#mac & tryn

[inkedwolf-compendium]

[inkedwolf-archive]

Fallen

The following is a compilation of roleplay scenes and canon that Mac has experienced the past few days. Bits and pieces to a much bigger story with several other characters. This is but her part in all the madness. 

Wednesday, Just After Sundown

With a grin that matched her own, he turned about and spread his arms wide, an arm's length short on either end of touching the walls.

”Home.”

It was not a question. He merely stood there, welcoming her into a hug.

Home.

As the words left his lips, that low rumbling sound that was his voice called to her. Her gaze had turned from the copper tub, and although her devotion to bathtubs was a well-known secret, in that very moment, she had eyes only for him. Pale hazel eyes sought out his as she walked over to him, slowly closing the distance, stopping only when her hand could brush against his leather-clad chest.

Even through his garb, she could feel the heat radiating off of him, beckoning her closer. It was addictive and in the cool climbs of Kul’Tiras where the wind was often salty and bitter with cold. Like a warm blanket, she wanted to be wrapped in him, to lose herself to his embrace.

She was tall for a woman, long and lithe, yet he still towered over her. With the distance between them but a memory, she slipped her arms around his waist and pulled herself close, burying her face against his chest, letting his warmth envelop her. Her nails raked against his leather vest, dragging across the smooth surface.

Another barrier.

Gods, they both had so many. Clothes were among the simplest to remove, the rest wouldn’t be so easy. Mac, herself, had spent lifetimes hidden behind walls of her own making, caging herself in with her past, her loss, and her sorrows.

Tryn was among the first to see Mac for more than just the mask she wore before the masses.

He still didn’t know all of her. Just as she didn’t know all of him.

The good, the bad, the ugly…. There was still so much to learn about one another. The thought terrified her. Letting someone in. Letting him see just how broken she truly was. She was terrified to look up and see pity in his eyes. Disgust, hatred, anger-- All those she had spent a lifetime becoming numb to. The one thing that still cut deep, however, was pity.

She didn’t want to be pitied. Not by him or anyone else. She didn’t want him to find just how shattered she truly was and to start treating her like some sad and broken thing. She feared what was to come, what she would share, what he would think of her… Yet, there was a quiet peace in the back of her mind.

Acceptance.

She had spent so long hiding who she truly was that for the first time, there was someone before her who wouldn’t push to know her past. He was there, waiting, smiling with open arms, waiting for her to be ready to share a part of herself. He was like that in all things. He never pushed, he simply waited for her to be ready.

She wasn’t sure if she was, but she was damn well ready to try. If only she could find the right words.

Tilting her head back, she smiled up at him and rose up to her toes, only to suddenly hear buzzing and static-filled voices shouting from her hip. How she loathed that device. Turning up the volume, she heard others screaming over the radio waves.

Termina was being attacked. A call to arms sounded.

One look said it all, those pale hazel eyes of hers finding his balefire gaze. They had only just arrived in their new home but it was time to go. Time to fight.

Hours Later, Closer to Midnight

Mac returned. Not to the place she now called home, but to her old house hidden away in the mountains. The evening had been a blur. The battle had left her numb. The aftermath even more so.

Death. She had touched death.

The memory made her stomach turn and before she could stop herself, she was on all fours dry heaving into the thick grass. She had lost all the contents of her stomach earlier after she healed him. No.

That wasn’t him. Not anymore. She healed a corpse. Dead flesh that needed to be knit back together.

Someone like her should never heal the dead. She was no flesh shaper. No death knight. Her gifts were about life and creation. What she had done had violated the very laws of nature. You cannot heal the dead. Yet she did. She did and she could feel it like some vile toxin pumping through her veins. She did it because it was him. 

Was.

Cries from the house pulled her attention from her dark thoughts.

The girls.

She had all but stolen them. Scooped them up amidst the battle and ran the moment their mother fled to their father’s side. She had heard the scream of anguish. She hadn’t seen it, but as she heard that scream, she knew without a doubt that he had fallen.

She felt her own bond to him break. Nothing like the Wolf Mother’s. No. This was nothing at all like that. This was her life duty bound to his. A promise, nothing more. Deep and bound in blood, but still no more than a promise.

Broken or not, in that moment, she fulfilled her oath. Protect his children.

She had scooped them up and fled, taking them to her house in the mountains that no one knew of save for Tryn and Gideon himself. Now only Tryn. The dead took secrets with them to the grave.

She heard a voice singing to soothe the girls. Her cousin. She had stolen the woman in a moment of dire need. She had to heal, yet she couldn’t leave the children alone. A hasty hearth to Boralus and back, yanking the woman from her office and warding her home so that she couldn’t leave magically or otherwise until Mac returned.

She had threatened the woman’s life. Her own flesh and blood and she had threatened her. Protect them with your life or die. She had barely gotten the words out before unknown magic pulled her from her home. Time and space blurred and she had been in Termina again… Until now. 

Now she was home and terrified to step through that door. How could she face those two girls who hadn’t even seen their first year? How could she hold it together, knowing their father was dead?

A voice whispered in the depths of her mind. The Bitch, the wolf within her. 

”Mourn him when they return him to the earth. Until then, he’s not dead.”

Mac shook her head. She was right. They had her heal his fresh corpse. They wouldn’t have done that if they didn’t plan for him to be pulled back from the beyond. She wouldn’t mourn him.

Mourning would happen only when the funeral pyre was lit. 

The Next Day

She had pulled the mattress from the guest room to the living room, her cousin helping her before she was sent back home. Mac wanted the girls close, so the moment the bed was in place, she let them curl up together and drift off to the sound her Mac humming a gentle Gilnean lullaby. The moment they were asleep, Mac curled up next to Tryndan on the floor. He had been the one to pull her back to Termina. Her cousin said as soon as Mac had vanished, Tryndan had appeared and passed out on the floor.

Mac didn’t risk moving him. Instead, she kept them all close. The girls on the mattress and Mac in his arms. Her home was an indoor garden. The moment her lullaby faded, the sounds of nature sang to them all as they dreamt.

It was in the hours just after dawn that Mac heard the cooing of two very awake girls. Peeking open an eye, she saw them sitting on the mattress playing peek-a-boo with one another. She couldn’t help but smile as she propped herself up and watched them.

They didn’t know their whole world was different now.

Moving slowly, Mac inched away from Tryn and rested on the edge of the mattress, joining the game with the two girls. She used the corner of the blanket to hide her face and then when she felt those chubby hands tug, she popped up with a silly face, time and time again, filling her house full of the sound of tiny giggles.

As happened with most games and young children, eventually they tired and found something new to play with. This time it just happened to be the large sleeping worgen on the floor. Mac watched as they crawled over and turned Tryn into a furry jungle gym. He was sleeping, yet he didn’t want him to wake up suddenly so she leaned down and whispered in his ear.

“I’m going to make breakfast. Be mindful of the pups.”

Even though she hadn’t called the place home in some time, somehow the pantry and icebox were still packed with fresh foods. Either she had visited here and there to clean and restock, or there was some other magic at play.  Her raven locks were a wild mane that was tangled and in disarray. Still, a simple leather band and she had her long locks pulled back and out of her face, letting it all rest atop her head in a messy bun.

Scents began to fill the air. Sweet at first, fruits and honey. Then there was the earthy scent of porridge. Luckily, for Tryn, Mac wasn’t about to force her eating habits on him. As he was stuck on the floor, drooling beneath two babes, Mac let a large steak dance across the pan before she set it on a plate to rest. She didn’t cook it. Not really. Simply seasoned and gave the piece of meat a nice sear before she set it on the plate to bleed its delicious juices all over the plate.

Eggs were next. Mac wasn’t one to skimp on breakfast and she hummed while she cooked. This time it wasn’t a lullaby but a soft tune that had a happy melody. So much had been lost the night before, yet Mac held herself together and hummed as she cooked for Tryn and the girls.

