#tales of azeroth

[redisaid]

Beneath the Blue Moon - Chapter 8

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Oh hi. I missed the girls. I’m back on the train of this bullshit again. 

Expect a new poll for choices on chapters 9 and 10 in a few days.

7052 Words

Read it on Ao3!

When the wind bends the branch to softly touch me, When the band plays your song, I feel strong enough to keep dreaming, Even when I'm all alone, Our love goes on and on.

Sylvanas decided that there was no worse idea ever had than that of trying to host a luncheon across the span of two ships tethered to one another. And as painful as the creaking of rope and wood and canvas against one another was to her elven ears, the fact that Jaina was just a gangplank away from her, and had been this entire time, yet still would not look at her, was far worse.

Otherwise, the summit was going well. As well as could be imagined, really. Horde and Alliance alike were enjoying tea and finger sandwiches on a sunny day in the harbor of an offshore island deemed too far away from Dazar’alor to pose a threat. Both of them were digesting Sylvanas’ words with their food, her explanation of the threat that faced them all, and the price she feared the world would pay for the theft of her soul.

Her selfish dooming of Azeroth. Nothing unusual, really. Old news before it was even news.

Just as the situation was with Jaina. The only time she’d looked into her eyes in over a decade was across the throne room in Lordaeron—when Jaina had come to save the Alliance’s bid to take her city from her.

And succeeded.

She was powerful, a ball of stress that was honestly only more beautiful for it. She looked incredible in her Kul Tiran uniform, even today, sulking with a greatcoat draped over her shoulders, unbuttoned otherwise for the heat of the Zandalari sun.

Just because she wouldn’t look at Sylvanas didn’t mean Sylvanas couldn’t look at her.

And honestly, over the years, in the scant times that they’d shared space since, all she could ever do was look at her. To look at her, going on, changing, becoming something without her. In the absence of her.

Sylvanas wondered if the emptiness had gnawed at her? The lack of what once was? Their connection, bone deep, severed even as Sylvanas still walked this world. Maybe it was the years of having had time to process it properly, as Sylvanas didn’t, that had hardened Jaina to her. To this need.

It was a need. Like the living needed water and air and food and shelter. Sylvanas was dead, still, and needed none of these. But she needed Jaina. She needed her like withered elves needed mana. Like—

“Warchief, a moment of your time?”

Anduin Wrynn. A lad of annoying height that he’d only gained in the last few years, loomed over her in his ceremonial lion armor, a polite smile tugging at the corner of his beardless lips. Last she’d seen him wear that armor, it was when she’d run from him, defeated at Lordaeron, wondering after the apology that seemed to echo in Jaina’s eyes.

Still too broken to understand it, but questioning all the same.

“By all means, High King,” she said with a nod.

In all her life and thereafter, Sylvanas had never imagined she would be nodding to a king. A boy king besides that, but even so, she had thought she would remain nothing more than a General, still giving a full bow to Anestarian, hoping he’d hold on a few more centuries and spare her from doing the same to Kael’thas.

Anduin came to stand with her on the aft deck of the Banshee’s Wail, mounting the stairs with a plate of tiny sandwiches still in hand.

“I have to admit I was rather fascinated by your tales of the Shadowlands,” he told her. “And what you’d experienced there. I was hoping you might answer some questions for me, about the nature of death.”

He would be disappointed to know how little she knew. How little she cared to know. Sylvanas could tell him exactly what death was. Unfair. Broken. A thing that ground one down, bones to dust. Souls to anima. A transformation to smaller parts, in which, along the way, the whole was lost forever.

A thing that made the decay and disgust of decomposition seem kind.

But instead, she said to him, “You may ask what you wish. I will share what I know, but I would hardly call my knowledge of the Shadowlands encyclopedic.”

“You mentioned there being other realms of death, besides the place you called the Maw. I was wondering…”

Wonder away, she almost wanted to tell him. Sylvanas herself had only seen glimpses of them as the Jailer’s servants had escorted her through a tour of the unfairness of death—the great separation and unending that awaited all living things.

Beautiful Bastion, its angelic embrace a front for a great lie—consuming the souls of heroes to turn them into willing servants and ferriers of yet even more souls. Malevolent Maldraxxus, where the souls of the warlike could play at war for the rest eternity, never satisfied with an end to their violence. Repentant Revendreth, whose aesthetic honestly didn’t miss, but otherwise enslaved the souls of the evil to extract from them in exchange for the slim hope at a better fate.

There was no better fate. Not even in Ardenweald, among the eternal forest, caring for slumbering gods. The Jailer had taunted her, telling her this was where she’d been headed before Arthas had rent her soul in twain and damned her to undeath and her eventual bargain. But even in her kindest end, Sylvanas now knew she would have become nothing more than a nymph of the woods that did not remember herself.

