#indraste darktalon

[indraste-darktalon]

I recently commissioned some Indy art from @luwha! I know Tumblr is going to make it crunchy, so I grabbed some details on her face and HOW GOOD THE HANDS CAME OUT.

This is what you see during a brawl, or if you hurt someone she cares about.

[fishadee]

Character reference sheet for @indraste-darktalon !

[rethea-emberfall]

It Suits Your Look (Rethea/Indy)

Word Count: 1500 Summary: Some things are easier to cope with than others.

Rethea looked up from the glyph she was working on when she heard a strong rap on the foyer door. If she’d been in her inn room that would have startled her, but in her penthouse anyone who managed to knock on that particular door had been given access to the private teleportation pad that worked for her floor. So, she immediately knew that she either worked with, or trusted whomever it was doing the knocking.

…It also meant that they didn’t have a key, which narrowed down the pool of potential visitors a bit. Slightly disappointing, but also good, because she had a great deal of work to get through today. She carefully capped the ink she’d been working with and set the pen well away from the unfinished glyph before rising, smoothing her dress down over her hips as she ducked around the desk and moved for the door.

When she pulled open the curtain and came face-to-face with bare lavender stomach, she immediately cut her eyes upwards. Indraste grinned down at her and waved.

“Hey, Rethreth!”

“Indy, good afternoon.” She unlocked the door and let Indy push it open; they were heavy, considering they were three times the size of a normal door, and the druid had far more muscle mass.

Indy let herself in and then shut the door behind her, locking it again. Since she came by nearly weekly for tailoring fittings, she knew Reth’s habits well. “I brought you a dress and a new corset, as requested. Do I want to know why you requested a haltered top on this dress that locks at the back of the neck?”

“If it is a strange request, you should always assume that my hair is the reason.” Reth refused to look Indy in the eyes, instead turning and walking through her workroom and into the main area of the penthouse. Indy followed after, bare feet nearly silent on the stone floor. Reth felt like a horse by comparison in her heels.

“Fair enough. Strip so I can get the final tweaks in, please. Corset first.”

She reached back, fumbling with the zipper on her dress with gloved fingers, but after a moment she managed to get it pulled down. She let the dress fall to her feet and then stepped out of it, turning her back on Indy before unfastening her bra and setting it on top of the nearby piano. Indy came up behind her and offered out the corset, which Reth took and held against her front while the druid began lacing her in. One of her tentacles slapped at Indy, hitting her in the chest, but both women ignored it. That was nothing new.

“How does it feel?” Indy said once she’d finished tugging and tying the laces.

“…I don’t believe it needs any adjustments,” Reth said, taking a moment to shift, inhale, and attempt to bend. “No, it feels right.”

“Tenth time’s the charm, then. Do you want another in that style? I have cloth that I’ve enchanted to glow like fire. Black base color. It looks amazing.”

“I feel like that’s a bit on the nose. No, I was actually wondering if I might ask for a few pairs of long, fingerless gloves?”

Indy rested a hand on her shoulder, tugging to make Reth turn around. “Absolutely not,” she said with a smile. “Not only do they not suit your look, but they’ll wreak havoc on your spellwork. They tend to pinch the base of the fingers.”

Reth frowned up at her. “Well, I would like to be able to use my fingers, but still–”

“–Keep your forearms covered. I know. What’s wrong with cloth bracers? You used to wear those.”

“They are easy to pull down. They slip. In any case, they no longer suit my look, either.”

“Have you considered jewelry? Maybe heavy cuffs?”

“…It has recently been explained to me that things like that could make me a target for mugging.” She did not elaborate that this had come to her attention via attempted mugging.

Indy thought for a moment, taking one of Reth’s hands and holding her arm out straight. After a moment, she began to trace over the glove with her index finger. “Okay. Keep it above the elbow to help anchor it. It covers the forearm, but then opens like a sleeve.” Her finger runs along the bottom of Reth’s wrist. “And then on the top, a triangle of cloth comes down and ends in a loop that you slip around your middle finger. Free palms, free fingers, but it won’t creep up. And it will suit your dresses, as well as accentuating your pretty little fingers.”

Reth smiled and tried not to look deranged over the fact that she would be able to touch while wearing something like that. She had to take a breath to make sure her voices played nice. “That… sounds like it would work well. Could you enchant them so that they stay clean?”

Indy smiled back, her feline eyeteeth very visible. “Of course! Night, this is perfect, they’ll be so much easier for me to make than full gloves. Black pair, white pair? Two of each, I assume, as usual?”

“Yes, please.”

Indy pulled a notepad out of a pouch at her belt and began writing and sketching in it. Reth watched her work for a moment, then looked down at her gloves. As the silence stretched out, she picked up her dress and draped it over the piano as well, then turned to face Indy again, taking a deep breath to steel herself. She’d been working up the will to bring a certain topic up for days.

“May I ask you a question?”

“Always,” Indy said without looking away from her notepad.

“I hear you heal scars.”

That did make Indy look up. She stopped writing, and her eyes cut immediately to Reth’s gloves. “I do, in fact.”