She didn’t take long. In fact, before he was in a lake of his own drool, Mac came over and gently moved the girls, one at a time, back to the mattress to free Tryn from his adorable prison. As she moved them, she brought the blankets up around them, tucking them in together so they could share each other’s warmth.

She sat there for several moments, just watching the girls doze quietly as she knelt on the edge of the mattress. It wasn’t until she pulled her gaze away and looked up at Tryn that he could finally see the hidden sorrow in the depths of her eyes. She had been doing her damnedest to hide it.

She didn’t think she could hide it from him, he always saw through her masks. There was a small smile that curled in the corners of her lips. Not one of happiness, mind you. Just a small private smile that begged him to be patient with her. She was holding herself together, but just barely. Surely he would see that.

As she rose up and away from the girls, her voice was quiet again. “Come and eat, love. I made you steak and eggs. The girls have some milk porridge cooling for when they wake. We’ll let them rest for now.” 

During Breakfast

The quiet meal had turned into something so much more. While Mac thought she would hide behind the much needed satisfaction of a good meal, instead, breakfast was almost all but ignored as Tryn peered into her very soul with those balefire eyes. He watched her as she put on her mask, hiding behind it, and clutching it tightly like her only lifeline.

He watched her, and yet he couldn’t let her suffer alone.

His questions felt like a sharp knife, cutting away her protection. Making her face the horrors and pain that her mind was trying so desperately cast away and let sink into the dark depths of her memory. She realized only as she started to answer him that those thoughts were an anchor, weighing her down, pulling her into the darkness with it and he wasn’t cutting away her protection.

He was saving her from being pulled under.

Words flowed from her, they weren’t easy to say, nor to hear spoken aloud. Yet she confessed her dark thoughts one by one. The perversion of her power, how she had gone against her very beliefs. The loss she felt. The blood bond that was broken. One by one, she laid them out for him and as the last confession left her lips, she didn’t see pity or disgust waiting for her.

She saw only him, holding his arms out, waiting to comfort her. She didn’t hesitate as she closed the distance between them. The walked forward and fell into his arms, wrapping her arms around him and holding him tight.

Far Too Soon

She had only just lost herself in Tryn’s comforting embrace when her com came to life. Mac listened to the chatter as it came over her radio. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Not only were they parading people through a safe house, they were demanding the children to join the circus act. What in the hell were they thinking? She pulled away from Tryn gently, but the moment she was free, there was no longer despair. There was fury.

Mac had grabbed her com and dialed in Blackstone’s private frequency. "A word." She said tersely.

"Aye." He answered after a moment.

Mac wasn’t one to sugarcoat, least of all in this. The moment he answered, she cut to the chase. "Every single person who was seen yesterday is a potential leak, intentionally or unintentionally. You're going to lead them right to the Wolf Mother. The more people that know where she is, the more at risk she is."

"I know.” He replied. “ I have a plan for it if it does happen, I promise. Please just trust me. She requested I tell them she's takin' visitors. I'll be there the whole time. I will not let her be hurt, or anyone else in this company."

Men. By the gods, how stupid they were. Tension sounded in her voice. "Oh, you think you'll be able to protect them? One man, against how many?"

"Mac. Trust me. She told me to do this."

She didn’t trust any of them. Not now. None of them were thinking clearly. "She isn't in her right mind and you know it. And you want me to put children at risk?"

"She wants her kids. Don't fight her on it. Will you just -trust- me. If you want her to stay in bed, lean with her a bit, yeah?"

Mac didn’t answer. She was beyond furious. How could they all be so blind? So stupid. She wanted to throw her com. To leave it deep in the forest and run with those two girls and Tryn. Letting them join their mother when her location was becoming the worst kept secret in Azeroth put a pit in her stomach that made her nauseous. The coms kept going off. The company line. People discussing the children.

No one would listen. No one. All they wanted was to keep the Wolf Mother happy.

Mac didn’t care about her happiness. She could care less if the Wolf Mother was miserable.

She wanted her safe. Moreso, she wanted the girls safe. She wanted the unborn babe safe. The Wolf Mother, she could take or leave. It was the children Mac cared about.

Right now, they needed their mother to remain alive. No one would listen. It would be like fish in a barrel if their enemy caught wind of their location. She barely heard the words over the com when she realized someone was being sent her way to retrieve the girls.

She was cornered, backed against the wall. What choice did she have? Kill someone following stupid orders? Run with the girls? Her mind reeled with the possibilities. She would do it. She would kill for them. She had no doubt about that. Her mind went to what would happen if she stole those girls to safety. The wolf mother wouldn’t rest. She would push herself to the ends of the earth to get those girls back. She would kill the babe inside of her to hunt Mac down.

She could keep the girls safe from a potential and likely risk… but if she did, she would be killing the unborn babe still growing in the wolf mother’s womb. That wasn’t a possibility. It was a certainty. She closed her eyes to keep the tears from spilling down her cheeks.

She had to let them go.

Mac slammed her fists on the counter as her eyes flashed that brilliant amber color. Reckless fools. She looked up at Tryn, that quiet wrath bubbling beneath the surface. Pursing her lips as she shook her head, she said nothing to him. Nothing needed to be said. He had heard every last word.

Pushing off the counter, she growled under her breath as she walked over slowly to collect the girls. How she wish people would listen to reason. Instead, they knew only madness.

Soon After

Mac waited quietly outside of her house that looked like it was being consumed by the forest around it. Everything was in bloom and the lush surroundings were a veritable paradise. She was no more than twenty feet from her front door, which was open, revealing the fact that much like outside, the inside of the glass house was wild and covered in beautiful growths, bringing the wild indoors.

Mac looked exhausted, her skin paler than usual and dark circles were heavy under her pale hazel eyes. The expression she wore on her face was one of complete and utter numbness. She didn't want to feel, not in this, especially not now. While she had put on a cheerful face for the girls as she tended to them, playing with them as the hours of the day ticked away, keeping them safe and happy, that time was now over. She had two choices. Hand the children over to their mother’s pawns, knowing full well the dangers of bringing them out of hiding. Or run.

She couldn’t run. Not without risking the life of an unborn babe and countless others. So, she stood there waiting for Syana's mother, the girls wrapped up warmly, one tucked in the crook of each arm. She stood there like a sentry, simply waiting for it all to be over.

The wait wasn’t long for the woman who had come to claim them. Mac felt her presence moments before she appeared a few feet in front of her, carried to Mac’s hidden refuse by the hearthstone she had entrusted to Syana. She barely heard the woman as she thanked Mac for keeping the girls safe, feeling her take one, then the other from the crook of her arms.

It wasn’t until that weight was lifted that Mac spoke, in no more than an angry whisper.

"She is in a safe house that you are parading the entire damn company to. Every person who sees where she is a potential risk. You might as well put a bloody target on her. And now... This? NO ONE knows of this place. No one. It is safe and you are putting these children at risk."

Mac clenched her jaw. She wanted to scream but she wouldn't in front of the babes. "She is not in her right mind and you know it. And your daughter? Her husband? They're too devoted to see that right now Daria doesn't need people who will follow her orders. She needs someone to defy her and keep her safe. Keep her children safe. What happened yesterday.... will happen again.. and again... because everyone in this blasted company is to blind and too stupid to use common sense."

She took a step forward, lowering her voice even more. "Send Keantha to Pinky's Groggery. She's getting a crash course in how to be a midwife." Mac swallowed hard and exhaled a controlled breath and she unclipped her com from her belt and tucked it next to one of the girls. "Your son in law knows where to find me if there is no one else in an emergency."

And with that, Mac turned and walked away.

