#ka'ese

[pyrosophist]

Gifts and Letters

It is a strange thing, when she finally pays mind to the holiday season and feels the impulse to do.. something, for once. It has been many years since she has had more than the smallest handful of people to give gifts to.

Through varying degrees of occult and official means, she sends out a variety of things over the course of several days, when the Archon turns the members of the Sunguard to their own business. Most of the letters are bewitched, unable to be read except by their intended recipients. 

---

Aestus receives a leather armband with elaborate patterns seemingly burned into it, stylish but unobtrusive. On the inside face is inscribed in Thalassian script, “The night does not survive the dawn.”

My friend,

Of the guard, you are the first with whom I spoke besides possibly the dryest interaction I have ever had with the Scion. Though we have not done so in some time, I count you among one of my few steady friends. You have seen the darkness that lurks in the mid of my nights, as I yours.

Trace the script and read it aloud, when it becomes hard. In addition to it, I grant you one favor, to call upon my talents or resources as you will it.

@shampoocommercialelves

Westel is sent a box of pies, professionally made and still-fresh through some minor spell settled over them. In addition, a hunting knife that comes sharpened, its hilt carved and wrapped with artful patterns evocative of woodland beasts, with leafwork embellished along the spine of the blade.

Westel,

You were one of the first to show me friendship among the Sunguard. Three months ago I would not have called it that, but times seem to be changing. I thank you for the kindness, however small it may have been to give.

Where the hell have you gone? I miss Ithruiel. How dare you keep him from me.

@westelfirewing

Nuellen receives a strange, enchanted necklace -- a raven’s skull formed of blackened, petrified wood, attached to a thin, sturdy cord. A note explains its purpose to give the wearer resistance against ambient fel energy or exposure.

Swiftstrike,

Not a week passes that I do not think of my grandfather and how fortunate I was to have him. I have wrestled with feelings about his death for a very long time -- I don’t believe that I am yet done mourning, or that I ever will be -- but I am infinitely grateful to know that I am serving alongside some of the few Farstriders who served alongside him. Thank you.

@thedragonisaprincess

To Thanidiel is sent a cloak of brilliant, blood red fabric. Through some workings of alchemy, the cloak seems to be a remarkable insulator, despite its light weight. Some of the warlock’s sorcery is bound to it as well, and upon investigation it is revealed to be fireproof -- and furthermore, made to deflect magical flame and heat. The underside shimmers against the light with hues of orange and gold. An attached note reads, “This one won’t burn up. Use it well.”

Highdawn,

It has been some time since we have spoken, regrettably. I am still bitter that we did not get to face off at Shadowsunder’s tournament. Though through battle I have regained familiarity with my sorcery and its limits, I would still test it against you when you are available. Consider this a challenge.

@thanidiel

Caelinda is given a pair of boots, sturdy, stylish and well-crafted. Enchantments scribed onto the seams ensure that it will last an eternity of travel -- in addition, the monk feels a little lighter on her feet, when she wears them. To accompany the gift is an ornate brooch fashioned out of gold and ruby to affix to a cloak or scarf, and a batch of festive cookies that are still warm and fresh through some minor spell.

Caelinda,

There are few words to describe the depth of affection and fondness I have for you, however much I may loathe to show it around other people. You have given me a sense of peace and welcome that I have not had in such a long, long time, and I am grateful for your love. I will strive for all my days to be worthy of it.

@superspicedinosaur

Tyleril is sent a piece of everburning coal, infused with sorcery. It is warm to the touch, and a note explains that it can be activated and deactivated through a command word. When active, it effuses strong heat and flame, presumably to be used in the forge or a fireplace. The note warns not to hold it at inopportune times.

Silversword,

Thank you for hosting me in your home the night of the bonfire party. I know that I can be abrasive at the best of times, but it is appreciated, and I wish your business good fortune.

Keep the coal out of Samiel’s hands. That boy has fire in his eyes.

@tyleril-silversword

Vaelan receives a bottle of fine wine, Suncrown vintage. This brand is only seen on shelves practically once in a blue moon -- she must have been holding onto it for some time.

Vaelan,

You’re a fine man to work and drink with, though I fear I tend to grow only more abrasive when inebriated -- but I appreciate your friendliness, and our banter. Put this wine to good use. It’s far too damn fancy for me to drink it myself straight from the bottle, and I’m less inclined to put myself into a stupor on a regular basis, nowadays.