Or Jaina.

Or Lirath. Or Mother and father. Their souls too, were already lost in this machine of death. One that still very much deserved to be broken.

But not at the costs she had already paid.

Sylvanas waited for him to seem to finish his question, though she did not truly listen to the rest of it. “I’m afraid I’ve seen little outside of the Maw.”

She lied through simplicity. Much as she wished Anduin to enjoy his little sandwiches and hear out her request for peace, she was not here for him.

She was here for the woman who wouldn’t so much as set foot on the Horde side of the ships, and had all the reasons in the world to stay where she was. The Alliance side was made up of one of her ships, actually. Her flagship was larger, but sat lower in the water overall to the point where such side by side anchorage was possible for them. Still, it made Sylvanas nervous. All canons and teeth.

Jaina had a right to every one of those guns.

“I just wondered if you might know where my father went. Where a man like him would go to his eternal rest?” Anduin asked.

The porcelain plate in his hands reflected sunlight dully up at her amidst an array of cucumber, mayonnaise, and white bread. King Wrynn could not look her in the eye as he asked.

Bastion? Perhaps. Varian was a hero, certainly, and Sylvanas remembered well the time they fought side by side, deck to deck on different ships in the sky and not at sea. The way it made her thick black blood seem to race again to fight beside a warrior of equal skill, despite their opposite factions. It was only recent, very recent to one with both an elf and an undead’s lengthy perception of time. She would not soon forget the feeling.

But Varian was headstrong. Willful in the way Alliance men seemed to excel at. A warrior through and through. Perhaps he fought in the endless battles of Maldraxxus.

But death was infinite and terrible. Its realms expanded on and on, like the twisting tower of Torghast. It was not for mortal comprehension. It was not meant to make sense, or to be fair.

“I’m afraid I don’t know,” was the most honest answer she could give him. “But, as you do, I would hope he rests peacefully, and remains as such. I cannot recommend the alternative.”

Anduin Wrynn had never heard her make a joke before. That occurred to her as he stared at her, one bushy blonde eyebrow cocked in disbelief.

Not many people from the other ship had heard her make a joke before, actually. Or even on her side of the gangplank.

Among the many disservices of her death and the loss of her whole soul was that the world had forgotten she was funny.

She used to be very funny.

“Right,” Anduin eventually said, catching the gape that his mouth was starting to form and closing his teeth with an audible click. “Perhaps I might draft up a letter with a list of questions, or put you in contact with a scholar to chronicle your knowledge.”

“No doubt many will be interested. I’ve already been approached by the Reliquary and my own Apothecaries since my announcement to the Horde,” Sylvanas informed him.

She had no doubt that she would be made to recount her singular experiences a hundred times over. If Azeroth survived to care about them, that is.

“But,” she continued. “My priorities at the moment are ensuring that we work together to protect the world of the living and my people alike from that which may threaten us.”

Diplomacy never felt right to her. Even as successful as she had been at it here and there. She was a creature of trails and trees, not of contracts and meetings.

Or graves and the ink darkness of night. Lingering fog and dripping horrors. Teeth gnashing at rotting flesh.

Reconciling the two was still too difficult to keep in the forefront of her mind. Both parts of her had known a life of duty and objectivity coming first. That, at least, Sylvanas could focus on.

Even as her eyes tracked the deep blue of Jaina’s greatcoat from across the deck.

“Right,” Anduin said again, nodding along and picking up a tiny sandwich in meaty hands that must have come from his father. “If you want to discuss anything in specific about the draft agreement I’ve put forth, before we bring it to the table here, let me know.”

It was good, for a draft. Sylvanas had nothing to bring up. She knew that the other leaders of the Horde would be happy to squabble about the particulars and pick it apart. She was only concerned with setting a limit on the time they could do so. Dread and anxiety were her constant companions, even as she didn’t settle her thoughts on her disparate existence. Time, she felt, was a borrowed luxury they did not have to throw around, though she could not say why exactly.

She hadn’t bothered to go into descriptions of the Jailer’s forces to great degrees. “The Scourge, but worse,” was approximately what she had told the Alliance to watch out for. But her vision had been clouded by the black feathers of Mawsworn. The dull gray metal of armored constructs. The sharp bone of skeletal horrors.

“It is a fine agreement for the time being,” Sylvanas told him. “One that I will work to ensure the Horde honors as we face this threat.”

“I will tell you there is some skepticism on my side that there is a threat at all,” Anduin said, still holding the sandwich. “Not from my part. You are quite obviously changed to my eyes, if you don’t mind me saying so. Something has happened to cause that, and I believe you there. But others aren’t so quick to trust.”