Seconds Later

How much longer could she hold it together? She didn’t truly know. She felt it all welling up inside of her like a great storm. One after the next, storms collided until there was only the tempest raging inside of her. She had left the woman with the girls, not even risking a glance back. Instead, she surged into her house and without a word, wrapped her arms around Tryndan moments before the Stone to The Hound’s Tooth activated.

The world titled as they were pulled from one place to the next and as she pulled away she quickly moved to an empty bloodstained table to collect herself. She refused to cry. Refused to let him know how broken she felt. She refused… and yet she splintered before him, cracks showing in that coveted mask of hers. She tried to hide, but the more she hit, the more clear it was that she was falling apart.

How much more?

With eyes closed as she breathed in deeply and forced herself to exhale, she tried to quiet her mind. It wouldn’t be silenced. She couldn’t it run from it forever. Luckily, a wet nose, a heavy nudge, and a quiet whine pulled her from the chaos.

Distractions would only prolong the inevitable, yet this distraction was one she couldn’t ignore.

Max. The large wrinkle-faced mastiff stared up at her. He had been forgotten in the chaos. Left behind in the ruins to fend for himself. His master slain, his home destroyed, his family in the winds and lost in grief.

Mac knelt down and parts of her mask chipped away. As she pet him, offering him some small comfort in all that he had lost, Mac looked up at Tryn, her bright hazel eyes brimming with tears as her lower lip trembled.

Grief was a strange thing sometimes. While Mac had little in common with the large wrinkly faced creature, in that moment she felt as he did. Alone. Abandoned by most everyone.

As she stared up pitifully at Tryn, her voice cracked as she spoke, sounding hoarse with sorrow. “Will you take him home? We can’t leave him here…”

Finally Over

She had pulled herself together just enough to pass off information to Keantha, telling the healer all that she needed to know and how to find her if there was an emergency. She thought it was over, but the worst had yet to come.

Mac was hidden behind her mask as Kari walked up to that lavish fire pit. Words cut through Mac like a knife.

Selfish.

Coward.

If she only knew. If only one of them would listen, really listen to her. Mac hid behind her mask, taking every cut. She didn't want to fight. Not over this. Not with Kari. Not with Sal who stood quietly behind her.

She didn't want to fight, yet she wanted her sister to understand. Why did none of them understand?

In the end, she did the only thing she could. She hugged Kari and walked away.

She tried to get them to hear her. To listen. They were all too lost and Mac....

She just wanted to go home. 

@theruneslayer @bastard-blackstone @fires-of-blackstone @karicharbonneau @salvador-nightbane @keantha @gideonbelmont 

[little-sunken-lifeboat]

Me? Posting art? More likely than you think 

[the-outliers-blog1]

We Are Recruiting!

Guild Overview

Outliers is a medium/heavy roleplay guild based out of Boralus where a collective of individuals have joined together as allies to build and develop the ‘business ventures’ they participate in. This is both for those who operate purely within the legal restrictions of the Kingdom and those who very much don’t.

This is a sophisticated, business-oriented, CRIME guild. While Criminal activity is not a requirement for your character, know that those who are leading this community are in fact morally compromised individuals. That said, there is a moral code for those who run this collective of people. There are some “business ventures” that will not be entertained or permitted.  Crime is a business, a lucrative one. There is good business… and there is bad business. We leave the bad business to the gangs and petty thugs.

Guild Perks Unique To Us

Guild Ranks are based on reputation/participation with the guild.

As many are aware, when you join a guild, the ranking system is set up as a ladder to climb. You start at the very bottom and through roleplay, favoritism, or sometimes just based off of a skillset, you’re put into some manner of low-level grunt role. In the Outliers, we base the member ranking system off of reputation. This is a criminal organization. Your reputation is your meal-ticket. The more you do, the more reputation you have and trust you’ve earned.

Guild NPC’s

As events and jobs are announced for sign up, the “Contacts” will be there to outfit your crew with supplies as well as Guild NPC’s. These are a very limited resource. However, they work very much like the “Followers” that are available in game. These are NPC’s that you can incorporate into your event, writing challenges and more.

Weekly Roleplaying Opportunities.     

Each week, Outliers, will be hosting Micro-Events. These are events that will be based on a roll type playstyle, and each roll will provide a random scenario and difficulty level that is ICly taking place within community/city. These events will vary, and we hope that with them, we can create an immersive and evolving storyline, for not only the guild, its allies, and its members, but also for the community setting as well.

The “Bosses” are a mystery.

That’s right. In-Character, when you come into the guild, you don’t know who your “Contacts” are working for. It could be anyone. This is a criminal organization. Coming in, you aren’t going to get a pamphlet on all the dirty little secrets of the guild. You’ll be directed to someone akin to a middleman who will give you the basics, offer you a job, and pull back the curtain just enough to draw you in. As you interact and grow with the organization, earning trust, more and more of the mystery will be revealed. These are well guarded IC secrets. So, bear in mind, if your character is found spilling information to those who don’t have the clearance to hear them, consequences will be severe.

Our Ranking System

The Leadership Roles

The Shadow - Tryndan Fawkes - Our Out of Character GM. 

This role heads up a wide variety of tasks such as guild NPC creation, some of the grueling tasks that are the OOC mechanics of the guild, and mediation. 

Taskmaster -  Macaela “Mac” Marley- An In Character GM. 

This role is the people person for “the business”. This person in charge of interviewing people and providing them with jobs and a myriad of connections. 

Quartermaster - Karoselah “Kari” Charbonneau - An In Character GM.

This role is the head of “merchandise”. The person in charge of Supplies, Inventory, Buying, Trading, and Selling. This role is the very fuel that keeps the fires of lucrative profits burning brightly. 

Harbormaster - Salvador “Sal” Nightbane - An In Character GM. 

This role is the head of “safe passage”. This is the person in charge of transport or smuggling payloads, assets, or cargo. They are also in charge of a network of safe-houses for when law enforcement or competition becomes a danger to our people. 

Our Member Roles     

Exalted

An officer rank. This rank is earned through consistent participation, job creation, as well as the initiative to lead by example. With great rank comes great responsibility. This means that those who reach this rank will know the secrets behind the curtain. The “GMs” are secret, and as you raise up through the ranks, a little more of that secret is revealed. Reached Exalted is a difficult climb and once there you know the mystery behind The Outliers. You are among the most trusted of the group, and it is your responsibility to bring in fresh faces to work, mediate dramatics that arise, put out fires from jobs that don’t go well, etc.

Revered

Revered is the final “member” rank and it is obtained through actively participating as well as consistently putting out job an/or roleplay opportunities. This is also the rank where those who maintain a revered status that we will pull and condition people to fulfill the exalted rank which is an officer position. To obtain this rank, you not only have to maintain active participation as you have with honored, as well as putting out jobs. This also requires you to bring in at least 2 members that stay a minimum of 60 days and achieve at least the Friendly Rank. Keep in mind, recruitment is open for anyone. If you bring someone in as a friendly, and they stay, this will count towards your recruitment. Secret arc continues. More of the mystery is revealed.

        Honored

Honored is a rank that is earned not only through job/assignment completion. It is also a rank to show you are actively putting jobs/assignments up on the board. This rank is something that is mostly participation but also showing the initiative to take the lead for events of your own making. Secret arc continues. More of the mystery is revealed.

       Friendly

After you have successfully completed your first few assignments/jobs with the guild, you will be elevated to the friendly rank. With this rank, comes a piece of the puzzle, a hint to whom you’re actually working for. This rank shows that you are actively involved with the business dealings of The Outliers and bringing in a profit.

       Neutral

After an IC interview, your character becomes neutral with the guild. This is neither a positive or negative position. It is merely a rank that states you’ve made contact with the guild and intent to participate in business with them.

     Unaffiliated

This is the OOC rank for characters who are in the guild such as alts who are not actively IC participating or affiliated with the guild.