@greatmaulsoffire

A book, old and ornately bound, is sent to Veleth. It appears to be an in-depth study and analysis of extraplanar phenomena, as well as the planes themselves and how they intersect with the material world.

Ashcaster,

I had never expected to find a kindred scholarly mind among the Blood Knights. You are a steadfast ally in battle, and I appreciate your respect and curiosity for my studies. I hope that we both might benefit from learning into the future, with Argus on the horizon.

@veleth95

To Synthiel, a Reliquarian’s sanction for the regulated study and use of alchemically-synthesized anima.

Cloudseye,

It is refreshing to speak with another pyromancer on a level of exchanging knowledge and technique, and for that I thank you -- I have not enjoyed the privilege for a very long time, different as our disciplines may be. My expertise in commanding Wrath hones sharper by the day, and I have you to thank in part for that.

@spiral-seeker

For Ka’ese, a potted Thalassian plant, with delicate leaves in hues that range from scarlet to gold -- it is bright, and fragrant. A piece of home, preserved through magic that is clearly not the warlock’s own.

Brother,

Past our twenty-fifth year I did not think I would ever write to you and say ‘Merry Winter’s Veil’ ever again. I’m still not certain on how to feel that I am doing it now, but I know that I should, after everything. So much has changed since our reunion in Azsuna. Argus yet looms in the sky, and you should know that I intend to see this war to its end. I hope for your health, through it all.

One day we shall spend this time of the year together again, as brother and sister.

@turalyon

The Magistrix Starshard’s gift arrives on the wings of a strange raven with eyes like embers, bearing the warlock’s distinct aura of magic. In a small leather case strapped to its back is a token -- metal fashioned into the emblem of the Sunguard, with its reverse face inscribed with Thinariel’s unique sigil -- and a message of rolled and sealed parchment.

Thradia,

I cannot even begin to presume what you may believe of me at present -- I apparently have an unfortunate habit for disappearing off the face of the world. You have the deepest apologies I may give, and the greatest hopes for your health and success. You are beautiful and strong, more than I could have ever taught you to be.

Know that I survive, and that I had no choice but to take my leave of the Black Harvest when Vataan abducted my brother from Dalaran (yes, I have a brother). Through his hand and mine, no trace of my tower remains in the Twisting Nether. Without my refuge, I serve the Sunguard. So much has changed that I cannot put to words.

Argus looms high in the sky; you know where I must be.

Stay the course.

@ladyliadrin

[thinariel-farmight]

Day 1

Write a diary entry for your character, dated 10 years in the future. Long hours have been whiled away between her study and her laboratory, by the time she sets down at her desk and deliberately ignores the scattered mounds of paperwork. The journal she takes up is old, bound with leather, though very, very far from her oldest book. She ponders the view outside her window – all moonlit forest and starscattered sky – and turns back to her journal. A word is spoken to unlock it, and a quill pen is dipped into ink to begin writing. The new year comes and goes as it always does, I suppose. I am left weary by Caelinda’s celebrations, though unfortunately I could not partake in as much alcohol as I wished, despite her urgings. I’ve yet more missives to write, between my work at Indaris Court, the Magisterium, the academy. At least in the latter the students are proving eager and enthused for knowledge – it makes it easy to teach them. It makes me recall olden days so frequently that I have come to loathe that my visits and sessions are intermittent at best. The Black Harvest has sent the twelfth beleaguered acolyte to my door to request my attendance in their gatherings. It has grown ever so more difficult to turn them away without cursing them, ever since they graduated from letters to people. The Burning Legion is long-since shattered, they say, as though I am unaware. I have long since grown weary of the scheming and alliances that inundate such gatherings, and I much prefer being a teacher of alchemy than the infernal arts. Let them cast for whatever ambitions they have without me. I have lived it long enough to know the ruin they invite – I am content investigating the occult under Indaris’ patronage. Ka'ese visits often. It has taken years to heal the rift between us, and still, at times there are things that divide us. It has grown easier ever since we shamed Father into the ground – though still I regret that it is metaphorical, and not literal. He presents himself the perfect diplomat, perfectly polite and mannered, though I can see he winds himself up so thoroughly. It is good that Caelinda can usually coax him into being tipsy. We talk often over the stones – his life in Dalaran is progressing well. He has a husband and more gold than he knows what to do with, which he tells me that his beloved insists on taking increasingly flamboyant vacations. I’m happy, for him. I’m glad I can say as such earnestly, after so long. Thradia is still cordial at best with him. It is a mild poison that has come between us about him, yet one that I detest nonetheless. But I cannot ignore her scars. She is weighed down, I can tell, but she is as strong-willed as I. I find myself thankful that neither of us have managed to fall off of the face of the world, to be separated once more. It fills my heart and hers to be together again, even though there is precious little I can teach her, now; she has proven that her knowledge matches mine, and my grimoire will do well, in her hands. I saw Hanniel the other day in her stead; the boy is growing hearty and vibrant, and is still dazzled by the tricks I show him. They’re little things, but it is always gratifying. Has his mother’s singing voice. Malfas is doing well for himself, there. Caelinda’s business is doing exceedingly well, though between it and my obligations we savor every moment we may spend together. I hope it is someday soon that she might steal me away for some other vacation – an adventure, she calls it – again. Her business is doing incredibly well for itself, and sometimes I find even myself in disbelief at the type of curiosities she brings in. She cares well for the hippogryph, at least; she takes more joy from flying than I do. My gratitude and love for her has not waned. She is still as stubborn as I am, but she anchors me to what matters. Has, for years now. I hope for many years more.