“I, ah. I was wondering if you might be able to do anything about mine.”

The notebook was snapped shut and put away as Indy transitioned into full healer mode. “Let me take a look. I’ve healed some really bad stuff over the years.”

Nothing like this, Reth thought to herself as she slowly began to remove one of her gloves.

To Indy’s credit, her facial expression didn’t even flicker when one of the scars Reth worked so hard to keep hidden came into view. A two-inch band of skin on each of her forearms was simply missing, and in place of what should be the exposed muscle, tendons, and bone beneath was a smooth space of sickly-glowing violet something.

She reflexively yanked her arm away when Indy began to reach for it.

“Rethea,” the druid said, voice soft. “Let me look, please.”

She held her arm back out. Indy took her by the wrist and then held her other hand out over the unnatural mark, sending a bit of magic into the area. After a moment, she shook her head.

“I’m sorry. I can’t do anything about this.”

“Why not?” Her voices split away from one another as she spoke. In the back of her mind, the whispers began to claw their way into her thoughts.

“…There’s nothing to heal.” Indy tried to meet her eyes, but Reth looked away. “That’s not a scar. That’s just a part of you.”

That is where I was bound. There was a roar in her head of too many words at once. Bile rose in Reth’s throat, and she immediately turned and bolted for the kitchen sink, heels clicking loudly on the stone. The second her hands gripped its edge she lost everything in her stomach, muscles working so hard that they strained against the corset, pushing the boning into her skin. She gagged, another wave of nausea hit, and she moved on to violently dry-heaving.

A moment later Indy appeared at her side, holding a cup of water and one of Reth’s robes. “Okay. Okay.” A hand pressed against Reth’s back, and she felt the worst of the nausea subside. “Let’s rinse your mouth out and get you covered up.”

Reth refused to open her eyes, because her glove was now on the floor many feet away, so Indy placed the cup in her hand. She brought it blindly to her lips, swished, and spit in the general direction of the sink as she felt the druid rapidly undoing laces with taloned fingers. The corset was pulled away, and then Indy was helping her into the robe, sleeve by sleeve. Indy walked around front and bent to tie it for her.

How could they not be scars? How could the marks she received while enduring the Void be something that couldn’t be healed?

“I feel faint,” Reth heard herself say as the edges of her vision began to fade.

Indy immediately picked her up in a bridal carry and began walking for the bed. “You’re going to lie down for a bit with your legs up, okay? I’ll stick around until you feel better.”

Reth felt her back press against the bed. Felt Indy putting pillows under her knees. Felt the shift of the mattress as someone much larger than herself sat beside her and began slipping the glove back over her arm.

After that, her thoughts simply checked out, taking her with them, and leaving only the voices behind.

[xarianazphel]

Sleep isn’t sleeping anymore

Summary: An old memory comes back after a bit of healing by @indraste-darktalon and makes its presence felt.

Timeframe: During the three years between Shadowlands and Dragonflight.

“LOOK OUT!” The scream came from somewhere close and he was moving without even thinking, covering the healers from the coming assault. Then a flash of green, searing pain, the cold snow..…and he was awake. He glanced around the room, his room, the weapon and armor stands coming into immediate view. He filled his lungs with a deep breath and rolled over, staring up at the ceiling for a moment before his head turned and he focused on the full potion that sat on his night stand. Indy had given him that to take for sleep, and last night he thought he would be okay, clearly he was wrong. He slowly threw the blankets off and sat up, swinging around to sit at the edge of the bed.

“Way to be stubborn you damn fool.”

Xarian rose and went towards the bathroom, moving straight to the sink and running the water. He stared at himself in the mirror, eyes bloodshot, hair and beard a mess. He looked terrible, which is how he felt. Even with the aid of the potions, he did not feel like he had truly slept well, or maybe it was more that being dragged back to Northrend repeatedly had just taken its toll on him. He closed his eyes and instantly saw another flash of green, his left side twitching as tingles ran along it. Cupping his hands, he dipped them in the running water and splashed his face several times, then finally looked at himself in the mirror again and shook his head.

When he finally exited the bathroom he glanced at the window, still dark. He let out a curse and ran a hand through his hair. Too early to work on anything outside, too awake to try and get anymore sleep by himself. Seemed that meant something inside but he had no idea what. He slowly made his way downstairs and over to the fireplace, prepping and lighting it. As the flames grew he got another flash of his dream, fire hitting him in the back. But not the orange and yellow fire that was dancing in the fireplace, no it was green and hurt a whole lot more. His hand covered his face, finger and thumb pressing at his temples until he was fully back in the present again as he leaned against the wall. Maybe the potion was in order..but not yet. He made sure the fire was building strong before moving to his work cabinet and digging. He grabs a small pack of leather wrapped tools and a smallish block of wood to go along with it, moving back to his table to sit. He unrolled the carving tools, running a hand lightly over the worn set and smiling as he thought back to past projects they had worked on together. He turns his attention to the block, turning it over several times as he tries to envision just what it was telling him it wanted to be. His head tilted when he finally got his idea then he turned back to pick out a knife. He lines up the blade with the grain of the wood and starts his cut, but the knife slips and slices his finger, causing him to drop both the block and knife.