In-Character Rules

Throughout the world, there is a hidden 'code' among thieves, criminals, scoundrels, and those who would rebel against and set themselves aside from society. Unlawful as we are are, we do have standards and a way of governing behavior. These are generally understood, and specifics can vary within any unlawful organization. Those who uphold the 'Code' are protecting the very foundation of Criminal Network we are building.

Outliers Code

No member should cooperate with the authorities, be it The Guard, The Admiralty, or The SI:7 when detained. If another member is under investigation or arrest, no member will testify against them.  This code also protects the keeping of secret information in regards to the whereabouts of accomplices, dens, districts, hideouts, safe houses, aliases, etc. No member should ever share this information with the authorities. (Don’t be a rat.)

Make good on promises given to other members. This includes participation in an event, funds for a cause, or individual employment for task completion. If you are hired on or brought in as a partner, you must uphold your end of the deal. (Keep your word.)

Never gamble without being able to cover losses, unless these losses were to those who do not uphold the code. Being caught unable to pay your debts is unacceptable. (Pay your debts.)

Should a member lose their reasoning, while intoxicated or otherwise, it is not an excuse for breaking the code. (Drunk/High/Stupid is not an excuse.)

In the event of a conflict between oneself and other members, an individual should demand an inquiry and judgment by Officers Council. If necessary, a member will be required to participate in these inquiries. This code should be utilized if both parties cannot agree upon a settlement and bloodshed and violence are likely without a resolution. (Don’t stab your friends.)

Any member who breaks the code will be punished according to the decided judgment of the officer's council. No member will resist carrying out the decision of punishment for the offending member if found guilty of violating the code. (Accept the consequences.)

OOC Info

Outliers is a business centered criminal guild.   We focus on opportunist/merchant style of RP.  We are seeking active RPers and characters who are interested in rich storytelling through many different styles of RP.  From freeform, to writing challenges, to D20 events.  Application to apply is on our website listed below.   Contacts provided in game, discord, and tumblr.   Feel free to contact any of us for information, questions, comments or concerns.   

Contacts:  

Mac 

In Game Name - Macaelam/Macognito 

Discord - shatteredglasstavern#1426 

Tumblr - inkedwolf-compendium.tumblr.com

E-mail - inkedwolf.commissons@gmail.com

Kari

In Game Name - Karoselah

Discord - Charbonneau#3113 

Tumblr - karicharbonneau.tumblr.com

Sal

In Game Name - Salvador 

Discord - Trollerblade#0335

Tryn

In Game Name - Tryndan/Twynn, 

Discord - TheMystikCelt#7696

Tumblr - theruneslayer.tumblr.com

Website:               

https://the-outliers.shivtr.com/  

@karicharbonneau @theruneslayer @inkedwolf-compendium @salvador-nightbane

[theruneslayer]

An Ember amidst the Ash of Thorns

((A brief RP interlude bridging the gap to Boralus.))

It had been two weeks since she’d left.

He’d awoken that morning to the sounds of silence; Mac had returned to the room with -another- whiskey, and while they weren’t quite snores, her breath came heavily at times as she tossed in her sleep. It had been a fitful slumber. He’d waited to see if the dreams would trouble her anew, before finally allowing himself the respite his battered body needed.

He knew in a heartbeat that she was not in the house; the sort of stillness that hung about abandoned homes had settled in, despite the vibrantly-alive song of bird and bug that filtered from the flowering vines. The scent of sweat on her sheets was a heady thing, a trace of warmth lingering on the bed now devoid of its blanket. Perhaps she had gone off to hunt once again, though the buck she’d brought back still hung outside. Odd, perhaps, but he did not know Steaks, nor her morning routine… nor if the nightmares had upset it. But he did not fear for her. One might be defenseless against dreams, but he did not think this one would be defenseless against anything else. Not so soon after…

And so he’d busied himself about the cottage, a curious beast perhaps incognizant of boundaries while he nosed about the place… literally, and figuratively. He spied Zeda once, but the big snake looked none too pleased to remake his acquaintance, slithering off to who knew where as she had after he’d fallen on her.

It had been evening before he knew it, but Tryndan did not experience the passage of time in ways most understood it. He was -aware- of its passage, certainly, but the ruddy colors of dusk had taken him by surprise while he’d been lost in his thoughts, such as they were. In point of fact, they were quite clear… but with a concern that wasn’t present at the center.

Mac.

He could have reached out for her upon the Ley, as he’d done when he’d first found her here, up in her home on the hills. But it was clear even to him she’d wanted her space, and it felt somehow… wrong, to track her in such a manner. Nor did his comm seem to work, the metal dented and split from his fall. Instead, he set into the gloom that’d begun to settle over the woods in search of food. There was the buck, of course, but he did not wish to feast on it before her return. He supped on the first sheep he’d found, and strapped another across his back along with a squirrel or two before returning with a gift of dinner for Zeda.

The snake apparently made do in his absence, however… and where there had been a buck hanging from the tree before her house, there was now just a swaying rope, and a lazy black snake that appeared so wide around the middle he thought she might pop. Apparently Zeda needed no feeding, but Tryn tied the sheep to the empty rope just in case.

Clambering over it, he scampered up the rope to the branches above and chose a perch that allowed him a view of the city beyond, and her bedroom below.

A bedroom that remained empty until at long last he slept.

Zeda was still lazy the next morning, in the home Mac had not returned to, but the snake at least brushed over Tryndan’s hindpaw at one point when he trod restlessly about the home; a casual, yet gently slithering brush that seemed to speak of a tentative forgiveness. The Slayer, however, had begun to occupy his thoughts, and so he let Zeda be.

Mac’s healing had set the damage to mending, but something about her, or the home, he knew not what… knew only something here was hastening the other wounds that had yet to heal. The Slayer had stirred within, a panther in captive shadows who knew it was almost time to feed. Tryn knew he couldn’t remain here alone without the Slayer pushing him out.

And so he set through the hills -away- the city a day and a half after Mac.

Another week passed before Tryndan returned from the Eastern reaches of Elwynn, bloodied in new places yet in control once more. Passing adventurers might make note of fresh stains painting the monoliths about Stone Cairn Lake, and it was said even murlocs feared to cross to the river’s far shore.

Yet there was -still- no one home in the house on the hill, and the bed with its missing bedsheet smelled of only the ghost she’d become.

Zeda, for her part, consented to a bit of skritching upon his return; at least one woman her had forgiven him his latest trespass. Pondering his next move, Tryndan reluctantly reached out for the web of power once more…

And was nearly floored by the feedback.

Zeda, luckily, was not underfoot as he stumbled again, though the snake slithered off with a wary bit of side-eye while the worgen steadied himself. Flowing into the web was disorienting enough and taxing under duress, but this was… different.

The Ley was afire with power.

He’d sensed Mac near the City’s shore, but he’d sensed, as well, what he sometimes used the Ley to hunt - the location of a magi. But there were -hundreds- of them; more, perhaps, gathered in the City as well and drawing on powers that could only be in preparation for war.

And so it was that he barreled onto the docks not a half-hour later, scattering dockworkers and setting horses to stamping and rearing, leaving a swath of angry soldiers in his four-legged wake.

Claws gouged wood as he swerved to a stop, tearing out splinters that flew like exploding matchsticks from beneath his feet. Chest heaving, wild around the eyes and nearly frothing at the mouth from his run down the hills and through the forest to cross the City, he saw her there, crossing the planks onto a galleon as sailors worked to undo the last of her lines.

Drawn by the commotion, she looked his way while pikemen pushed the ship from its moorings, and an irritated blast of air rushed from his nostrils with enough power to fill a fleet of sails. Tryn dropped back to all fours and pounced in leaps down the jetty, claws scrabbling for purchase to keep up with his speed… before launching himself into the air and landing on a deck that’d gotten fifteen feet from shore.

Right in front of her.

