Post. The only thing Sylvanas thought they had accomplished by holding out for so long to the south was depleting Asvhane’s resources. It seemed to do very little however. House Ashvane had very deep pockets, and a liberal manner with gold. Indeed, a few Waycrest troops had been lured over to wear the red by virtue of higher pay alone. Sylvanas had thought Jaina would be angry at this blatant act of disloyalty, but when Velonara reported back on figures lost, Jaina just sighed and updated her ledgers.

By mid morning of the fourth day, their combined forces had at last reached Barrowknoll. Rising up on her stirrups, Sylvanas looked out across the fields. The river Reilig wended its way through the town of Barrownknoll, forded by two bridges, both heavily guarded by Ashvane forces to the east. There would be no crossing there. Not without a bloody battle on their hands. Bloodier by far than what they could hope for here at the town proper. On the easternmost side of the town, a graveyard sprawled with tombstones of various sizes and states of weathering. It surrounded a church, which milled with artillerymen loading carts of munitions onto oxen-pulled wagons. Further east on their side of the river, a swamp spread in a great mass, extending nearly all the way to the first bridge. 

The only feature worth taking at this point was a rolling hill just south of the riverbend in which Barrowknoll was nestled. Pulling sharply back on the reins, Sylvanas nodded towards the hill. “We should establish our artillery there and shell the town.”

“I agree,” Jaina said promptly, while Katherine nodded in approval. 

“Are we confident the town has been evacuated of all civilians?” Lucille asked.

“Do you hear that, Velonara?” Sylvanas drawled. “Lady Waycrest doubts your reconnaissance.” 

“That’s not -! No, I just mean -!” Lucille spluttered, while Sylvanas and Velonara watched her flounder with amusement. 

Poor girl. She wouldn’t have survived five minutes in an elvish army. The teasing would have killed her stone dead. 

Jaina did not let this go on for long. “I’ve had a raven fly over the area closely. There are no civilians. They’ve all fled north to Fallhaven.”

Casting her a curious glance, Sylvanas asked, “Arthur?” 

But Jaina shook her head. “No. He wanted to fight. He’s in the infantry ranks.”

Sylvanas opened her mouth, realised she was going to protest, and then closed it again with a frown. 

Meanwhile, Katherine had spurred her horse forward. “Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s set up the artillery, and then rain fire down on these bastards.”

A number of guardsmen, including the Highmountain Druid Sylvanas had assigned, went trotting after Katherine’s horse as she rode towards the hill. Lucille followed, pulling her horse up beside Katherine, who had already begun barking out curt decisive orders with the kind of inherent authority that had Waycrest officers leaping to attention. 

Sylvanas watched all this, and said aside to Jaina in a low voice so that her words would not carry, “Your mother certainly has spirit.”

She couldn’t see any expression beneath the mask, but Jaina’s head turned towards her with a distinctly exasperated air. And rather than reply, Jaina urged the stag to chase after Lucille and Katherine. 

It took the better part of three hours to get all of the artillery into place. Oxen pulling massive carts strained at their yokes, leaving deep grooves in the wet earth behind them. Their handlers hauled at their nose rings, coaxing the oxen up the hill and into position where their goods could be unloaded. While the artillerymen carefully placed their cannons and took measurements to judge the range between them and the town, the rest of the army began to dig into the southeast of the hill in anticipation of battle. Only a stone’s throw away from their artillery, but sheltered enough by the slope that they would not be caught in the enemy crossfire. 

Sylvanas trained a spyglass on the enemy within the town, watching them do much the same. Soldiers in bold red coats scurried about in front of the church and all along the bend of the riverbank. They peered down the length of their own tools and and spyglasses. They adjusted their guns to point just so, reacting to every new order given by the unlikely Alliance between the Drust, House Waycrest, and the Horde. By the end, both battalions were sweating despite the cold damp atmosphere of Drustvar, and not a single shot had been fired yet. 

By the time they started exchanging barrages, the groundworks were nearing completion and Katherine was being poured her first cup of tea. The roar of the cannons was so loud it made the air tremble. Katherine spilled tea all down the front of her greatcoat.

“Oh, blast!” She swore. "They couldn't have warned us before they started?"

“I would have thought you’d be used to a bit of cannon fire by now,” Lucille pointed out.

Katherine scoffed. “It doesn’t work like that.” When Tatanka passed her a delicately embroidered handkerchief from one of his pouches, she murmured, “Thank you, my dear.”

When Sylvanas shot him an odd look, the Tauren shrugged his massive shoulders. “She made it for me.”

“That does not make this any better,” she growled.

“Oh, do calm down,” Katherine sighed. “Have a cup with me. You too, over there.” She waved over Jaina. “Or do you really never take off that bloody thing?”

Upon being addressed by her mother, Jaina’s already rigid posture seemed to go impossibly more tense. She mutely shook her head, turned, and strode away towards the Horde and Drust troops, which were working further east along the battlements. 

Lifting her now refilled up of tea to her lips, Katherine sipped contemplatively. She studied Jaina’s retreating back over the rim of her cup. “Your High Thornspeaker isn't very talkative," she remarked to Lucille.

“Ah, no,” said Lucille. “I mean -- sometimes she can be a bit -- well, she’s very -- uhm --”

At a loss for what to say and not give everything away, she cast Sylvanas an imploring glance. Shaking her head in exasperation, Sylvanas went back to her skeletal horse and lifted herself easily into the saddle. She tugged at the reins, wheeling the steed sharply around, and said to Lucille, “Give me your cavalry.” 

Lucille blinked up at her. “What for?”

“For their primary purpose: scouting.” 

“Just give them to her,” Katherine said. “She’s going to be boorish about it. I can tell. Always needs something to do, that one.” 

Sylvanas didn’t dignify that with a response. She waited for Lucille’s reply. 

“Very well,” Lucille relented. “Go. Scout.”

“Velonara, stay here. Nathanos, keep our High Thornspeaker company. Anya, with me.” Pointing to each of them in turn, Sylvanas did not wait for Anya to mount up before she was urging her skeletal horse forward. She could hear Anya swearing in Thalassian behind her as she tried to mount up and follow quickly enough. 

The cavalry Captain, a burly bearded man by the name of Hayles, was puzzled and initially suspicious of being ordered about by the likes of the Warchief of the Horde. But he did not question it much, despite his obvious displeasure. When Sylvanas fixed him with a crimson glare, he shoved his helm onto his head and mounted up with the rest of his battalion, grumbling all the while. 

Sylvanas led them towards the river Reilig, sweeping wide of the bend to avoid the back and forth barrage of artillery fire between the two sides. Even so, sprays of mud would explode near enough for the living horses to shy. The cavalrymen had quick hands on their reins, easily holding formation as they rode. 

There was a fork in the river on the western side of the town. Sylvanas pulled her skeletal steed to a halt at the first branch, then rode up and down the bank a few paces. She stood up in her stirrups to get a better look at the water until she found a suitable spot. 

"Here," she said, digging her heels into the horse's bare ribs out of habit alone. It only needed the lightest of touch at the reins to do her bidding.

The skeletal mount splashed out into the water, fording the river. Hayles, Anya, and the others followed. At the deepest point of these shallows, the water just barely reached the horses’ chests. Deep enough to dissuade an infantry advance, but not deep enough to completely discount it. Certainly easy enough to ford for cavalry. 

On the other side of the river, the Ashvane troops had long since noticed their presence. Now, red and white coated cavalry in far greater numbers than their own shadowed their movements. Hayles kept a grim eye upon them, drawing his sabre and resting it expertly against his shoulder as he rode a length behind Sylvanas. Meanwhile, she ignored the enemy cavalry utterly for now, paying more attention to the landscape. 

The next branch in the fork was shallower still than the first. She kept her distance. The Ashvane cavalry captain across the way was close enough that she could see the eagerness on his face beneath his crested helm. He appeared young. Hungry for a fight. Clearly he believed his numbers advantage would win him anything. He didn't realise exactly who it was that waited for him on the other side of the water. For a moment Sylvanas considered baiting him across the river for a bit of a skirmish just for the fun of it -- she had been cooped up for far too long on these rain-lousy islands, and the idea of luring a headstrong youth to his untimely demise was, admittedly, very appealing -- but eventually after a few hours of scouting and posturing, she turned the cavalry battalion back towards the southeast. She could almost hear the sigh of relief from Hayles behind her. 

The artillery barrage had not slowed during their time along the Reilig. They had arrived in the late morning, and already the sun was beginning its descent towards the horizon behind the thick bank of cloud that covered the sky. All along the fields between the hill and the town, the earth was churned up with great gouge marks from the cannonballs ripping into the ground. In the distance, the town's buildings had been mostly reduced to rubble. Only a few houses furthest away from the river had escaped unscathed. The church's belltower had collapsed. Holes riddled its wooden roof, and the air was filled with an acrid smoke so thick it was difficult to see the enemy artillerymen loading their guns. 

The cavalry had to weave their way between patches of relatively flat earth so that the horses would not break their legs. Much to Sylvanas' dismay, a drizzle had started up. The craters in the ground were starting to fill with water. Her own cloak was thoroughly damp as well. She would give her ears a periodic flick to rid them of rain, to very little effect. Anya would do the same. Hayles and the rest of the Waycrest cavalry on the other hand seemed unperturbed by the change in weather.

As they rode up behind the artillery, Sylvanas could see that the infantry had made temporary camp behind their groundworks. Soldiers were beginning to serve themselves dinner, settling in for a long evening. Every few minutes, a cannon would go off with a recoil that shoved the entire artillery piece back a few meters, and a group of twenty to thirty men would rush about like a swarm of bees to get it back into position for another round of firing. After each blast, a flinch would shiver through the ranks of infantry and cavalry nearby. Sylvanas could tell just by the reactions which were veterans and which were green bloods. 

Most, she was pleased to see, appeared to have seen battle before. Surprising, considering how quickly Lucille had levied troops. The Ashvane ranks would be filled with new blood. The Navy marines would be tied to Lord Stormsong now, and Lady Ashvane would have thrown gold around to attract anyone young and foolish enough to have a gun shoved into their hands and a red coat draped across their shoulders. 

When Sylvanas dismounted and dismissed Captain Hayles for the evening, he grudgingly saluted with his sabre before sheathing it once more at his saddle. Meanwhile, Anya was already chatting up a few of the lower ranked cavalrymen, who were easily won over by a pretty face and the idea that they would get a few games of whist with their supper. Sylvanas left them to their fate -- knowing full well that Anya would clean out their pockets and leave them high and dry before the night's end -- and went in search of the command tent. 

No less than four guardsmen flanked the command tent's entrance. On one side, the Highmountain druid assigned to Katherine and a Forsaken heavy infantryman. On the other, a Waycrest guard in full plate and a Drust in the form of a sabre cat. The Drust sat on the ground like a sphynx, its gnarled, branch-like paws crossed almost primly. It glowered balefully at Sylvanas as she approached. 

"Good evening, Adalyn," Sylvanas greeted dryly.

A rumbling growl rolled from Adalyn's fanged mouth in response. 

Sylvanas ducked beneath the tent flap and entered. Inside, Lucille, Katherine and Velonara had their heads bent over a table bearing a detailed map of the area. Lucille was drawing notes directly onto the map with careful penmanship, while Katherine pointed to various places with a murmur and a frown. On the other side of the tent, Nathanos and Jaina were engaged in an unlikely alliance, conversing softly together in their own corner. Jaina of course still wore her mask. Luckily whoever had erected the tent had taken this into account, and made the ceiling high enough that neither she nor the Tauren outside would be at risk of puncturing the canvas with a stray antler. 

The moment Sylvanas stepped inside, all heads turned in her direction. She took a moment to clean off her muddy boots before venturing further in, but she still left prints in the rugs that had been strategically placed along the ground. 

"Did you learn anything of interest?" Katherine asked immediately. 

"I did." 

Sylvanas crossed over to the table. She was joined by Jaina and Nathanos so that they all crowded around the map. They stood so close together that Jaina's elbow jostled her own. Sylvanas made a motion towards Lucille, who handed over the pen. When she tried to mark the map however, she had to dip the nib into fresh ink before trying again.

"On the banks of the loop nearest enemy territory, the Ashvanes have built up groundworks anticipating a frontal assault on the church." Sylvanas drew a crescent-shaped line while she spoke. "Meanwhile to the west there are two areas where the river can easily be forded, should we decide to attack in that direction instead."

Leaning heavily on her cane, Katherine jerked her head towards the cluster of Waycrest troops represented by black tokens. Currently they were sitting alongside the green and purple tokens denoting the Drust and Horde forces respectively. "Lucille and I will ford the river. We'll take the Waycrest infantry and cavalry, and make the Ashvanes think we're going to push hard for their flank. They'll need to divert quite a few men to head us off. That should thin their ranks enough for you to take the town in a frontal assault."

When Lucille's name was spoken, she glanced at Katherine. Not with surprise, which Sylvanas had expected, but with gratitude that there would be an experienced guiding hand helping her along. She leaned forward to arrange the tokens as Katherine had suggested. When she had done so, suddenly the Ashvane forces holding the town were equal to the Drust and Horde's. They would still be holding a defensible position, though. And the numbers advantage granted by the Waycrest movements was better than mother, but unideal.. 

"Be aggressive, but not too aggressive," Jaina said. "I would hate to see the Lord Admiral shot down in a land battle." 

Katherine let loose a bark of laughter. "No. You're right. A Lord Admiral should die at sea, as the Tides intended." 

Remaining silent, Sylvanas licked at the backs of her teeth in a contemplative manner. Nathanos was watching her carefully. "Is there something wrong, my Queen?"

Sylvanas narrowed her eyes at the map. "No," she murmured after a moment. "It's a good plan. We will go ahead with it."

Katherine gave a curt nod, pleased at her plan being so easily approved by the others. "Well, Lucille," she said, starting to limp towards the exit. "We ought to find our own tents before it gets too late. Nothing like a poor night's sleep to ruin a battle."

"I will show you to yours." Lucille very nearly hopped to attention to follow after her.

In another life, she would have made an excellent Captain, given the chance and the right commander. Eager to please, but ultimately lacking in her own vision. Sylvanas had known many Ranger-Captains like her. Had she not been born to a Great House, she doubtlessly would have lived an unremarkable life. Which, to her credit, probably would have been preferable to the excitement that had already been crammed into her life so far. 

Turning to Nathanos and Velonara, Sylvanas said, "Give the orders. Make sure the officers know the plan."

With a bow, they too left. 

Outside, the non-stop clamour of artillery had crept to a desultory halt. Both sides would have been running low on munitions, keeping enough for the battle proper, but otherwise finished trading blows for now. The lamps that had been lit in the tent were now necessary to see, as night had swept over Drustvar. The sounds of soldiers and oxen and horses wound their way through the canvas walls. There was no such thing as privacy in a military camp. Everyone practically atop everyone else. And at any moment, someone might burst into the tent with report of enemy movements. 

Sylvanas picked up one of the red Ashvane tokens from the centre of the town map, and frowned at it. 

"Nathanos was right," Jaina said. "Something is troubling you."

Though the tent was now empty but for the two of them, Jaina had not moved away; they still stood close enough together that their arms brushed. Shaking her head, Sylvanas set the token back down, angling it so that the line of Waycrest forces was curved in an encircling crescent across the Reilig. 

"No," she said. "It’s fine."

The skull mask watched her impassively. "You're lying again. You know, I thought you'd be better at this."

"Battle?"

"No. Lying."

Shooting her an ugly look, Sylvanas rounded the table and headed for the exit. "You're the only person who's ever told me that."

"Not even your siblings?" Jaina followed, ducking to get through the canvas flap after Sylvanas. 

"We are not talking about my family," Sylvanas said firmly. 

That comment earned her an odd look from the remaining guards outside of the tent. Straightening her shoulders, Sylvanas stalked off in the direction of the artillery still lined up along the hill. She heard Jaina murmur something to Adalyn, and then footsteps trailing after her. The stench of gunsmoke still burned in the air, but it was fading. The winds were not as harsh here as they were further south. At least her Rangers would be pleased by this change of pace. 

She stopped when she had a good view of the town. Firelight flickered like motes of dust through the darkness. With the moon hidden behind a bank of cloud, the river snaked across the landscape, darkly gleaming. 

"I didn't think you would be the type to run away from a situation you didn't like," said Jaina's voice behind her. Jaina herself stepped forward so that they stood side by side, facing Barrowknoll. 

"The irony of you saying that does not escape me," Sylvanas countered. 

"At least I'm honest with myself."

"Do you always look for a fight when you're nervous?"

"I'm not looking for a fight."

"Then you might consider not baiting me further." Sylvanas' voice slipped to a lower note, something more dangerous. A warning. 

Jaina had no reply to that. They fell silent. Sylvanas was content to let that silence stretch, when Jaina asked, "What would you do, if you were me?"

Glancing over at her, Sylvanas raised her eyebrows. “You’re actually asking my opinion?”

“You’re here, aren’t you?”

“When has that ever made a difference?” 

“I’m curious. Indulge me.” When Sylvanas still said nothing, Jaina sighed. “You didn’t like my mother’s plan. Why?”

“I liked it just fine,” said Sylvanas evasively. “It’s very conventional.”

“But you don’t like conventional and obviously would do something different.”

Turning her eyes back to Barrowknoll, Sylvanas scanned the area for weaknesses through the gloom. The Ashvanes had gotten the upper hand in every regard. They had cut off the retreat to Fallhaven. They had taken the defensible position. They had more munitions, more soldiers, more time. Even if they simply waited, the combined Wacyrest, Horde and Drust forces would need to give up and find shelter or risk losing their lives to ice and disease through winter.

Well, the Waycrest and Drust, perhaps. Not her Undead. And maybe not the Drust, now that she thought about it. 

Sylvanas nodded, pointing to the east. “That swamp. They’re treating it like it’s an impassable wall. I would order the cavalry to screen our left flank. Then, I would throw everything at the centre, draw the enemy in, and when the fighting to the south starts to thicken, I would send an unarmoured division across by foot to flank them by surprise.”

“The artillery wouldn’t be able to support them,” Jaina said. “There’s no way you're getting cannons into that bog.”

With a shrug, Sylvanas replied, “If their sacrifice would mean my victory, then so be it.”

“Such sacrifices aren’t always necessary. And from what I understand, there aren’t many of your people that remain.”

“And to which people would you be referring?”

“You know which.” 

Pursing her lips, Sylvanas gazed out over the night-darkened fields. Beside her Jaina shifted her staff between her hands almost nervously. Noticing this, Sylvanas remarked, “You haven’t seen much battle, have you?”

“Not as much as you, perhaps. But I’ve seen enough,” Jaina answered, her tone grim. “Enough to know that being a military leader is not my first choice of professions, by any stretch of the imagination. Unlike some of us.”

Sylvanas peered sidelong at her. “You think I wanted to be Warchief? Or even Ranger-General, for that matter?” 

“I don’t -”

“No,” Sylvanas interrupted coolly. “You don’t. So, I would suggest you keep your assumptions to yourself.”

The skull mask swung towards her in silent contemplation. Finally, Jaina said, “you’re awfully good at being a war leader.”

With a soft grunt, Sylvanas looked back towards Barrowknoll. “People get good at what they do. In time, you will grow to be a perfectly serviceable Lord Admiral.”

A self-deprecating laugh was Jaina’s answer. “Well, I don’t know what I was so worried about, then. That’s high praise from you.”

“I have very exacting standards,” Sylvanas agreed. 

“Careful,” Jaina warned, and even though Sylvanas could not see her face her words were playful and chiding. “That’s twice you’ve flattered me, now. A girl might get ideas.”

It was Sylvanas’ turn for a huff of self-deprecating laughter, almost a scoff. She gave Jaina a dismissive wave. “Go. Try to get some sleep. My people and I will keep watch.” 

She expected some resistance, but Jaina simply inclined her head and left. 

The night was short, and nothing at all interesting happened. No raids. No alarms. The Ashvane forces were risking nothing for the sake of initiative. They kept their position, confident in their safety in numbers. They sent no more scouts. They slept until the first grey watery light of dawn crept over the horizon. 

They were, in short, complacent. Sylvanas liked that in an enemy. It was a refreshing change of pace. 

The morning was misty and dim. The foothills to the west appeared almost idyllic, until they sloped into the fields torn up by artillery fire. All through the night, the bold red medical tents had worked, tending to those wounded in the exchanging barrage. When the camp was packed up, the medical tents were some of the few that remained behind to continue their work away from the fight. 

By the time all the troops had been organised into position, it was only a few hours until midday. The sky remained overcast, but mercifully free of rain. Not that it helped much. The ground was still horrible and soggy. It reminded Sylvanas too much of fighting in the rainy jungles of Zul'Aman. She had bad memories of leather boots completely rotting away after being saturated with mud for weeks. 

Sylvanas was sitting atop her skeletal horse beside Jaina on her stag, when Anya rode up beside her. Breaking away from her conversation with Jaina, Sylvanas gave Anya a once-over. "I don't recall issuing you a Waycrest cavalry coat."

"I won it," Anya said smugly. 

"Along with a great many other things, I'm sure."

"There's a helmet that comes with it, too."

"Is this your way of telling me that you want to ride with Velonara in the Waycrest division?"

"No," Anya replied. "I will be guarding you while Nathanos heads the troops."

"Do I get any say in the matter?"

Anya did not answer.

"Wonderful," Sylvanas sighed. She shifted in her saddle to turn towards Jaina. "Whenever you are ready."

Jaina's deer stamped one of its cloven hooves. Her head slowly turned as she swept her gaze over the troops arranged on the field before them. A mass of uniform colour to their left being the Waycrest troops in three block formations, along with a cavalry screen. And a mismatch of Undead and Druids in various forms comprising the solid blocks of infantry directly ahead. Lucille and Katherine could be seen with the Waycrest cavalry, surrounded by a cluster of other officers on foot and on horseback. 

Jaina nodded towards their own cluster of officers in attendance. Flags were waved. Trumpets were sounded. And the Waycrest forces began their march towards the river. 

In the town, large numbers of troops in red coats were broken up by the buildings. But in the fields behind them, even more Ashvane troops were arrayed in formation. Across the distance, more horns were raised, and the bulk of the Ashvane troops began to move in lockstep with the Waycrest's, both angling towards one another across the river. The only advantage of Katherine and Lucille's lesser numbers was that it allowed them to move more quickly.

Sylvanas leaned forward in her saddle to better watch as they forded the river before the Ashvane troops could cut off their advance. The moment the first Waycrest infantry had crossed the river, Sylvanas turned to one of the Forsaken officers nearby. "You there, get those guns firing again," she ordered. Then she said to another, "And you, sound the advance."

With a bony-handed salute, both of them trotted off to do as commanded. Soon, the artillerymen behind them were scurrying about the cannons. The first round of artillery fire of the morning sent a flock of startled birds into flight from the bog to their west. Sylvanas could feel the shudder of the earth even atop her horse. And then, they began to march. 