No, they would not be. Not Genn Greymane, his silvered fur bristled as he stalked the deck of Jaina’s ship, one of the many not to leave it. In fact, the only ones to cross the gangplank thus far were Anduin and Baine.

As Sylvanas’ eyes flitted briefly away from Jaina, they noted her sisters were nowhere to be found on the Alliance ship. Neither, it seemed, had the courage to face her, or represent their factions of stolen elves. Stolen names.

“I honestly hope that I’m wrong, Wyrnn,” she told him. “I hope that nothing happens. But I fear that we will feel the Jailer’s wrath and fear we will feel it soon. My promise remains regardless of whether that happens or not, though. Azeroth has spent too long at war, and I no longer wish to be the cause of it.”

“What changed your mind?”

Sylvanas was hardly prepared for the question.

A dead body, dripping salt water on her table in the cabin just below them, was the root of the answer. But Derek Proudmoore’s rotted corpse was mostly a symbol. A message to her from her. From beyond her.

You are better than this. You are better than a pawn in someone else’s game.

Sylvanas knew what she wanted, and knew then, as she stared down a decision she did not want to make, that it wasn’t that. She wished she made this long ago, honestly. At the peak of Icecrown Citadel. Over Vol’jin’s dying, fel-ridden body. Before the flames were launched at Teldrassil.

Early as she could go back, honestly, but it would never be enough.

Her hands were already stained with blood from the moment they’d become her own again. From the first flex of spectral fingers that was her will and hers alone, after her death. But before then, they’d been used to rip the faces off of elven children. To rend the land that had birthed her so deeply that it was still scarred to this day. Bodiless, monstrous, and broken beyond repair—she had been irredeemable from the very start of her unlife.

Even now, soul restored to wholeness, hands corporeal but still stained with that blood and so much more, there was no fixing it. There was no forgiveness. No justice. No redemption to be sought.

There never would be.

Sylvanas’ eyes still tracked the blue greatcoat across the deck of the Kul Tiran ship. No doubt it was hot, but Jaina kept herself beneath it as if it were a shield that protected her from the foulness of the very air.

Foul, perhaps, because of who it was shared with. Truly, all Sylvanas could get from her over their renewed bond since the ships both docked was a feeling of general annoyance bordering on aversion. It pulled at the bottom of her stomach and tightened her chest.

Only then, as he waited for an answer, did Anduin’s eyes follow hers and land on the real answer to his question.

How could she explain that to the boy king? That even in her undeath, her brokenness, her grief over her own life, she could not violate the bond that had once tied her to Jaina. She could not bring herself to attack her directly. The thought had repelled her, like one magnetic pole to another of the same charge. It was never an option.

And even Jaina, in all her disgust, had looked sorry at Lordaeron for being willing to do what she was not.

A memory stirred in Sylvanas’ mind, so vivid now with her newfound ability to connect to the fullness of its emotions. Once, she and Jaina had sat on the beach outside of Windrunner Spire, an outing prompted after their recounting of similar childhoods spent by the seashore. The beach outside the Spire was mostly rocky, and only had a small strip of smooth sand on which they’d laid out a little picnic.

It had been the day before they had to leave one another. Jaina laughed and teased and loved her. She smelled of mana wine and pomegranates and honey pastries. She leaned in for a kiss, on that perfect afternoon, and asked as she pulled away, “But where will we live?”

The question was a loaded one. No answer was correct. The first difficult to navigate strait in the sea of their union. Sylvanas wanted to answer that here at the Spire was good. But Jaina was an agent of the Kirin Tor, based in Dalaran. Sylvanas hated Dalaran, and was the Ranger General of Quel’thalas. But Jaina was also technically heir to the Kul Tiran admiralty, and would presumably need to return there or name her younger brother heir instead some day. Back then, her father still lived and was still young enough to the point it wasn’t the forethought on anyone’s mind, save maybe Sylvanas’ as she worried for them. And then there was the Alliance, based in Lordaeron and not Stormwind back then, that called to the loyalties of both of them.

Sylvanas had listed all of these in a panicked tirade of sorts, wanting to find the answer.

It was Jaina who had arrived at the real answer with a smile, “Don’t worry so much. We’ll figure it out.”

They never got to even try.

“I see,” Anduin started. “Well if—”

“You wretched beast!” A Thalassian screech came from just below them, causing both Anduin and Sylvanas to lean over the railing to see the source.

That happened to be Velonara shaking an offending pest off of her boot. The offending pest being a small pink dinosaur that was clinging onto the black leather, gnawing at the laces.

Nathanos ran over from where he’d been entertaining Gallywix and his goblins, prying the creature off with a desperate whisper of, “How did you get out?” before carrying it back into the aft cabin with a huff.