His eyes narrowed as he peered down into her own, though the effect was somewhat ruined by a lolling tongue and maw open wide as he gasped for air.

He said only one thing, a wounded mix of reproach and resentment underlying his words.

“...no leave again. Tryn worry.”

@theinkedwolfooc

[roystory4]

tuas thoughts in maccready?

tua works w mac for one weekend in the summer of 2288, as a favor to hancock (she took it on as a pro bono case for the agency even tho she wasnt working for them at the time), and i like to refer to it as a roadtrip™ bc it fits all the qualifications: sibling bickering, silent treatment, bad food, getting lost, uncomfortable weather, etc

at first tua butts heads w maccready mostly bc mac tends to be pretty opinionated, and on top of that he tends to voice all of those opinions as soon as he thinks of them… he also sees tua as an older sister and treats her like that; tua on the other hand, having been an older sister at one point, finds all those instincts activated™, so she engages in his dumb arguments and finds natural ways to tick him off

the root of all their problems lies in the fact that tua sees a lot of her teenage behavior in maccready and it makes her cranky at first… but by the end of it she knows he really is trying his hardest, so she respects mac, and mac respects tua…. also part of the reason she tolerates deacon is bc she knows mac has a soft spot for him. they dont really interact a lot after this particular event tho

[inkedwolf-compendium]

Aftermath: Reign of The Bitch

Decided to share this since Mac has been MIA for IC reasons. OOC I will admit the holidays stole me away. Looking forward to see where this plot twist takes us. As always, this isn’t something that most individuals, outside of my roleplay partner, would know is going on IC. Enjoy the read! 

< Section Music >

He was gone.

He couldn’t be.

How could he be gone?

How could this be happening?

Sorrow threatened to overwhelm her like a cataclysmic tide, swallow her whole, and drown her in grief.

He had left her.

It was like a knife in her heart, each agonizing beat mangling the muscle that surrounded the blade.

Each ragged breath was agony.

Every beat was just a reminder pounding loudly in her ear, letting her know that in the end, everyone she ever cared for would leave her.

They would leave her and take a piece of her shredded heart with them until she had nothing.

Years of loss. She should be used to it by now. But this? This wasn’t just loss. This was a betrayal.

Her trust had been shattered.

His final words were like acid, burning into her soul.

“I grieve too. You just think yours is more important.”

He had painted her as selfish.

No. He had painted her as a monster.

They all thought so little of her in the end. Why should the endless cycle be broken now?

She thought he was different.

He wasn’t.

He promised he would never hurt her.

He had.

There was salvation in that pain.

Pain that rivaled the loss of her children. Pain that tore at her mind. Pain that ripped her in two.

Control was slipping away.

She let it.

Broken bones hurt less than a broken heart. She knew that now as she felt her body breaking.

Darkness and grief had threatened to claim her.

Instead, her world went red. 

< Section Music > 

The woman who had kept the monster at bay receded into the darkest depths of her mind as The Bitch took over. There was the exhilaration of freedom and the euphoric swell of emotions as she realized she was not only free but in control.

Her heart beat like a fervent war drum. The shift had started and before it could truly take hold, she had brought it to a screeching halt. Her eyes still glowed, the murderous amber glint consuming the pale hazel hues. Her teeth were altered as well but not in an unattractive way. 

She stood there, looking at them in a shop window, her elongated canines and the subtle points on her lower incisors. It wasn’t far off from a night elf and their elegantly primal fangs. Using the glass as a mirror, she positively preened.

Vanity was a deep-seated sin of hers. Hands ran over her leather corset, slowly trailing over her subtle curves. She much preferred flesh to fur. Lean muscles covered by silken skin. By the gods. She couldn’t help but compare her body to a marble masterpiece.

Sculpted to perfection, smooth to the touch, and beneath it all, a strength that wouldn’t fade to the test of time. As she worshipped herself in the glass window, she heard weeping in the depths of her mind. Her other side positively wallowing in grief, self-pity, and pain. So much pain.

The pain made her blood boil and her heart race.

How dare he.

How dare he hurt her.

Her teeth clenched as her jaw flexed in anger. Rage robbed her of her prideful preening, her amber eyes focusing on other reflections in the glass window, letting her own fade from focus.

Crowds of people scurrying about in the market. Her other side had been walking to the Office, looking to weep in the arms of her heart-sworn sister. That pitiful creature had never made it to the well-worn steps tucked away near the waterways in Hook Point.

No, there was no pitiful creature here.

Looking over her shoulder, she waited, watching like a true huntress until someone met her golden gaze.

A man. Of course. Why shouldn’t he look at her?

The smile she gave him as his eyes met hers was positively wicked. That seductive smirk as she looked away and slipped into the shadows behind a building, away from watchful eyes.

He would follow. They always did.

How could they not?

Her eyes closed as she waited, her heart beating loudly in her chest, thrumming with excitement.

Her back was to her prey as he approached. She could smell him. The stench of a day’s work mixed with the lingering scent of the sea.

Salt. So much salt.

It was beyond fitting, given her current mood.

A firm hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently, caused her eyes to open and her smirk to curl back across her full lips.

The hunt was over before it ever truly began.

She spun in place, twisting the man’s arm as she pulled him along and slammed him against the building, driving the wind from his lungs. Her hand was on his throat before he had a chance to scream out. She didn’t play with her new toy. There was no need. She simply crushed his windpipe and watched as the man quietly fought to breathe.

Nails clawed at her arm, an exercise in futility that brought an amused grin to her lips as she batted away his hands as if he were no more bothersome than a fly.

How long before her other half pulled herself from her stupor and shoved her back in her cage? How close would the man get to death?

The Bitch laughed as she watched. She had played this game before and she knew how it ended. Still, she played. Her gentler side, the healer, always stepped in. Always pulled her back from slaughtering innocents like livestock.

This would be no different and at least it would give the poor shattered soul something focus on other than her grief. It was the same, time and time again. That momentary slip into despair and The Bitch was always waiting to coax her back into fighting. Into carrying on with her life. Into finding that inner strength.

This was the same… until it wasn’t.

She stood there staring into the man’s eyes as panic faded into acceptance. Then acceptance faded away, leaving nothing. Nothing but a shell.

The Bitch watched the life fade from the man’s eyes and she was still in control.

Fight.

That challenge echoed in the depths of her mind.

Fight or I will slaughter more.

The silence was deafening.

Fight!

That screeching challenge echoed through her mind and The Bitch could feel the overwhelming pain that was suffocating her other half, swallowing her whole.

Fight!

The answer that came was quiet and it struck her in a way nothing before ever had.

My fight is over. Let me die.

The blind rage that followed turned her vision into a sea of crimson. She would not let her die. She wouldn’t let her give up. How dare she let a man shatter her. They had been through too much.

Defeat wasn’t an option. Death wasn’t an option.

She would murder innocents by the thousands if she had to. She would force her to fight.

Her grip released from the man’s throat, letting his warm corpse collapse to the ground.

She had work to do.

Hook Point was now her hunting ground. 

[ Credit for Gif Set: MegExpress ]

< Section Music > 

Two weeks of carnage and nothing.

Men. Women. Nothing brought even a flicker of resistance from her other half.

Desperation brought her to a shabby door of a shop tucked between the bustling marketplace of Hook point and the back alley filth of Dampwick Ward.

I will kill them both and it will be your face they see as they die. Imagine the betrayal in their eyes.

Threats had done nothing but now she was picking the lock of the shop, breaking into a home of someone she knew. Someone who had the same blood as her. She waited for an answer. For that resistance.

Nothing.

I will rip her throat out as he watches. Imagine how her blood will taste on my lips. You’ve taken everything. Why not her life as well?

The answer that she received, quiet and whispered, made The Bitch realize she was losing not only battle after battle. She was losing the war.

Why not, indeed? Enjoy yourself.  