It was a slow steady plod through the mud. The officers brought up the rear just to the left of the advancing soldiers, leading a small cohort of reserve troops that would be able to accomplish very little on their own should it come to that. Enemy fire roared out in answer from the town. Cannons ripped through the advance, sending sprays of mud through the air flecked with blood and teeth as men fell screaming. But for every enemy shot, two were stalled by the presence of their own artillery blasting away at the town. More still were stopped completely by magical shields thrown up by clusters of Druids arranged along the infantry ranks for just that purpose. The shields flashed across the air in front of the advance, deflecting cannon balls into the mud, where they bounced away or cracked into pieces like shrapnel. 

One such cannon hurtled in the direction of the reserve troops, but Jaina raised her hand and it shattered in a fan of iron ore like a wave breaking against a pane of impenetrable glass. Sylvanas had never been so grateful to have mages fighting on her side. 

From the east, Sylvanas could hear the pop of shots fired. Her ears twitched towards the noise. She stood in her stirrups in an attempt to see what was happening, but the ground from Barrowknoll sloped gently upwards towards that direction. Lowering herself back into her saddle, she asked, "Do we have eyes on the Waycrest forces?" 

Jaina turned to Adalyn, who was trotting alongside the stag in the form of a sabre. "Go get vision and come back." 

Without question, Adalyn turned into a raven and swept off into the air. She returned a few minutes later and landed on Jaina's shoulder to whisper in her ear. 

"They have engaged in earnest," Jaina relayed to Sylvanas. "Nobody has given ground yet. The cavalry are attempting to outflank one another, but Hayles is holding his own." 

Sylvanas spoke directly to Adalyn. "Get flying again and keep us informed. I want to know exactly if and when someone starts to buckle." 

In response, the raven gave Sylvanas an extremely unpleasant look with one black and beady eye. But Jaina murmured something in a low tone. With a caw of complaint, Adalyn nevertheless took flight from Jaina's shoulders, wheeling back towards the east. 

The main advance on Barrowknoll slowed when they reached the river. Soldiers lifted their arms above their head to keep their muskets dry as they crossed. The Ashvane forces continued to fire from their position. Their artillery were beginning to run low on ammunition, but a line of muskets would aim and take fire over the groundworks, while others took shots from the second story of the ruined church, and even from the rooftops of nearby buildings. It may have just been a mound of dirt built as tall as a man and stretching in a crescent shape between the river and the town, but the earthworks was enough to give them cover for any returning fire launched in their direction. The Ashvane soldiers would duck back behind the earthworks when lightning was called from the sky, sending sprays of earth in all directions and leaving behind the stench of burnt ozone and flesh. 

Sylvanas and Jaina remained on the other side of the river with their reserve troops and cluster of officers. Even though Adalyn did as told and returned with regular updates on the enemy position, Sylvanas urged her skeletal horse to pace along the riverbanks to and fro. Anya shadowed her every movement, along with a few Forsaken and a Tauren in the form of a bear with streaks of green warpaint on his fur. Glowing crimson eyes trained along the fight, searching every angle for a hint of weakness. A gap, perhaps. A flagging flank. A faint faltering of morale. The stench of gunsmoke was acrid and thick. It clouded vision beyond a hundred yards even for her excellent eyesight. 

The Horde and Drust line were fighting to take the earthworks, both sides using the long mound of compacted dirt as cover, neither willing to commit to a charge, lest they be met with deadly resistance on the other side. 

"Find anything of interest?" Jaina asked when Sylvanas rode back to the reserve troops. 

Yanking on her reins and wheeling her horse around, Sylvanas shook her head. "Not yet. I still don't like our numbers. We need to find an advantage. Preferably more than one." 

In front of them, a surge of red-coated troops washed over the earthworks on their left with a battlecry for Kul Tiras. They scrambled atop the mound of dirt and shot down upon the Horde and Drust flank. Flashes of flame spouted from the muzzles of their muskets as the gunmen made space for infantry with pikes to push their advantage. The Ashvane pikemen shoved against their left flank like a wall of living spears, while the Forsaken chopped at the pikes with hooks and axes, or otherwise stabbed at exposed feet in an attempt to break the sudden counterpush. 

When the Horde and Drust flank began to cave slightly into a fish hook shape, Sylvanas tensed. She drew her bow from her back, hands steady and expression grim. Before she could fire a single shot however, a druid on the front lines of the left flank was stabbed in the shoulder with a spear. He flung back his head with a bellowing roar that shuddered the air. His body bristled and grew massive, and he swiped at the wall of spears mid-transformation into an enormous bear. Thunder careened from his paw, shattering a huge gap into the pikemen. He lunged through, his massive jaws closing around the throat of an Ashvane pikeman and shaking like a dog with a rat. Forsaken poured after him, using the space he created to push back the counterattack. Swords flashed, and the Ashvane pikemen trying to retreat back over the earthworks slipped in pools of their own blood. Forsaken soldiers fell upon them like wolves, hacking them to pieces before scrambling to pursue the rest over the artificial hillock. 

Slowly Sylvanas lowered her bow. "That was a welcome development, at least." 

Beside her, Jaina hummed in agreement. "The break between Lord Stormsong and Lady Ashvane is more serious than we thought." 

Sylvanas frowned at her. "What do you mean?" 

The skull turned and Jaina's voice was positively gleeful. "You didn't notice? That magic wasn't counteracted. They don't have Tidesages. Or if they do, they're certainly not here." 

Sylvanas' eyes widened in understanding. She wheeled her horse around to start giving commands, but Jaina beat her to it. 

"Concentrate what druids we have onto the front," Jaina snapped to an officer standing nearby. "Have them break up the enemy line. Tell them to expect only physical resistance." 

"What about those we've reserved as Healers?" the officer asked. 

"They can stay where they are," Jaina said. 

Immediately, the officer raised a hand to her temple in a salute, then rushed off to do as she was told. She took a group of the reserve troops to escort her across the river and relay the orders. Meanwhile, Jaina rounded on what remained of the reserve units. 

"The rest of you," she said, lifting her voice. They all straightened, their faces eager and steely beneath their helms. "Push hard into their right flank! I want that church taken as a foothold in the next hour! Go!" 

What remained of the officers began relaying orders to start the march. Soon, the reserve troops were crossing the river to support their forces on the left, where the fight was raging the thickest. The Ashvane forces were faltering, giving ground slowly but steadily. Word of the new orders must have reached the front lines, for lightning careened down from the sky with a deafening crack. It struck the church, where a group of Ashvane musketmen had been raining down shots onto the approaching Horde and Drust. Those that weren't struck dead, were left reeling, fumbling for cover as another blast of lightning rained down upon them. 

Sylvanas had slung her bow back over her shoulder, but her fingers itched for the weapon. Where she had seen no chaos to take advantage of before, she now saw it everywhere. Every hard-earned instinct and years of experience were telling her to leap into the fray, embolden the troops, take the victory for herself, as she knew she could. She was tightening her hand on the reins, preparing to do just that, when Jaina spoke beside her. 

"Sylvanas, I want you to come with me to the western banks." 

Her head jerked around, her long ears slanting back in a mixture of surprise and aversion. "What?" she asked. Rising up in her stirrups, she looked to the west, but saw nothing of interest. The Ashvane line was faltering directly to their left, but to their right, the enemy was still holding strong. "Why on earth would we go there?" 

"I mean to overrun them." 

"With what troops?" Sylvanas waved towards their left, where the reserve troops were starting to fight tooth and nail over the church, even as they repelled an attempted counterflank from a platoon of bold Ashvane musketmen hoping to catch them in enfilade fire. 

“Leave that to me.” 

Jaina started off towards the west without another word. Swearing, Sylvanas turned to Anya and said, "You stay here. Help Nathanos hold the line." 

Anya shook her head. She opened her mouth to protest, but Sylvanas cut her off. "That's not a question, Anya. You will do this." 

With a glower at her queen, Anya looked like she was going to fight against the order still, but eventually she turned back to the remaining small cluster of officers and began issuing commands. Satisfied, Sylvanas wheeled her skeletal horse around and followed Jaina. 

No troops followed them. Not even a handful of guards. Sylvanas kept a careful watch on the enemy through the gaps of buildings, but nobody was paying any attention to two people slipping away from the thick of the fight. They might as well have been deserters fleeing the battle. When they reached the swamp, Jaina dismounted and continued on foot, leaving her stag behind. Sylvanas jerked at her own reins and called after her, "What the hell are we doing out here?"

Jaina did not turn around. She continued picking her way through the bog. "You said you wanted another advantage? I’m getting us reinforcements."

"What reinforcements?"

"Just come along already."

Grinding her teeth, Sylvanas slipped from the saddle and trudged after her. The bog was a mess. There was very little hard ground upon which to stand. Tall tussock grass masqueraded as safety, only for Sylvanas' foot to plunge into hip deep water and mud. She had to claw her way out, cursing all the while. By the time Jaina stopped, the hems of her robes were drenched, and Sylvanas' armour would need a thorough cleaning all around. 

In Barrowknoll, the fighting continued. From here, Sylvanas could not see the Waycrest troops further east. She tried rising up on her toes, but only sank a few more inches into a bit of mud. 

"I am beginning to lose patience," Sylvanas hissed. 

Jaina ignored her. She was kneeling on the ground at the edge of a deep pool of water. She held out her hand towards Sylvanas. "Your knife. Give it to me."

"No." Sylvanas crossed her arms. "Explain first. Knife later."

"Really?" Jaina glanced at her in exasperation. When Sylvanas refused to budge, Jaina rolled her eyes. She gestured all around them. "You wanted to know what was so special about this place? Bogs are sacred burial sites for Drust. This one in particular was used for generations to inhume the Drust dead. Now, give me your knife."

With a frown, Sylvanas begrudgingly handed over the silver hunting knife. Jaina took it, and then pulled out a very familiar looking singed wicker man from a pocket of her cloak. She placed both before her, and then fumbled around in a pouch for another reagent. When she withdrew a stag's black and shrivelled heart, she placed it over the wicker man's chest. A quick flash of the blade over the back of her arm drew a bright line of blood along her skin, and then Jaina plunged the knife through the heart and the wicker man, staking them together. 

She began to mumble in an ancient tongue. The sound echoed from the depths of the skull mask, growing louder as though joined by a chorus, chanting the words back to her. The air around her writhed, and the wicker man caught alight. It began to burn beneath her hands, but the fire did not consume the wicker man the way it should, as though the mass of twigs were still resisting the touch of flame. 

And from the depths of the bog, a hand reached up. Sylvanas watched as more followed, and corpses began to drag themselves from the water and mud. Their bodies were preserved as though mummified, shrunken and wet, dyed dark from the peat. Bits of bone jutted from shoulders and arms, knees and spines. Jaina's droning chant reached its zenith, and an army of the dead rose to answer her call. 

Sylvanas stared. An undead nearest her waited blankly for a command, as did all the others. There was no sentience left within them. They were empty vessels. Ghouls animated by a greater will. 

Before her, Jaina rose to her feet. Through the dark sockets of the mask, her eyes blazed with pale fire. Leaving the wicker effigy burning upon the ground, she turned to Sylvanas. "Now, we can go." 

"How long will this spell last?"

"Until the fire burns out. We have only a few hours." Jaina stepped over the wicker man, looking towards Barrowknoll. "You will get your knife back, then."

Warily, Sylvanas followed as Jaina began to stride from the bog and towards the town. Thousands of ghouls shambled blindly after them. As they drew nearer fording the eastern side of the river, Ashvane troops began pointing furiously in their direction. An alarm was raised, a frantic horn blaring a single note over and over again as the red-coated soldiers attempted to rearrange themselves in time.

Clambering up onto the opposite shore, Jaina pointed at the line of red-coated soldiers and shouted a gutteral word in that ancient tongue. Behind her, the ghouls shrieked in response, an unearthly wail that Sylvanas had heard all too many times, before they rushed forward on all fours. Shots fired out from the lines of gunmen among the Ashvane ranks, but before they could get off even a second volley, the ghouls were upon them. No amount of shot could stop their charge. Musket balls embedded themselves in rotting flesh, accomplishing little. Rows of pikemen lowered their spears and tried to shove them back. Others still drew swords and began hacking at the undead masses. Impaled ghouls continued clawing their way down the spears, and severed arms twitched along the ground. 

Jaina herself waded into the thick of the fight. She towered over the shambling army of undead, bloodied, crowned in antlers, eyes blazing like twin points of flame. When she swept her hand, broad blades of frost sliced through the air, cutting through swathes of enemy soldiers. When she clenched her hand into a fist, a clump of Ashvane troops were encased in ice, frozen in rictus agony. 

A platoon aimed down their sights towards Jaina, and Sylvanas drew back an arrow. Whispers of death magic darkened its tip, and the arrow exploded with the echo of a banshee’s wail upon its destination. The musketmen dropped their weapons to clasp their hands over their ears, crying out in pain. She managed to shoot a few more arrows before the ghouls overwhelmed them, claiming that platoon for the dead.

Sylvanas tried to regain her bearings in the chaos. In a few lithe motions she had climbed atop the shattered roof of a house to get better ground, her bow half-drawn and ready to fire. In the centre of the town, the Horde and Drust soldiers were beginning to renew their attack, emboldened by the sudden presence of reinforcements from the east. The Ashvanes were suddenly the ones on the back foot, forced to hold their ground as an onslaught came now from two sides. 

A platoon of Ashvane musketmen noticed her position. They fired a volley of shots at her position. Sylvanas ducked. Chips of stone flew around her as the gun fire missed and hit the stone walls of the building. In the time it took for them to reload, she had made most of them pincushions; they fell to the ground grasping at black-fletched arrows that stuck from their throats and chests, gurgling on pools of their own blood. 

Below her, a group of Ashvane troops managed to hold their ground against the oncoming ghouls by funneling the undead into a spear wall and shooting over the pikemen. One of the soldiers saw Jaina advancing past their position, and in a fit of bravery near madness he threw down his musket, drew his sword and charged for her. She turned just as he slashed his blade in an upward strike, narrowly missing but managing to knock her mask loose. 

She stumbled back a step. The skull went careening onto the ground, one of the points of the antlers breaking off in the scuffle as ghouls continued to press past her. When she straightened once more, her eyes blazed. She loomed over the soldier. He swung his sword down like a cleaver, but Jaina grabbed his wrist, halting the blow. Sylvanas had an arrow drawn to shoot him, but stopped. With her other hand, Jaina was lifting the soldier by the scruff of his neck until his toes dangled above the ground. He dropped the sword. It clattered at her feet. Grasping at her forearm, he opened his mouth to scream but instead veins of black crawled across the skin of his face. As Jaina drained the life from him, vines burst from the ground, curling around the other soldiers and dragging them down into the earth. 

When Jaina tossed his lifeless corpse aside as though he were a ragdoll, Sylvanas leapt easily down from the building, landing beside her. "I didn't know Druids were in the habit of practising necromancy."

"You didn't ask." Jaina nodded towards the rooftop. "What's the situation?"

Casually, Sylvanas lifted her bow and fired an arrow at an Ashvane soldier as she answered. "I don't know how Katherine and Lucille are doing, but our forces in the town are gaining the upper hand." 

"Then we should press on and finish this quickly." 

"Agreed." 

Jaina smiled down at her. "Is this unconventional enough for you?"

An army of ghouls, summoned by the will of a powerful mage with an aura of icy menace was far too familiar, in fact. But Sylvanas merely said, "It will suffice. Shall we?"

Nodding, Jaina rounded on the next line of soldiers already being set upon by the undead. 

Within the next few hours, they had managed to push the Ashvane army back, capturing the town and sending red-coated soldiers fleeing north east for Fallhaven. Barrowknoll was a ruin of its former self. Some of the buildings burned, their thatched roofs caved inwards in a shower of sparks and ash. Drust infantry had begun rounding up prisoners. Whenever the Forsaken drew too close, the Ashvane soldiers would panic and draw their blades or raise their pistols or otherwise cower or try to run away, thinking that all of the Undead were ghouls like those Jaina had summoned from the bog. The ghouls themselves were slowly trudging back south. Some crawled their torsos across the ground. Others had been chopped to pieces, and the twitching life animating them was beginning to ease. 

Sylvanas' quiver had long since run out of arrows, and she had been forced to steal a sword from the body of a dead Ashvane soldier. Its blade was caked with dried blood. She herself was still covered in mud and gore. While she may not have sweat any longer, she was still looking forward to the day being over so she could have a bath. 

Jaina was issuing commands to a group of Drust soldiers and assorted druids, who nodded and rushed off to do her bidding. She still had not donned the skull mask since it had been knocked from her head during the fight. She looked haggard from holding onto the spell for so long, though she hid the raw weariness in her bones. Strands of hair had come loose from her braid and now stuck to the side of her neck and cheek. She swept them aside irritably as she approached Sylvanas, but that only sent a swipe of coagulated blood across her jaw from her bloodied hands. Her eyes still blazed with pale fire, though it was fading as the spell began to slowly wane. 

Sylvanas tossed aside the sword she had stolen. "Any news from the Waycrest line?"

"In retreat," Jaina answered wearily. "It was a stalemate. Thanks to our push here, the Ashvanes are all pulling back." 

Inclining her head, Sylvanas said, "Congratulations are in order, then."

"Are they?" Jaina asked. She looked around at the destruction of Barrowknoll. The wounded were being grouped up and triaged. Makeshift bandages were tied around limbs and faces. The worst of the lot were being carried away on stretchers back towards the healers tents, where more Druids would see to their injuries in due course. "I don't feel very victorious at the moment."

"Give it time." 

"My Queen," said a familiar voice behind her. 

Sylvanas turned to find Nathanos striding towards her. He wove his way through a group of prisoners, most of whom shied away from his presence. His twin axes were sheathed at his belt, and his own quiver of arrows was as empty as her own. 

He bowed and stopped before her. "Forgive me, but I didn’t recognise you beneath all the mud. Otherwise, I would have come sooner.”

“What is it?” Sylvanas sighed.

“Lady Waycrest and the Lord Admiral have crossed the river. They will be here momentarily."

"Very well." Sylvanas turned back towards Jaina then paused. 

Jaina had gone white as a sheet. She reached up to touch her own face as if only just now realising that she no longer wore the mask. Her fingers trembled. 

"Shit," Jaina hissed, frantically looking around her.

"This way," Sylvanas said, and began to walk towards the position they had been in where Jaina had lost it.

Jaina was hot on her heels. She kept her head ducked, as though afraid her mother would round every corner and come face to face with her. When they came upon the site however, the mask was nowhere to be seen. With a frown, Sylvanas swept her gaze over the area. She eventually found it behind some wooden rubble that had fallen loose from the barricades during the fight. 

Picking it up off the ground, Sylvanas brushed it free of as much mud as she could. However, Jaina was already reaching out for it. The flames of her eyes had dwindled nearly to normal by this point, and her expression was agitated. Their hands brushed as Sylvanas handed it to her. Jaina shot her one last grateful glance before pulling the mask over her head and covering her face once more. 

The sound of horse hooves and the jangle of tack announced the arrival of what remained of the Waycrest cavalry accompanying Katherine and Lucille. The two of them rode up looking unscathed. Behind them Captain Hayles sported a sabre cut on his upper arm. He handled his reins with his good hand. Jaina checked her mask for a second time as if to reassure herself that it was actually there before turning to face them. 

Katherine pulled back on the reins. “Glad to see you’re both still alive,” she said by way of greeting, then glanced apologetically at Sylvanas. “Mostly.” 

"How many dead?" Lucille asked.

Sylvanas looked to Nathanos for an answer, and he said, "About four hundred casualties."

"Which brings the total to seven hundred and fifty," Katherine said. "Not bad, all things considered. It could have been much worse." 

"Better than the Ashvanes," Jaina replied. She sounded far more calm than she had looked just moments ago. 

Katherine grinned down at her. "Oh, yes. They'll be feeling the sting of this for a while. We ought to consider our next move before they have too much time to regroup." 

With a nod, Sylvanas said, "We'll meet you back at camp this evening to discuss it. For now, let us tend to the wounded and prisoners. If we're lucky, we captured someone worth ransoming." 

"That would be nice," Lucille sighed wistfully.

"Until later, then." Inclining her head, Katherine wheeled her white Kul Tiran charger about and headed back across the river towards camp. Lucille and the rest of the Waycrest cavalry followed. 

The moment her mother was out of sight, Jaina's shoulders relaxed slightly. Sylvanas could have sworn she heard her breathe a sigh of relief behind that skull mask. 

"Nathanos," Sylvanas said. "Find Anya and get everything cleaned up."

"And where are you going?" he asked.

She had already turned and begun striding off towards the bog. Glancing over her shoulder, she said, "To retrieve something of mine. I'll not be long." 

He did not trail after her. She could hear him begin exchanging words with Jaina, but Sylvanas did not linger to hear what they were discussing. 

Most of the ghouls had made it back into the bog, clambering to their final resting place. A few were still struggling to crawl the last stretch of distance. Sylvanas might have felt more pity for them had they any sort of sentience left. As it was, she strode through their ranks unaffected. They paid her no heed. They hungered only for the flesh of the living. To them, she might as well have not existed. 

Seeing them at all brought back unpleasant memories of her days shackled to the Scourge. If the spell binding them had been indefinite, she might have had strong words with Jaina. As it was, Sylvanas pursed her lips and continued striding through the bog. And all the while, that unpleasant feeling remained, as if something was wrong that she just had not yet discovered, as though all these carefully laid plans were about to be unraveled by one loose thread. 

She found the wicker man still smouldering. The heart pinned to its chest was black and shrivelled and flaking away into hard clumps of ash. When she reached down and pulled her blade free, the wicker man seemed to give a little wail, though that may have been the wind rustling through the bog. She wiped the silver blade clean on a ragged corner of her cloak -- it would need a proper cleaning later -- and sheathed it in her boot. 

Turning to head back towards the camp to the east, Sylvanas paused with a frown. Not far off across the bog, a Forsaken soldier was waving at her with a cheerful dessicated hand. Their face was obscured by a helmet. They approached her with a bounce in their step, clattering like bones in a tin can. It took them a while to reach her across the mud. 

"Can I help you?" Sylvanas asked in Gutterspeak.

A familiar voice reverberated from inside the helm. "Woah. I have no idea what you just said, but it sounded awesome. Can you say it again?"

Face screwing up in bewilderment, she said, "Arthur?"

Arthur flipped up the visor of his helm, revealing his rotting face. "Hullo!"

Sylvanas stared at him. The skin of his lower jaw looked like it had been peeled away from the bone by claws. He appeared partially mummified, as though the moisture had begun to leech from his body when he had died, leaving him brittle and brownish, like the last leaf clinging bravely to a tree in autumn. 

Finally she said in a flat tone, "You're Undead."

He smiled a ghastly smile. "Yeah! Of course! I thought you knew that?"

"I did not." Sylvanas pursed her lips. "How long have you been like this?"

He shrugged. "Since Thros. So, you know, a few years. Seven, maybe? I can’t remember very well, to be honest."

"Ah." Realisation dawned on her then. "Gorak Tul raised you."