He was successful in that at least, despite the creature’s protesting squawk and sharp little teeth that no doubt left a few tiny holes in his gloves.

“Fascinating wildlife here in Zandalar,” Anduin noted as distraction was removed.

“Yes, fascinating,” Sylvanas agreed dryly.

She’d have a talk with Nathanos about smuggling his newest pets onto diplomatic missions later.

Thankfully, as Anduin seemed to be following her gaze across to the other ship again, another distraction was provided in the form of red hair and golden armor. Lady Liadrin stood on the last step up to the aft deck, seemingly waiting to be invited to join them.

Still a stickler for decorum, after all these years. Sylvanas hadn’t spoken to her since, save to grant orders. Once, she had considered her a friend.

They even went on a terrible date once, centuries ago. Absolutely awful. Liadrin had tried to order for her at the restaurant, and it had only gotten worse from there. And now here she was, waiting to be acknowledged. It must have physically pained the control freak that Sylvanas knew lay beneath all that armor.

“Matriarch,” Sylvanas said with a nod in her direction.

Liadrin still looked like shit. Like she’d been run over by a goblin trike and left in the streets of Orgrimmar to die for it. She did her best to hold it together and bowed gracefully and appropriately to Sylvanas and Anduin, but the signs were there. Something was wrong. Deeply wrong.

And Sylvanas was struggling with wanting to actually ask what that was, when she was owed no such answer.

“Warchief, High King,” Liadrin said as she rose.

Anduin was respectful in his own nod to her, offering a greeting, “Bal’a dash, Lady Liadrin.”

His pronunciation was not terrible, for all it was worth. And while Sylvanas expected Liadrin not to have any interest in his attempt, her golden eyes only settled on the young king. A question burned in them. A question she did not ask.

Her gaze instead flitted around the boy king, left, then right, then back to him. Searching for something.

There was nothing up here but Sylvanas, Anduin, and the ship’s wheel. Maybe it was some Light thing? That, at least, Sylvanas had never understood in any of her lives. Nor had she cared to. Especially now. Religion was not the realm of the dead.

“It’s no rush,” Liadrin began, finally, “but I was hoping I might borrow a moment of your time before we reconvene, King Wrynn.”

“Certainly. We have not spoken since the Legion’s invasion, and I treasure any opportunity to speak to a sister in the Light,” was Anduin’s very warm and seemingly genuine answer.

Only he didn’t get to continue on to the point of turning Sylvanas’ undead stomach with his religious drivel.

The afternoon sun flickered strangely out of the corner of her eye. Sylvanas banished the thought, just another vision of dread. Another fantasy of what could come for her, for all of them. The price she would pay for the faint blue glow of the moon she kept hidden on her wrist beneath her clawed gauntlets, matching that which would be similarly hidden by the golden gauntlet on Jaina’s casting hand.

The price she’d paid to be ignored and shunned yet again. Sylvanas was coming to the conclusion that she did indeed deserve it. Her best hope was this peace, and buying herself a few years of good behavior, of attempted redemption where there could truly be none, just to be heard. To be seen. To be looked at, even, with anything other than pity or silent apology.

But then the sun flickered again, this time catching the hard gold of Liadrin’s eyes enough to rouse them from the dark bags that sunk beneath them. Enough for Sylvanas to follow her gaze to the west.

“Mawsworn!” she shouted.

No one but her knew the meaning of the word, of the dark silhouettes that flocked toward them, shading out the sun with a mass of black feathers. They looked not too dissimilar from her Val’kyr, but larger. Fiercer. Intent. Whereas the Val’kyr waited on orders, inert but for the occasional flap of wings, Sylvanas had never seen a Mawsworn that didn’t have some terrible mission on their mind, always flying toward something.

And now they were flying toward her, and her peace summit.

Deathwhisper was in her hands in an instant. No Thas’dorah, certainly, but she could make it work. No doubt things would be better if she’d accepted the Jailer’s gifts, the chained arrows he’d promised in exchange for more and more dirty deeds.

Only now did she regret not taking him up on the offer.

“That’s what they look like? I don’t under—”

Anduin was cut off from his confusion by Liadrin drawing her sword and standing between him and the western sky.

“Arm yourself!” she ordered someone she had no business ordering, gruff voice grated even deeper by her apparent exhaustion.

That was enough to shake Anduin out of his questioning, though he muttered, “They look like angels,” as he drew his father’s famed sword.

They were not angels. Angels lived in Bastion and forgot themselves. Angels carried the dead into the machine to chop them up at the behest of yet even more masters. Nowhere could anyone be free, even in death.

Not, at least, if they didn’t fight.