She had made her way into the shop and now she stood there, defeated. Not even the death of her kin was causing her to stir. To fight. To put up some weak or token resistance.

Clenching her teeth, The Bitch did the only thing she could.

She had broken in, intent to rob her cousin of her life, instead, she robbed her of a piece of parchment and crimson colored ink.

Her pen strokes were heavy, angry, as she scrawled words onto the page.

It had been two weeks and still nothing. No spark from the other side of herself. She had given up completely, leaving The Bitch to reign free, unchallenged.

How dare she.

Now it was up to her, once more, to pick up the pieces. To keep them alive and well. The note was short but it would get the job done.

“Gone hunting. Tend to business. -M”

She dragged a claw across her palm, breaking the skin, watching blood pool in her palm before she watched it drip onto the page. A low growl and whispered words in a foreign tongue and the crimson pool began to harden and mold into the very seal Natalie had locked away. She would understand the instructions. If not, they would rebuild when her other half stopped wallowing.

The Bitch had a plan now. Something that couldn’t fail.

If she wouldn’t fight for innocents, herself, or her family…. She would fight for him.

The Bitch didn’t even bother to leave the shop, at least not through the front door. She pulled a stone out from her blood-stained corset and in a flash of pale green light, she vanished from Boralus.

It was time to go home.

Home is where she was strongest.

Home is where she would wait.

Home is where she would lure him to.

Home is where she would set the trap.

Once he was in her grasp, he would fix what was broken… or let it die.

Gods help that man if he let it die.

It was time to make a deal with the devil.

All she had to do was find him. 

The locator spell was minuscule, her energy barely nicked as she chanted in the Gilnean forests just beyond the manor she had called home for so many years. It wasn’t home now, not truly. The forest here was home. It was where she was born and reborn as the creature she was today. She was connected to the grim and beautiful landscape so deeply that this was the place she was strongest.

Nature had always answered to her call, the old ways bonding her to all living things around her, yet this forest was a blazing beacon of that power that she could tap into. If part of her was to die, it was fitting that it was in this place. The place where it all began.

If he wasn’t her home, this forest would be. It would be her grave as well if need be. Her final home.

All was as it should be as she reached out, casting her spell like a net as she tracked him down. He was closer than she had anticipated. Hillsbrad. He could follow the coast and scale the cliffs, arriving within a day if he was motivated.

Motivation was never an issue. She was very motivational when there was a need.

It just so happened, there was one. 

Dead leaves and nettles swirled around her as her mind reached out towards his. It didn’t bother her that he was covered in rotting waste, feral in body, and in mind. He was still her prey and as her mind brushed against his, she knew the other sides of him were lurking somewhere beneath the surface. She spoke gently to them.

This is your fault.

That whispered accusation echoed in the depths of his mind before her face appeared before him. Standing like a wraith that would vanish time and again if he tried to reach out and touch her… or strike her down. 

Find me.

No longer a soft whisper, this was a command, echoing loudly in his mind. She refused to be ignored and abandoned. If he wanted to be rid of her, he would have to find her. Else, that command would remain an unending chorus in his mind for the rest of his days. Her face would haunt him, looking at him from the shadows, stepping in front of his sight every time he tried to focus on some other prey.

She would his prey.

His only prey.

The Bitch would have it no other way.

Find me.

@theruneslayer

[inkedwolf-compendium]

Home

Mac’s Writing Challenge: Home Sweet Home

Where does your muse live now, and with whom? Describe the place and the person/people.

I put a slightly different spin on this. For Mac’s previous home, I did a post that is tucked away on my archive. You’re more than welcome to read that here. To answer for the present, I decided to answer it in character. I’m not sure who Mac is speaking to. Perhaps her sister Kari, perhaps one of the few others she trusts to peek behind the mask she wears for the public. Whomever it is, it was a story Mac wanted to tell. 

“I have called several places home over the years. For ages, Gilneas was my home. I lived in one manor after the next. The first being that of my father’s. It was the first home I had ever known. My mother always described it as cold and beautiful until she came into my father’s life. With her touch, the large estate turned into a true home where my family lived and grew together. Once they had died, it returned to the cold lifeless house it had been before.”

“When I left that home, I was given another, not by choice. The manor of my husband’s family. I never loved the man, in fact, I loathed everything that he was. I even loathed the place I had been forced to live. It was nothing more than a gilded cage. A well-furnished prison where the chains of my marriage kept me in place. It wasn’t until my son was born and my entire world changed that I had truly called that place home. Truthfully, I don’t think I ever thought of it as home while my husband drew breath. With his demise, the manor was inherited by my son, and like my mother had done for my father’s house… he brought a new life and warmth to the cold halls of the manor.”

“I was the one who killed that warmth, snuffing it out like a candle’s flame. Affliction took more from me, from him, from my entire family than war ever could. When I turned, I lost more than my humanity. I lost my home… I lost my family. The dark years that followed, the wilds of Gilneas were my home. The feral mindset was the only thing that kept me from losing my sanity to my guilt and grief. I lived for the wild. For the hunt. For the moon’s rays.”

“The wolf in me would have lived that way forever, letting the last shreds of my humanity fade. It was not meant to be. I was the hunter turned prey as those who had escaped the feral grasp of affliction turned to fight back. To find a cure. A well-placed trap and the forest was left behind and my home became a true prison. Cold cells, chains, and the experiments The Alchemist practiced finding something that turned cold animal instincts into the shadows of humanity we once had.” 

“Science… Luck… Whatever prevailed and brought us back from those dark and wild times released us from the ‘home’ we had come to know. There was the promise of returning to our true homes. Our families. For some, that worked. For others, like myself, too much was lost. Too much happened to be forgiven. And how could I be forgiven?” 

Macaela grew quiet, thinking back on the darker times that haunted her past. The guilt of all she had done was still a fresh wound, something that would never truly heal, the pain shining in those pale hazel eyes. How could she be forgiven when she couldn’t even forgive herself? After a long pause, she broke the silence with a sigh and continued. 

“I lived where I was needed, my gifts as a healer taking me all over the Gilnean countryside. I hated the body I was in. I hated myself. So I lost myself in healing, foolishly hiding behind the thought that if I healed enough people, perhaps it would somehow heal me as well. Some wounds never heal though, not truly. During that time, I had no home. Even after the elves arrived on our shores and preached balanced, showed us the way back to our human forms, I was still wounded more deeply than I would ever truly admit. I took their teachings, I learned to regain my true body… and rather than accept the wolf within me, I caged her. The Bitch had taken too much. Her freedom wasn’t something I could live with or allow. I made that choice and I’ve lived with it since before the fall… Where the country that was my home was claimed by undeath.”

“Many fled to the elven shores. I could have as well. Instead, I took to the skies and found an abandoned house deep in the mountains of Elwynn bordering The Steppes. The dire wolves of The Steppes and the verdant foliage of Elwynn had taken over that quiet place. It made it perfect for me. A house made of glass slowly being taken over by the forest. It took years, but eventually, that house became home… until circumstances and hardship took me to Kul’Tiras.” 

“When I left the shores of Stormwind, I wasn’t alone. I’m still not sure how it all happened. How I went from hiding in solitude to living with a protective shadow. In the beginning, we spent so much time in silence. Words were never something either of us needed. We were both broken and alone until we met… and then we were broken together. The journey to Kul’Tiras changed so much. Now Tryndan and I live together in a quiet little apartment in Mariner’s Row. It isn’t much but it is close to the bar and it is ours. A tub, a bed, each other… what more could we need?”

“Still, that is simply where we live. Since the day I set foot on the shores of these islands… He has been my home. I don’t know how I managed to ever call a place that before, but now, I only feel home when I am wrapped in his embrace.”

@theruneslayer

[inkedwolf-compendium]

My wonderful roleplay partner, @theruneslayer, brought The Shattered Glass Tavern to life with a new, beautifully etched glass. 