But Arthur shook his head. "Oh! No, no! Jaina did!"

Sylvanas tensed. Her eyes widened. "She -- what?"

"Arthur."

Their heads snapped round at the sound of Jaina's sharp voice. She stood alone near the edge of the river. Her skull mask was tucked beneath one arm, and her face was pale. She jerked her free hand in a gesture for Arthur to approach her. He trotted over to her without question, clanking and squelching through the mud all the way.

"Go help Tavery and the others tend the wounded," Jaina ordered. 

Arthur blinked in surprise at her brusque tone. His smile slipped. "Okay," he said uncertainly.

As he turned to leave however, Jaina stopped him. She cupped his withered face with one hand, and her expression softened. With a sad smile, she gently patted his desiccated cheek. "Off with you, now. Don't cause too much trouble."

And with a parting grin, Arthur transformed into a raven and took wing back towards the town. Jaina watched him leave, waiting until he was well and truly gone before turning to face Sylvanas.

"What," Sylvanas said in a voice that was far too calm. "is going on?"

Jaina did not answer. She walked over, cradling the skull mask as though it were a shield between them. 

Mindless ghouls were one thing. But this was something else entirely.

Lifting her hand, Sylvanas pointed towards the direction where Arthur had flown. "You raised him from the grave?"

Jaina's jaw was squared bullishly, but her eyes were guilty. She stopped only a pace away. "Yes,” she said.

"Why?" Sylvanas hissed.

“It’s not what you think,” Jaina insisted.

“Why?” Sylvanas repeated, taking a step forward and glowering up at her.

"Because," Jaina said, but stopped to draw a deep breath. "Because I’m the reason he died. And I would have hated myself for not trying."

With a wave around at the bog, at the mindless dead still settling themselves back into their watery graves, Sylvanas asked, “Did you even give him the choice?”

Jaina opened her mouth to reply, but stopped. She shut it with a click of teeth.

Sylvanas could feel her own lip curl in disgust. “Of course, you didn’t.”

“He -!” Jaina started to say, and paused to collect herself before continuing. “He didn’t deserve that end. He deserved a chance to -” 

Sylvanas did not give her the opportunity to finish. She bared her teeth, eyes blazing. “Don’t lie to yourself. You did it because you are selfish.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jaina spat. 

At that, Sylvanas laughed and it was an ugly sound. 

Jaina’s expression was stricken. She held her mask so tightly her fingers trembled. “Stop it,” she said, her voice growing louder as Sylvanas continued to laugh. “Stop! You weren’t there! You don’t know what happened!”

Sylvanas stopped laughing, but her lips were still pulled into a savage smile. “I can guess well enough. It doesn’t take a leap of genius to see that your irreparable hero complex and that boy’s fate are linked.”

“That’s not -! It wasn’t -! I did it because it wasn’t fair!”

“What? Dying? Nothing is more fair than death,” Sylvanas sneered, and she parroted back the words Jaina had used against her during their first encounter. “Everybody dies. I didn’t think I would need to lecture a druid on that topic.”

Jaina flung her skull mask onto the ground. “It’s not fair that I got to come back, but he didn’t!”

Sylvanas’ head jerked back as though she had been physically struck. “What?” 

“I told you. Back when you first came to Gol Inath. You said everyone thought that I had been killed during the Drust incursion. Well,” Jaina gestured to herself. “I was. I died.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Yes. I did.”

“No,” Sylvanas growled. “You didn’t.”

“Sylvanas -”

“If you had died, you wouldn’t be -” she pointed to Jaina, “- like this.”

Jaina gave a helpless little shrug. With only the two of them there, the bog was eerily quiet. Sounds of the military in the nearby town seemed muted across the stretch of water and mud. Or perhaps it was something else about this place that made it feel liminal, like visiting a tomb. 

“All Druidism is about balance. The cycle of things. The Drust understand that better than anyone. Ulfar brought me back. A life for a life. I thought I could do the same with Arthur, but I was -” she swallowed past an obstruction, and then choked out a bitter laugh, “- a rare exception to the rule.” 

Those words had been spoken before. Sylvanas could remember them clearly, when Jaina had jokingly said she couldn’t recommend a ‘cure’ for Undeath. Eyes narrowing, Sylvanas asked, “How?”

Jaina would not meet her gaze. She wrung her hands together and worried her lower lip between her teeth. “Gorak Tul dragged Arthur into Thros as bait. I knew it was a trap, but I was so confident I could -” Jaina had to stop to clear her throat. “I followed them. And when I got there, I fought Gorak Tul. I thought I could win. He blinded me, stabbed me, drowned me, and then hung me from a tree.”

With trembling fingers, Jaina tugged at the front of her robes. She slowly pulled the layers of fabric down just enough to reveal the scars. They were looped around her neck, and gouged into her chest just beneath her left collarbone. Ragged mortal wounds that had been healed over with livid pink scar tissue. Sylvanas could see the pulse leap at her throat, bold and bright and very much alive. 

Jaina pulled her robes back into place. “We call it the Threefold Death. Among the Drust, it’s reserved for heroes, gods, and kings. It was given to me as a mockery. A reminder of my pride. Punishment for being foolish enough to think I was the hero foretold to bring about Gorak Tul’s downfall.” Her hand lingered at her throat. She stroked her fingers over the scarring left by whatever rope had strung her up in the air. “I don’t know how long I hung there until Ulfar found me. I remember being cut down, but the rest is...hazy.” 

Sylvanas shook her head. “If you remember it, then you weren’t dead.”

“Thros is not like here. Life and death are intertwined there. But trust me. I was very dead.” She lowered her hand, clenching it into a fist at her side. “Prophecies tend to find a way to have some sort of self-fulfilling irony. And by killing me that way as a show of his contempt, Gorak Tul devised his own ruin. He made me that hero destined to defy death and be his downfall. And so, I was. I came back, and I was proclaimed High Thornspeaker for my deeds. Though I did not deserve it.” 

It was like the last piece in a puzzle clicking into place, completing a picture. Katherine receiving news of her daughter's death. Lucille murmuring unsettling words about how different Jaina seemed after she emerged from the Crimson Forest. The ripped out pages of an old book on thrice-killed heroes and horned god-kings.

“All I hear is a tale of arrogance,” Sylvanas snapped. “You tell yourself the Drust understand ‘balance’ as if that means anything. You’re no better than a Lich.”

Jaina drew herself up to her full height and her expression grew stony, guarded. “I may have fallen to my pride once before, but I will not make that mistake again. I accepted your help, didn't I?"

“So, that’s why you changed your mind about this war? Because you think I’m like Arthur?” Sylvanas bared her fangs. “I am not some helpless young pup in need of a saviour.”

“I know that. And that’s not what I meant.” 

“Isn’t it? Look around. You have clearly learned nothing.” Sylvanas flung a hand up in disgust and angled herself away so that she looked across the fields towards the camp miles eastward. “You should have left the dead well alone.”

“I had to do something.”

“No. You didn’t.”

Sylvanas was giving every indication that she would not be swayed by any argument. Her ears were slanted back. Her arms were crossed. Her glower could strip the paint from the hull of a ship. 

And yet, Jaina ignored all those signs. She stepped around so that she stood before Sylvanas, and she said, “Didn’t you tell me you wished you were still alive?”

Shooting her an ugly look, Sylvanas growled, “That’s different. I wasn’t given a choice. If I had been given it, I would never would have chosen to be raised in the first place.” 

“But what about now?”

Sylvanas’ brows drew down sharply. She faltered for a moment. “What do you mean?”

“I’m saying: What if I gave you the choice now?”

It was then that she realised exactly what Jaina was offering. Her eyes widened. She opened her mouth to reply, but no sound came out. As if sensing this hesitation like a hound scenting blood in the air, Jaina drew closer.

“You already told me you died three times. But you never did tell me exactly how you died.” Jaina began to circle around her, as though eyeing up a prime cut of meat at the market. “Were you wounded? Drowned? Poisoned, perhaps? Did you fall from a great height? Was your death inevitable, as if foretold? A cruel irony of fate?”

Sylvanas sucked in a sharp breath; it was a gut reaction, something she could not stop herself from doing. She remembered the long drop from Icecrown Citadel with savage clarity. Her lungs were still clogged with golden blossoms, the broad scar on her abdomen evidence of Frostmourne’s cold edge. And they never had retrieved the bullet lodged in her chest by Lord Godfrey; the iron pellet was rusting away somewhere between her vertebrae like a poisoned pellet. 

When she was standing behind her, Jaina leaned forward to murmur in Sylvanas’ ear. “If I’m right, you might also be a rare exception to the rule.”

Sylvanas jerked her head away. She whirled about, taking a step back to put distance between them. Her eyes seared crimson. “Now, who is the liar?” she spat.

“I’m not lying.” 

Ice plunged deep into Sylvanas’ chest. It felt like an all too familiar blade. Worse. It felt like hope. Her lips pulled back in a wordless snarl. Suddenly, Sylvanas wished she had arrows left in her quiver. The urge to nock her bow was strong enough that her hand nearly reached over her shoulder for it. 

Jaina eyed her warily. “You would attack me and ruin this alliance you’ve fought so hard for?”

“I am seriously considering it.”

Jaina’s face screwed up in confusion. “I don’t understand. I’m offering you the choice that was never given to you. You should be pleased.”

“I don’t want to hear any more of this lunacy right now.” Sylvanas turned and began to stalk off through the bog in the direction of Barrowknoll. 

“Sylvanas, wait -” 

She felt the warmth of a hand brush against her arm. Immediately Sylvanas wrenched her arm away. In a single fluid motion, she drew her knife and whirled around. She had the blade pressed up against Jaina’s throat before Jaina could even blink. 

“Don’t touch me,” Sylvanas hissed. “Not unless you want to die a fourth time.”

The edge of the blade whispered against the ragged edge of scar tissue. Sylvanas’ hand was white-knuckled around the hilt, her fist closed so tightly that veins of black magic bled into the silver handle, coiling at Jaina’s throat. Jaina gazed steadily down at her. There wasn’t the faintest flicker of fear in her eyes. “At least consider my offer. If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

Slowly Sylvanas pulled the knife away; they stood close enough that she could feel the rise and fall of Jaina’s chest against her own. She stepped back. “I won’t.”

Without another word, she left. And this time, Jaina did not try to stop her or even follow. 

--

NOTES:

-for those of you who like maps, here’s one I prepared earlier:

-the fifth chapter I’ve added to the list is, predictably, going to be an epilogue from Jaina’s POV

-and for you Nine Years’ War aficionados, you’ll recognise the Battle of Barrowknoll as the Battle of the Boyne 2 this time with more zombies

[sayuricorner]

Lil’ Lucifer au and Forsaken au fanfiction plot bunnies: idea 1

I am a fan of @brightgoat “Lil’ Lucifer AU” and @camodielsart “Forsaken AU” and got stories ideas of thoses AUs for a long time. Unfortunatly, due to a “plot bunnies problem” which is like bunnies who reproduce in huge number when I got a idea for a story thousand of ideas come next I was never able to make actual stories with thoses ideas.

But I wanted to share them anyway, so I decide to post them, as big summaries and a list of details. I’m also a big crossover fan so expecte many of thoses ideas to be crossover. And sorry if my writting is confusing, english is not my first language! n_n’

By the way: if you want to use thoses ideas, go ahead! :)

Anyway, let’s begin with this first idea which is a crossover with one of my favorite legends: Journey to the West

Disclaimers:

Lil Lucifer au belong to @brightgoat​

Forsaken au belong to @camodielsart​

Journey to the West belong to Wu Cheng En

Cuphead belong to  Studio MDHR

Part 2

Story idea 1: Amnesiac Michael, crossover with Journey to the West

                                                                                                                                So Michael is send to fight a group of demons, during the fight Michael get badly injured including a bad head wound and by some weird black magic mojo used by the demons a rift in the space time continuum is created and send Michael to another world.

This new world is the world of "journey to the west" and take place after Sun-Wukong's exile and his return into Sanzang's group, they found a strange winged being badly wounded and inconcious and Sanzang being the kind hearted monk he is decide to help him.

Unfortunatly when he wake up, the mysterious being doesn't remember anything about who or what he is, where he came from or even his own name, the group want to help him but doesn't know how, this is when the Bodhisattva Guanying appear and reveal to them the amnesiac being is a celestial from another realm due to his holy energy but doesn't know from what realm and so to send him back home he must get his memory back.

To accomplish this there is in the thunderclap monastery, where Sanzang and his disciples must go for their quest, a magical scroll with a great healing power which can heal the celestial's amnesia and so Guanying offer a deal : the amnesiac celestial(Michael) will come with the group and help to protect Sanzang during the journey to the Thunderclap monastery and in return he will get the scroll that will heal his amnesia and be send back where he come from.

Sanzang is reluctant because it make him feel like they profit from the celestial's amnesia for the benefits of the journey but Guanying convince him there is no other way.

And so the celestial join the group and is named ̎ Hào ̎ as an temporary name and from here is the start of a long quest where ̎ Hào ̎ will live a true in-depth journey about who he is and through the few memories he will get back during the journey confront his darkest inner demons.

Idea details :

-God know where Michael is and is aware of his ̎ amnesia situation ̎ but does nothing about it because to him this is an opportunity to see how Heaven will doing without Michael around.

-In Heaven the angels are very distraught about Michael's disappearance, he just disappear like that and they don't know how to deal with it.(Yes even Raziel)

-Hào(Michael) during the journey get elements of his memory back because of things and people who triggered them. Exemple:Sun Wukong trigger Hào's memories of Lucifer whe he was younger because the two of them share a resemblance in personnality since both are prideful and mischievous and both of them tried to win a war against their respective Heaven but failed and get punished for it.

-Hào will had diffferent kinds of relationships with Sanzang's group : with Sanzang it's a tipical master/disciple relationship Sanzang consider him as one of his best disciples since he actually try to not get in trouble and make sure his others ̎ brothers ̎ don't get in trouble either. He get along quite well with Wujin/Sandy because of his calm and kind personnality. He is very annoyed by Baji/Pigsy's shenanigans and keep often an eye on him, thus his perverted attitude will not get the group in trouble. But the one he get along the most in the group is Sun Wukong due to the fact his personnality remind him someone who he was very close to(Lucifer) but can't tell who due to his amnesia.

-During his adventure, Hào will experience many emotions exceptially companionship and will bond with Sanzang and the others disciples.

-Hào is often called ̎ youngest brother ̎ by the others dicliples since he is last one to join the group.

-He will follow Sanzang's ̎ not killing ̎ motto, he will fight demons who try to kidnap his master but will kill only in last resort much to Sun Wukong's dismay.

-A few of the memories Hào will get back will not show his past-self in a good light and with him adopting Sanzang's ̎ kill is bad whatever the reason is ̎ logic, Hào will become afraid of who he was and see his past-self as a monster. With the help of his ̎ master ̎ and ̎ brothers ̎ he will had to learn to face his doubts and fears about his forgotten past.  

-Some demons will try to use Hào's fears against him to get their claws on Sanzang.

-While fighting demons Hào will use a Guandao, which is a traditionnal chinese weapon which consist of an heavy blade with a spike at the back and which is more used for defence than attack.

-During the ̎ women's land ̎ arc he will get close with a woman soldier who will fall in love with him and will profit from the queen's desire to marry Sanzang to try to marry Hào but will eventually let him go in the end when she realise Hào need to finish the journey and also because he is an immortal their love is impossible. She will kiss him as a ̎ farewell ̎ and give him one of her hairpins so he will always remember her.

-This story idea set in two ̎ books ̎ : the first one follow ̎ Hào ̎'s adventure in Journey to the West and the second one follow Michael after he get his memory back and get back to his world as an ̎ changed man ̎ but will see his world changed too and not in a good way as the story will setting in the ̎ Forsaken AU ̎.

-In the second book Michael, will had to deal with his home destroyed, what rest of his sinblings being devided and to had the courage to face and had a heart to heart with Lucifer.

-During thoses events Michael will be very pissed off at God for trying to kill all his family when they were nothing but loyal to him and will even scream a big ̎ the reason why you suck ̎ speech in his rage against his father.

-Michael decide to stay undercover until the right moment to reveal himself at his siblings come.

-Lucifer wasn’t aware of Michael’s disappearance until the beginning of “forsaken au” and he is not pleased with that, under the pretext he wanted to be the one to “kick Michael’s butt” but in reality the sudden disappearance of a powerful angel like Michael worry him. What if it’s happen to demons or even himself? But deep inside he may be a little worried about Michael’s safety, not like he will admit it or something.

-A demon which Michael fought in the Journey to the West world hold a huge grudge against him for the humiliation of his defeat and will find a way to go where Michael is to get his revenge.

-Sun Wukong will appear to give a helping hand at Michael to defeat the demon.  

Oneshots serie:

1 - A talk in the night

2 - The plan

[thedistantstorm]

Phoenix Protocol 28

Zavala x Awoken Female Warlock | Mid/Post Forsaken | Slowburn | Gratuitous Descriptions of Light | Self-Confidence/Self-Worth Issues | Redemption

When the Traveler’s Light was returned to the Guardians after the defeat of the Cabal, it did not manifest itself the same in everyone. Miyu, an Awoken Warlock, finds herself struggling with her abilities, her Light feeling different and not her own. With her Vanguard preoccupied with grief and all eyes turned to the Reef, she finds herself turning to an unlikely source in an attempt to rediscover her connection to the Light and define what it means for her as a Dawnblade.

Previously

-/

Dainty footsteps traverse the ballasts between the Hangar and the Tower proper. She moves carefully between throngs of Guardians. It’s cold atop the Tower, certainly a far cry from the warm winds of the Dreaming City. She thought it got warmer after the Dawning ended, but the deckplates are wet from cold spring rain. It does not deter her. She has somewhere to be.

Her robes ripple with an errant blast of frigid air, and she pulls her collar closer to her.

Tess smiles at her with a polite grin as she passes, but it’s Rahool who calls out to her. No doubt because of what’s strapped to her back. She sees Zavala turn toward her, his aqua gaze glowing in recognition before he takes a surprised step toward her.

She turns, then, heading across the small catwalk that separates the one side from the other. Shaxx tilts his head in inquisition or surprise, she’s not sure which, and sends the Fireteam he’s dealing with away. In their place, she faces him.

“What do we have here, Stormcaller,” Shaxx bellows in his traditional holler. “Spoils from battle?”

She dips her shoulders as she unburdens herself with the heavy item. As she removes her helm, she can hear the footsteps behind her.

“It’s Dawnblade, now,” She replies evenly. Though she can’t see his eyes, he lifts his helm to make eye-contact all the same.

The footsteps behind her stop. “Is that so,” Ikora Rey challenges.

Green optics focus on her Vanguard, blink once, then once more. The latent darkness that clings to the weapon must have drawn Ikora here. “Yes,” She agrees, almost-pouty that she’s being doubted and by her Vanguard, to boot. When she speaks again, she tries her best not to snark. She’s been training in the Awoken city for nearly six months. Things change. “That’s so.”

The Warlock, clad in a full set of Dawning Reverie armor, turns back toward Shaxx, taking a knee to unwrap what she’s brought. It’s a Knight’s Cleaver, the blade thicker than the Guardian who brought it is wide, the weapon itself nearly as tall as Shaxx himself. She looks up at him with her build’s approximation of a grin. He’s puffed out his chest, leaned forward slightly. Interested.

“The Knight who wielded that,” She tells them both, “Did this to my sword.” She pulls it from her sash. From the looks of it, Shaxx can tell it’s an old Future Imperfect. The blade itself is shattered about a third of the way from the hilt. There are cracks through what remains of the metallic blade.

“How did you defeat it, Guardian?” The Crucible Handler sounds a touch breathless, always so enamored with hearing about others’ fights. Even Ikora’s eyes find her face, intent on hearing the story. “It must have been quite the battle.”

“I didn’t,” She replies, “My teacher struck him down.”

“Your teacher?”

Lilith nods but does not share further, returning to her feet. “In any case, she sent me here with this weapon and said you might be willing to trade me this,” She gestures down at the Hive Weapon, “For a new blade.” She reaches into her robes and produces a wrapped scroll of parchment, holding it out to Shaxx. “Here are her recommendations.”

-/

“That’s the one who marched through the Tower this morning,” Zavala comments to Shaxx, who stands beside him, watching the Warlock run through a series of drills.

She spins and parries imaginary enemies, landing in a crouch. Her balance is off with the weight of the new sword in her grasp - it is heavier than she is used to - and she topples into the dirt. The Warlock growls in frustration.

“Bend your knees more,” Shaxx bellows, evaluating her. “That sword is not some toy like your last!”

“No blade is a toy,” Lilith snarls up at him. She rises carefully, not bothering to dust herself off before executing the same series of stances again. She wobbles, but manages to stay upright at the end this time around. It only makes her more intent on doing it correctly, so she repeats the process.

Zavala looks back to Shaxx. “Does she remind you of someone?” The larger of them asks softly.

“Miyu has more finesse,” The Commander comments.

“I should hope so. This one is still a babe.” Shaxx gestures back to the Exo at work. “Those are her katas, though. I know them well. And, this one’s armor? From the Dreaming City. I believe Miyu has taken this newbie on as her student.”

The pale skin around blue eyes crinkles. “Plenty of swordsmen use similar technique. Miyu's focus was not on-”

“Look at this.” Shaxx hands over a flattened scroll. “This missive came from that girl.” Lilith cries out as she charges across the training grounds in a flash of fiery Light. “Who says it came from her teacher.”

“That is Miyu's handwriting,” Zavala replies, after studying the delicate notes scratched around a weapon design.

Shaxx nods. “Which makes that Warlock her student.” He tips his head, when Zavala does not react further. “Have you received any news from her lately?”

“She has been checking in as I've asked,” He admits. “But we frequently miss each other. A consequence of my position and her innate need to keep herself busy.”

“Does she speak to you about progress,” Shaxx asks next.

Zavala sighs. “She is making progress, but she’s more concerned with how I’m faring.”

“Of course.” He nods down to the Exo. “Shall I probe this one for answers for you?”

“That is unnecessary,” The Commander counters, backing away from the rail. “I won’t be staying.”

“Fine,” Shaxx grouses, “Be that way.” The sound of his voice tells Zavala that Shaxx is wearing a wolfish grin behind that helmet. “Buy me a pint later and maybe I’ll tell you what I get out of her.”

Zavala shakes his head. “It’s never just a pint with you.”

“No, it’s not,” He agrees, his Ghost transmatting his sword into his hands as steps forward. “But we both know it’s more enticing than revising expense reports and coddling New Monarchy.”

That much wins him the smallest peek of a smile. “Message me later,” Zavala tells his fellow Titan. “I’ll try to stop by.”

-/

Lilith returns to the Dreaming City, still feeling the beating Shaxx had bestowed upon her. She already misses the fresh air and greenery of the City - she never thought she'd have enough of this place and it's beauty, the pastel colors, the perfumed air - but she tries not to think about it too hard.

She finds her teacher near the battered building containing the Blind Well, conversing with one of the Techeuns. Lilith has only seen her briefly, following an encounter to return her after being taken.

