#she later got a tattoo of the legions crest on her shoulder

[rosykims]

🍓 🍓 for nadaia!

🍓 nadaia is an unofficial member and Best Buddy of the legion of the dead ! she’s always had a strong interest in the science behind lyrium, and is fascinated with the idea of the titans, so just out of her teens she goes on a year-long expedition to the deep roads to gather info and figure out wtf is going on down there lol. obviously she knew as a mage (and a mage who was never very good w offensive magic at that) she wouldn’t be able to go by herself, so she offered her expertise as a healer to the legion, in exchange for her being allowed to tag along. they flat out refused her at first, but she ended up convincing them after she... essentially followed them anyway lol. she proved herself smart and resourceful enough to be given a chance, and she really rose to the occassion. by the end of the expedition she was pals with basically everyone there, and she even met her (now ex) girlfriend there ! we stan !

Give me a: 🍓 and one of my OCs, and i’ll tell you some random facts about said OC !!

[thehouseofsilverthorn]

Council

“Are you ready?”

“For the last time, no!”

Chuckling, Forosuul Silverthorn looked over his Mistress-at-Arms. “You look fine, Silannah, the brace barely shows.” Despite the reassurances, Silannah continued to try and adjust her armor to hide the brace that was allowing her to walk. “Silannah, stop. No one is going to be looking at your damn leg.”

Annoyed, she shot back, “You don’t know that.  Those old women will be looking for any sign of weakness.”

“Well, they won’t find it, and besides.  I got you something so their eyes stay where I want them,” he replied, holding out a wrapped bundle.

“What’s this?”

“Your due.”

Unwrapping it, Silannah’s jaw slowly dropped as a billowing length of crimson cloth fell to the floor. “Wh…What is this?”

“It’s a cloak, surely you’ve seen one before.”

Scowling, she retorted, “I know it’s a cloak, damnit, you know what I mean.”

Laughing, he replied, “A long time you ago, you earned the white cloak of a Sergeant. In this House, your rank and your value are far greater. In deference to your earned name, I decided that your position warranted a replacement more in keeping with the times.” With that, he took up the expanse of scarlet and whipped it around her. It fell from her shoulders until it kissed the ground and encircled her. It was split up the back, so that as she moved it would spread wide to remind anyone who watched of the name she had earned so long ago.  She stood dumbfounded, unable to respond, as he retrieved two silver medallions - embossed with the Silverthorn crest -  from a nearby table and used them to secure the cloak in place. He stepped back and regarded her. “Regal.  Very fitting.”

“I am the furthest thing from reg…”

Forosuul cut her off, bellowing, “Oh, shut up and say thank you!”

Taken aback, she cut herself short. Looking at him sheepishly, she said only, “Thank you, Patriarch.”

Making a sour face at the title, he replied, “We don’t need to stand on ceremony, Silannah. Now let’s go piss off some old ladies.” Grinning, she followed him out the door.

In the House Council Chambers in Darnassus, a vigorous yet dignified debate was taking place. Word and spread of how Tyrande Whisperwind’s unbending attitude had alienated the Shal’dorei, driving them into the waiting arms of the Horde. In her central seat, Tyrande endured a barrage of questions and accusations from her colleagues. She answered them tersely, knowing full well that they saw her actions as a misstep they could use to further their own influence.

None of them were there, she thought bitterly, they sit here thinking only of their place in this city. What right do they have to question my wisdom?

“Well, Lady Tyrande?  Have you ought to say?” The words shook her from her thoughts, and she turned to identify the speaker.  Of course, Selanii Longleaf. Who else would it be?

Arching her voice menacingly, Tyrande replied, “I feel this question has been asked and answered a dozen times at least. The so-called nightborne cannot be trusted.”

Her questioner’s eye glittered, and she responded icily, “You spent months aiding them in freeing Suramar City, My Lady Tyrande. Were they untrustworthy then?”

“As I have said, repeatedly, Suramar was of strategic importance.”