“Of course…just ain’t my mornin’.” He says as he sighed heavily. Maybe that potion was in order after all. He closed his eyes, wrapping his other hand around the wound and a small flash of light filled his palm, healing magics closing the cut. He wasn’t the world's greatest healer but he knew enough to close a minor cut. Opening his hand he saw the streak of blood that was left behind, the only evidence that any cut had happened at all, and sighs. His eyes closed as another flash filled his head, this time of red streaked snow, causing him to wobble before slamming his fist down on the table. The potion was definitely called for. He pushed back from the table, leaving everything laid out, and turned back towards the stairs to make his way to his room. The fire would be fine and give his home a bit more warmth as he worked to forget the waking world.

He went back to his room and grabbed the potion, staring at it for several moments before pulling the stopper and gulping it down. He shook his head and a shiver ran down his spine but the sleep he would get was a worthy trade off for the taste of the potion. He sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, waiting those few minutes it took for the potion to take effect, and when they did he just let himself fall back in the bed and stare at the ceiling.

“Least this time it’ll be blank sleep..” *He says as he slumps against the bed and closes his eyes, slowly drifting off to sleep.

[blixvoronin]

happy pride from the voronin darktalons!

(I was lowkey worried I wouldn’t finish this by the end of the month but dear god I’m glad I did)

@indraste-darktalon

[asharinhun]

What kind of Liar are you?

Got tagged by: @safrona-shadowsun Asharin's results: Omission

You believe, in the end, that you were always telling the truth. Because of course you would never actually lie, would you? You aren't creating any stories out of thin air, simply deciding to take some facts out of your story. In the end, you want the best for everyone, and if you have to slip from the light, so be it. Shying away from the truth wouldn't hurt anyone, after all. //Now, the result I kind of agree with. Omission fits Asha in this scenario, but the explanation isn't that good of a match. He does not believe he told the full truth when he omits something, and is aware that is but a facet of the truth and never tried to convince hismelf otherwise. Not to mention that truth is not always objective.

Tagging: @ask-naraenil, @zeehva, @indraste-darktalon, @straightouttatheashes, @maxparkhurst and anyone else who would like to do it

[artofradioactivechina]

Completed Raffles for @thecastcompany's Big Gay Festival 2023!

A pair of Paper-Cut Cuties! One for Yyirinaku!

And one for @indraste-darktalon!

[thecloudcitymarket]

CCM - 15TH FEB

Below are the list of vendors this week!

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Greenspirit Valley Stall - Tiang Greenspirit MENU

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Haus of Cristal - Azalaeda Pheonixflare MENU

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The Cozy Kirin - Soo-ha Silentbells MENU

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Indy’s Intrigues - Indraste Darktalon MENU

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

[zephyrwise]

GOD I LOVE THESE TWO

indy belongs to @indraste-darktalon / @glitterdustedwren <3

[nafisabast]

Unusual Word Associations

SEASONING: Cayenne 

WEATHER: Rolling thunder, right before the storm

COLOUR(s): Black, gold, jade meets turquoise, a splash of red for accent.

SKY: Orange at sunset, the kind that puts an orange filter on the world.

MAGICAL POWER: Rebirth, control and mastery over death. 

HOUSEPLANT: Succulents 

WEAPON: Gem decorated Chakrams 

SUBJECT: Color Magic 

SOCIAL MEDIA: Instagram

MAKEUP PRODUCT: Eyeliner 

CANDY: Chocolate with the appearance of pearls. 

FEAR: The Dark

ICE CUBE SHAPE: Sphere

METHOD OF LONG-DISTANCE TRAVEL: Aethernet

ART STYLE: Ancient Egyptian 

MYTHOLOGICAL CREATURE: Banshee

PIECE OF STATIONERY: Worn paper with burnt edges and perfectly black ink, it has the scent of new books.

THREE EMOJIS: 💎✨💀

CELESTIAL BODY: Sun

Stolen from @huntinghare​ Tagging @chill-bunn-sage​ and @aislinnelaquorra​ and @indraste-darktalon​ as well as anyone who wants to participate 

[celesterunewhisper]

You received a gift from Celeste!

I N D Y

Tea: Mitigating Motmot Melon Ingredients: -dried melon & pear pieces + dried melon blossom & marigold petals + white tea leaves. Flavour: white tea (lightly caffeinated); strong melon flavour with a touch of a honey-like sweetness to compliment the mildly bitter marigold. Other Gifts: a porcelain frog tea pot and two tadpole mugs.