Still, Sedia turns to her, nodding her greeting. “Guardian.”

Miyu casts her brilliant gaze Lilith's way as well, and it is then that the other Warlock notices the scorch marks on the sleeves of Sedia's robes and the answering abrasions and tears in the less reinforced areas of Miyu's. Judging by the state of the curse, the cycle has begun once more. It's likely that the Techeun has been recently freed. She seems a bit shaken as she turns back to the other Warlock.

“We're in agreement, then,” Miyu confirms with the queen's faithful.

“Yes. I'll inform Petra.”

“Thank you. Hopefully, it will be worthwhile to test if this particular variable changes anything.”

Sedia seems to phase away after, much like a Ghost. It's not strange, but still out of place to Lilith, who has not much experience dealing with the tech-witches under Mara's employ.

“So, you did the strike for Sedia without me,” Lilith pouts.

“Hello to you too,” Comes the gentle reply. “Did you get what you went for?”

Successfully redirected, Lilith's mouth plates light up in a pale yellow, indicative of a grin. “Yes,” She answers, hand on the grip of her new weapon. “He was excited to evaluate what you sent.”

“It's what you sent, not me.” Her quicksilver eyes are warm. “You were nearly successful. If I hadn't been too far away to pick you up, I would have let you finish him off.”

“I know, I know. I need to be more patient.”

“That makes two of us,” She says, looking off at one of the marble-like towers in the distance. “What did Shaxx say of your training?”

Lilith laughs. “Not much. He mostly beat the crap out of me.”

“Did you draw blood?”

“No,” The Exo admits, continuing defensively, “But I was able to push him back. I even made him lose his footing. Almost.”

Miyu waves a hand. “I'm not upset by that. You're doing well.”

“There's still a lot I don't know.”

“But that's good,” Miyu counters. “That means you have more to gain by studying.”

“You mean training,” Lilith grouses, but she readies her stance all the same.

“If you insist,” The Awoken agrees.

[alittlepieceofwarcraft]

A Dying Dream (Perry x Khadgar AU)

Year 33, a few weeks after the Forsaken and human meet in the Arathi Highlands.

A candle served as the only light filling the dim room cloaked by the dead of night. Khadgar remained in the position he’d taken up many hours ago: quill intensely scratching upon parchment, ink spotted across the surface, an already sealed pile of scrolls building up on one side of the creaky desk. The chill from an open window crept in through waves of cold breeze, clinging onto the damp, bleak bricked walls of the circular tower but the Arch Mage didn’t even pause to give a shiver. His hands must have ached from the amount of writing he had produced over the course of the evening and now into the early hours. “King Anduin Llane Wrynn, highest regards upon you…”, “Warchief Sylvanas Windrunner, warm greetings…”. Endless streams of words strung together were printed in a messily handwritten flurry, the urgency of the matter boldly stated in his hurry to send them out. Khadgar was not naïve. This was his final effort to prevent an all-out warfare, a precedent that was at its breaking point.

 The young-old mage had already tried to meet with the leaders of the Alliance and Horde to try and extend the temporary ceasefire that had occurred during the Legion’s latest invasion, but was turned away at both attempts to speak with the respective leaders. Anduin had been absent and the stoic Greymane was not forthcoming with his current location, only bluntly stating that he would be gone longer than convenient to wait for him, almost moments away from ushering Khadgar out of the keep himself. Previous correspondence with a group of Forsaken, an elective party known as the Desolate Council, had slowly fizzled out over time, leaving Khadgar with great hesitation to try and be granted an audience with the banshee queen herself. Just a few weeks before this frostbitten night, Khadgar caught word of an undead and Stormwind civilian meet that had gone terribly wrong and he feared him being there as a human may be taken the wrong way. Sylvanas’ rumoured actions had been the catalyst for his obsessive writing sessions and attempted visits. While Sylvanas had made no solid moves, he knew the queen was hungry: hungry for power, hungry for a solution to her people’s decomposition dilemma, hungry for war. She died fighting, she was raised to fight again. And with the inability to harm Alliance members, she’d turned on her own people at the slightest signal of dissent. This made it clear to him: the factions would remain intact and at odds.  

 He’d made a tiresome journey to seek the Darkspear Tribe, the troll of the Horde remaining leaderless since Vol’jin’s untimely demise. He’d been greeted by an elder crone: a frail female hunched over a gnarled walking staff with a fiery tongue. He’d hoped the lack of an appointed leadership may have left the trolls with more independence and willing to be swayed into a refusal to bear arms against the Alliance in a fruitless war. The troll elder had scowled, shook her head and took no measures to hide her displeasure at the mage’s presence in her village. “Ya be wastin’ ma time,” she’d growled, “I be listenin’ to no little mon when I should be communin’ wid da ancestors. Ya be on your way wid ya murka ass, assumin’ ya be able to advise us when de dead speak through me”. Evidently, she’d not taken Khadgar’s attempts to ward away potential conflict with kindness, rather with heavy insult.

After a heavy failure of trying to reason with the trolls that resulted in indirect offence, Khadgar elected to discuss possible future events with those who understood the cost. Kaldorei, though a mysterious race, were one he had become fond of, for obvious reasons. They’d lived through it all: the War of the Ancients, the Great Sundering, all three wars, and they’d lost much because of it. The ancient continent as one became split into four; Nordrassil, though thank the Light it had recovered, was once destroyed in sacrifice of their people for the good of the world. They held a vast amount of knowledge and power yet also knew of what knowledge and power could do. How it could kill. Malfurion had been absent upon his arrival, gone to Silithus his student said, to see what could be done about healing Azeroth’s mighty wound. Tyrande too was not present. She had taken many of her sisters to nurse those who had been badly injured during the final battle of the latest war against the Legion. A druid elected to sit with Khadgar to listen to his plea. He knew of her before: the pine-haired, serpent-marked elf with strong restorative powers, the perfect individual to address his concerns and anxieties about what lay ahead. She was sympathetic, but her eyes glazed over with a sadness when he asked if her teacher would be willing to draw a line of peace between the two political oppositions even with the tension at hand. “My shan’do desires harmony among all else,” she explained, “but should harm come to our people, my Arch Druid and my High Priestess would not hesitate to call to arms our Sentinels, our Wardens, our Watchers. I fear that with the Banshee on the throne, harmony is not possible, she has a military heart and values strategy where we value sanctity. We will not strike first but should such a threat come to our gates and Elune compels us to fight then the entire kaldorei people will side with Stormwind’s king and bring with them the full force of the night elven people.” Khadgar had left, unsure of whether to be comforted by her words, or even more disillusioned with his dream of unity. He knew that was ridiculous to request no retaliation against a hostile onslaught but the silence he received from the Warchief had dug into him, ripping into a constant panic of desperation.

And so, he marched on. Meeting with as many races as he could to propose an infinite ceasefire. He gauged the same responses. Those wielding the banner of bright blue and gold helplessly reported the same sentiments of the kaldorei; that they would not allow their lands to be taken or their people harmed. Their Horde counterparts agreed, however were honour-bound to serve their Warchief. So Khagar returned home to continue spewing out letter after letter: if he could not see these leaders, he prayed he would at least hear from them.

 “That’s not how you spell ‘high elf’ in Thalassian.” A voice echoed out right behind Khadgar, his exhaustion so great at this stage that he didn’t jump, only flinching hard on his quill, snapping the pointed end off. He craned his neck behind to observe a pastel pink skinned elf; snowy hair glowing in the candle-light, ghostly luminescent eyes peering over his shoulder at his work. He’d been addressing Ranger-Captain Vereesa Windrunner and miswritten ‘quel’dorei’, making the ‘q’ a ‘k’ in his tired state. Peregrïn had entered silently to his study, cloaked in a thick woollen blanket that covered her night shirt, palms wrapped around a steaming cup of tea that she slid onto the desk. She slid off her knitted quilt and hung it over Khadgar. “I thought you would be cold.” Khadgar gave a fatigued half-smile to his bride.

“Thank you, it is getting quite chilly, now the summer season is coming to an end. How was Darnassus? I assume your parents were well?” It had been seen to be appropriate for Perry to meet with her family after the dangers of the Legion. In times like these, one couldn’t be sure if you would see your loved ones alive again after your last visit. Khadgar had chosen to investigate the Silithus wound and negotiate peace with the factions instead and, evidently, was still hard at work on it from the time she left until just now upon her return. She gave a little yawn, the length of her journey catching up on her and she began to sense the need for sleep growing heavier.

“An’da and min’da…” she paused, sleepily blinking and trying to find her next words with the ever-growing drowsy mind of hers, “they are well,” she finished, “I can’t remember the last time I stayed up so late.” Khadgar grinned. The couple spent most nights cuddled up by a crackling fire in their quarters, falling asleep side by side. Rediscovering the night life of the kaldorei must have brought her back several years to customs she wasn’t used to: night elves indulged in celebrating each full moon with an all-night feast. Stacks of tender smoked deer and roasted boar meat would be piled on top of each other; light cabbage, fluffy potatoes, sweetened turnips, all heaped onto sizeable bowls. Music would be played throughout a clear, starry night to honour Elune and her twinkling children in the heavens and the party would go on from the quiet hush of dusk to the rise of the brilliant sun. It so happened her visit coincided with these festivities.

“They tired you out?” He chuckled. Perry scanned over mess of letters Khadgar had been working on.

“Aren’t you tired?” she inquired, “We should sleep. It seems we have had long days.” Khadgar thought of the bed they shared: how warm and inviting it would be to slide in under clean cotton sheets and padded quilts, to let his head sink into big, feather-stuffed pillows, to cradle his worn out love in his arms. Wearily, he shook his head. 

“I cannot,” he grimly muttered, “I fear… I fear…” He needn’t have said any more. Perry nodded, knowing full well of the worries that plagued her dear’s thoughts. They both silently stared at the desk full of correspondence that, secretly, Khadgar thought would all be for nought. As they did so, the candle flickered, its wax nearly all burned away by the flame, dying out almost as if it sensed the fading of Khadgar’s faith as his dream became closer and closer to that: just a dream.

*Murka: “a foolish person”.

*Kaldorei: “Children of the Stars”, night elf/elves.

*Shan’do: “honoured teacher”.

*An’da: “father”.

*Min’da: “mother”.

Characters mentioned (if you want to learn more about them)

Ligani (old troll) recent/popular posts  x x

Mywin (druid elf) recent posts x x

Perry belongs to @drew-winchester

(Sorry if I got anything wrong about Perry! I will probably edit this a little bit anyway.)

[loveofyhwh]

October 18: Isaiah 59–62; 1 Peter 1:1–12; Psalm 101; Proverbs 26:3–5

New Post has been published on https://loveofyhwh.com/october-18-isaiah-59-62-1-peter-11-12-psalm-101-proverbs-263-5/

October 18: Isaiah 59–62; 1 Peter 1:1–12; Psalm 101; Proverbs 26:3–5

Old Testament:

Isaiah 59–62

Isaiah 59–62 (Listen)

Evil and Oppression

59   Behold, the LORD’s hand is not shortened, that it cannot save,     or his ear dull, that it cannot hear; 2   but your iniquities have made a separation     between you and your God,   and your sins have hidden his face from you     so that he does not hear. 3   For your hands are defiled with blood     and your fingers with iniquity;   your lips have spoken lies;     your tongue mutters wickedness. 4   No one enters suit justly;     no one goes to law honestly;   they rely on empty pleas, they speak lies,     they conceive mischief and give birth to iniquity. 5   They hatch adders’ eggs;     they weave the spider’s web;   he who eats their eggs dies,     and from one that is crushed a viper is hatched. 6   Their webs will not serve as clothing;     men will not cover themselves with what they make.   Their works are works of iniquity,     and deeds of violence are in their hands. 7   Their feet run to evil,     and they are swift to shed innocent blood;   their thoughts are thoughts of iniquity;     desolation and destruction are in their highways. 8   The way of peace they do not know,     and there is no justice in their paths;   they have made their roads crooked;     no one who treads on them knows peace. 9   Therefore justice is far from us,     and righteousness does not overtake us;   we hope for light, and behold, darkness,     and for brightness, but we walk in gloom. 10   We grope for the wall like the blind;     we grope like those who have no eyes;   we stumble at noon as in the twilight,     among those in full vigor we are like dead men. 11   We all growl like bears;     we moan and moan like doves;   we hope for justice, but there is none;     for salvation, but it is far from us. 12   For our transgressions are multiplied before you,     and our sins testify against us;   for our transgressions are with us,     and we know our iniquities: 13   transgressing, and denying the LORD,     and turning back from following our God,   speaking oppression and revolt,     conceiving and uttering from the heart lying words.

Judgment and Redemption

14   Justice is turned back,     and righteousness stands far away;   for truth has stumbled in the public squares,     and uprightness cannot enter. 15   Truth is lacking,     and he who departs from evil makes himself a prey.

  The LORD saw it, and it displeased himHebrew and it was evil in his eyes‘>1     that there was no justice. 16   He saw that there was no man,     and wondered that there was no one to intercede;   then his own arm brought him salvation,     and his righteousness upheld him. 17   He put on righteousness as a breastplate,     and a helmet of salvation on his head;   he put on garments of vengeance for clothing,     and wrapped himself in zeal as a cloak. 18   According to their deeds, so will he repay,     wrath to his adversaries, repayment to his enemies;     to the coastlands he will render repayment. 19   So they shall fear the name of the LORD from the west,     and his glory from the rising of the sun;   for he will come like a rushing stream,Hebrew a narrow river‘>2     which the wind of the LORD drives. 20   “And a Redeemer will come to Zion,     to those in Jacob who turn from transgression,” declares the LORD.

21 “And as for me, this is my covenant with them,” says the LORD: “My Spirit that is upon you, and my words that I have put in your mouth, shall not depart out of your mouth, or out of the mouth of your offspring, or out of the mouth of your children’s offspring,” says the LORD, “from this time forth and forevermore.”

The Future Glory of Israel

60   Arise, shine, for your light has come,     and the glory of the LORD has risen upon you. 2   For behold, darkness shall cover the earth,     and thick darkness the peoples;   but the LORD will arise upon you,     and his glory will be seen upon you. 3   And nations shall come to your light,     and kings to the brightness of your rising. 4   Lift up your eyes all around, and see;     they all gather together, they come to you;   your sons shall come from afar,     and your daughters shall be carried on the hip. 5   Then you shall see and be radiant;     your heart shall thrill and exult,Hebrew your heart shall tremble and grow wide‘>3   because the abundance of the sea shall be turned to you,     the wealth of the nations shall come to you. 6   A multitude of camels shall cover you,     the young camels of Midian and Ephah;     all those from Sheba shall come.   They shall bring gold and frankincense,     and shall bring good news, the praises of the LORD. 7   All the flocks of Kedar shall be gathered to you;     the rams of Nebaioth shall minister to you;   they shall come up with acceptance on my altar,     and I will beautify my beautiful house. 8   Who are these that fly like a cloud,     and like doves to their windows? 9   For the coastlands shall hope for me,     the ships of Tarshish first,   to bring your children from afar,     their silver and gold with them,   for the name of the LORD your God,     and for the Holy One of Israel,     because he has made you beautiful. 10   Foreigners shall build up your walls,     and their kings shall minister to you;   for in my wrath I struck you,     but in my favor I have had mercy on you. 11   Your gates shall be open continually;     day and night they shall not be shut,   that people may bring to you the wealth of the nations,     with their kings led in procession. 12   For the nation and kingdom     that will not serve you shall perish;     those nations shall be utterly laid waste. 13   The glory of Lebanon shall come to you,     the cypress, the plane, and the pine,   to beautify the place of my sanctuary,     and I will make the place of my feet glorious. 14   The sons of those who afflicted you     shall come bending low to you,   and all who despised you     shall bow down at your feet;   they shall call you the City of the LORD,     the Zion of the Holy One of Israel. 15   Whereas you have been forsaken and hated,     with no one passing through,   I will make you majestic forever,     a joy from age to age. 16   You shall suck the milk of nations;     you shall nurse at the breast of kings;   and you shall know that I, the LORD, am your Savior     and your Redeemer, the Mighty One of Jacob. 17   Instead of bronze I will bring gold,     and instead of iron I will bring silver;   instead of wood, bronze,     instead of stones, iron.   I will make your overseers peace     and your taskmasters righteousness. 18   Violence shall no more be heard in your land,     devastation or destruction within your borders;   you shall call your walls Salvation,     and your gates Praise. 19   The sun shall be no more     your light by day,   nor for brightness shall the moon     give you light;Masoretic Text; Dead Sea Scroll, Septuagint, Targum add by night‘>4   but the LORD will be your everlasting light,     and your God will be your glory.Or your beauty‘>5 20   Your sun shall no more go down,     nor your moon withdraw itself;   for the LORD will be your everlasting light,     and your days of mourning shall be ended. 21   Your people shall all be righteous;     they shall possess the land forever,   the branch of my planting, the work of my hands,     that I might be glorified.Or that I might display my beauty‘>6 22   The least one shall become a clan,     and the smallest one a mighty nation;   I am the LORD;     in its time I will hasten it.

The Year of the Lord‘s Favor

61   The Spirit of the Lord GOD is upon me,     because the LORD has anointed me   to bring good news to the poor;Or afflicted‘>7     he has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted,   to proclaim liberty to the captives,     and the opening of the prison to those who are bound;Or the opening [of the eyes] to those who are blind; Septuagint and recovery of sight to the blind‘>8 2   to proclaim the year of the LORD’s favor,     and the day of vengeance of our God;     to comfort all who mourn; 3   to grant to those who mourn in Zion—     to give them a beautiful headdress instead of ashes,   the oil of gladness instead of mourning,     the garment of praise instead of a faint spirit;   that they may be called oaks of righteousness,     the planting of the LORD, that he may be glorified.Or that he may display his beauty‘>9 4   They shall build up the ancient ruins;     they shall raise up the former devastations;   they shall repair the ruined cities,     the devastations of many generations. 5   Strangers shall stand and tend your flocks;     foreigners shall be your plowmen and vinedressers; 6   but you shall be called the priests of the LORD;     they shall speak of you as the ministers of our God;   you shall eat the wealth of the nations,     and in their glory you shall boast. 7   Instead of your shame there shall be a double portion;     instead of dishonor they shall rejoice in their lot;   therefore in their land they shall possess a double portion;     they shall have everlasting joy. 8   For I the LORD love justice;     I hate robbery and wrong;Or robbery with a burnt offering‘>10   I will faithfully give them their recompense,     and I will make an everlasting covenant with them. 9   Their offspring shall be known among the nations,     and their descendants in the midst of the peoples;   all who see them shall acknowledge them,     that they are an offspring the LORD has blessed. 10   I will greatly rejoice in the LORD;     my soul shall exult in my God,   for he has clothed me with the garments of salvation;     he has covered me with the robe of righteousness,   as a bridegroom decks himself like a priest with a beautiful headdress,     and as a bride adorns herself with her jewels. 11   For as the earth brings forth its sprouts,     and as a garden causes what is sown in it to sprout up,   so the Lord GOD will cause righteousness and praise     to sprout up before all the nations.

Zion’s Coming Salvation

62   For Zion’s sake I will not keep silent,     and for Jerusalem’s sake I will not be quiet,   until her righteousness goes forth as brightness,     and her salvation as a burning torch. 2   The nations shall see your righteousness,     and all the kings your glory,   and you shall be called by a new name     that the mouth of the LORD will give. 3   You shall be a crown of beauty in the hand of the LORD,     and a royal diadem in the hand of your God. 4   You shall no more be termed Forsaken,Hebrew Azubah‘>11     and your land shall no more be termed Desolate,Hebrew Shemamah‘>12   but you shall be called My Delight Is in Her,Hebrew Hephzibah‘>13     and your land Married;Hebrew Beulah‘>14   for the LORD delights in you,     and your land shall be married. 5   For as a young man marries a young woman,     so shall your sons marry you,   and as the bridegroom rejoices over the bride,     so shall your God rejoice over you. 6   On your walls, O Jerusalem,     I have set watchmen;   all the day and all the night     they shall never be silent.   You who put the LORD in remembrance,     take no rest, 7   and give him no rest     until he establishes Jerusalem     and makes it a praise in the earth. 8   The LORD has sworn by his right hand     and by his mighty arm:   “I will not again give your grain     to be food for your enemies,   and foreigners shall not drink your wine     for which you have labored; 9   but those who garner it shall eat it     and praise the LORD,   and those who gather it shall drink it     in the courts of my sanctuary.”Or in my holy courts‘>15 10   Go through, go through the gates;     prepare the way for the people;   build up, build up the highway;     clear it of stones;     lift up a signal over the peoples. 11   Behold, the LORD has proclaimed     to the end of the earth:   Say to the daughter of Zion,     “Behold, your salvation comes;   behold, his reward is with him,     and his recompense before him.” 12   And they shall be called The Holy People,     The Redeemed of the LORD;   and you shall be called Sought Out,     A City Not Forsaken.

Footnotes

[1] 59:15 Hebrew and it was evil in his eyes [2] 59:19 Hebrew a narrow river [3] 60:5 Hebrew your heart shall tremble and grow wide [4] 60:19 Masoretic Text; Dead Sea Scroll, Septuagint, Targum add by night [5] 60:19 Or your beauty [6] 60:21 Or that I might display my beauty [7] 61:1 Or afflicted [8] 61:1 Or the opening [of the eyes] to those who are blind; Septuagint and recovery of sight to the blind [9] 61:3 Or that he may display his beauty [10] 61:8 Or robbery with a burnt offering [11] 62:4 Hebrew Azubah [12] 62:4 Hebrew Shemamah [13] 62:4 Hebrew Hephzibah [14] 62:4 Hebrew Beulah [15] 62:9 Or in my holy courts

(ESV)

New Testament:

1 Peter 1:1–12

1 Peter 1:1–12 (Listen)

Greeting

1 Peter, an apostle of Jesus Christ,

To those who are elect exiles of the Dispersion in Pontus, Galatia, Cappadocia, Asia, and Bithynia, 2 according to the foreknowledge of God the Father, in the sanctification of the Spirit, for obedience to Jesus Christ and for sprinkling with his blood:

May grace and peace be multiplied to you.

Born Again to a Living Hope

3 Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! According to his great mercy, he has caused us to be born again to a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, 4 to an inheritance that is imperishable, undefiled, and unfading, kept in heaven for you, 5 who by God’s power are being guarded through faith for a salvation ready to be revealed in the last time. 6 In this you rejoice, though now for a little while, if necessary, you have been grieved by various trials, 7 so that the tested genuineness of your faith—more precious than gold that perishes though it is tested by fire—may be found to result in praise and glory and honor at the revelation of Jesus Christ. 8 Though you have not seen him, you love him. Though you do not now see him, you believe in him and rejoice with joy that is inexpressible and filled with glory, 9 obtaining the outcome of your faith, the salvation of your souls.