Sylvanas knocked an arrow and looked to the combined forces of Horde and Alliance leadership on the decks below her, scrambling to her warning call. Satisfied that the Horde ship had a suitable amount of Dark Rangers with bows drawn as she had, even Nathanos, and plenty of Orcish axes and Tauren totems alike joining them, she cast a look over to the Alliance ship.

And to a blue coat beneath which hands were forming to host an icy spell. Jaina’s eyes glowed with arcane, visible even from this far away, as she stood between most of her own people and the new threat.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you!” Sylvanas shouted over the water and wood. “Watch for their chains!”

And then they were upon them. So fast did their black wings carry them across Azeroth’s sky that it was seemingly unnatural. No time to think of where they could have come from or how or why. Well, the why Sylvanas was certain of, at least.

They’d come for her.

She fired the first shot, an arrow that ripped through the black feathers of the winged skeleton, slicing just the corner of its dark cloak. Wide and misaimed.

The product of fear. A deep fear that Sylvanas had not felt in years. A fear not for herself, but for those around her. For Anduin. Liadrin. Even traitorous Baine, who didn’t think she’d known of his dealings with the Alliance. And Jaina.

Of course, Jaina. But she shot second, and her ice lance hit true, striking a Mawsworn from the air and into the ocean with the force of it.

Truly, what an honor it was to be destined for such a powerful woman, who had only grown into that power and beauty over these last hard years. What a privilege, even if she wouldn’t deign to look at the broken creature that was Sylvanas Windrunner.

Sylvanas knocked another arrow. She fired. She hit deep into an eye socket this time, causing another Mawsworn to fall. She listened as Liadrin and Anduin whispered blessings under their breath, laying hands on one another to trade them.

She knocked a third arrow, but didn’t get a chance to fire before a chain shot out toward her.

Liadrin dutifully deflected this with her shield, offering Sylvanas cover to fire behind. The fear dissipated, and suddenly her dead heart was full of a feeling of ancient camaraderie. Of memories of Liadrin when she still wielded the mace of a priestess, and was no less fearsome in her white robes than she was in her golden and crimson armor. Of times when she’d done this before, standing between Sylvanas and an Amani troll. An Alliance footman. A shambling undead horror. A massive, horned demon.

This was just another enemy. Another in the unending chain of threats that Azeroth seemed to face. And as shaped by war as Sylvanas was like no one else, she had to remind herself that she was not the only one so molded. Maybe not to such a degree, but she wasn’t about to debate that with Liadrin.

She was grateful, she realized, as she fired over her shoulder with a little smirk on her face.

“Ready yourselves!” Sylvanas delivered one last final warning as she made a fifth shot over Liadrin’s red ponytail.

The decks became crowded with black feathers and magical chains. They were just as soon filled with broken bones and battered pieces of dull gray armor. While she didn’t like being caught off guard, the place to do so was certainly around the best and brightest that each faction had to offer, as it seemed none of them had a problem with this initial onslaught.

Nathanos had hopped up on the aft deck to join them, and flashed her a grin as he buried one of his axes into a screaming skull. Midship, Saurfang headbutted another skull with such force that it cracked loudly enough to draw her attention a moment later. She caught sight of Genn Greymane with a fibula in his wolven mouth. Maybe an ulna. The area around Jaina was just coated in ice, several Mawsworn either frozen within it or shattered by it.

They were many, but they were fragile. They were not meant to be here in the living world, and it seemed to be a weakness to them. Their bones were brittle, Sylvanas realized as she cleaved yet another skull near in two with a close range shot.

This was a battle that could be easily won.

Even Anduin was holding up next to her, green boy that he obviously was. He’d made a good run of it at Lordaeron, and had shown courage then, but his heart was not in it. That much was clear to Sylvanas. He didn’t have that streak of joy in the kill to him. She doubted he’d even enjoy a good hunt, and would weep instead for the animals.

But, he still cut clean through a ribcage. A leg. An arm. A haze of black feathers.

And somehow missed the chain that wrapped around him.

His grunt of surprise was what alerted her as he was lifted into the air. The Mawsworn that had tangled him made haste to fly up, up, and then off.

They weren’t here to fight. They were here to take. Zovaal didn’t care how many of his abominations he lost in the process. He only needed to rob Sylvanas of one of her allies, or her own freedom, to prove that his vengeance was not to be trifled with.

And she wasn’t about to let him win another battle. Never again.

She rolled out of the cloud of Mawsworn that had descended on the aft deck, up to the rail that stood between her and the sea. She took aim, willing the necromantic magic that bound her to unlife into her arrow until it swirled with darkness, hoping that would be enough. She fired at the chain that held Anduin aloft, slowly raising upward to bring him into the embrace of the Mawsworn that was carrying him off.