My dear friend, Indy, When I was thinking of your gift, I wanted to craft a tea that captured something special about you or a feeling you are familiar with and enjoy! So, I started thinking about birds, flight, and the feeling you speak about when soaring through the open air. My mind immediately turned to the terms 'refreshing' and 'relieving'. I began from there. Most tea-makers would go down a familiar avenue and suggest replicating this feeling through some sort of mint based method, but for someone as dear to me as you, I wanted to try something different. You deserve more than the average approach! So, instead, I thought to myself 'When would the wind feel best to fly?'. And, since most birds that I'm familiar with migrate to stay with those warmer climates, the season that came to my mind was a gentle summer. And, what better way to express refreshing summer than melons? Thus, we come full circle to my thought process that brought me to the conclusion of my 'Mitigating Motmot Melon' tea. The best part about this blend is it can be brewed hot or made iced! Perfect for any season. I hope you enjoy it. The frog tea pot was just too cute not to scoop up for you. Plus, with the extra tadpole mug, you and Blix can share tea so sweetly together. Happy Winter's Veil! -Celeste Runewhisper

(( @indraste-darktalon​ ))

[indraste-darktalon]

The Mediator (Indy)

Word Count: 600 Summary: Indy might need to work on her penmanship after this little debacle. (Based on a fun AH mistake that happened yesterday.)

featuring @blixvoronin!

Indy stood in the doorway to her home, taking deep breaths and pausing a conversation that had been going on for over half an hour in order to get her rising temper under control. She could feel feathers spreading up her forearms from her wrists and at the base of her skull, but she had her hands clasped together behind her back in an attempt to hide that fact. 

Another deep breath, in and out through her nose. She smiled, but she could feel that it was too wide, too toothy. She spoke anyway. “I will repeat, again, that I asked for 16 to 18 runed writhebark, not one thousand, six hundred and eighteen.”

The courier looked at the stack of crates on his wagon and then rubbed at his temples. “Look, my job isn’t processing orders. It’s delivering them. I was told to deliver these crates to this address, and to collect payment and transport fees.”

Indy stared at him for a moment. “...What do you possibly think I’m going to do with one thousand, six hundred and eighteen pieces of this shit?”

“Have a fel of a time hauling it all into the house?” The courier shrugged.

Indy growled and stood up straighter, and was about to take a step forward when she heard Blix walking up behind her. 

“Wildflower?” Blix asked, popping her head around Indy’s mid-back and eyeing the courier. “What’s taking so long out here?” 

Indy felt her hand pet up her back in subtle encouragement to keep her cool. So instead of giving in to her temper, she took another deep breath.

“Your friend here won’t accept her order,” the courier said.

Indy growled again, and Blix's face briefly went sour at the courier’s word choice. She moved fully next to Indy and put a hand around her waist, resting her head on Indy's side. A flicker of amusement cut the growl short, then encouraged Indy to turn her attention away from her current least favorite person in the world to focus on her most favorite person in the world. Breathe. Then, she explained the situation while Blix looked up at her and pet gently at her hip.

Blix’s eyes got progressively wider as Indy spoke, and by the end she was glancing between Indy, the courier, and the cart with an expression that looked increasingly like glee.

“...You think this is funny, don’t you,” Indy said through a sigh.

Her wife started laughing. The sound made all the anger she’d been holding back drain out of her, and Indy leaned hard against Blix in silent protest as she reached for her flask and had a sip.

“...Okay, you’re right. It’s kind of funny,” she admitted, laughing softly and capping her flask.

“It’s fucking hysterical,” Blix said, face deadpan. “But be nice. This poor guy’s just as stuck as you are.” 

“Yeah! You do realize that this is completely ruining my schedule, right? And probably pissing off other clients and my boss.”

Indy pushed her braid over her shoulder and studied the courier and the cart for almost a full minute, running through possible solutions in silence. 

“...Okay, I have an idea. I’ll take three crates myself to resell, and if you give me five minutes to contact a friend of mine, I think she would take the rest off both our hands.”

She felt Blix’s hand run up her back again, this time indicating silent approval.

“If my boss gets the money and I can get out of here soon, I’ll take it,” the courier relented.

“Give me one moment,” Indy replied, turning into the house and heading down the hall to their workroom so she could speak to Rethea in private. 

As she crossed through the door, she faintly heard Blix ask, “...Hey man, can I get you a drink?”

“Please,” the courier replied.

[straightouttatheashes]

Archetype - Pheonix Edition

The Lionheart

The loyal one, the stubborn one, the one who fights for others. The guarder, the watcher, the brave, foolish, valiant person who is not the same person by the end of the story. quiz here!  taken from @the-man-with-the-mohawk tagging @dicenne @tristennedarkmorn @taricdarkmorn @aerdendios @themagictrick @fio-renze @gloamingdawn @xylaes​ @pyraelia​ @belillinafireseeker​ @evietinderblossom​ @lian-quinne​ @mekandawn​ @ethereal-and-vaguely-threatening​ @kavtari​ @sarlaros​ @celesterunewhisper​ @kharrisdawndancer​ @jacobdcheshyre​ @renardsnoir​ @thalsianiii​ @orinous​ @golden-pocket​ @indraste-darktalon​ @frostahesmegabite​ @asharinhun​ @safrona-shadowsun​ @adventuresooc​ @mremaknu​ @twosidedsana​ & anyone else who I accidentally missed and would like to do this! 