---

@turalyon @ladyliadrin @superspicedinosaur @korkrunchcereal

[turalyon-moved]

here’s a piece that took FOREVER.

farmight twins ! yay !

thinariel belongs to @pyrologic-archer !

[thinariel-farmight]

Colored @keikisaragi‘s drawing of the Farmight twins when they were children.

[thinariel-farmight]

Thina and her brother (with matching scowls!), done by me and @turalyon

[thinariel-farmight]

Old artwork of Thinariel and her brother, Ka’ese, and their familiars. Done by @turalyon.

[turalyon-moved]

a sketch of ka’ese that was supposed to turn into a painting but i uhhh didnt do it well so.. heres the sketch instead

[turalyon-moved]

help them please

[turalyon-moved]

this is so self indulgent but here’s ka’ese in som pretty clothes n a mask

[turalyon-moved]

How close has Ka'ese come to the realization that his sister may have, in part, delved into fel magic because she could never measure up to his natural talent?

with the lack of proper discussion between them and the still significant rift, i don’t think ka’ese would have figured out much at all aside from knowing his sister was indeed using fel magic-- and has been for quite a while.

i don’t think he would feel confident enough in himself to come to that conclusion, assuming her turning away was separate, as in his eyes and due to caliand’s abuse, his magic is not nearly as significant or satisfying as it should be. on top of not knowing who thina is as a person anymore, and not knowing who thina was during their elder years in quel’thalas due to being pulled away from her, he is probably more likely to assume that thina just... Did that.

i don’t think he would put too much thought into it, rather than coming up with possible explanations for the situation i think he would rather leave it as an odd blank spot in his mind. at most he would recall how her acting out increased whenever caliand began to clamp his hand around the back of ka’ese’s neck, and from there he would start to unravel things for himself.

it’s also entirely possible that he’s avoiding the concept out of shame, not wishing to have been the cause even if he was, and crossing it out in his mind to avoid facing that kind of pain.

[turalyon-moved]

How much does Ka'ese dote on Koragosa?

intensely, he absolutely adores koragosa and out of all the people he misses while being his usual reclusive self, it is most likely her who he misses most.

possibly as a subconscious desire to make up for his own lack of paternal affection does ka’ese love her so dearly, so he probably enacts upon her his own hidden wishes for love and affection from a parental point.

he sends her a pint of conjured ice cream anytime he thinks of her

[thinariel-farmight]

12: What is one of the most primary things your OC feels that is missing from their life? + description of 2. Them several years past their main adventure

12: What is one of the most primary things your OC feels that is missing from their life?

The main, singular thing Thina feels is missing from her life currently is safety. She is harried by more-or-less constant paranoia, because she knows there are active forces at play that hunt her and very much want to see her dead. Joining the Sunguard as opposed to the formal Thalassian military, her cloak and hood, the nonflashy attire – she’s frequently in a mindset of keeping a low profile, while she works on accruing power she can use to fight back against that. It’s something at the forefront of her mind often, and it damages her mental health severely by how constant it is.