A look of near-triumph came over Selanii’s features, and she retorted, “And was this decision equally sound in strategy? You have given the horde powerful allies, at a time when aggression between nations is rising.”

“I acted as I saw fit! I know the nightborne of old, and the Alliance does not need their kind.”

Smiling sweetly, the Longleaf Matriarch said, “As you saw fit? Do you think yourself a queen, Lady Tyrande? Would you be like ancient Azshara?”

Tyrande’s face went white at this, and she lurched angrily to her feet. She opened her mouth, ready with a blistering retort, but she would never deliver it. A loud crash interrupted her, reverberating across the chamber, the sound of metal striking against stone. All eyes turned to the source, and collective gasp went up from the assembly.

At the entry stood two pale, silver haired figures, a male and a female. The male stood to the fore, the stigma of the demon hunter unmistakable on him.  His colorless skin was scarred and scaly, and small horns jutted up from his brow. He stood shirtless, flaunting the red-glowing demonic tattoos that covered his body. On his right stood a warrior, upright and resolute. She was engulfed in a crimson cloak that matched the shade of the demon hunter’s tattoos, clasped at the shoulder with silver medallions. With a sharp intake of breath, Tyrande Whisperwind recognized the warrior; Silannah, formerly loyal retainer of her House. Tyrande slumped almost imperceptibly. This moment ran on the edge of a blade. For all the fact that this Forosuul Silverthorn defied custom by taking the reigns of his House, and despite what he was, he was also well-known, as well as well-respected for his part in bringing down the Legion. If he threw his support with those who wished to see Tyrande deposed, she would likely not retain her office. There was bad blood between his House and her own, and she knew he had little love for her personally. She drew a deep breath and waited for the proverbial axe to fall.

Forosuul’s voice rang across the chamber, perhaps augmented by his demon-born sorcerous skill, “The Lady Tyrande speaks true!” His words echoed around the room. Everyone listening believed they had heard him incorrectly. As his meaning sank in, Tyrande’s jaw visibly dropped, and those assembled to question her looked shocked to their cores. Slowly, he made his way down into the chamber, continuing to speak as he strode onward, “My purpose in coming here today was simply to claim my seat at this table. I know many of you are scandalized by our rejection of custom. However, many of you also knew my grandmother, and Kajeda Silverthorn was not one to blindly follow tradition that did not suit her. Therefore, in accordance with ancient laws, I claim this seat.” As his voice finished ringing across the space, he reached an ancient wood-carved chair.  Engraved carefully into the back was the thorn, leaf, and moon icon of House of Silverthorn. This chair had taken its place in the House Council chamber for thousands of years, sitting empty, along with so many others, according to a long tradition of leaving the seats of Great Houses even when they died out.  Kajeda had spurned the council since her return. This chair had not had an occupant in ten thousand years, and never had it, nor any other seat in this chamber, borne a male. Slowly, he lowered himself into it, to the hushed mutterings of the women all around him.

Finally, collecting herself, Selanii Longleaf spoke out, “Would we end debate on the word of this man? He sits here in defiance of law…”

At this, Tyrande interrupted, “Custom, not law, Lady Selanii. No law states a man may not be head of a House and take his place here. Only custom.” Tyrande looked at Forosuul, a shadow passing over her face. Why was he here, she wondered? What was his game? One way to find out, she thought. “He has as much right to be here as anyone.” At that, a wave of shocked murmuring flow across the room. Suppressing a small smile, Tyrande said, “Let him speak.”