[phantasmagoreyria]

Day 11 - Moonlight / Watch

Content Warnings: More cannibalism!

Featuring: @indraste-darktalon​

“Do you sleep?” Indraste had asked.

And without thought or concern, he said, “No.”

Twist’s shoulders hunched as he stalked through Silvermoon’s darkened streets, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his long coat and head ducked. His lips pursed tightly as his brow furrowed, mismatched eyes glancing up over the rims of his sunglasses. He wondered if anyone could tell what he had done; if they could smell the blood and death on him the way Indraste could. While he’d washed it off the best he could…

As soon as Twist got the guard to the tower, he stripped him of his armor and began his feast, letting the hunger take over and drive his actions. At first, he simply suckled the stab wound, his eyes closed as the taste of blood filled his mouth, but before he knew what he was doing, Twist found himself ripping strips of flesh from the guard's neck with his teeth.

It was exquisite. It was bliss.

He didn’t understand it, but there were so many things in the multiverse he didn’t understand. It must have been just another part of undeath. After all, once he noticed the hunger, once he sunk his teeth into that first delectable Bloody Valentine, he had spent some time observing the Forsaken to see how well they fitted in with society. The baker’s menu had listed the blood filled cupcakes as “Forsaken Friendly,” so it seemed the best place to look for answers.

Apparently, they needed to consume living flesh to prevent themselves from rotting away entirely. It certainly made sense, but Twist was certain the Master’s work was better than that. The Construct didn’t eat, did he? Perhaps it was simply something unique to him.

Regardless of the reason, by the time he’d sat back, feeling full, satisfied, and content, he’d made quite a mess of himself. Not just his face, although he could feel blood drying on his chin, cheeks and hands, but there was plenty of blood soaking through his only shirt and the knees of his pants.

As Twist ripped the flesh from his bones, the guard had started to leak. There was a puddle on the floor and as Twist rubbed his hand over his mouth, he realized that if this was going to be a regular occurrence, he really ought to be better prepared.

He moved the guard’s body to one of the more Wretched infested areas of Silvermoon’s ruins, delivered the soul to his Master, and tried to clean himself as best he could. The dark color of his clothes helped hide any stains, but Twist didn’t like feeling so… filthy. There was something uncivilized and quite frankly childish about it that grated heavily.

So now, here he was, furtively making his way through Silvermoon as moonlight bathed the city in the silver light of its namesake, hoping that no one stopped him. He had his soul cages with him, of course, if he had to kill someone again, he would, but reaching his destination would be so much easier if people ignored him.

Fortunately, he reached the Orgrimmar portal without incident, and he hopped from one portal to the next, emerging into the lush, green forest of Pandaria. Compared to Silvermoon’s perennial spring, even at night, the Jade Forest was warm and humid, and Twist did not like that one bit. Air should not be tangible, and he scowled as he climbed to the top of the paved hill towards a giant balloon that peeked over its crest. He assumed it was part of some sort of travel hub, and hoped someone there would know the fastest way to the Howling Owl.

Some time later, Twist forced himself to let go of the giant kite he’d been given and rolled onto the ground, hating Pandaria even more than he had previously. The kite’s movements were jerky and apart from clinging to the wooden frame for dear life, it was impossible to secure oneself. Did he have to be afraid of falling? No, but did the idea of falling out of the sky and shattering every bone in his body and prompting the Master to send someone to collect him sound appealing? Also no.

Thankfully, the guard he’d killed had a hearthstone set to Silvermoon, because Twist was NOT doing that again.

As Twist rose to his feet and dusted himself off, the kite attendant let out a low rumble of a laugh, jovially asking, “First time flying?”

Twist shot the Pandaren a dirty look, straightened his coat with a tug on the lapels, and stalked off, shoulders hunched and hands back in his pockets. Polite behavior be damned; the whole flying kite rigamarole was undignified, and Twist was in no mood to be teased.

His sour mood eased as he approached the Howling Owl and it’s little village of apartment cottages, and he pulled the card Indraste had given him in order to figure out which one belonged to her. Walking through the village, Twist eyed the numbers on each of the apartments as he passed. A Forsaken sitting out on his porch in a rocking chair paused his knitting to give Twist a baleful stare, but readily gave him directions in a thick Gilnean accent when he showed him the card.

As he approached Indraste’s cottage, Twist slowed and tapped his lip thoughtfully. The sky was beginning to turn gray as the last of the moonlight faded and dawn approached; would she even be awake at this time? Night elves were nocturnal, weren’t they? Maybe his dawn was her dusk. He decided that a little stroll around the perimeter wouldn’t hurt. He smiled at the Sprite Darter asleep in a tree that graced the balcony, and as he rounded a corner, he found a wide open window with Indraste asleep just beneath it.

Completely naked if the stretch of skin that appeared barely covered by her blankets was any indication. Clearly he’d just have to take his boots off before he climbed through the window.