His glass and photo, my edit. We make such beautiful things together! 

Thank you for all the things you do to bring our stories and the world we’ve created to life. It has been such and adventure and I can’t wait to see what the future has in store for us! <3 

[inkedwolf-archive]

Kul’Tiras Awaits

Mac waited as several others boarded, bodies pushing past her on the dock even though she was well out of the way. Murmurs and shouts set the tone. So many were anxious to get to Kul’Tiras, that bustling harbor having been hidden away almost as well as Gilneas since the tragedy that befell Theramore. A kingdom of its own, independent of the Alliance. What was more, it was ruled by women. Something about that satisfied Mac to no end. If there was one thing that the more masculine sex didn’t understand is that men go to battle when their home, honor, or pride is insulted. Women, on the other hand… Women wage wars. Give a woman a cause, any cause, good or bad that she truly believes in, and no force on earth would keep her from laying utter ruin to those that would defy her, harm her, or see her in chains.

It was an odd thing to think about, but her mind had few other places to wander where she could truly let it roam. Her mind was in control, careful control. The past pair of weeks she had been slipping. She wanted to hate the man that betrayed her trust, yet try as she might, she simply couldn’t. Her dreams had plagued her. Dreams of what could be, nightmares of the attack. Honestly, she didn’t know what was worse. Dreaming about something that happened but couldn’t be stopped. Or dreaming about what could have been if things hadn’t ended. Both were destructive in their own way. Her near slip was enough to make that more than apparent. She needed to get away. To let go. She could never forget, but she could damn well try to do what she did to all things she had cared about in her life. Bury it. Bury it deep and keep living.

She stood there waiting in the salty breeze, letting the warmth of Stormwind wash over her. Summer reigned here, however, in the northern reaches winter ruled supreme. It wouldn’t be long before the last traces of warmth were but a distant memory. Her hair whipped about wildly as she stood there, her long raven locks dancing in the wind, not even the weight of the tiny braids and decorative feathers keeping it from flailing about. Her clothes were her favored leather garb, only to accommodate the cooler climes, She had packed fur lining in her bags. Something to don once they reached the frigid port city.

As the last of few stragglers boarded the galleon, Mac finally stepped aboard the vessel. She wasn’t fond of the sea, she much preferred her forests and well-guarded land. Still, there was something utterly serene about the glittering surface and the sun setting on the horizon, painting the sky like a canvas, letting the colors shine against the waves like jewels on the surface. She wondered if the lodgings she booked would have a view. The journey was an easy one, with the wind on their sides, they would reach Kul’Tiras in a pair of days easily, yet Mac didn’t relish the idea of being cooped up in a windowless cabin. She also didn’t enjoy the idea of being shoulder to shoulder with the overabundance of passengers. 

Looking around, she assumed most people present were traveling over steerage. Perhaps, for once, Mac truly was the stuck up noble she was born and bred to be. She refused to pack in like rats in stacked hammocks and hay strewn corners in the deepest levels of the ship. Perhaps another journey, but not this one. Not so soon after the horrors that happened in the tunnels. The last thing she needed was to pack herself in with a bunch of innocents and provoke the bitch that lurked in the depths of her mind. The vessel would arrive as a ghost ship, were she reckless enough to venture that far below deck. No. No steerage for her. She wanted her space. She wanted to breathe. And by the gods, she wanted to lose herself to distraction. 

At the mere thought of it, she heard just that. Some manner of distraction barreling down the pier. Splintered would, the collision of bodies, people taking a tumble into the water. Mac spotted a streak of black and then a glint of azure colored eyes and right away she knew what was happening. It seems her guest had once again found here. The ship had already left the pier, a few feet away but distancing itself quickly. It was then Mac the impressive leap. She watched as Tryn soared through the sky, taking a single step back as he started his breakneck descent, landing right in front of her.

The people in the immediate vicinity too a step back, hushed whispers and panic spreading through the crowd. Mac didn’t move. Instead, she looked Tryn over and quirked a brow as he spoke. She hummed with amusement and shook her head. He was bossing her around as if he had a say. “..No leave again. Tryn worry.” She could have agreed to ease his mind, however, the words that left her lips had a different intent. 

“You’re late…” She said with a gentle smirk, looking around to the group of spectators that were still giving Tryn a wide berth. “C’mon, love. I booked us a cabin.” 

@theruneslayer

[inkedwolf-archive]

Character Art: Macaela & Tryndan

Started and finished this last night. Inspiration hit me thanks to my wonderful RP partner and I wanted to capture some of the magic in this beautiful scene our characters are sharing.

@theruneslayer

[inkedwolf-archive]

There it was, above them in the starry sky. 

Too large a cluster to be a constellation, the myriad stars hanging in the heavens above did, somehow, seem to form the shape of a bird… an eagle, perhaps, or a raven, wings outstretched, flying towards the West. “Maybe a sign.”

Her gaze followed his nudge, her eyes drifting back to the sky rather than her unclaimed prize. She would live to hunt those lips another day. Looking up, she saw exactly what he was motioning to. The bird in flight, soaring freely amidst the sea of stars. Each culture no doubt called it something different. Gilneans would stick to ravens. Eagles for the Stormwindians. Here in Kul’Tiras it was likely the Albatross. She heard sailors telling stories of the large bird, how it wished them good luck and good fortune on a journey… or did until some poor fool shot it. Perhaps it was the spirit of the lost albatross written in the stars. 

She sighed softly. “A sign of what, is the real question. I flew away…. So why do I still feel like I’m in a cage?”

@theruneslayer

[inkedwolf-compendium]

I rarely put anything OOC on my blog but today is an altogether different monster. To be honest, I never thought I would be where I am now. One disastrous situation after the next. 

Toxic Roleplay.

Sabotage.

OoC Warfare. 

Dismal Partners.

Poisonous Guilds. 

Backstabbing "Friends". 

It seems the norm these days, to find someone that makes it their mission to tear a person down. To make them feel like they are less than they are. 

It is a rare breed if person who spends their time, not making others feel like shit, but instead, they go out of their way to build you up. 

A year ago today, one of those rare people walked into my life. We had known each other, more passing acquaintances than anything. But a year ago, he took an awful event I wrote about Mac, and he used that as an opportunity to sneakily become my Roleplay partner. 

His character was there for Mac, but also, he was there for me at a time that we both felt most broken. Little by little. Scene by scene. Talk after talk…

He picked up the broken pieces and told me something I will never forget. 

"Broken but still beautiful." 

Tryn said this to Mac but it rang all the way through the scene to OoC. It became Mac's motto. It also gave her (and myself) the strength to start the Journey of The Shattered Glass. 

That journey came to an end in March but even then, through the RL bumps that pulled me away from Mac's bar, guild, and dream… he stuck with me. 

Through good days and bad. Moments where he drove me crazy, in amazing ways… and then quite literally where he made me crazy. Through ups and downs. IC and OoC.

He has stuck with me. 

And I can't imagine the world without him. 

Thank you for a wonderful year. Thank you for always being there for me. Thank you for the amazing journey we've been on so far.

Here is to many more years ahead of us.

May the journey be never-ending!

@theruneslayer

[inkedwolf-compendium]

Memories

Mac’s Writing Challenge: Memories

Share a memory, big or small, that has shaped your muse’s fears, trust, or mindset into what they are today. 

This is a small blip to a much larger scene that I’ve shared with my better half, @theruneslayer. We created a scene where Mac is using a bit of divination (Mind Magic) to share her memories in a mindscape. Below is just one of the many memories Tryndan experienced that haunt his mate’s mind. 

For so many years, she had hidden away who she truly was. Not even her children knew all that she endured. All that she had lost. So many years. So many tragedies. She relived them daily and now she was about to relive them with him standing by her side, watching the horror that was her life play out before his own inner eye.