10 Concerning this salvation, the prophets who prophesied about the grace that was to be yours searched and inquired carefully, 11 inquiring what person or timeOr what time or circumstances‘>1 the Spirit of Christ in them was indicating when he predicted the sufferings of Christ and the subsequent glories. 12 It was revealed to them that they were serving not themselves but you, in the things that have now been announced to you through those who preached the good news to you by the Holy Spirit sent from heaven, things into which angels long to look.

Footnotes

[1] 1:11 Or what time or circumstances

(ESV)

Psalm:

Psalm 101

Psalm 101 (Listen)

I Will Walk with Integrity

A Psalm of David.

101   I will sing of steadfast love and justice;     to you, O LORD, I will make music. 2   I will ponder the way that is blameless.     Oh when will you come to me?   I will walk with integrity of heart     within my house; 3   I will not set before my eyes     anything that is worthless.   I hate the work of those who fall away;     it shall not cling to me. 4   A perverse heart shall be far from me;     I will know nothing of evil. 5   Whoever slanders his neighbor secretly     I will destroy.   Whoever has a haughty look and an arrogant heart     I will not endure. 6   I will look with favor on the faithful in the land,     that they may dwell with me;   he who walks in the way that is blameless     shall minister to me. 7   No one who practices deceit     shall dwell in my house;   no one who utters lies     shall continue before my eyes. 8   Morning by morning I will destroy     all the wicked in the land,   cutting off all the evildoers     from the city of the LORD.

(ESV)

Proverb:

Proverbs 26:3–5

Proverbs 26:3–5 (Listen)

3   A whip for the horse, a bridle for the donkey,     and a rod for the back of fools. 4   Answer not a fool according to his folly,     lest you be like him yourself. 5   Answer a fool according to his folly,     lest he be wise in his own eyes.

(ESV)

[dfroza]

what is the treasure of your heart?

“But this beautiful treasure is contained in us—cracked pots made of earth and clay—so that the transcendent character of this power will be clearly seen as coming from God and not from us.”

Today’s reading of the Scriptures from the New Testament is the 4th chapter of the Letter of 2nd Corinthians:

Now, it’s because of God’s mercy that we have been entrusted with the privilege of this new covenant ministry. And we will not quit or faint with weariness. We reject every shameful cover-up and refuse to resort to cunning trickery or distorting the Word of God. Instead, we open up our souls to you by presenting the truth to everyone’s conscience in the sight and presence of God. Even if our gospel message is veiled, it is only veiled to those who are perishing, for their minds have been blinded by the god of this age, leaving them in unbelief. Their blindness keeps them from seeing the dayspring light of the gospel of the glory of Christ, who is the divine image of God.

We don’t preach ourselves, but rather the lordship of Jesus Christ, for we are your servants for Jesus’ sake. For God, who said,

“Let brilliant light shine out of darkness,”

is the one who has cascaded his light into us—the brilliant dawning light of the glorious knowledge of God as we gaze into the face of Jesus Christ.

We are like common clay jars that carry this glorious treasure within, so that this immeasurable power will be seen as God’s, not ours. Though we experience every kind of pressure, we’re not crushed. At times we don’t know what to do, but quitting is not an option. We are persecuted by others, but God has not forsaken us. We may be knocked down, but not out. We continually share in the death of Jesus in our own bodies so that the resurrection life of Jesus will be revealed through our humanity. We consider living to mean that we are constantly being handed over to death for Jesus’ sake so that the life of Jesus will be revealed through our humanity. So, then, death is at work in us but it releases life in you.

We have the same Spirit of faith that is described in the Scriptures when it says,

“First I believed, then I spoke in faith.”

So we also first believe then speak in faith. We do this because we are convinced that he who raised Jesus will raise us up with him, and together we will all be brought into his presence. Yes, all things work for your enrichment so that more of God’s marvelous grace will spread to more and more people, resulting in an even greater increase of praise to God, bringing him even more glory!

So no wonder we don’t give up. For even though our outer person gradually wears out, our inner being is renewed every single day. We view our slight, short-lived troubles in the light of eternity. We see our difficulties as the substance that produces for us an eternal, weighty glory far beyond all comparison, because we don’t focus our attention on what is seen but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but the unseen realm is eternal.

The Letter of 2nd Corinthians, Chapter 4 (The Passion Translation)

Today’s paired chapter of the Testaments is the 55th chapter of the book (scroll) of Isaiah that reveals God’s words as a living seed:

Eternal One: If you are thirsty, come here;

come, there’s water for all.

Whoever is poor and penniless can still

come and buy the food I sell.

There’s no cost—here, have some food, hearty and delicious,

and beverages, pure and good.

I don’t understand why you spend your money for things that don’t nourish

or work so hard for what leaves you empty.

Attend to Me and eat what is good;

enjoy the richest, most delectable of things.

Listen closely, and come even closer. My words will give life,

for I will make a covenant with you that cannot be broken, a promise

Of My enduring presence and support like I gave to David.

See, I made him a witness to the peoples, a leader and commander among the nations.

Now you will issue a call to nations from all over the world—

people whom you do not know and who do not know you.

They will come running, because of Me, your God

because the Eternal, the Holy One of Israel, has made you beautiful.

So turn your attention and seek the Eternal One while it is still possible;

call on Him while He is nearby.

Let those who are busy plotting violence and doing wrong

stop right now, turn, and do right.

Let them turn back to the Eternal so they can experience His compassion.

God will excuse our past wrongs. Our God’s forgiveness is inexhaustible.

Eternal One: My intentions are not always yours,

and I do not go about things as you do.

My thoughts and My ways are above and beyond you,

just as heaven is far from your reach here on earth.

For as rain and snow can’t go back once they’ve fallen,

but soak into the ground

And nourish the plants that grow,

providing seed to the farmer and bread for the hungry,

So it is when I declare something.

My word will go out and not return to Me empty,

But it will do what I wanted;

it will accomplish what I determined.

For you will go out in joy, be led home in peace.

And as you go the land itself will break out in cheers;

The mountains and the hills will erupt in song,

and the trees of the field will clap their hands.

Prickly thorns and nasty briers will give way

to luxurious shade trees, sweet and good.

And they��ll remind you of the Eternal One

and how God can be trusted absolutely and forever.

The Book (Scroll) of Isaiah, Chapter 55 (The Voice)

to be accompanied by these lines in The Message:

“So you’ll go out in joy,

you’ll be led into a whole and complete life.

The mountains and hills will lead the parade,

bursting with song.

All the trees of the forest will join the procession,

exuberant with applause.

No more thistles, but giant sequoias,

no more thornbushes, but stately pines—

Monuments to me, to God,

living and lasting evidence of God.”

The Book (Scroll) of Isaiah, Chapter 55:12-13 (The Message)

A link to my personal reading of the Scriptures for monday, August 2 of 2021 with a paired chapter from each Testament of the Bible along with Today’s Proverbs and Psalms

A post by John Parsons about choice:

Our Torah portion this week (i.e., parashat Re’eh) begins, “See (רְאֵה), I give before you today a blessing and a curse: the blessing (הַבְּרָכָה), if you obey the commandments of the LORD your God, which I command you today, and the curse (הַקְּלָלָה), if you ... turn aside from the way that I am commanding you today, to go after other gods that you have not known" (Deut. 11:26-28). We obtain God’s blessing (i.e., berakhah: בְּרָכָה) when we obey the LORD, and our decision to obey manifests the blessed state of walking before the Divine Presence (the direct object marker et (את) before the word “the blessing” alludes to the blessings of “Aleph to Tav,” that is from Yeshua, as described in Lev. 26:3-13). As King David said, “I have set (שִׁוִּיתִי) the LORD always before me...” (Psalm 16:8). David made a choice to “set” the LORD before his eyes, for he understood that opening his eyes to Reality was the only path of real blessing.

On the other hand, we obtain God’s curse (i.e., kelalah: קְלָלָה) when we close our eyes and “forget” that the LORD is always present.... Suppressing God’s truth invariably leads to idolatry, that is, to self exaltation. Note that the root word for the word “curse” (kalal) means to be treated as of little account, and therefore “ratifies” the rebellious heart’s attitude toward God. This is middah keneged middah - we are ignored by the LORD as we ignore Him, just as we are seen by Him when we truly seek His face (Isa. 55:6-7). So we see that the blessing or the curse really comes from our own inward decision, and God establishes the path we have chosen. As King David said, “God supports my lot” (Psalm 16:5), and Solomon wrote, “The heart of man plans his way, but the LORD directs his steps” (Prov. 16:9). [Hebrew for Christians]

8.1.21 • Facebook

and another about taking an honest look at ourselves:

The last month of the Jewish calendar (counting from Tishri) is called Elul (אֱלוּל), which begins at sundown on Saturday, August 7th this year. Traditionally, Rosh Chodesh Elul marks the beginning of a forty day “Season of Teshuvah” that culminates on the holiday of Yom Kippur. The month of Elul is therefore a time set aside each year to prepare for the Yamim Nora’im, the “Days of Awe,” by getting our spiritual house in order.

We are all on a spiritual journey, writing the “Book of our Life.” To help us in the “writing” process, the Jewish sages encouraged us to set aside as a season each year for cheshbon hanefesh (חֶשְׁבּוֹן הַנֶּפֶשׁ) - “making an account of the soul.” This means that we engage in honest self-examination about our behavior. After all, what is the essence of teshuvah if it is not honesty with yourself? “For everyone who does wicked things (lit., ὁ φαῦλα, that which is “easy,” “worthless,” or “vain”) hates the light and does not come to the light, lest his works should be exposed” (John 3:20). Therefore we make some time to reflect about our lives from the previous year. We ask searching questions like, “How did I get to this place in my life?” “Where am I now?” “Am I where I should be?” We engage in this process of self-examination with an aim to grow -- to let go of the pain of the past and move forward. Confession (i.e., homologia: ὁμολογία) means bringing yourself naked before the Divine Light to agree with the truth about who you are. Indeed, the related verb word "homologeo" (ὁμολογέω) literally means “saying the same thing” - from ὁμός (same) and λόγος (word). We need to confess the truth if we are to be free from the pain of the past. When King David wrote, יְהוָה אוֹרִי וְיִשְׁעִי מִמִּי אִירָ֑א - “The LORD is my Light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? (Psalm 27:1), he implied that he should even be free of fear of himself and of his past....

Being honest with ourselves is essential for any sort of authentic spiritual life... “Not everything that is faced can be changed; but nothing can be changed until it is faced” (James Baldwin). "No person is saved except by grace; but there is one sin that makes grace impossible, and that is dishonesty; and there is one thing God must forever and unconditionally require, and that is honesty" (Kierkegaard). Amen. Confession means "saying the same thing" about ourselves that God says - and that means not only acknowledging our various sins, transgressions, and iniquities, but also affirming our beloved place in his heart. Saying that God doesn’t love you is a lie as damning as denying His very existence... [Hebrew for Christians]

8.1.21 • Facebook

Today’s message (Days of Praise) from the Institute for Creation Research

August 2, 2021

I Am

“And Jesus said, I am: and ye shall see the Son of man sitting on the right hand of power, and coming in the clouds of heaven.” (Mark 14:62)

After His arrest, “the chief priests and all the council sought for witness against Jesus to put him to death; and found none” (Mark 14:55). Then they got their sought-after witness from Jesus Himself when the high priest asked Him: “Art thou the Christ, the Son of the Blessed?” (v. 61), and it only took two words from Him. “I Am!”

As a matter of fact, this was not the first time He had thus identified Himself as the self-existent, eternal God. On an earlier occasion in Jerusalem, He had told the Pharisees: “I am the light of the world,” and then, “I am from above:..I am not of this world....If ye believe not that I am, ye shall die in your sins” (John 8:12, 23-24; the “he” in verse 24 is not in the Greek original).

He made this especially clear a few minutes later when He asserted: “Before Abraham was, I am” (John 8:58). But when He finally made this wonderfully truthful claim in the presence of the council, “they all condemned him to be guilty of death” (Mark 14:64). He had committed the capital crime of blasphemy in their opinion, by claiming to be God.

“I am” is, in fact, the very name of God. When Moses, at the burning bush, was called by God to deliver the Israelites from slavery, God said His name was “I Am That I Am” (Exodus 3:14). The name Jehovah (or Yahweh), the most frequently used name of the Lord in the Old Testament, is essentially this name.

One can count at least 196 “I am” claims of God in Christ (“I am the way, the truth, and the life,” for example—John 14:6) in the Bible. Truly, our Lord Jesus Christ is the eternal, self-existent God, “Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end, the first and the last” (Revelation 22:13). HMM

[theonyxpath]

Actually, it’s Pan’s Guide FOR New Pioneers, it’s a starter guide for Pugmire, and it is going on sale on DTRPG this Wednesday.

I’m highlighting this not just because it goes on sale to the public this week, after all that’s what we have the Blurbs! section for below, but because there’s a very specific thought process that got us here.

We knew Pugmire was a fun new take on fantasy gaming, with a great chance to appeal to dog-lovers. It took Pugmire‘s Kickstarter campaign to demonstrate that there was an interesting demographic drawn to the game – folks who had never or only minimally played TTRPGs before.

We heard so many anecdotes, and still do, about how Pugmire is the first game that non-gaming relatives were willing to try out, that spouses who didn’t gather round the table on game night expressed interest in trying, and that folks wanted their kids to have as their first TTRPG experience.

So Eddy and I hit on a “quickstart” that was set more into the Pugmire setting; something that was set up as a guide with our friend from the setting and Kickstarter, Pan Dachshund, explaining in detail how this gaming thing works. At the same time, we wanted to provide enough game material so that a new or semi-experienced group would also have what they needed to play – a clear and well explained adventure.

Finally, because so many new gamers are coming into our venerable hobby via on-line feeds and videos, we wanted to include videos covering the help info from the book on our Onyx Path YouTube channel that could be linked to in the book. (The PDF should have actual working links, the print book, obviously, would require typing the link into a browser).

Naturally, Eddy reached out to our most experienced YouTuber, the Gentleman Gamer himself, Matthew Dawkins, and the two of them developed the project. This is before I hired Matthew on as one of our full-time in-house devs, but his work and assistance with this project certainly set the stage for our developing relationship.

(Heh, heh, Little pun there. Drive safely, enjoy the veal.)

What we got, once all the creative work was done, is actually so much more than we originally imagined. Like much of Pugmire, there is a lot beneath the surface. In this case, we started with all of the above as concepts we needed to include, and wound up creating an excellent adventure for experienced players as well. In fact, I have a quote from Matthew about Pan’s Guide right here:

I’m bloody proud of this book. With Pan’s Guide, we wanted to create the best kind of adventure sourcebook. We pursued several lofty aims: it had to be accessible to new players and enthralling for established ones; we wanted an accompanying video series; there had to be an even layout for each chapter of the scenario comprising two pages of adventure, one of accompanying rules, and one of fiction that can be used for hints and clues regarding that part of the adventure; and it needed beautiful, full-colour art. I believe we delivered on all our ambitions. I truly hope you all check it out, as I think the whole team pulled out the stops on this one.

I asked Eddy for a quote too, but he just howled and scratched his ear with his foot.

      Scion: Origin illustration by Pat McEvoy

      Speaking of the two of them, I might as well bring Dixie Cochran (no e) into things here by reminding everyone that all three of them (Dixie, Eddy, and Matthew) appear in their 3rd episode of the Onyx Pathcast now live on PodBean and other podcast sources : https://onyxpathcast.podbean.com/

This episode they talk a lot about their early and formative gaming experiences, reveal tidbits about upcoming Onyx Path projects that they are overseeing and developing – in fact Matthew continues to just spill all the beans about the Contagion Chronicle – and share some thoughts about BackerKit and how it works with our Kickstarters.

I believe that they have a surprise message for listeners that they’ll be putting up later this week, but don’t quote me on that.

And as I mentioned last week, we’re going to be doing my interview with Dixie and Matthew for the Pathcast this week, so there’s still time to submit questions that you want them to ask me. Just pop them into the comments here, and thanks to all of you who did that last week.

Enough about those three!

    Boggans illustration by Brian LeBlanc

      I’m very happy to share the news that our developer and marketing guru Monica Valentinelli has been picked to present at the Nebula Awards seminars this coming weekend from Thursday to Sunday. In addition to a few panels and SFWA volunteering, she’ll also be available to answer questions. Attendees should definitely check out the great program: https://nebulas.sfwa.org/

We’ll be starting a sale next Monday at our sales partner Indie Press Revolution (IPR) on our Chronicles of Darkness Prestige Editions from Kickstarter. Mummy: The Curse, Demon: The Descent, Beast: The Primordial, and the first Chronicles of Darkness Dark Eras will all be on sale at around 40%. Now’s the time to give them a try with these very beautiful traditionally printed versions while we still have a few on hand!

Finally, once you scroll down you might notice that this blog has been a tad bit pruned and neatened, and I’m just getting started. For a while now, I’ve felt like I needed to keep projects on sale and with our burgeoning list of venues and partners as part of the blog for a bunch of weeks in order to be sure that ya’ll had a chance to see them.

But, not only have we started to establish other ways for you to get that info, like with more blog posts on different days and the Onyx Pathcast, but as we have kept on growing, this blog has become unwieldy and just stuffed with too much info for folks to absorb.

So, like you can see below, I’ve made the first steps – but now it comes to a point where I’d love to hear from you as to what info bits you want to see here. As always, please post your suggestions and preferences in the comments. With your help, I hope to give you a focused look here each week into our:

Many Worlds, One Path!

    BLURBS!

KICKSTARTER:

Fetch Quest, the adventure card game set in the Realms of Pugmire will be going live Tuesday, May 22 at 2pm Eastern US time! That’s 2pm, not noon like most of our other Kickstarters!

      ELECTRONIC GAMING:

As we find ways to enable our community to more easily play our games, the Onyx Dice Rolling App is now live! Our dev team has been doing updates since we launched based on the excellent use-case comments by our community, and this thing is both rolling and rocking!

Here are the links for the Apple and Android versions:

http://theappstore.site/app/1296692067/onyx-dice

https://play.google.com/store/apps/details?id=com.onyxpathpublishing.onyxdice&hl=en

Three different screenshots, above.

(The Solar Anima special Dice above)

Hunter: The Reckoning and Mage: The Awakening dice on a Mage: The Awakening tabletop

      ON AMAZON AND BARNES & NOBLE:

You can now read our fiction from the comfort and convenience of your Kindle (from Amazon) and Nook (from Barnes & Noble).

Our latest offering is the Mage 20 Cookbook, now in a convenient Kindle ebook version! https://www.amazon.com/Mage-Cookbook-World-Darkness-Enlightened-ebook/dp/B07C71BRDC/

Nook version is coming soon!

If you enjoy these or any other of our books, please help us by writing reviews on the site of the sales venue you bought it from. Reviews really, really help us with getting folks interested in our amazing fiction!

Our selection includes these fiction books:

Vampire: The Masquerade: The Endless Ages Anthology (Kindle, Nook)

Werewolf: The Apocalypse: Rites of Renown: When Will You Rage II (Kindle, Nook)

Mage: The Ascension: Truth Beyond Paradox (Kindle, Nook)

Chronicles of Darkness: The God-Machine Chronicle Anthology (Kindle, Nook)

Mummy: The Curse: Curse of the Blue Nile (Kindle, Nook)

Beast: The Primordial: The Primordial Feast Anthology (Kindle, Nook)

Vampire: The Masquerade: Of Predators and Prey: The Hunters Hunted II Anthology (Kindle, Nook)

Werewolf: The Apocalypse: The Poison Tree (Kindle, Nook)

Werewolf: The Apocalypse: Songs of the Sun and Moon: Tales of the Changing Breeds (Kindle, Nook)

Vampire: The Requiem: The Strix Chronicle Anthology (Kindle, Nook)

Werewolf: The Forsaken: The Idigam Chronicle Anthology (Kindle, Nook)

Mage: The Awakening: The Fallen World Chronicle Anthology (Kindle, Nook)

Vampire: The Masquerade: The Beast Within Anthology (Kindle, Nook)

Werewolf: The Apocalypse: W20 Cookbook (Kindle, Nook)

Exalted: Tales from the Age of Sorrows (Kindle, Nook)

Chronicles of Darkness: Tales of the Dark Eras (Kindle, Nook)

Promethean: The Created: The Firestorm Chronicle Anthology (Kindle, Nook)

Demon: The Descent: Demon: Interface (Kindle, Nook)

Scarred Lands: Death in the Walled Warren (Kindle, Nook)

V20 Dark Ages: Cainite Conspiracies (Kindle, Nook)

Chronicles of Darkness: Strangeness in the Proportion (Kindle, Nook)

Vampire: The Requiem: Silent Knife (Kindle, Nook)

Mummy: The Curse: Dawn of Heresies (Kindle, Nook)

And here are the Champions of the Scarred Lands fiction anthology and the Huntsmen Chronicles anthology for Changeling: The Lost 2nd Edition!

    OUR SALES PARTNERS:

We’re working with Studio2 to get Pugmire out into stores, as well as to individuals through their online store. You can pick up the traditionally printed main book, the Screen, and the official Pugmire dice through our friends there!

https://studio2publishing.com/search?q=pugmire

��   Looking for our Deluxe or Prestige Edition books? Try this link! http://www.indiepressrevolution.com/xcart/Onyx-Path-Publishing/

Here’s the link to the press release we put out about how Onyx Path is now selling through Indie Press Revolution: http://theonyxpath.com/press-release-onyx-path-limited-editions-now-available-through-indie-press-revolution/

You can now order wave 2 of our Deluxe and Prestige print overrun books, including Deluxe Mage 20th Anniversary, and Deluxe V20 Dark Ages! And Screens…so many Screens!

And you can now order Pugmire: the book, the screen, and the dice! http://www.indiepressrevolution.com/xcart/manufacturers.php?manufacturerid=296

Here are the direct links for the Chronicles of Darkness: Dark Eras Prestige Edition: http://www.indiepressrevolution.com/xcart/Chronicles-of-Darkness-Dark-Eras-Prestige-Edition.html

Chronicles of Darkness: Dark Eras Storytellers’ Screen: http://www.indiepressrevolution.com/xcart/Chronicles-of-Darkness-Dark-Eras-Storytellers-Screen.html

Deluxe Exalted 3rd Edition: http://www.indiepressrevolution.com/xcart/Exalted-3rd-Edition-Deluxe-Edition.html

Ultra-Deluxe (Orichalcum) Exalted 3rd Edition: http://www.indiepressrevolution.com/xcart/Exalted-3rd-Edition-Ultra-Deluxe.html

Exalted 3rd Edition Storytellers’ Screen: http://www.indiepressrevolution.com/xcart/Exalted-3rd-Edition-Storytellers-Screen.html

EX3 Chibi Bookmarks: http://www.indiepressrevolution.com/xcart/Exalted-3rd-Edition-Chibi-Bookmarks.html

Deluxe W20 Shattered Dreams: http://www.indiepressrevolution.com/xcart/W20-Shattered-Dreams-Deluxe-Edition.html

W20 Shattered Dreams Storytellers’ Screen: http://www.indiepressrevolution.com/xcart/W20-Shattered-Dreams-Storytellers-Screen.html

Plus price adjustments on M20, Book of the Wyrm, Anarchs Unbound and a few other projects!