Description 2: Them several years past their main adventure.

Her time had finally run out.

She dimly felt the force of her fall as she slid back and down against the stone wall, and she tilted her head up at an ashen, alien sky. Well, she didn’t suppose she expected to die on Azeroth anyways – planeswalkers rarely do. Some part of her knew, anyways, that this adventure would be her last, by how dimly she felt the inner flame burning.

It had been years since Vataan’s fall. The final confrontation that, before, she had never expected to survive. But she had, surrounded by friends, family. She remembered their faces – Thradia, Navian, Ka’ese, Balthori. Thanidiel, Aestus, Caelinda. Others. The thought came with a measure of disbelief, yet also a small smile. One’s life flashes before their eyes in their dying moments, as their heart flutters and the strength fades from their limbs. It was only fitting – had there been one part of her she wished to bring with her into oblivion, it would be them.

There was always some conflict or another to attend to, of course, even after the Burning Legion had been felled, and they had finally slain the Eredar who had cursed her. She had retaken her demiplane, restored her power, but this time it would be to aid, not to destroy. Philosophically, at least – the means remained the same, but it was with gratitude and appreciation in her heart, when she lead and followed friends unto the field of battle and off. Fighting for the right reasons was, to absolutely nobody’s surprise, better for one’s health and being than anger, and revenge. If redemption could be had even for a half-demon, she supposed she had attained it, as that was the first true solace in her life, before her final death.

She closed her eyes, and felt her breath lull into a slowing pace, bit by bit. Faintest embers stirred behind and to the left of her sternum, flickering. She knew she would be remembered, and that was a second solace. She’d wringed the promises out of them, after all. Ka'ese said he would write a book, for Ardathiel and the Ivory Spire. Though, her heart still ached. It would be better if she could live on, but.. this was not so bad, after all. She could rest.

One last intake of air and one last exhalation, as the embers die and give off one last puff of smoke, and the curse that had wound itself so deeply in her soul finally dissolves. The smoke drifts up into nothingness, and after a moment, she follows.

[pyrosophist]

Day 9

“Haha! Got you!” “Augh, that stings, you oaf!” “I'm not an oaf! You can't call a girl an oaf, Ka’ese.” It was so much sunnier, when the twins of the Farmight family were young. Midsummer in the Suncrown province is everything it could be expected to bear such a name: the height of the warmth and life perpetuated only partially by the land’s enchantment. 

Thinariel knocked aside the jab that came for her with a resounding clack of wood -- their Grandfather had loaned them the wooden contact swords. Meant for contact sparring, but youthful rough-housing had proved well enough to keep them, provided supervision and teaching. She lunges forward with a crosswise strike to follow, but it's a trick used one too many times; Ka’ese backsteps away from it just in time. She earns a rap on the bone of her shoulder for her troubles. “Ah!” “See? Now I've gotten you!” “Ooh, you're in for it now!” She doesn't overcome him after that through real finesse or technique -- however much finesse and technique teenagers can muster with only a few years of play in their favor -- but the stoked ember of anger drives the force of one strike and then the next. She jars his hand to the bone when he parries, even though it’s just a few seconds in reality before he sneaks a jab to the stomach that staunches her: the retaliation is snuffed out handily with the oof that wheeze “Alright! Settle down, settle down.” Mytherian’s voice was too kindly and gentle to be stern, but the twins straightened to rapt attention without pause. He lifted himself up from the simple wood chair he'd sat in; the twins were still growing into the tall, long-legged stature of their grandfather. “That's enough for today, I think. Come on.” Ka’ese is the first to protest. “Grandpa, we’re fine!” “Yeah! We're just playing.” Mytherian fixes them with a quizzical expression, staring down both of the youths, whose brows were dappled with sweat and whose shoulders rose and fell with huffing breath. They shared much, in the set of their faces and the thick, ashen white hair -- though Thinariel’s was worn long and tied back into a braid, where Ka’ese’s was short and wild. The picture of jubilant children, innocent and clearhearted. The old man pulls in a breath and lets it out in a deflating sigh, effecting a dejected mood. “Alright,” he says, beginning to turn away. “I suppose I’ll enjoy some of the cobbler we got alone. Straight from Goldmorn’s stall…” He does not beat the twins to the door, as it turns out. He resolves to get as much of the scraps as he may.