Getting them off was easier this time, now that Twist knew what he was doing, but he still thought that taking the laces out entirely seemed a bit excessive, but if that was the way things were done, then there wasn’t anything else to do about it. He tucked the laces inside his boots for safe-keeping, then stood in the grass, looking down at his bare feet as his toes curled into the soft plant matter and dirt. Indraste insisted the sensation felt wonderful, but Twist thought his feet looked weird. Not horrible, he supposed, they were feet like any other elf had, but Twist preferred the look of his boots to the look of his toes.

Shrugging the feeling away, Twist peeled off his coat and draped it over the windowsill before hopping up and over it himself. Once he was up, he went slowly, one foot after another so that he wouldn’t wake her. He eased himself down, then shifted just enough that he could sit with his legs stretched out and his back propped up by a small pile of the many pillows that covered the bed. When he was comfortable, he rested his hands on his stomach and relaxed, content to simply watch Indraste as he waited for her to wake up.

He could kill her right now, of course. Smother her with a pillow or climb onto her as he strangled her with his hands. She’d be free then, from the worry and pain of death, never needing to face the Arbiter for her Final Judgement. Twist often wondered what he’d done to get sent to the Maw. By now, he knew what sort of people were sent there, and for the unlife of him, he couldn’t imagine what sort of heinous, irredeemable act he’d committed to earn himself such a damning sentence. Years of torture had either stripped the memory from his mind, or he hadn’t known to begin with.

Perhaps his crime had been nothing more than being utterly unrepentant for even the smallest transgressions. If the Arbiter had thought he could be redeemed, she would have sent him to serve his penance in Revendreth, right? The Attendants hailed her as All-Knowing and Just; she would not have sent him to be tortured for an eternity by mistake, would she?

Twist didn’t know which thought was worse; that he’d truly done something to deserve an eternity of torment and suffering, or that somehow, for some reason, someone had made a mistake.

Caught up in his thoughts, Twist didn’t notice when Indraste stirred in her sleep until she jolted away from him with a sharp gasp. By the time he had refocused his attention on her, she relaxed and covered her face with a taloned hand, an array of feathers poking out of her long purple hair. 

“Twist,” she sighed, peeking through her talons to glare at him. “You realize this is impolite, right? Did you knock, or come in through a window?"

“Obviously I came in through the window,” he chirped, not at all fazed as Indraste rolled out of bed and moved across the room in search of a robe. He wasn’t ogling; he was just watching with all the same interest he would if she was tending to her plants. “Going through the effort of climbing over you while you sleep seems a bit creepy, don’t you think?”

Indraste froze midway through pulling a shirt over her head, tipped her head back to stare up at the ceiling for a moment, then finished tugging her shirt down around her torso as she turned to stare pointedly at Twist. “Twist, I don’t know how to tell you this, but anything you do in my room while I’m sleeping is going to seem creepy.”

Twist was offended by that.

“Creepy? Me?” Twist scoffed, resting a hand on his chest as his brow furrowed. “I’m the very picture of innocence, I don’t know why you’d accuse me of something so hurtful. Look, I even took off my boots for you.”

Indraste looked down at his feet as he gestured to them, huffing a small laugh. “Thank you for that consideration, really, but, well…”

“You’re covered in blood,” she deadpanned, pursing her lips before looking down to her braid, plucking a few errant feathers from it.

Sigh. Well, at least she had a point. “I was hoping you wouldn’t notice.”

“You knew I would.”

“I was attacked,” he insisted, the lie easily falling from his lips. She didn’t need to know the truth and besides, the living were so fussy about matters of life and death. Best not to bother her unduly. “Do you know of the Wretched? They crawl all over the ruins of Silvermoon like spiders, attacking anyone who gets too close in the hopes of sating their mana addiction.”

Indraste arched an eyebrow skeptically, her brow furrowing as she looked him over. “And what were you doing near the ruins of Silvermoon?”

“I live there,” he shrugged, waving one hand through the air dismissively. “For a given definition of live, of course. I keep my things there because it’s cheaper than paying for an apartment that I’ll barely use.”

For a moment, Indraste simply stood there, her skeptical expression shifting into a moue of concern. Her fingers absently plucked a few more feathers as she considered his words, and he wondered, not for the first time, exactly what she was seeing. He knew he looked young, but the same could be said even of elves of 300. He knew his face was an open book because, quite frankly, he wasn’t used to having a face. If his face determined that a pout was the appropriate expression for the occasion, then he pouted.

There was no way that she could see him for what he really was; he doubted that even the Master truly grasped what it meant to be a soul so old, you forgot nearly everything you ever knew. His memories were smudged, painted over in Torghast gray edged in brimstone red, and Azeroth was so new, so vibrant and full of idiots determined to save the multiverse from the cruelty of the Jailor. He wanted to help them, however he could, without having to step foot into the Maw himself. The Master had given him a way, even if it was something the living refused to understand.

With a sigh, Indraste dropped her braid and walked back across the room, sitting down on the edge of bed, maintaining eye-contact with Twist the entire time. “What is it you want?” she asked, sounding far too tired for someone who just had a good night’s rest.