    DRIVETHRURPG.COM:

  Pan’s Guide to New Pioneers has found its way through the wilderness to arrive in PDF and physical book PoD versions on DTRPG this Weds!

(see notes above)

    Book of Freeholds for Changeling 20th Anniversary Edition has arrived in PDF and physical book PoD versions at DTRPG.com! http://www.drivethrurpg.com/product/239407/C20-Book-of-Freeholds

They are the center of Kithain culture, the havens and shelters required when times get grim. They are dreams made manifest, and hopes kept burning. From the Mythic Ages to the present day, freeholds have been the linchpin around which the changeling world turns. Learn the history of freeholds as they wind throughout Kithain history. Discover the lost Treasures that bind the fae and their homes together, soul-to-balefire. Study the dangers, the threats, understand the duties and responsibilities, and then gather your motley to claim your birthright.

The Book of Freeholds contains:

• Two new freehold Archetypes

• Four new Glade Archetypes

• Full rules for the creation of freeholds and Glades

• 11 fully developed freeholds and Glades

• New chimera, Treasures and Oaths, and more

        To celebrate the opening of the Slarecian Vault for Scarred Lands, we’ve put four Scarred Lands posters on sale via DTRPG.com. These 12? x 18? posters feature both classic SL covers with Hollowfaust and the Blood Sea, and new images from the new book, like the SL PG cover wrack-dragon, and a hearty band of adventures well met and ready to divvy up their magical treasure.

      CONVENTIONS!

Matthew Dawkins, Steffie de Vaan, and Mighty Matt McElroy will be at the UK Games Expo in a very few weeks in early June running games and talking shop with fans and retailers.

Prep is also underway for Gen Con 2018 in August, which takes place in Indianapolis, IN. In addition to our booth presence, be sure to check out the games and panels in the Gen Con Event Schedule.

From Fast Eddy Webb, we have these:

Eddy will be speaking at Broadleaf Writers Conference (September 22-23) in Decatur, GA. He’ll be there to talk about writing for interactive fiction, and hanging out with other writers who have far more illustrious careers. http://broadleafwriters.com/3rd-annual-broadleaf-writers-conference/3rd-annual-broadleaf-writers-conference-speakers/

Eddy will also be a featured guest at Save Against Fear (October 12-14) in Harrisburg, PA. He’ll be running some Pugmire games, be available for autographs, and will sometimes accept free drinks. http://www.thebodhanagroup.org/about-the-convention

If you are going and want to meet up, let us know!

    And now, the new project status updates!

DEVELOPMENT STATUS FROM FAST EDDY WEBB (projects in bold have changed status since last week):

First Draft (The first phase of a project that is about the work being done by writers, not dev prep)

M20 Book of the Fallen (Mage: the Ascension 20th Anniversary Edition)

C20 Novel (Jackie Cassada) (Changeling: the Dreaming 20th Anniversary Edition)

M20 The Technocracy Reloaded (Mage: the Ascension 20th Anniversary Edition)

M20 Victorian Mage (Mage: the Ascension 20th Anniversary Edition)

Spilled Blood (Vampire: The Requiem 2nd Edition)

CofD Dark Eras 2 (Chronicles of Darkness)

Night Horrors: Shunned by the Moon (Werewolf: The Forsaken 2nd Edition)

C20 Players’ Guide (Changeling: the Dreaming 20th Anniversary Edition)

Wr20 Book of Oblivion (Wraith: The Oblivion 20th Anniversary Edition)

Aeon Aexpansion (Trinity Continuum: Aeon)

In Media Res (Trinity Continuum: Core)

Trinity Continuum: Aberrant core (Trinity Continuum: Aberrant)

Lunars: Fangs at the Gate (Exalted 3rd Edition)

Tales of Excellent Cats (Monarchies of Mau)

Dog and Cat Ready Made Characters (Monarchies of Mau)

  Redlines

Deviant: The Renegades (Deviant: The Renegades)

  Second Draft

WoD Ghost Hunters (World of Darkness)

Tales of Good Dogs – Pugmire Fiction Anthology (Pugmire)

Guide to the Night (Vampire: The Requiem 2nd Edition)

CofD Contagion Chronicle (Chronicles of Darkness)

Dystopia Rising: Evolution (Dystopia Rising: Evolution)

  Development

Signs of Sorcery (Mage: the Awakening Second Edition)

Hunter: the Vigil 2e core (Hunter: the Vigil 2nd Edition)

Fetch Quest (Pugmire)

They Came From Beneath the Sea! Rulebook (TCFBtS!)

  WW Manuscript Approval:

  Editing:

M20 Gods and Monsters (Mage: the Ascension 20th Anniversary Edition)

Night Horrors: The Tormented (Promethean: The Created 2nd Edition)

  Post-Editing Development:

Scion: Hero (Scion 2nd Edition)

Trinity Continuum Core Rulebook (The Trinity Continuum)

Trinity Continuum: Aeon Rulebook (The Trinity Continuum)

Ex Novel 2 (Aaron Rosenberg) (Exalted 3rd Edition)

Exalted 3rd Novel by Matt Forbeck (Exalted 3rd Edition)

GtS Geist 2e core (Geist: the Sin-Eaters Second Edition)

  Indexing:

    ART DIRECTION FROM MIRTHFUL MIKE:

In Art Direction

Ex3 Monthly Stuff

Scion Hero – Art notes and contracts being sent.

Trinity Continuum – Got notes and text for both Aeon and the Core. Also… workin on it.

Wr20 Guide for Newly Departed – Everything with Gaydos.

Geist 2e – We have a nice window to get KS art – fulls and splats assigned.

The Realm

M20 Gods and Monsters

Ex3 Dragon Blooded – Wave 2 art in progress

Monarchies of Mau– First finish coming in.

  Marketing Stuff

  In Layout

Wraith 20 Screen – I’ll pull this together while doing errata. I got the list from Dansky of what tables to pull… just want to make sure they are right.

Fetch Quest – KS stuff ready, ad banners to do.

EX3 Dragon Blooded – firming up layout and backgrounds while waiting for new art.

Changeling: the Lost 2 – With Josh.

  Proofing

Cavaliers of Mars – If everything panned out over the weekend, we are in final proof.

Scion Origin – Sheet stuff with Mr. Gone. Adding in cover text for cover.

Boggans – Waiting for WW approval.

Monarchies of Mau – Second proof with Eddy for page XX’s.

  At Press

Beckett Screen – At shipper.

Scarred Land PGs & Wise and the Wicked PF & 5e – At fulfillment shipper. PDF and PoD physical book versions on sale at DTRPG.

Prince’s Gambit – Being sent to the US, expected at fulfillment shipper this this week.

V20 Beckett’s Jyhad Diary– Deluxe edition finishing printing now.

Scion Dice – At fulfillment shipper.

Wraith 20 – Errata being input.

SL Champions of the Scarred Lands Anthology PoD – PoD proof coming.

Pugmire – Pan’s Explorer’s Guide (or whatever) – On sale this Wednesday in PDF and PoD versions!

  TODAY’S REASON TO CELEBRATE: Mark Zuckerberg’s birthday is today. Yay, Facebook?

[harry-meepmeep-dresden]

Serious Question

If I started posting some of my original content on Patreon or somewhere, how many people would be interested? Example of my original work below the read more. Please do not steal it. Still working out the kinks of some of the grammar software I use so please forgive me for anything that I’ve missed. I’ll try to get it fixed asap.

Please let me know if you like it as well <3

------------------------------

Running for your life is not the best feeling or reason to run. That’s what Tham always said. Elves possessed a messed up view on the death thing since immortality gets boring after a while. The immortal pointy-eared humanoids only faced death when they wished too. Tham might end up laughing, dashing ahead, and even running backward most likely in this plight, but she wasn’t here. I, unfortunately, was. Legs burning as my feet hit the ground hard. A glance back at the screaming goblins let me know just how much ‘fun’ I'd have if I stopped running. It took most of my strength just to hold the large pack filled with a few valuables of questionable ownership.

All right, more than a few. A heavy few things.

If I wasted even a single precious bullet Tham‘d take it out of my hide, or worse my pay. She’d likely show even more anger if the items didn't get delivered. So for the sake of profit and the higher chance of survival the gun came out of the tight leather holster.

A risky chance to take, slowing enough so the goblins got in range, I peered over my shoulder and fired. One of the five shots expelled and a small cracked stone popped out of the gun. Lightning struck out from the muzzle and hit the first goblin, turning him into a gnomish lightbulb for a moment. The greasy hair stood up because of static before bursting into flame. Two others didn’t dive out of the way fast enough and became toasty. Luckily, while running, the stench couldn’t reach me.  

Not much farther until I'd reach safety. Keep moving. Tham owed far more than proposed for this job. Foot massage, hot bath, and maybe even those fancy coffee beans the satyrs grew. Expensive stuff. Great distractions to think on instead of the pounding foot pain. The wagon soon came into view. The cliff took a higher drop than I remembered. Must have taken a wrong turn. Since the survivability, if I turned around and ran towards them, rested at zero to none, the alternative possibilities remained limited.  

“Luey!” my shout startled the driver making him stare up towards the short cliff to his right.

He caught the bag of goods I threw at him. I leaped. I considered jumping still carrying everything, but I didn’t want to risk a landing on top. Instead, I fell onto the softer items we stored in the back. Gold encrusted boxes, with the gems, tended to break bones if you landed on them from a high, or even a regular fall. Learned from experience. A few experiences.

Upon my safe landing, Luey got the wagon moving as quick as possible. The goblins, not having soft items to land on opted not to follow, but hurled rocks at us. With a heavy sigh, I closed my eyes and tried not to let the bumpy road bother me.

“Um, where are your shoes? And one of your socks is missing too,” Luey, kept around for his outstanding observational skills.

“Oh you know, crawled through a narrow goblin hole. Gave them my shoes as a toll,” they’d pulled them hard enough they came off with one tug. The boots weren’t worth stopping and getting eviscerated to retrieve.

“I don’t think those shoes will fit them. Weren’t they brand new?”

“Luey, shut up please.”

“I mean you said you didn’t need help. With me there we might have killed most of them and made the others run. But no, ‘just a pickup job’ and-”

“Shut it. I will not admit I needed your help. I got out of there, didn’t I?” I attempted to end the conversation and succeeded with my interruption.

Never understood his overwhelming urge to be right. Then again, I think he just liked the sound of his own voice saying ‘I told you so’. His little snort made me want to use another bullet, but I opted to find one of the water skins and take a few long drinks.

After removal of the remaining sock, it ended up getting tossed overboard. What’s the point of keeping a single sock? I’d add the cost of the boots and a new pair of socks to the charge for the chest. Those were custom-made boots. My feet weren’t the normal size for more durable footwear. It took the cobbler over a month to make the forsaken pair. They fit perfect. If they were on my feet, then the soreness wouldn’t even be an issue. Most people‘s feet after running for three miles over the stones, sticks, and who knows what else would be sore, and bleeding. Boots would have prevented all of that.

With thirst satisfied I tried to get comfortable in the wagon. With my eyes closed, it didn’t take long to fall asleep.

“Dion, we’re here. I can’t find our papers from Tham. Where d’you put them?” Luey kept messing up my hair until I stopped pretending to be asleep anymore, even moving his hands to grip my shoulders and shake me just to make sure.

“Papers? You’ve got to be-” looking up as I spoke, my words caught when the bane of the current situation looked at me. “Hello, Raflinel.”

“It’s Rafinielle,” he gave me the normal disdain filled look as he corrected my purposeful butchering of his name. I didn’t like the guy, so making his life difficult filled mine with a hint of joy.

“That’s what I said. You needed our papers, right?” I sighed and began to dig into smaller crates.

For how much Luey deserved a throttling for his asinine superiority complex the man hid our goods well. I didn’t even have to worry over exposing them as I dug around inside the bag and brought up a scroll with a distinctive wax marking on it. A corner missing from being chewed off the paper. Transported worg puppies a couple weeks prior. Like every animal baby, they caused destruction to everything. The scroll gave us free passage to come and go without being searched or halted for more than an hour. The council, more concerned over weapons than any other illegal goods, meant the lovely sidearm might end up being confiscated by the guards until departure without that paper.

Sometimes the guards got greedy which is why Luey hid the bag with the chest in it. The goods we got weren’t always the kind guards enjoyed letting into the city without a cut. The guards made dirt for salary, but their jobs were to stand there and whistle if an attacks were inbound. Most of them didn’t even know how to wield the weapons they carried, so my sympathy for their lack of wealth is non-existent. They charged high, fake taxes and other miscellaneous amounts the city council didn’t demand and put it right into their own pockets. Travelers with an abundance of expensive objects have large purses and not knowning any better fell for it. In Faethes, a town between giant filled hills and goblin rich forests, the con artists were the real monsters.

One particular guard just liked to give people a difficult time. Something about him being one of the high guards of the capital or other nonsense. Not saying he’s a liar, he knows how to use the sword and bow, and might be the only non-corrupt member. This guard, Rafinielle, scrutinized the paper. He attempted a more serious approach to the job. Most of the other guards just let us through. Luey and I come here because it happens to be Tham’s preferred trading post.

“Rafi-nelly, we’ve come through here a dozen times and you know we have that paper. It makes no sense why you don’t just let us go through,” the same thing I say every single time he’s passed the paper back to me.  

“Protocol. Without protocol and order, there’d be a mess. As a human, I don’t expect you understand any of that. Even if you have magic secret to longevity. Now be on your way. You cause any trouble and I’ll volunteer to be the one to throw you out of town. I’d take that weapon, and tear that damn paper to shreds," Rafinielle said. He's shorter than me while I sat in the wagon, but still managed to look down on me.

Pure, annoyance driven hate filled my thoughts as I shoved the paper back into the water safe pouch in the wagon. Luey, bless his soul, started the horse moving before I said a word. The movement caused me to bite my tongue and cut off the trouble filled words bouncing at the forefront of my thoughts. Once speaking proved out of the question I opted for a few lewd hand gestures instead. It’s rare when you can see an elf get flustered to the point their face goes red. The ability to annoy Rafinielle into embarrassment, I’m an expert at.  

When we were far enough away Elven eyes couldn’t see finite gestures, I moved to dig through the packs to find a snack to eat. Didn‘t want to give him any reason to be suspicious.

Luey directed the horse through the large gates of worked wood and earth that marked the entryway of Faethes. Thirty feet tall hardened wood, grown straight from the ground and shaped into the protective walls of the city. The walls circled the entire expanse, except the three gates, which were open. When you live near giants, it only makes sense to have something just as big to keep them out. Entering the city always held a moment of awe for me. The patience the wall woodworkers possessed to create such a magnificent accomplishment is unimaginable. The walls, being living trees (although what kind I don’t know), grew an extra few inches every year, so in time, they might even touch the clouds.

Inside the city, all sorts of bustling occurred. Gnomes, elves of different races, dwarves, the half-breed something or others, and humans roamed and haggled. Yet no other human such as myself. Human, yes I am, but I lack the regular human lifespan. It made a few people angry and demand the explanation. If I had one, I’d give it in a heartbeat. For a price that is.

Speaking of prices, Luey stopped the wagon in front of Tham’s Treasures and Artifacts. Time to negotiate my way into getting a new pair of boots.

Chimes sounded as Luey and I entered the shop. Glowing orbs provided enough light for shoppers to browse the wares.

For the number of things available, there were far too many shelves lining the walls. Each item appeared to have a solid foot of space around it. Valuables were breakable. To make sure a person didn't bump and break something providing enough space is essential.

People journeyed to Faethes to purchase rare items at Tham's place. Containers, clothing, jewelry, and far more sat on display. Tham kept most of the rare loot in the back. This included spell bullets, enchanted items, rare gems, and weaponry. To discourage thieves, Tham secured her rarer wares in a room behind the counter. I wouldn't suggest trying to get into that back room either. Tham kept a ward on the passageway. Even if I tried, no way could I live through the attempt to break in. Rumor is that she made the ward herself. If Luey didn't stop me on our first visit my extra-long life might have met a quick end.

A few travelers were talking with Tham. It looked as though she had a chain with a green crystal hooked on the end. Most likely they wanted the crystal. Our business isn’t urgent so Luey and I waited.

Travelers from other cities came to Faethes often. Many considered Faethes the capital city of Constalence. Faethes, on top of being the capital, more humans lived there than any other city. Might be because of how safe the tall walls appeared. As short-lived beings, humans did not occupy many positions of power. The highest ranked human represented all the humans on the city council. They deserved at least one vote.

Humans, such cowards. Most didn't chance to leave the safety and remained content with manual labor. That small fact might be why Rafinielle hated me. If I acknowledged his opinions on me that might hurt my feelings.

The elves finished their purchases and began to leave, eyeing me on their way out. It’s great being considered a second-class citizen. Even if humans made up a large part of the population of Faethes, most unable to afford to shop at Tham's. If I told them I'd provided Tham with that jewel they'd laugh. No need fussing over it.

Tham looked to us and smiled. She wore her hair up in braids today. Tham's ears poked out of her hair. Tham adorned the two points with mithril clips. Her skin showed the immortal radiance of the elves with how smooth it appeared. She wore powder on her cheeks and a green shade on her eyelids. Never understood the urge to wear different colored powders. Sometimes it looked nice, but it wasn't for me.

"Dion!" she exclaimed and moved around the counter. "How's my favorite human thief?"

“You have more than one human thief?” I grinned. “It's more of a treasure hunter instead of a thief.”

"You take goods never in your possession prior. You can call it whatever you'd like, but that still screams 'thief' to me. If I had another, you'd still be my favorite," she wrapped her arms around my shoulders and brought me in for a hug.

Tham stood a few inches taller than me. Elves' natural height might make a human feel short, even if the human is of average height. I looked up to meet her sparkling blue eyes and couldn't help but smile. Tham acts selfish, impulsive, and underestimate the danger retrieving boxes filled with who knows what. She remained one of my closest friends despite those traits. However, the idea she might sell me out if offered a good price didn't escape my attention.

My smile faded as she moved to take the box.

"Hey now, no business just yet. We have to renegotiate the price. Getting this took far more effort than initially advertised. I lost my shoes. So we need to chalk a pair of custom leather boots onto the bill," my smile came back when she pouted.

She hated negotiations because that meant someone possessed something she wanted. Neener, neener I've got the pretty box.

Her pout broke as she sighed before speaking, "You are an exasperating human, aren't you, Dion? Fine. New boots added onto the bill."

“Brand new, custom, leather boots.”

“Brand new. Custom. Leather. Boots,” she confirmed.

When dealing with elves or any merchant, a person needed to make sure that their demands were meticulously precise. Merchants might act like a djinn towards a helpless buyer. By this I mean they could give a person what they wanted, without it being what they wanted. I wanted new, custom boots. Tham said 'new boots'. If I accepted the proposal, she could end up giving me the cheapest new boots she could find without breaking the verbal contract. The boots didn't even need to fit me. The boots could end up crocheted instead of leather. So always double check your accords.

"Deal," I passed her the box.

Her smile grew immensely when she got to hold the small chest. It didn't appear as anything out of the ordinary. Then again, she desired what’s tucked away inside the chest. Tham moved to set the box on the counter before reaching into her pocket. She drew out a few small crafting tools for lock picking. Although she could have asked me to pick the lock, she attempted to do it herself. Refusing to ask the professional, me, to do their job only hurt my pride a smidge.

Luey looked around while I kept my eyes on Tham and her attempts. When a small 'snap' sounded her face turned pinker than the powder made it appear. After a couple of minutes, two 'snaps', and a couple tiny broken tools she raised an eyebrow at me. Her eyes narrowed, and I tried not to smile. I swear, I tried not too. Her little huff made it that much harder to fight off a grin. She stepped back from the counter. With my pride bandaged, I moved to get out my own tools to unlock the chest. I moved to take up space she'd left so I could get to work. Trap dismantling and lock picking were art forms. Any idiot could throw paint on a canvas or shove two metal parts into a hole. That didn't mean they'd get the desired results. Just a slight twist and-

"OW!" I jumped back and looked at my fingers.

The chest’s defenses relied on more than a solid metal lock to keep people out. My tools rested inside the lock. A shock of light snapped between the two metal parts. Lightning magic triggered by all other means, but the right key. That made things more interesting.

Tham looked at me with a smug expression. The corner of her lip drawn up in a smile and one of her eyebrows raised. No way I'd admit this might be difficult. Instead, I drew out my thick gloves and went back to work. The leather began to heat as I continued working. A rather dramatic 'click' sounded as the lock popped open. Okay, maybe it might have been less dramatic than I thought, but still dramatic. With my still gloved hands, I opened the box.

Foam padding surrounded glass orbs inside the chest. The foam protected the orbs from damage. No doubt the foam did its job since the contents appeared in prime condition. A lump formed in my throat when I remembered how roughly I'd treated the chest on my escape. Tham’s chances of murdering me if the treasure inside ended up damaged rather high.

“I thought you said this‘d be a treasure. Rubies and diamonds. What’s in here are glass globes with some kind of liquid inside," reaching into the chest I intended to pick one up to look closer at it. Luey's hand grabbed my wrist and prevented it from going any closer to the glass. "Hey! What's the matter Luey?” "You shouldn't touch those," he looked at Tham. "You lied to us."

The tone of his voice, so deep and emotionless made me swallow a sudden lump in my throat. Simultaneously, my mouth felt dry. Luey never got angry in the years I'd known him. The immortal man of stranger unknown origin than myself never got angry. Not until now.

"I said there was a treasure. If Dion and yourself thought it mean jewels and coins, then that is your mistake," Tham pulled the chest across the counter to rest in front of her. "Honestly, I thought the contents of the chest were likely worthless bobbles."

"Those are nowhere near bobbles," he growled deep in the back of his throat and reached to take the box back. "I should destroy These."

"I'm sorry, but no. They're my property now," Tham argued although her hands trembled as Luey stood up straighter.

Luey towered over most, including elves, and because of that, few people knew he often slouched. When he stood up straight, he almost gained another foot in height. Slowly, I began to back away. This might not end well if Tham continued to argue.

"Fine. I’ll get to research them first. I also want to see how you 'destroy' them and tell me everything you know for this exchange and will not pay you for the job," she bit her bottom lip.

"Custom leather boots are not negotiable," Luey said before releasing his side of the chest. "You owe us that much for the trouble of getting these. I would never have let Dion accept this job if I'd known."

Okay, now he might take it too far. I'm an adult thank you very much and can make my own stupid mistakes. By human standards, I’m an elder. Not that it made me any smarter, but Luey didn't have to rip the bandage off of my pride that quick.

“Uh, Luey, I agreed to it. You don't have a say in what I agree or disagree too,” a simple argument that started and ended as he turned to look at me. No way I‘d be stupid enough to continue when he gave me that look. “Even if you refused, you don't control what jobs I accept or not. It's my choice. You might be my friend Luey, but you are not my keeper.”