Her shot hit true, determined as she was that it would. It snapped the chain, but left the boy king falling rapidly toward the ocean.

Sylvanas didn’t hesitate. Much as she hated her banshee form, and the memories she still carried of those days where she watched its clawed hands move against her will to aid Arthas in destroying Silvermoon, she slipped into it without lingering on those thoughts. There was no time for it.

She shot forward at speed that almost matched that of unnatural Mawsworn, managing to catch him just before he hit the waves. He would have hit them hard, covered in that ridiculous plate, and sunk below them immediately. There was no other choice.

Even though he shied away from her and the scream that echoed from her spectral mouth unbidden as it must when she was this way.

Sylvanas wanted to warn him to cover his ears, but she couldn’t speak when she was like this. She could only scream.

No wonder Jaina wouldn’t look at her. She was still dead. Broken. Monstrous. A war criminal on her best day. An abomination no different than those that attacked them at her worst.

As she soared back upward to the aft deck with him in her arms, Sylvanas couldn’t help but notice the blue glow on the wrist that curled around Anduin. Even temporarily banishing her physical body, and the mark that contained that fire, she was not without it.

But she didn’t have time to contemplate that either. She surged upward with one last blast of a scream, reminding herself to beg forgiveness from Anduin later, and summoned her corporeal form once she had him dumped safely onto the deck once more.

A little bit unceremoniously, perhaps. A little rougher than necessary, surely.

For the Undercity, Sylvanas thought to herself as she took up Deathwhisper again, and went back to filling Mawsworn with arrows. For the Undercity indeed, she stood over Anduin as he got to his feet and got ready to continue the fight. She made sure to turn around at her earliest opportunity, and shoot down the one that was coming back from the sea, having realized its prize had been stolen from it.

As easily as they fell, their numbers were so great. So much so that Sylvanas lost count of how many she’d downed quickly. She was also busy keeping her eyes on the sky to ensure that no one else was being taken, but it seemed only Anduin had been caught unaware by the chains thus far. She’d dodged more than a few of her own, grabbing him by his tabard to drag him with her up to the railing overlooking the lower deck. Large as he was, she was stronger. Yet another point for undeath today.

What she saw there was nothing short of disappointing. Most of the Mawsworn were clustered on the aft deck of her ship, and between her, Anduin, Liadrin, and Nathanos, had mostly been dispatched. The Horde below had dealt with nearly all that assailed them already.

But the Alliance ship didn’t fare as well. Only Jaina seemed to be a deadly force enough to leave her icy corner of the Kul Tiran flagship fully clear. Otherwise, it was still a haze of black feathers and battle cries.

“Horde, what are you doing?” Sylvanas questioned of idle axes and swords, arcane and Light alike. “Protect our allies! We must work together!”

With one last quick check to make sure that Nathanos and Liadrin had a handle on the remaining Mawsworn on the aft deck, Sylvanas turned to Anduin and told him, “I’m afraid your little papers must wait. Allow me to prove the truth of my words. Fight with me.”

“I didn’t doubt you in the first place!” Anduin protested as she led the way across the gangplank to the deck of the Kul Tiran ship.

The Kul Tiran ship, where it seemed the Mawsworn had realized who was to be feared there. Who was to be prioritized. Or perhaps, who the Jailer had sent to target.

Whose capture and subsequent torture in the bowels of hell itself would hurt Sylvanas most.

The remainder of them were closing in on Jaina, chains lashing out only to meet wave after wave of ice, shattering them each time. Impressive as it was, Sylvanas knew she couldn’t keep it up forever. Mana was a thing in limited quantities, even for one of Azeroth’s most powerful mages.

Certainly its most beautiful, eyes aglow with magic, greatcoat forgotten and frozen to the deck beside her, white braid whipping in the wind.

As much as Sylvanas enjoyed looking at her soulmate in her battle fury, she was here to help her, wanted or not. She took aim and fired at a Mawsworn that was getting too close, and nodded to Anduin as he ran to assist the woman he apparently would refer to as his aunt, despite their lack of blood relation.

Bones clattered to the polished wood of the deck, darker and slicker than that of her own ship. Ice smashed and shattered into crystalline explosions that tingled Sylvanas’ sensitive elven ears. A dwarf threw a thunder-laden hammer that whizzed past her. Genn was snarling off to her left, but at the Mawsworn he was biting at and not her. And finally, the Horde followed. Saurfang crashed into a skeletal figure that was flanking her right. A spectral dinosaur came across the gangplank, summoned by the muttered words of Talanji to assist. A goblin rocket was aimed with surprising care and managed to hit only a pack of Mawsworn that were cutting off the aft deck of the Alliance ship from the rest of the fight.