No secrets. Not from him. Not anymore.

As they stepped through the door, there was a blinding white light and then the soft thud of the door closing behind them. The moment that quiet noise sounded, the screams began.

The vision of Macaela standing next to Tryndan paled as she heard those familiar screams. She knew what they were about to see, what scene was about to play out in her mind. Her first experience with loss.

The mindscape around them swirled, shifting into a classic Gilnean manor. The image of Macaela stood there at the foot of a grand staircase, her hand still clutching Tryn’s as her spectral form stared up at the crest hanging like a mighty banner on the wall above the stairs. The language was an ancient one, the motto standing out above all;  Je Suis Prest. Its common translation was written just below it, engraved into the aged silver.

I am ready.

Macaela stared at those words, her pale hazel eyes refusing to blink lest the tears begin to fall down her cheeks.

I am ready.

She had chanted those words to herself over and over through the years, yet every time they echoed through her mind, she knew them for the lie they truly were. She hadn't been ready. Not for this. Not for anything. Every loss, every tragedy. She was never ready. The same could be said now. She wasn’t ready for this memory to play out. Hints of her past had been given over the years, however, this was the one secret… the one loss that she hadn’t shared with anyone. Not in its entirety.

Screams echoed from above and whether she willed it or not, her feet began to carry her closer. With her fingers laced alongside Tryn’s, he was pulled along with her as she moved. Up the stairs and down a richly furnished hall towards a large door. Mac didn’t even have to reach for it, the portal swung open on its own on silent hinges.

The hall faded away behind them and all that was left was the room beyond. It was beautiful, decorated in warm honey colored woods and deep shades of green. Ivy crawled up the walls, winding itself around the wooden beams that supported the ceilings. That dark leafy foliage framed the fireplace, growing around the mantle. The hearth was nothing but ash and embers, the flames snuffed out.

Large leaded windows were left open, overlooking a balcony that overlooked the wilds of Gilneas. Plush chairs, sofas, intricately carved tables. The grand room wasn’t just some cold and common chamber, this was full of life and memories. This was where Macaela’s family resided away from the eyes of the public. They weren’t just nobles, they were a family, tightly knit and loving.

Here was where they lived. It was also where they died. As the mental image of Mac moved, she walked around the large sofa and there they were.

Her parents.

The green carpet looked black beneath them, their lifeblood pooling around them like a lake. Her father throat had been slit, his dark eyes still wide open, staring at the horror before him as his life had drained away, leaving him to watch his murderer finish the job.

Her mother’s death wasn’t so swift or clean. Her clothes were in tatters, her body bruised, broken, and in ruins. Rage was the only thing that could have caused such a violent death. What was left of her torso looked more like pulp than something that was once a body.

Emotion flooded the mindscape, a sense of loss and deep sorrow. It was muted for Tryn, however, just by the look in those hazel eyes, it would be easy to see that Macaela was taking the brunt of the emotional downpour.

“My parents.” She whispered, her voice breaking as she looked over the scene.

“It’s odd the things I remember about them.” She explained. “It was so long ago. They were from entirely different worlds. My father was a born and bred gilnean noble, high born through and through. My mother? Well, she was a witch of the old ways. Her beliefs, traditions, and very way of life were frowned upon. I never got the true story of how they met, likely a deal to be made. Nobles refuse to acknowledge the existence of our kind or did for a long time. Funny how they always came to us when they were desperate with greed.” She swallowed hard.

“What I do recall of the tale they so often spun was that my father fell hopelessly and crazy in love with my mother the first moment he saw her. He always described her like fire, he knew that she would burn him, but he wanted to be consumed by her. They loved each other with every fiber of their being. It was only fitting that they went out like they did…. Together. Slaughtered in their sleep. To this day, I still don’t know who is responsible for their deaths. I had my suspicions, but no evidence to back it. More gilnean tragedy. The start of all of mine…”

Screams sounded from nearby, a room just beyond this one. Such anguish in those cries. It wasn’t just loss, it was agony incarnate as if there was someone in their death throes. Hoarse and desperate, the screams sounded barely human. Mac started walking again and as she did, bloody footprints began to appear across the carpet ahead of them, walking towards the archway that led to the next room. One after the other, each one soaking into the floor.

“This is the day I lost half of myself.” That was the only explanation she gave as she moved to the archway. As the new room came into sight, the room with her parents vanished behind them. The screams continued, only now, their source could be seen.

It was her. Macaela.

She couldn’t have been more than fifteen or sixteen. She was shorter than she is now, her raven colored hair in a thick braid, her body still lithe and not nearly as shapely as it was now. She was in a white shift, likely some manner of night clothes, however, her state of undress didn’t matter. What mattered was the lifeless body she held in her arms as she laid in a pool of blood, trying to rock the young man back to life. She was screaming as tears ran down her face, crying out as if her very soul had been ripped in two.

Mac couldn’t hide the emotion here. Not all of it. Although she took the majority of it, the sheer magnitude of this loss seeped through the link she shared with Tryn. He had wanted to see what she saw in the darkness. In this moment, his wish was granted. It was a swell of sorrow that tore at one’s heart. This wasn’t the loss of a lover or something so fleeting. This was deeper. This was something she had known since the beginning of her existence. As the weeping girl that she was rocked back and forth, the face of the young man in her arms became visible. The features were strikingly similar. The pale hazel eyes, the dark brow, the angular face.

“My brother,” Macaela whispered. “My twin. Malcolm.” Clearing her throat softly, she had to look away from the scene. “Mal.” She corrected softly.

[inkedwolf-compendium]

30 Days of Uncommon Character Questions

Day 1: What position does your character sleep in?

Mac slept alone for so many years. Even now that she has Tryn, she sprawls out in a nest of pillows and a tangle of blankets. Beg hog is a vast understatement. While Tryn happily plays the part of a living pillow, Mac rarely affords him more than a few inches of bed space. She is not a large creature, by far, yet somehow she uses her lithe and limber body to claim damn near every corner of the bed, twelve pillows, and ninety eight percent of the blankets each night. 

This was @karicharbonneau prompt originally, posted in our guild prompts as well as tumblr. I highly recommend giving this blog a look! She is a spectacular writer, with a beautiful character, and Mac’s heartsworn sister for life! 

[inkedwolf-compendium]

30 Days of Uncommon Character Questions

Day 4:  Do they have any verbal tics? Do they have trouble pronouncing certain words or getting their thoughts across clearly?

Love is something that Mac has a hard time expressing verbally. While she can convey that she cares and is willing to protect someone, actually saying she’s in love is something she’s never had to do. Even now, all these months later, with Tryn having a hold on her body, heart, and soul... She knows she loves him but she has never said the words. Instead, she lets her actions speak for her. 

Day 5: What are their chief tension areas? 

Her past haunts her, something few people see beyond the mask she wears in public. Death, Children, War, Loved Ones... Unlike some of the longer lived racers, despite her longevity, she has yet to grow numb to battles of the past and all that she has lost before. These topics put her on edge, filling her with a tension she tries to hide from watchful eyes. 

Something that she also creates tension in her life is the prejudice against witches. While she in no way condones the death magic the Heartsbane Coven is dabbling in, she feels the hatred for all witches spreading out of sheer ignorance. Inquisitors, save for perhaps one or two, put her on edge. 

Day 6: If you were to pick one song — and only one song — to describe your character, what would it be and why?

It’s hard to pick one song for Mac since she has so many facets of personality. Since so many are aware of the playful barkeep side and I didn’t want to use “Shot” as a song, I went with something that few get to see. This song is beyond perfect for a scene I have been sharing with my RP partner @theruneslayer for some time now. Mac rarely shares her past, yet she’s invited Tryndan into the depths of her mind and dreams to relive the horrors with her so that he can understand what haunts her. 

@the-outliers

Posted and tagged by the lovely @karicharbonneau.