My mouth beat my brain to the punch.

“You're right on that account, but as a friend, I wouldn’t let you accept,” Luey said, his voice softening to a father-like tone. “It is something that humans shouldn’t touch or worry over.”

"So what are they?"

"That is not important," he reached into his pocket before bringing out a few gold coins to hand to me. "Go get your boots."

I was not a child. Luey looking so worried that it made me scared. Not trembling in my boots scared, more ancient curse fear. I'd handled dangerous items before, things that almost killed me, and yet he basically forbid me to touch one.  His eyes looked at my own, his stony features standing firm and immovable.

Taking the gold I left to find the cobbler.

[vellusia-blog]

Vellusia In-Depth

An in-depth look at Vellusia Thorne (because I didn’t want to crash TRP). Scroll to the bottom of this post for my RP Style.

“Rose petals and thyme…mother put them in my pillowcase at night. She said that it would protect me, keep me safe. It hasn’t—what good are a handful of crushed leaves and petals when the nightmares are real? But I do it anyway…I do it always.”             

                                      -Vellusia to the Druidess Fawnwood ((March, 2017))

Physical

Lower Middle-Class Gilnean: Vellusia’s eyes are a vibrant green, her hair afire with strands of auburn and ginger. Her skin is as pale as any child of a storm-wrought landscape, and is likely unable to tan. A spray of freckles cover her face, most densely gathered on the bridge of her nose. She is neither especially tall, nor short, but hers is an athletic build. Nimble and resilient, her physique is almost diametrically healthier than her mind.

Psychology

A Conflicting Nature: Human at her core, Vellusia is eager and excitable, with a spirit full of mischief and a heart that longs for adventure. She can, at times, be witty and sarcastic, and is unwaveringly loyal to her friends. Strong willed to a fault, Vellusia doesn’t suffer bullies quietly, and in an argument, tends to become frustrated and retaliatory.

Completely at odds with her original (human) personality, Vellusia is haunted by her Worgen Affliction, which she views as a curse. Due to complications with her transformations (see History below), Vellusia is horrified of “losing herself” to the animal within. She has no greater fear.

Having survived a difficult youth before the curse, Vellusia subconsciously fragments herself in times of duress—should she panic or suffer physical harm, she tends to accidentally slip into her own mind for protection leaving nothing but the animal within to steer the ship. This defense mechanism has come at a heavy cost: while in this state, Vell is nearly completely unconscious of her actions, and awakens later to discover what she has done.

Knowing that, as a Worgen, she had mauled a friend in the past, there is nothing in the world she fears more than herself—and that fear feeds into itself, perpetuating the cycle. Determined to fight this fate, Vellusia struggles to gain control, acceptance, and balance within herself...and within her wolf.

The Wolf Within: Vellusia (as a neglected child) had always felt a natural resistance to authority, though, if the position of leadership is made through friendship and respect, she will happily follow orders. Conversely, with Worgen blood now pulsing through her veins, she has a very difficult time denying an order made by whoever she perceives as the alpha of a group. She may resist, but eventually succumb to a command she disagrees with. Vellusia resents this aspect of herself, as she prefers to be a free-thinker and struggles with the concept of losing her free will to blind instinct.

Having suffered an exceptionally rocky transition to Worgen, Vellusia tends to trust and relate to humans most. She is unsettled by Worgen, not out of distaste, but out of insecurity. Their wolfen manner of expression reads as a foreign language to Vell--but, unable to deny her instincts entirely, she has begun to feel the “pull of the pack” when around confident Worgen. Still at odds with herself, the power of influence from Worgen to Worgen frightens her, and she attempts to avoid it.

Vellusia has subconsciously begun to see her human and elven companions as “her pack” and when a member is lost, she suffers deeply.

History

Early Life: Vellusia has told more than a few lies about her past. She spins colorful tales of heroism and tragedy, painting her family as brave and celebrated Watchmen, standing vigil at the mighty eastern-wall tower against a forsaken enemy. She has also been known to include stories about her 7 younger brothers--none of whom exist.

Much as she enjoys a good bit of mischief, Vellusia doesn’t lie for her own amusement, but rather, out of shame. The truth, the reality of her life is something she has always attempted to escape. Her pretty, red-haired mother, Amelia, was not a bold guardian, but suffered from extreme mental instability (manic schizophrenia). And her father, Edgar, was no heroic warrior of the wall, but an apathetic drunk.

The Thorne family had watched over the small tower beside the eastern bridge of scenic Gilneas for five generations, but Vellusia would be the small plot’s final inheritor. Her parents, as she knew them, were incapable of acting as true watchmen.

In rare moments of clarity, Amelia would tell Vellusia stories of brighter days before her breakdown and Edgar’s subsequent alcoholism. If there was a cause for Amelia’s madness, it was never spoken of, and Vellusia could not remember a time when her mother was sane. So frequent were her attacks, that Amelia could go from acting as a sweet and doting mother, to gibbering nonsense, to fits of hysteria and accidental self-harm. Her father only seemed to break from his stupors to save Amelia from damaging herself, just to return swiftly to the bottle.

Witnessing these frightening and chaotic swings at a young age were the cause of Vellusia’s subconscious creating safe places within her mind. Even as a child, she’d run off alone to play in the Blackwald, and pretend her life was something greater.

In many ways, Vellusia raised herself, struggling to balance caring for her parents and making the long trek to the Stormglen Village schoolhouse on foot. Her unfailing optimism and enthusiasm carried her through those early years, and though she was poorer than many of the other village children and was occasionally picked on by bullies, she strode forth, chin-high and determined for a better future.

As a young adult out of options for real change, Vellusia saw her broken parents and considered the very real possibility that she would share their fate: Well-intending, but stagnant, drunk and riddled with madness. Horrified by this concept, she ran away into nature, living in the Blackwald for two whole months. At first, she found living in the dark forest freeing, soothing--but survival on her own proved too difficult to last. Foraging and stealing (when she must) to survive, she finally decided her avoidance was futile: She would become just like her parents.

But returning home, Vellusia found her parents dead. Amelia seemed to have ingested paint in the shed, while Edgar had fallen down the narrow tower steps, his favorite tankard still in his hand. Though she mourned her parents, Vellusia saw their deaths as a mercy to their long suffering. On her last night in her small, tower home, she felt the impression that in some way, her parents had released her. Though, she would always carry the shame of their less-than-glorious deaths.

Packing up what little she had, Vellusia resolved to move to Gilneas-city and leave her troubled home-life far behind. Before departing, she found a false panel in her mother’s narrow closet and discovered an altar. The tiny table was topped with carved boxes, candle stumps and wooden sculptures of dancing figures coated in leaves and vines and thorns. Herb leaves and dried flowers littered the surfaces, alongside small jars of salts and liquids. At the forefront was a dark-silver, crudely wrought necklace: a locket with a five-pointed star across its face. Shocked by this discovery, Vellusia took the strange necklace, but allowed her mother’s secrets to rest.

Attack and Evacutation: Vellusia made her way to Gilneas-city and lived in a tiny hostel with four other women in the shoddy end of town for a mere three months before the Worgen curse tore across the land. Hurrying home after a long shift cleaning tables at the nearby tavern, Vellusia was cornered by a savage, red Worgen with bright yellow eyes. She attempted to reason with him, attempted to defend herself with a nearby plank of wood--but nothing would come between the snarling hunter and his prey.

Quick and violent, and completely devoid of human recognition, the Worgen slammed her against the nearest building and sank his teeth into his shoulder. He probably would have ripped her throat out if a passing nobleman hadn’t fired a shot into the beast’s back. The attacking Worgen whined, released Vellusia, and ran off into the bloody night.

The stretch of time that followed Vellusia’s bite was a blur of horror and delirium. Gilneas had fallen, and with it went Vellusia’s entire world. She doesn’t remember how exactly she survived the early days of her curse, or the evacuation of Gilneas, or the “cure” delivered by the Night Elves. Her transformations were never stable, sometimes overcoming her in her sleep, or in times of extreme stress. In addition to becoming a Worgen, she found herself changing into other animals as well: a large cat, a deer. Even when other afflicted Gilneans grew comfortable with their dual-forms, Vellusia remained lost in a disorienting tempest of animal-takeover. 

After fleeing Gilneas, Vellusia befriended a fellow refugee, a Keel-Harbor girl named Collette Worthington. They looked after one another as the pair, and so many others, migrated to Stormwind--but not one day after their arrival, things went terribly wrong. Vellusia, having suffered a post-traumatic nightmare, shifted into her Worgen form and attacked the refugee camp. Awakening in bonds, Vellusia was horrified to hear that she had torn apart three tents before biting Collette’s throat and dragging her down the road. It’d taken four shifted-Worgen to break her from her rampage. The girl, Collette, was lucky to have survived, but she never again spoke to Vellusia--not even to hear her tear-streaked apology.

After that day, Vellusia kept to the shadows, drank more coffee than any human should, and avoided other people as much as possible. Awakening one morning in Elwynn forest beside a hunter’s trap, blood dripping down one shoulder, her long hair severed and laying in ribbons all around her (as she’d apparently torn herself free), she came to the conclusion that if she didn’t find help soon, she would die or worse, kill someone.

It is that realization that drives her to seek the aid of strangers. If the people of Stormwind cannot help her, who can?

Now: Vellusia has begun to make the first real friends she’s had in her life. With their help, she is on a path of recovery. She has, and continues to learn about herself, to grow from each and every experience, and to absorb the wisdom, trust, and acceptance offered to her. With these friendships at the heart of her evolution, Vellusia has already taken ground-breaking strides in the controlling her Worgen form--she refuses to allow herself to harm the people she cares about, and though her troubles are far from over, this has become her strength.

Having recently discovered that her mother had secretly been a harvest-witch before her decline, Vellusia has reclaimed Amelia’s Book of Shadows and seeks to unravel the mysteries within its pages. She hopes that here, she will come to discover the reason for Amelia’s madness, the key to her own shape-shifting complications, and perhaps connect to a magic that runs deeper in her bloodline than she’d ever known.

Vellusia hopes to return the help she’s received from her friends, and someday, to defend Azeroth and make a difference in her world.

((If you’re reading this, you deserve a medal. No, seriously, treat yourself. You’ve earned it!))

((OOC Corner)) My Roleplay Style

Deep RP ...with humor! OOC I’m very easy going and friendly. Though I’m no perfectionist, I prefer immersive RP, and enjoy allowing my character’s interactions with others actively to define how she feels and who she ultimately becomes. My character will remember most interactions, and develop lasting memories and feelings relating to those encounters. I also enjoy “day-to-day” RP as well as “epic” RP.

Although Vellusia has an intense history, she’s also always on the lookout for fun (if the situation allows for it) and hopes to embark on adventures of every kind. She loves a good joke and has been known to contribute some sarcastic and charismatic humor of her own.

OOC is OOC and IC is IC I say this only because I’d like to be super clear that my character is a character, completely independent of my own personality and feelings as a player. If your character throws a drink in Vellusia’s face or embroils themselves in an argument with her, I’m not going to be angry OOC. In fact, as long as everything is logical and true to character, I’ll probably be laughing. If your character flirts with Vellusia, I’m not going to ask you for a phone number. I have my life. Vellusia has hers. That, I believe, is the gist of it. Happy RPing!

[loveofyhwh]

October 8: Isaiah 31–33; Hebrews 13:20–25; Psalm 91; Proverbs 25:11–14

New Post has been published on https://loveofyhwh.com/october-8-isaiah-31-33-hebrews-1320-25-psalm-91-proverbs-2511-14/

October 8: Isaiah 31–33; Hebrews 13:20–25; Psalm 91; Proverbs 25:11–14

Old Testament:

Isaiah 31–33

Isaiah 31–33 (Listen)

Woe to Those Who Go Down to Egypt

31   WoeOr Ah,‘>1 to those who go down to Egypt for help     and rely on horses,   who trust in chariots because they are many     and in horsemen because they are very strong,   but do not look to the Holy One of Israel     or consult the LORD! 2   And yet he is wise and brings disaster;     he does not call back his words,   but will arise against the house of the evildoers     and against the helpers of those who work iniquity. 3   The Egyptians are man, and not God,     and their horses are flesh, and not spirit.   When the LORD stretches out his hand,     the helper will stumble, and he who is helped will fall,     and they will all perish together. 4   For thus the LORD said to me,   “As a lion or a young lion growls over his prey,     and when a band of shepherds is called out against him   he is not terrified by their shouting     or daunted at their noise,   so the LORD of hosts will come down     to fightThe Hebrew words for hosts and to fight sound alike‘>2 on Mount Zion and on its hill. 5   Like birds hovering, so the LORD of hosts     will protect Jerusalem;   he will protect and deliver it;     he will spare and rescue it.”

6 Turn to him from whom peopleHebrew they‘>3 have deeply revolted, O children of Israel. 7 For in that day everyone shall cast away his idols of silver and his idols of gold, which your hands have sinfully made for you.

8   “And the Assyrian shall fall by a sword, not of man;     and a sword, not of man, shall devour him;   and he shall flee from the sword,     and his young men shall be put to forced labor. 9   His rock shall pass away in terror,     and his officers desert the standard in panic,”   declares the LORD, whose fire is in Zion,     and whose furnace is in Jerusalem.

A King Will Reign in Righteousness

32   Behold, a king will reign in righteousness,     and princes will rule in justice. 2   Each will be like a hiding place from the wind,     a shelter from the storm,   like streams of water in a dry place,     like the shade of a great rock in a weary land. 3   Then the eyes of those who see will not be closed,     and the ears of those who hear will give attention. 4   The heart of the hasty will understand and know,     and the tongue of the stammerers will hasten to speak distinctly. 5   The fool will no more be called noble,     nor the scoundrel said to be honorable. 6   For the fool speaks folly,     and his heart is busy with iniquity,   to practice ungodliness,     to utter error concerning the LORD,   to leave the craving of the hungry unsatisfied,     and to deprive the thirsty of drink. 7   As for the scoundrel—his devices are evil;     he plans wicked schemes   to ruin the poor with lying words,     even when the plea of the needy is right. 8   But he who is noble plans noble things,     and on noble things he stands.

Complacent Women Warned of Disaster

9   Rise up, you women who are at ease, hear my voice;     you complacent daughters, give ear to my speech. 10   In little more than a year     you will shudder, you complacent women;   for the grape harvest fails,     the fruit harvest will not come. 11   Tremble, you women who are at ease,     shudder, you complacent ones;   strip, and make yourselves bare,     and tie sackcloth around your waist. 12   Beat your breasts for the pleasant fields,     for the fruitful vine, 13   for the soil of my people     growing up in thorns and briers,   yes, for all the joyous houses     in the exultant city. 14   For the palace is forsaken,     the populous city deserted;   the hill and the watchtower     will become dens forever,   a joy of wild donkeys,     a pasture of flocks; 15   until the Spirit is poured upon us from on high,     and the wilderness becomes a fruitful field,     and the fruitful field is deemed a forest. 16   Then justice will dwell in the wilderness,     and righteousness abide in the fruitful field. 17   And the effect of righteousness will be peace,     and the result of righteousness, quietness and trustOr security‘>4 forever. 18   My people will abide in a peaceful habitation,     in secure dwellings, and in quiet resting places. 19   And it will hail when the forest falls down,     and the city will be utterly laid low. 20   Happy are you who sow beside all waters,     who let the feet of the ox and the donkey range free.

O Lord, Be Gracious to Us

33   Ah, you destroyer,     who yourself have not been destroyed,   you traitor,     whom none has betrayed!   When you have ceased to destroy,     you will be destroyed;   and when you have finished betraying,     they will betray you. 2   O LORD, be gracious to us; we wait for you.     Be our arm every morning,     our salvation in the time of trouble. 3   At the tumultuous noise peoples flee;     when you lift yourself up, nations are scattered, 4   and your spoil is gathered as the caterpillar gathers;     as locusts leap, it is leapt upon. 5   The LORD is exalted, for he dwells on high;     he will fill Zion with justice and righteousness, 6   and he will be the stability of your times,     abundance of salvation, wisdom, and knowledge;     the fear of the LORD is Zion’sHebrew his‘>5 treasure. 7   Behold, their heroes cry in the streets;     the envoys of peace weep bitterly. 8   The highways lie waste;     the traveler ceases.   Covenants are broken;     citiesMasoretic Text; Dead Sea Scroll witnesses‘>6 are despised;     there is no regard for man. 9   The land mourns and languishes;     Lebanon is confounded and withers away;   Sharon is like a desert,     and Bashan and Carmel shake off their leaves. 10   “Now I will arise,” says the LORD,     “now I will lift myself up;     now I will be exalted. 11   You conceive chaff; you give birth to stubble;     your breath is a fire that will consume you. 12   And the peoples will be as if burned to lime,     like thorns cut down, that are burned in the fire.” 13   Hear, you who are far off, what I have done;     and you who are near, acknowledge my might. 14   The sinners in Zion are afraid;     trembling has seized the godless:   “Who among us can dwell with the consuming fire?     Who among us can dwell with everlasting burnings?” 15   He who walks righteously and speaks uprightly,     who despises the gain of oppressions,   who shakes his hands, lest they hold a bribe,     who stops his ears from hearing of bloodshed     and shuts his eyes from looking on evil, 16   he will dwell on the heights;     his place of defense will be the fortresses of rocks;     his bread will be given him; his water will be sure. 17   Your eyes will behold the king in his beauty;     they will see a land that stretches afar. 18   Your heart will muse on the terror:     “Where is he who counted, where is he who weighed the tribute?     Where is he who counted the towers?” 19   You will see no more the insolent people,     the people of an obscure speech that you cannot comprehend,     stammering in a tongue that you cannot understand. 20   Behold Zion, the city of our appointed feasts!     Your eyes will see Jerusalem,     an untroubled habitation, an immovable tent,   whose stakes will never be plucked up,     nor will any of its cords be broken. 21   But there the LORD in majesty will be for us     a place of broad rivers and streams,   where no galley with oars can go,     nor majestic ship can pass. 22   For the LORD is our judge; the LORD is our lawgiver;     the LORD is our king; he will save us. 23   Your cords hang loose;     they cannot hold the mast firm in its place     or keep the sail spread out.   Then prey and spoil in abundance will be divided;     even the lame will take the prey. 24   And no inhabitant will say, “I am sick”;     the people who dwell there will be forgiven their iniquity.

Footnotes

[1] 31:1 Or Ah, [2] 31:4 The Hebrew words for hosts and to fight sound alike [3] 31:6 Hebrew they [4] 32:17 Or security [5] 33:6 Hebrew his [6] 33:8 Masoretic Text; Dead Sea Scroll witnesses

(ESV)

New Testament:

Hebrews 13:20–25

Hebrews 13:20–25 (Listen)

Benediction

20 Now may the God of peace who brought again from the dead our Lord Jesus, the great shepherd of the sheep, by the blood of the eternal covenant, 21 equip you with everything good that you may do his will, working in usSome manuscripts you‘>1 that which is pleasing in his sight, through Jesus Christ, to whom be glory forever and ever. Amen.

Final Greetings

22 I appeal to you, brothers,Or brothers and sisters‘>2 bear with my word of exhortation, for I have written to you briefly. 23 You should know that our brother Timothy has been released, with whom I shall see you if he comes soon. 24 Greet all your leaders and all the saints. Those who come from Italy send you greetings. 25 Grace be with all of you.

Footnotes

[1] 13:21 Some manuscripts you [2] 13:22 Or brothers and sisters

(ESV)

Psalm:

Psalm 91

Psalm 91 (Listen)

My Refuge and My Fortress

91   He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High     will abide in the shadow of the Almighty. 2   I will saySeptuagint He will say‘>1 to the LORD, “My refuge and my fortress,     my God, in whom I trust.” 3   For he will deliver you from the snare of the fowler     and from the deadly pestilence. 4   He will cover you with his pinions,     and under his wings you will find refuge;     his faithfulness is a shield and buckler. 5   You will not fear the terror of the night,     nor the arrow that flies by day, 6   nor the pestilence that stalks in darkness,     nor the destruction that wastes at noonday. 7   A thousand may fall at your side,     ten thousand at your right hand,     but it will not come near you. 8   You will only look with your eyes     and see the recompense of the wicked. 9   Because you have made the LORD your dwelling place—     the Most High, who is my refugeOr For you, O Lord, are my refuge! You have made the Most High your dwelling place‘>2— 10   no evil shall be allowed to befall you,     no plague come near your tent. 11   For he will command his angels concerning you     to guard you in all your ways. 12   On their hands they will bear you up,     lest you strike your foot against a stone. 13   You will tread on the lion and the adder;     the young lion and the serpent you will trample underfoot. 14   “Because he holds fast to me in love, I will deliver him;     I will protect him, because he knows my name. 15   When he calls to me, I will answer him;     I will be with him in trouble;     I will rescue him and honor him. 16   With long life I will satisfy him     and show him my salvation.”

Footnotes

[1] 91:2 Septuagint He will say [2] 91:9 Or For you, O Lord, are my refuge! You have made the Most High your dwelling place

(ESV)

Proverb:

Proverbs 25:11–14

Proverbs 25:11–14 (Listen)

11   A word fitly spoken     is like apples of gold in a setting of silver. 12   Like a gold ring or an ornament of gold     is a wise reprover to a listening ear. 13   Like the cold of snow in the time of harvest     is a faithful messenger to those who send him;     he refreshes the soul of his masters. 14   Like clouds and wind without rain     is a man who boasts of a gift he does not give.

(ESV)

[dfroza]

Paul illuminates the significance of forgiveness and grace in the writing of a Letter.

Today’s reading of the Scriptures from the New Testament is the 2nd chapter of the Letter of 2nd Corinthians:

I finally determined that I would not come to you again for yet another agonizing visit. If my visits create such pain and sorrow for you, who can cheer me up except for those I’ve caused such grief? This is exactly what I was writing to you about earlier so that when we are face-to-face I will not have to wallow in sadness in the presence of friends who should bring me the utmost joy. For I felt sure that my delight would also become your delight. My last letter to you was covered with tears, composed with great difficulty, and frankly, a broken heart. It wasn’t my intention to depress you or cause you pain; rather, I had hoped you would see it for what it was—a demonstration of the overwhelming love I have for all of you.

But if anyone has caused harm, he has not so much harmed me as he has—and I don’t think I’m exaggerating here—harmed all of you. In my view, the majority of you have punished him well enough. So instead of continuing to ostracize him, I encourage you to offer him the grace of forgiveness and the comfort of your acceptance. Otherwise, if he finds no welcome back to the community, I’m afraid he will be overwhelmed with extreme sorrow and lose all hope. So I urge you to demonstrate your love for him once again. I wrote these things to you with a clear purpose in mind: to test whether you are willing to live and abide by all my counsel. If you forgive anyone, I forgive that one as well. Have no doubt, anything that I have forgiven—when I do forgive—is done ultimately for you in the presence of the Anointed One. It’s my duty to make sure that Satan does not win even a small victory over us, for we don’t want to be naïve and then fall prey to his schemes.