In her efforts to get to Jaina and help, Sylvanas hadn’t realized how close they were. Suddenly, it seemed, they were nearly back to back—Sylvanas facing west to keep an eye on the sky, and Jaina facing east to blast the last big group of Mawsworn with a cone of ice wind, freezing them in place for the coming rush of melee fighters to smash to bits.

Only when she heard the panting breaths of Jaina thrumming against her ears, did she realize this was the closest she’d been to her in over a decade. The last time she’d heard her this winded, this close, it had been for much better reasons. Much more pleasant, at least.

Sylvanas turned to the east to see if there were anymore enemies, but was only met with blue eyes.

Blue eyes, looking at her for the second time in all these years. This time not begging for an apology Jaina would not give. Could not give.

This time, they were regarding her as if she’d never seen her before. Curiously. Cautiously.

Almost like the first time Sylvanas ever saw them, when Jaina came through the portal with Vereesa in tow, chattering to her about how excited she was to have potentially found her sister’s soulmate for her.

How beautiful she’d been then too. Young, but knowing. Her hair shining gold to match the leaves of the forests of Quel’thalas. She’d been a vision in the purple and white livery of the Kirin Tor. With her curious blue eyes, and the smile she’d given her after that first cautious look.

Sylvanas hadn’t been what she expected. Jaina hadn’t been what she’d expected either. But somehow, they’d been perfect for each other.

But this time—thirteen years and countless tragedies later, Jaina did not smile. She turned away, searching for Anduin before asking him, “Anduin, are you all right?”

He wasn’t in the best shape. Sylvanas could see blood dripping from one of his ears, likely the fault of her banshee wail. The foul magic of the chains that had wrapped him had left a nasty red mark in their pattern across his cheek. He was far more winded than Jaina, even, but was able to give her a nod.

Still, she checked him over, pushed at his breastplate to stand him up straight so she could confirm he was otherwise unhurt.

“Sylvanas saved me,” he blurted out when he managed to catch his breath.

“I saw,” Jaina told him, speaking under her breath, but not quiet enough to avoid being heard by an elf.

Sylvanas watched as she flexed her casting hand, and the other one briefly came to touch it, shaking. She turned and looked at Sylvanas again, still seeming to be undecided.

But across their bond, weak as it was, Sylvanas felt a tug. A pull. Magnetic in the opposite way she’d been thinking of before. A draw that demanded they be together. The very laws of physics itself would not allow for anything else.

The deck was soon awash with activity that swept Jaina from her vision before they could connect. Leaders gathering, now all on the Kul Tiran ship for the first time—examining remains of their enemies, wondering at the suddenness of the attack, the strange chains, the purpose of it all. Some mutters, too, of how convenient it was that this had come just after Sylvanas had warned them. Of how it could be another one of her tricks.

Again, she’d not given them reason to suspect otherwise. It would not take one battle, one rescue of an enemy leader, to prove her intentions.

Sylvanas knew this would take years, if she was lucky. Restoring even the smallest amount of trust in her among the rest of Azeroth would be a near impossible feat. But, at least they would all understand what to watch out for now, if nothing else.

She was about to look for Nathanos or one of her Rangers to ask for a report from them when a hand reached for her upper arm. A gap between her pauldrons and gauntlets that all Ranger armor had, to allow for the movement of one’s arms. A gap one would only reach for if one was familiar with it, and looking to make contact with skin.

A gap where Jaina Proudmoore’s hand started a feedback loop that Sylvanas hadn’t felt in thirteen years. Even through the cloth of her glove, Sylvanas could feel her feeling her feeling her feeling her. The coldness of her skin. The curiosity. The hesitation. But still, she was touching her. Trying to get her attention in only the way she could.

Sylvanas turned to face her, wordless, only feeling. Only feeling her and Jaina’s sensations of one another mingle and merge until they were indistinguishable. Was that her shock or Jaina’s? Was the cloth on her skin or Jaina’s? Was she surprised at herself and how she reacted, how much this took the wind out of her sails, or was that Jaina’s Kul Tiran expression leaking through her thoughts.

It was too much and not enough at once. Sylvanas wanted to run. She wanted to pull away. She wanted to pull Jaina to her, cover her skin with hers, regardless of how cold and dead it might be, and lose herself in this heady feeling. She wanted the true completeness of her soul that was only found in her arms. She wanted to rewind time itself, and forget all these sins that had kept them apart, had kept her desperate enough to commit them in the name of the hope of this.

“Tomorrow, Theramore,” Jaina whispered to her, hand still on her skin. “I will meet you. We can talk. I…”

Sylvanas’ eyes traced down from Jaina’s own blue eyes to her lips. Lips she could still remember kissing. Lips that she remembered setting alight the mark on her wrist with the sweetest kiss anyone could ever receive.