Coming to his feet again, Forosuul nodded deferentially to Tyrande and spoke, his voice once more booming out across the chamber, “Much like the Lady Tyrande, I aided the shal’dorei in their efforts to cleanse the Legion from their home. But do you know who I had to fight in the streets of Suramar City? Demons? Hah! There were few. No, those I had to fight were the shal’dorei themselves. The overwhelming majority of their people willingly took on the yoke of the Legion.” He let his words sink in for a moment, looking across the chamber, daring anyone to contradict him. He went on, “The people of Suramar, throughout their history, when given a choice, have chosen evil, cowardice, or bondage. In the War of the Ancients, they sided with Azshara. When she fell, they locked themselves away behind a shield, turning their backs on the ruin they had helped bring to the world. For ten thousand years they stayed there, and much like our mutual kin, the fallen sin’dorei, chose enslavement to a font of power. Then they chose the Legion.  And now they have chosen the Horde. They chose this, not Tyrande. The Lady Tyrande merely confronted them with their own truth. And they did as their nature dictates.” He let his words echo their last in the hall before adding a final thought, “They chose evil.”

As his final words rang out, the room was engulfed in an uproar, as he intended. Finally one voice rose above it, aimed at him. Selanii Longleaf, once again, spoke, “Evil? Yes, the Horde has been aggressive in the past, but surely there is a path to peace. Thrall..”

Forosuul clapped back, “Thrall is not Warchief! He is just another mystic now, freely ignored by the Horde leadership. Does not the title of their leader give you pause?  Warchief! They know nothing else! Their leader is a literal undead obscenity. And the orcs? Beasts, like the shal’dorei! They, too, accepted enslavement to the Legion. And let us never forget that even on that other Draenor, when they avoided the Legion’s clutches, the orcs chose to invade our world with no provocation whatsoever! So, yes, I say evil! And I, for one, will not see it spread!”

Another uproar accompanied this tirade. But the outcome was inevitable now. Silannah, standing at his right shoulder, observed the room carefully. She noted those who whispered against him, but he had swayed more than he’d lost. The kal’dorei liked feeling above the other races, and he had played to that expertly. Mostly she watched Tyrande, who could not stop herself from casting troubled looks over at Forosuul. She had needed his help, but it chafed at her, and she worried over what he would want in return.

Much later, the Matriarchs of the Great Houses filed slowly out. A few stopped by Tyrande’s seat and gave her words of encouragement, including some who had spoken against her earlier. She sat through it all, smiling her most diplomatic smile, and waiting.  Across the chamber, in his own seat, Forosuul also waited, his only company his Mistress-at-Arms, Silannah, who stood unmoving at his side. None of the Matriarchs came by to wish him well.  At best, a few shot a glance at him as they left, perhaps nodding respectfully.  Most simply avoided him. It was all one to him, he had accomplished what he wished today.

Eventually, no one was left except Tyrande, Forosuul, Silannah, and a few Sentinels in the wings. Confident she was unobserved, Tyrande stood and made her way to the Silverthorn seat. Forosuul rose as she approached, waiting. She spoke without preamble or niceties.

“Just tell me why,” she demanded.

“Whatever do you mean, Lady Tyrande?” Forosuul replied, allowing mockery to color his rasping voice.

Scowling, she replied, “Why did you support me today? Our Houses are not exactly allies, Silverthorn.”

“You understate matters, Tyrande. Were the tree on which we stand to burn tomorrow with you on it, I would not shed a single tear,” he said evenly, devoid of emotion. Her face twitched at the cold blooded response, but he went on, “I have my own business with the shal’dorei. I will not have them removed from my reach through an ill-advised affiliation with their ilk. In the Horde, they are mine to deal with as I wish.”

“I see. Will you stand against me in the future then?”

“That depends entirely on you. Today I supported you for my own purposes, both to keep the shal’dorei in my grasp,” and here he grinned wickedly, “also because I knew if I spoke on your behalf in that, you would smooth my claim to this seat.”

“Very well, I suppose we have need of one another.”

“And now you overstate matters. Today, I had a use for you. If that changes, I will gladly watch you fall to ruin.” With that he turned and strode from the hall, leaving Tyrande standing, stunned. Silannah delayed but half a moment, smiled a sweet, mocking smile at her former Matriarch and then hurried after him.

Once they were clear of the council environs, Silannah said to her Patriarch, “You talk pretty for a country boy.”

Forosuul simply threw his head back and laughed, his sinister cackling reverberating in the corridors of Darnassus.