Twist looked down at himself, down at the dark clothes that didn’t look dirty but he knew where all the blood stains he couldn’t get out were. He looked at his hand, so pale against the black of his clothes. He looked up at Indraste, quietly murmuring, “I would like clothes that aren’t covered in blood, please.”

Indrasted nodded, something sad lingering around her eyes as she asked, “Will you promise to do better at keeping them clean, this time?”

And Twist shrugged, closing his eyes and tipping his head to the side as he sighed in return. “I will endeavor to be more careful, yes, but I make no promises. Contrary to what you might think, I don’t enjoy having my clothes soaked in blood.”

“Yes,” Indraste chuckled, affectionately patting his ankle as she stood. “You’d rather have it in your mouth, wouldn’t you?”

“I won’t argue with that,” he nodded, throwing in a cheeky wink and a roguish smile for the fun of it. If she was going to tolerate his nature, then he wouldn’t try to hide it.

“Come on,” Indraste said, giving his ankle a little shake and a tug. Twist moved as she directed, gracelessly clambering across the mattress meant for someone nearly twice his size. “Let’s get you some fresh clothes.”

@daily-writing-challenge​

[xarianazphel]

Body Language

Bold for Common | Italics for Rare | Strikethrough for not applicable

DEFENSIVENESS

arms crossed on chest / crossing legs / fist-like gestures / pointing index finger / karate chops / stiffening of shoulders / tense posture / curling of lip / baring of teeth / tail lashing / pinned ears / intense looks / guarded speech

REFLECTIVE

hand to face gestures / head tilted / stroking chin nose / peering over glasses / taking glasses off to clean them / putting earpiece of glasses in mouth / pipe smoker gestures / putting hand to the bridge of the nose / pursed lips / knitted brows / lip chewing / Hand on chin / tightened eyes

SUSPICION

arms crossed / sideways glance / touching or rubbing nose / rubbing eyes / hands resting on weapon / brows rising or knitting together / lips pressing into a thin line / strict unwavering eye contact / wrinkling of nose / eyes narrowing / ears alert or upright

OPENNESS / COOPERATION

Open hands / upper body in sprinters position / sitting on edge of a chair / hand to face gestures / unbuttoned coat / tilted head / slouched shoulders / relaxed posture / feet pointed outward / palms flat and facing outward / smiling or warm expressions / playful banter

CONFIDENCE

hands behind back / hand son lapels of coat / steeped hands / smirking / baring teeth in a grin / rolling shoulders / tipping head back but maintaining eye contact / chest puffed up / shoulders back / arms folded just above navel / relaxed and easy posture

INSECURITY / ANXIETY

chewing pen or pencil / rubbing thumb over opposite thumb / biting fingernails / hands in pockets / elbow bent / closed gestures / clearing throat / “ whew ” sound / picking or pinching flesh / fidgeting in chair / hand covering mouth whilst speaking / poor eye contact / tugging pants of clothes / jingling money in pockets / tugging at ear / perspiring hands / playing with hair / swaying / playing with pointer or marker hands / smacking lips / sighing / rocking on balls of feet / flexing fingers sporadically / chewing on lip / pacing / stammering

FRUSTRATION

short breaths / “ tsk ” sounds / tightly clenched hands / fist-like gestures / pointing index finger / running fingers through hair / rubbing back of neck / snarling / revealing teeth / grimacing / sharp eyed glowers with brows drawn together / shoulders back, head up / clenching of jaw / grinding of teeth / nostrils flaring / heavy exhales / tail lashing / pinned ears

tagged by @indraste-darktalon! Tagging @mekandawn and @frostahesmegabite

[blixvoronin]

DWC Day 5: Flame

read more about the daily writing challenge for this week here @daily-writing-challenge

word count: 1270 content warning: none summary: Blix and Indraste strike out against the assault in the Emerald Dream. They have some unpacking to do. mentions: @indraste-darktalon

Blix’s mismatched eyed roamed over the landscape before her, and her breath hitched in her throat as she squeezed Indraste’s hand a little tighter.

When she’d explained what was happening in the Dream – Fyrakk’s assault, the horrors unleashed, the threat it bore to Amirdrassil – Blix had said “say no more,” and immediately packed to go.

Now, standing in what should have been vast stretches of verdant greens and endless life, she was surrounded instead by embers and death – and the look on Indraste’s face broke her in a way she never knew possible.

“Wildflower,” she whispered. “Wildflower, we need to focus. We have to get the survivors out of here. We can repair the damage, soon, but right now, I need you here.”

She moved to pull Indraste along, but the druid was locked in place, stock-still, by memories of the past and the sight of the present all at once. Tears rolled silently down her face, and before Blix could speak again, the elf’s mouth opened in a soundless, mournful scream. Indraste collapsed to her knees, and dug her fingers into the Dream’s soil beneath her feet, as if clawing her way through the layers of soot and ash to something deeper inside. Blix was with her in a heartbeat, wrapping her arms around the druid and burying her face into Indy’s back.