When I arrived at Troas, bringing the good news of the Anointed, the Lord opened a door there for me. Yet my spirit was restless because I could not find my brother Titus. Eventually I told them good-bye and set out for Macedonia.

Yet I am so thankful to God, who always marches us to victory under the banner of the Anointed One; and through us He spreads the beautiful fragrance of His knowledge to every corner of the earth. In a turbulent world where people are either dying or being rescued, we are the sweet smell of the Anointed to God our Father. To those who are dying, they smell the stench of death in us. And to those being rescued, we are the unmistakable scent of life. Who is worthy of this calling? For we are nothing like the others who sell the word of God like a commodity. Do not be mistaken; our words come from God with the utmost sincerity, always spoken through the Anointed in the presence of God.

The Letter of 2nd Corinthians, Chapter 2 (The Voice)

Today’s paired chapter of the Testaments is the 53rd chapter of the book (scroll) of Isaiah that illuminates the significance of the forgiveness of sins through the suffering of the Son on our behalf:

Indeed, who would ever believe it?

Who would possibly accept what we’ve been told?

Who has witnessed the awesome power and plan of the Eternal in action?

Out of emptiness he came, like a tender shoot from rock-hard ground.

He didn’t look like anything or anyone of consequence—

he had no physical beauty to attract our attention.

So he was despised and forsaken by men,

this man of suffering, grief’s patient friend.

As if he was a person to avoid, we looked the other way;

he was despised, forsaken, and we took no notice of him.

Yet it was our suffering he carried,

our pain and distress, our sick-to-the-soul-ness.

We just figured that God had rejected him,

that God was the reason he hurt so badly.

But he was hurt because of us; he suffered so.

Our wrongdoing wounded and crushed him.

He endured the breaking that made us whole.

The injuries he suffered became our healing.

We all have wandered off, like shepherdless sheep,

scattered by our aimless striving and endless pursuits;

The Eternal One laid on him, this silent sufferer,

the sins of us all.

And in the face of such oppression and suffering—silence.

Not a word of protest, not a finger raised to stop it.

Like a sheep to a shearing, like a lamb to be slaughtered,

he went—oh so quietly, oh so willingly.

Oppressed and condemned, he was taken away.

From this generation, who was there to complain?

Who was there to cry “Foul”?

He was, after all, cut off from the land of the living,

Smacked and struck, not on his account,

because of how my people (my people!)

Disregarded the lines between right and wrong.

They snuffed out his life.

And when he was dead, he was buried with the disgraced

in borrowed space (among the rich),

Even though he did no wrong by word or deed.

Yet the Eternal One planned to crush him all along,

to bring him to grief, this innocent servant of God.

When he puts his life in sin’s dark place, in the pit of wrongdoing,

this servant of God will see his children and have his days prolonged.

For in His servant’s hand, the Eternal’s deepest desire will come to pass and flourish.

As a result of the trials and troubles that wrack his soul,

God’s servant will see light and be content

Because He knows, really understands, what it’s about; as God says,

“My just servant will justify countless others by taking on their punishment and bearing it away.

Because he exposed his very self—

laid bare his soul to the vicious grasping of death—

And was counted among the worst, I will count him among the best.

I will allot this one, My servant, a share in all that is of any value,

Because he took on himself the sin of many

and acted on behalf of those who broke My law.”

The Book (Scroll) of Isaiah, Chapter 53 (The Voice)

A link to my personal reading of the Scriptures for Saturday, july 31 of 2021 with a paired chapter from each Testament of the Bible along with Today’s Proverbs and Psalms

A post by John Parsons about how we see, how we come to view life through baptism eyes:

We are instructed to see small miracles, everyday "signs and wonders..." Our Torah portion this week (Eikev) includes the commandment: “And you shall bless the LORD your God for the good land he has given you.” (Deut. 8:10). Whenever we derive benefit or enjoyment from something we are to bless (i.e., thank) God for his goodness. Jewish tradition says that if one eats or drinks without saying a blessing, it is as if he has stolen from God. From the verse, “What does the LORD ask of you...” (Deut. 10:12), the sages infer that a person should say at least 100 blessings a day, since the word מה, “what,” alludes to the word מאה, a “hundred.” The Hebrew term for gratitude is hakarat tovah (הַכָּרַת טוֹבָה), a phrase that means "recognizing the good." The heart looks through the eye, and therefore how we see is ultimately a spiritual decision: "If your eye is "single" (i.e., ἁπλοῦς, sincere, focused)," Yeshua said, "your whole body will be filled with light" (Matt. 6:22). When we see rightly, we are awakened to God's Presence in the little things of life, those small miracles and glories that constantly surround us. The good eye of faith sees hundreds of reasons to bless God for the precious gift of life (1 Cor. 10:31). Open your eyes... The LORD is "enthroned among the blessings of His people" (Psalm 22:3).

Addictions, cravings, lusts, etc., arise from a refusal to be satisfied, by hungering for more than the blessing of the present moment. "My people have committed two evils: they have forsaken me, the fountain of living waters, and hewed out cisterns for themselves, broken cisterns that can hold no water" (Jer. 2:13). The living waters are present for us, but we will only find them if we open our hearts to the wonder of God in this moment. We can "break the spell" of continual dissatisfaction, of the power of greed, ambition, and so on, when we discover that our constant hunger is really a cry for God and His blessing. This is the blessed “hunger and thirst” given by the Spirit (Matt. 5:6). Our sense of inner emptiness is an invitation to come to the waters and drink life. So come to God's table and ask the Lord Yeshua to give you the water that will satisfy your heart's true thirst for life...

It is written: “Oh, taste and see that the LORD is good! Blessed is the man who takes refuge in him! Oh, fear the LORD, you his saints, for those who fear him have no lack” (Psalm 34:8-9). We can only “taste and see” when we are earnest however, when we seek God with passion... When you pray, lift up your heart and soul to God, asking for the miracle to surrender to Him in the truth. Where it says, "with all your heart" (בְּכָל־לְבָבְךָ), present before him all your passion and desires; your hopes and your needs, your fears and your anger; and where it says, "with all your soul" (וּבְכָל־נַפְשְׁךָ), offer before him your very soul, as if to be sacrificed in his service; and where it says, "with all your muchness" (וּבְכָל־מְאדֶךָ) offer to him all your strength, all your means, and all your dreams. Ask to be filled with the Ruach HaKodesh to be enabled to apprehend the glory of God in the face of the Messiah (בִּפְנֵי הַמָּשִׁיחַ), through whom we are being transformed for the glory of God. [Hebrew for Christians]

7.30.21 • Facebook

Today’s message (Days of Praise) from the Institute for Creation Research

July 31, 2021

The Good Confession

“I give thee charge in the sight of God, who quickeneth all things, and before Christ Jesus, who before Pontius Pilate witnessed a good confession.” (1 Timothy 6:13)

Young Timothy also had “professed a good profession [same word as ‘confession’] before many witnesses” (v. 12), evidently of similar substance and quality to that in the witness of Christ before Pilate. When the Jews urged Pilate to condemn Jesus to death, their charge was that “he made himself the Son of God” (John 19:7). Pilate gave Jesus opportunity to deny this charge and save His life, “but Jesus gave him no answer” (v. 9). Both by His silence, when a denial of the charge could have saved Him, and by His open testimony before Pilate that He was, in fact, a King from heaven itself—indeed “the blessed and only Potentate, the King of kings, and Lord of lords” (1 Timothy 6:15)—it becomes clear that our own “good confession” must be a confession of our faith in Jesus Christ as Son of God, our Savior and Lord, especially when that confession is made openly before hostile witnesses.

Jesus said: “Whosoever therefore shall confess me before men, him will I confess also before my Father which is in heaven” (Matthew 10:32). Paul said, “If thou shalt confess with thy mouth the Lord Jesus, and shalt believe in thine heart that God hath raised him from the dead, thou shalt be saved” (Romans 10:9); and John said, “Whosoever shall confess that Jesus is the Son of God, God dwelleth in him, and he in God” (1 John 4:15).

Despite the great blessings awaiting all who make a courageous and good confession of saving faith in Christ, most people will refuse until it is too late. There is a time coming, however, when “every tongue [will] confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father” (Philippians 2:11). HMM

[loveofyhwh]

October 6: Isaiah 26–28; Hebrews 12:3–29; Psalm 89:30–52; Proverbs 25:1–7

New Post has been published on https://loveofyhwh.com/october-6-isaiah-26-28-hebrews-123-29-psalm-8930-52-proverbs-251-7/

October 6: Isaiah 26–28; Hebrews 12:3–29; Psalm 89:30–52; Proverbs 25:1–7

Old Testament:

Isaiah 26–28

Isaiah 26–28 (Listen)

You Keep Him in Perfect Peace

26 In that day this song will be sung in the land of Judah:

  “We have a strong city;     he sets up salvation     as walls and bulwarks. 2   Open the gates,     that the righteous nation that keeps faith may enter in. 3   You keep him in perfect peace     whose mind is stayed on you,     because he trusts in you. 4   Trust in the LORD forever,     for the LORD GOD is an everlasting rock. 5   For he has humbled     the inhabitants of the height,     the lofty city.   He lays it low, lays it low to the ground,     casts it to the dust. 6   The foot tramples it,     the feet of the poor,     the steps of the needy.” 7   The path of the righteous is level;     you make level the way of the righteous. 8   In the path of your judgments,     O LORD, we wait for you;   your name and remembrance     are the desire of our soul. 9   My soul yearns for you in the night;     my spirit within me earnestly seeks you.   For when your judgments are in the earth,     the inhabitants of the world learn righteousness. 10   If favor is shown to the wicked,     he does not learn righteousness;   in the land of uprightness he deals corruptly     and does not see the majesty of the LORD. 11   O LORD, your hand is lifted up,     but they do not see it.   Let them see your zeal for your people, and be ashamed.     Let the fire for your adversaries consume them. 12   O LORD, you will ordain peace for us,     for you have indeed done for us all our works. 13   O LORD our God,     other lords besides you have ruled over us,     but your name alone we bring to remembrance. 14   They are dead, they will not live;     they are shades, they will not arise;   to that end you have visited them with destruction     and wiped out all remembrance of them. 15   But you have increased the nation, O LORD,     you have increased the nation; you are glorified;     you have enlarged all the borders of the land. 16   O LORD, in distress they sought you;     they poured out a whispered prayer     when your discipline was upon them. 17   Like a pregnant woman     who writhes and cries out in her pangs     when she is near to giving birth,   so were we because of you, O LORD; 18     we were pregnant, we writhed,     but we have given birth to wind.   We have accomplished no deliverance in the earth,     and the inhabitants of the world have not fallen. 19   Your dead shall live; their bodies shall rise.     You who dwell in the dust, awake and sing for joy!   For your dew is a dew of light,     and the earth will give birth to the dead. 20   Come, my people, enter your chambers,     and shut your doors behind you;   hide yourselves for a little while     until the fury has passed by. 21   For behold, the LORD is coming out from his place     to punish the inhabitants of the earth for their iniquity,   and the earth will disclose the blood shed on it,     and will no more cover its slain.

The Redemption of Israel

27 In that day the LORD with his hard and great and strong sword will punish Leviathan the fleeing serpent, Leviathan the twisting serpent, and he will slay the dragon that is in the sea.

2   In that day,   “A pleasant vineyard,Many Hebrew manuscripts A vineyard of wine‘>1 sing of it! 3     I, the LORD, am its keeper;     every moment I water it.     Lest anyone punish it,   I keep it night and day; 4     I have no wrath.   Would that I had thorns and briers to battle!     I would march against them,     I would burn them up together. 5   Or let them lay hold of my protection,     let them make peace with me,     let them make peace with me.” 6   In days to comeHebrew In those to come‘>2 Jacob shall take root,     Israel shall blossom and put forth shoots     and fill the whole world with fruit. 7   Has he struck them as he struck those who struck them?     Or have they been slain as their slayers were slain? 8   Measure by measure,Or By driving her away; the meaning of the Hebrew word is uncertain‘>3 by exile you contended with them;     he removed them with his fierce breathOr wind‘>4 in the day of the east wind. 9   Therefore by this the guilt of Jacob will be atoned for,     and this will be the full fruit of the removal of his sin:Septuagint and this is the blessing when I take away his sin‘>5   when he makes all the stones of the altars     like chalkstones crushed to pieces,     no Asherim or incense altars will remain standing. 10   For the fortified city is solitary,     a habitation deserted and forsaken, like the wilderness;   there the calf grazes;     there it lies down and strips its branches. 11   When its boughs are dry, they are broken;     women come and make a fire of them.   For this is a people without discernment;     therefore he who made them will not have compassion on them;     he who formed them will show them no favor.

12 In that day from the river EuphratesHebrew from the River‘>6 to the Brook of Egypt the LORD will thresh out the grain, and you will be gleaned one by one, O people of Israel. 13 And in that day a great trumpet will be blown, and those who were lost in the land of Assyria and those who were driven out to the land of Egypt will come and worship the LORD on the holy mountain at Jerusalem.

Judgment on Ephraim and Jerusalem

28   Ah, the proud crown of the drunkards of Ephraim,     and the fading flower of its glorious beauty,     which is on the head of the rich valley of those overcome with wine! 2   Behold, the Lord has one who is mighty and strong;     like a storm of hail, a destroying tempest,   like a storm of mighty, overflowing waters,     he casts down to the earth with his hand. 3   The proud crown of the drunkards of Ephraim     will be trodden underfoot; 4   and the fading flower of its glorious beauty,     which is on the head of the rich valley,   will be like a first-ripe figOr fruit‘>7 before the summer:     when someone sees it, he swallows it     as soon as it is in his hand. 5   In that day the LORD of hosts will be a crown of glory,The Hebrew words for glory and hosts sound alike‘>8     and a diadem of beauty, to the remnant of his people, 6   and a spirit of justice to him who sits in judgment,     and strength to those who turn back the battle at the gate. 7   These also reel with wine     and stagger with strong drink;   the priest and the prophet reel with strong drink,     they are swallowed byOr confused by‘>9 wine,     they stagger with strong drink,   they reel in vision,     they stumble in giving judgment. 8   For all tables are full of filthy vomit,     with no space left. 9   “To whom will he teach knowledge,     and to whom will he explain the message?   Those who are weaned from the milk,     those taken from the breast? 10   For it is precept upon precept, precept upon precept,     line upon line, line upon line,     here a little, there a little.” 11   For by people of strange lips     and with a foreign tongue   the LORD will speak to this people, 12     to whom he has said,   “This is rest;     give rest to the weary;   and this is repose”;     yet they would not hear. 13   And the word of the LORD will be to them   precept upon precept, precept upon precept,     line upon line, line upon line,     here a little, there a little,   that they may go, and fall backward,     and be broken, and snared, and taken.

A Cornerstone in Zion

14   Therefore hear the word of the LORD, you scoffers,     who rule this people in Jerusalem! 15   Because you have said, “We have made a covenant with death,     and with Sheol we have an agreement,   when the overwhelming whip passes through     it will not come to us,   for we have made lies our refuge,     and in falsehood we have taken shelter”; 16   therefore thus says the Lord GOD,   “Behold, I am the one who has laidDead Sea Scroll I am laying‘>10 as a foundation in Zion,     a stone, a tested stone,   a precious cornerstone, of a sure foundation:     ‘Whoever believes will not be in haste.’ 17   And I will make justice the line,     and righteousness the plumb line;   and hail will sweep away the refuge of lies,     and waters will overwhelm the shelter.” 18   Then your covenant with death will be annulled,     and your agreement with Sheol will not stand;   when the overwhelming scourge passes through,     you will be beaten down by it. 19   As often as it passes through it will take you;     for morning by morning it will pass through,     by day and by night;   and it will be sheer terror to understand the message. 20   For the bed is too short to stretch oneself on,     and the covering too narrow to wrap oneself in. 21   For the LORD will rise up as on Mount Perazim;     as in the Valley of Gibeon he will be roused;   to do his deed—strange is his deed!     and to work his work—alien is his work! 22   Now therefore do not scoff,     lest your bonds be made strong;   for I have heard a decree of destruction     from the Lord GOD of hosts against the whole land. 23   Give ear, and hear my voice;     give attention, and hear my speech. 24   Does he who plows for sowing plow continually?     Does he continually open and harrow his ground? 25   When he has leveled its surface,     does he not scatter dill, sow cumin,   and put in wheat in rows     and barley in its proper place,     and emmerA type of wheat‘>11 as the border? 26   For he is rightly instructed;     his God teaches him. 27   Dill is not threshed with a threshing sledge,     nor is a cart wheel rolled over cumin,   but dill is beaten out with a stick,     and cumin with a rod. 28   Does one crush grain for bread?     No, he does not thresh it forever;Or Grain is crushed for bread; he will surely thresh it, but not forever‘>12   when he drives his cart wheel over it     with his horses, he does not crush it. 29   This also comes from the LORD of hosts;     he is wonderful in counsel     and excellent in wisdom.

Footnotes

[1] 27:2 Many Hebrew manuscripts A vineyard of wine [2] 27:6 Hebrew In those to come [3] 27:8 Or By driving her away; the meaning of the Hebrew word is uncertain [4] 27:8 Or wind [5] 27:9 Septuagint and this is the blessing when I take away his sin [6] 27:12 Hebrew from the River [7] 28:4 Or fruit [8] 28:5 The Hebrew words for glory and hosts sound alike [9] 28:7 Or confused by [10] 28:16 Dead Sea Scroll I am laying [11] 28:25 A type of wheat [12] 28:28 Or Grain is crushed for bread; he will surely thresh it, but not forever

(ESV)

New Testament:

Hebrews 12:3–29

Hebrews 12:3–29 (Listen)

Do Not Grow Weary

3 Consider him who endured from sinners such hostility against himself, so that you may not grow weary or fainthearted. 4 In your struggle against sin you have not yet resisted to the point of shedding your blood. 5 And have you forgotten the exhortation that addresses you as sons?

  “My son, do not regard lightly the discipline of the Lord,     nor be weary when reproved by him. 6   For the Lord disciplines the one he loves,     and chastises every son whom he receives.”

7 It is for discipline that you have to endure. God is treating you as sons. For what son is there whom his father does not discipline? 8 If you are left without discipline, in which all have participated, then you are illegitimate children and not sons. 9 Besides this, we have had earthly fathers who disciplined us and we respected them. Shall we not much more be subject to the Father of spirits and live? 10 For they disciplined us for a short time as it seemed best to them, but he disciplines us for our good, that we may share his holiness. 11 For the moment all discipline seems painful rather than pleasant, but later it yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness to those who have been trained by it.

12 Therefore lift your drooping hands and strengthen your weak knees, 13 and make straight paths for your feet, so that what is lame may not be put out of joint but rather be healed. 14 Strive for peace with everyone, and for the holiness without which no one will see the Lord. 15 See to it that no one fails to obtain the grace of God; that no “root of bitterness” springs up and causes trouble, and by it many become defiled; 16 that no one is sexually immoral or unholy like Esau, who sold his birthright for a single meal. 17 For you know that afterward, when he desired to inherit the blessing, he was rejected, for he found no chance to repent, though he sought it with tears.

A Kingdom That Cannot Be Shaken

18 For you have not come to what may be touched, a blazing fire and darkness and gloom and a tempest 19 and the sound of a trumpet and a voice whose words made the hearers beg that no further messages be spoken to them. 20 For they could not endure the order that was given, “If even a beast touches the mountain, it shall be stoned.” 21 Indeed, so terrifying was the sight that Moses said, “I tremble with fear.” 22 But you have come to Mount Zion and to the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem, and to innumerable angels in festal gathering, 23 and to the assemblyOr church‘>1 of the firstborn who are enrolled in heaven, and to God, the judge of all, and to the spirits of the righteous made perfect, 24 and to Jesus, the mediator of a new covenant, and to the sprinkled blood that speaks a better word than the blood of Abel.

25 See that you do not refuse him who is speaking. For if they did not escape when they refused him who warned them on earth, much less will we escape if we reject him who warns from heaven. 26 At that time his voice shook the earth, but now he has promised, “Yet once more I will shake not only the earth but also the heavens.” 27 This phrase, “Yet once more,” indicates the removal of things that are shaken—that is, things that have been made—in order that the things that cannot be shaken may remain. 28 Therefore let us be grateful for receiving a kingdom that cannot be shaken, and thus let us offer to God acceptable worship, with reverence and awe, 29 for our God is a consuming fire.

Footnotes

[1] 12:23 Or church

(ESV)

Psalm:

Psalm 89:30–52

Psalm 89:30–52 (Listen)

30   If his children forsake my law     and do not walk according to my rules,Or my just decrees‘>1 31   if they violate my statutes     and do not keep my commandments, 32   then I will punish their transgression with the rod     and their iniquity with stripes, 33   but I will not remove from him my steadfast love     or be false to my faithfulness. 34   I will not violate my covenant     or alter the word that went forth from my lips. 35   Once for all I have sworn by my holiness;     I will not lie to David. 36   His offspring shall endure forever,     his throne as long as the sun before me. 37   Like the moon it shall be established forever,     a faithful witness in the skies.” Selah 38   But now you have cast off and rejected;     you are full of wrath against your anointed. 39   You have renounced the covenant with your servant;     you have defiled his crown in the dust. 40   You have breached all his walls;     you have laid his strongholds in ruins. 41   All who pass by plunder him;     he has become the scorn of his neighbors. 42   You have exalted the right hand of his foes;     you have made all his enemies rejoice. 43   You have also turned back the edge of his sword,     and you have not made him stand in battle. 44   You have made his splendor to cease     and cast his throne to the ground. 45   You have cut short the days of his youth;     you have covered him with shame. Selah 46   How long, O LORD? Will you hide yourself forever?     How long will your wrath burn like fire? 47   Remember how short my time is!     For what vanity you have created all the children of man! 48   What man can live and never see death?     Who can deliver his soul from the power of Sheol? Selah 49   Lord, where is your steadfast love of old,     which by your faithfulness you swore to David? 50   Remember, O Lord, how your servants are mocked,     and how I bear in my heart the insultsHebrew lacks the insults‘>2 of all the many nations, 51   with which your enemies mock, O LORD,     with which they mock the footsteps of your anointed. 52   Blessed be the LORD forever!       Amen and Amen.

Footnotes

[1] 89:30 Or my just decrees [2] 89:50 Hebrew lacks the insults

(ESV)

Proverb:

Proverbs 25:1–7

Proverbs 25:1–7 (Listen)

More Proverbs of Solomon

25 These also are proverbs of Solomon which the men of Hezekiah king of Judah copied.

2   It is the glory of God to conceal things,     but the glory of kings is to search things out. 3   As the heavens for height, and the earth for depth,     so the heart of kings is unsearchable. 4   Take away the dross from the silver,     and the smith has material for a vessel; 5   take away the wicked from the presence of the king,     and his throne will be established in righteousness. 6   Do not put yourself forward in the king’s presence     or stand in the place of the great, 7   for it is better to be told, “Come up here,”     than to be put lower in the presence of a noble.   What your eyes have seen

(ESV)