“Wildflower, baby, shh. Shh, shh, I know. I know. We can fix this, but we need to move, I know it hurts, baby. Come on. Be angry. Be angry, let it out, let’s tear these bastards to shreds. Show them your rage. Come on. Up, up. I need you, Indy.”

She pulled Indraste to her feet as the grief washed through the kaldorei in waves, and Blix’s jaw set. She’d make the Druids of the Flame pay for this. This was personal, on so many levels it was insane, and it made Blix inconceivably angry.

What followed was a display of brutality – Blix and Indraste carved their way through the battlefield, Indy howling her rage and her grief as she clawed and bit and tore and blasted apart Primalist after Primalist, flame druid after flame druid, and Blix a ghost on her trail swiping daggers to any target that threatened her. Between the pair, the Primalist encampment hadn’t stood a chance, and before they knew it, Indraste was on the work of rescuing those who had survived.

When she did, her face was covered in soot, blood and sweat – Blix tried not to focus on the smell of burnt flesh, of blood and piss and shit and ash. It reminded her too much of Kingsland, when she couldn’t do enough to help. Where hundreds of innocents had died.

That was then. This was now, and right now? Indy needed her.

She helped Indraste carry survivors off the field, handing them off to druids and Priestesses of the Moon. The pair remained like that for hours, making trips to and from, her doing any work Indraste asked of her and making sure all threats stayed off their tail or died to the effort.

When they eventually returned to the central encampment, Indraste had promptly shifted to her bird form and roosted in a high branch. Blix would have a hard time getting there, and she took it as a silent sign to give her some space to process what had just happened.

The Emerald Dream was beautiful – everything Indy had promised and more. But, with the carnage that Fyrakk had wrought, Blix could also see it may as well have been as painful as Indraste witnessing the aftermath of Teldrassil a second time. So, after a long time, Blix made her way slowly to Indy’s location and settled herself wordlessly on the branch next to her wife, who didn’t spare so much as a glance in her direction.

Blix didn’t speak. She didn’t need to – right now, Indy needed to process, and if she truly didn’t want Blix there, she could just… leave. Blix’s ability to walk the Dream was nonexistent; Indraste had endless plains and valleys she could escape to within the limitless swathes. But, she didn’t. If anything, after an agonizing time, Indraste slowly shifted back into her elven form. She still balanced on the branch, dull-eyed and with her arms wrapped tightly around her knees. The kaldorei looked small, which was saying quite a bit considering her frame; it communicated to Blix just how poorly-off she was feeling in that moment.

Blix did the only thing she knew how. She pulled her hip flask from its place, offering it to her wife, and watched as Indy took it and proceeded to indulge herself in a few large gulps before handing it back.

“What are we supposed to do?” Indy whispered, her voice hoarse. “How are we supposed to counter this? This… was never supposed to happen.” The pain in her tone was unbearable, and it broke Blix’s heart. “The Emerald Dream was supposed to be impenetrable – to be safe.”

“We press on,” Blix answered simply. “We’re already on the verge of turning the tide; I have no doubt that with enough effort, we can end Fyrakk here, before he can do more damage. Merithra and Ysera – they have a plan. They have to, right? This is their realm. They know it better than anyone else.”

“Shadowflame,” Indraste spat, “will bring an irreversible scar to these lands – something never meant to be unleashed here, like a virus. It’s foreign. It’s wrong, and now, that and these flame druids walk the Dream as if it’s nothing.” The elf’s lower lip quivered, and Blix’s head tilted.

“There has to be a way to heal it,” Blix whispered. “It can’t just linger forever, right? Not here.”

“That question should never have needed to be answered. This – all of this – it’s all wrong. This was the one place I felt truly safe, Blix, and now it’s ruined. It’s taken from me, just like everything else. Just like everyone else that made me feel safe. That’s the way it goes, isn’t it?! Take everything from me? See how far I can push before I break?” Indy’s tone had raised as she spoke until she was yelling, feathers sprouting from her braid. “I can’t fucking take anymore! I thought – I thought I’d finally hit a point where I was done losing what I care about, but instead, this happens! Of all things – the Dream. The Dream. Can you even imagine what this feels like, Blix?”

Blix’s brows drew together, and she looked away. “No,” she answered softly. “I can’t. But… I do know I’ll be there for you, the entire time. You aren’t losing me. Not now, not ever, okay?” She looked back to Indy, her gaze pleading. “Please, see that. I’m not going anywhere. Never, ever. You’re my wife, and I love you, and I’ll go to the ends of the earth to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

Indraste sniffed, her eyes welling up, and she sighed as she leaned against Blix weakly. “I know, moonfire,” she said quietly. “I’m just so scared. I haven’t been this scared in years – and it’s bad enough, knowing you’ll live so much shorter of a life than I will. I always lose what I care about. I wasn’t ready for this.” Her voice broke halfway through the statement, and Blix responded by wrapping an arm around her wife and slowly running a hand up and down her side.

“I know, love,” Blix whispered. “I know.”

They sat like that, for a time – Indraste, mourning, and Blix, cursing the flame that had caused it.