The kiss that marked a life that would no longer have to be lived alone. That meant she would have a partner, forever. For as long as this chaotic world of theirs would let them both live, at least.

And perhaps beyond that.

She watched as those lips mouthed a word, seemingly running out of breath and will to speak it.

A world Sylvanas had taught her.

“Rea’anath,” she’d said once, cradled in Sylvanas’ arms in her bedroom at the Spire.

“Bonded soul,” Sylvanas had translated for her. “In case you hear anyone call you that in reference to me.”

“Should I call you that?” Jaina had asked.

“You can if you’d like,” Sylvanas had told her before leaning in to kiss the word out of her mouth before she could say it again.

But now, on the deck of her ship, surrounded by shattered bones and ice, Sylvanas could only stare after her as Jaina’s hand left her arm, and she ran to catch Anduin again as he surveyed the damage. She could only chase after the echo of their looped feelings. Of a touch she didn’t deserve and wasn’t ready for, even if it was what she’d wanted most, killed and died again and again to get back. Of a word she was so certain she’d never hear her say again, not fully voiced, but still attempted.

A bond renewed. A flame fed to roaring. A longing that consumed her as emptiness once had.

[moon-swag-tourney]

Propaganda below!

The Aurora

She’s a spaceship! She’s a lesbian! She’s invested with Octokittens! Her crew consists of a band of murderous space pirates who enjoy singing and telling tales!

She is currently a galactic battleship but was "born" a sentient moon before being mechanized. She's in a lesbian relationship with her engineer.

she IS a moon, shes gay, I love aurora so much

Tyrande Whisperwind

LOOK i realize blizz fumbles her writing with every single franchise. but i love her. she singlehandedly rebuild night elf society after the war of the ancients and led it for 10,000 years and She has a cool look (aside from the weird bumpit and heels model they gave her from cata to legion) and in shadowlands and battle for azeroth she called on the dark side of elune to become the night warrior to get vengeance for the genocide of her people and it was probably the coolest thing blizz had done with her and they gave her a VERY cool model and cool glaives and she just did sickass shit like decapitate orcs and kill nathanos and strangle sylvanas. Yes i know the end of that shadowlands arc was HELLA mid and blizz keeps fucking her over, but. love her for her potential and what she could be, not what blizz actually does with her. she's my mom.

[lostywrites]

Summary:

The Hidden Ones encounter a mysterious traveller from Azeroth. Recognising an opportunity to expand their influence and forge new alliances, they appoint Basim Ibn Ishaq, a devoted disciple, as their representative.

In a realm where ancient lore and magic are as tangible as the air he breathes, Basim must rely on his wits, skills, and newfound connections to fulfill his mission and unlock secrets that could change the fate of both worlds.

A Warcraft/Assassin's Creed Mirage crossover fic. Set before the events of Dragonflight and Valhalla.

Pairing: Basim/OC

Chapter 1 I Chapter 2 I Chapter 3 I Chapter 4

Chapter 5 - The White Pawn

"Pardon my curiosity, but what has led a king to forsake his throne and shroud himself in secrecy?" Basim asked as they navigated through the thick underbrush.

The king paused, taking a moment of introspection before replying, "My return from the Shadowlands have left me...in need of solitude. I needed time to reflect, to understand the person I've become, accept what I've done...it's only here, away from everyone else I could truly find the strength to face my own inner demons..." he confessed, his voice tinged with melancholy.

"The Shadowlands?" Basim echoed. The king's eyes however held a story untold, a narrative heavy with trauma.

Choosing to keep his personal story private, especially from someone he'd just met, Anduin simply said, "It's a cautionary tale for another time, one I'm not yet prepared to share." His gaze then drifted to the concealed cave entrance ahead, camouflaged by the wild embrace of vines and moss. With a silent gesture, he invited Basim to follow him further into the depths of his secluded haven.

The cave maintained a moderate temperature, bathed in the serene glow of crystals embedded into its rough-hewn walls, creating a calming ambience within the rugged environment.

Basim's eyes scanned over the king’s humble hideout dotted with an array of books, maps, and rolled up parchments, hinting at ongoing plans and studies. Finding a place at a sturdy wooden table, he settled quietly and watched as Anduin moved about the space.

Moments later, Anduin approached the table, carrying two cups and a jug brimming with something oddly luminescent yet a refreshing sight.

“Shukran,” Basim said with a grateful nod, taking the cup handed to him. The beverage was pure and seemingly blessed with restorative qualities, as though he was drinking from the well of Zamzam, brought an immediate sense of rejuvenation. He felt a wave of relief wash over him, dispelling the lingering fogginess and the oppressive humidity that clung on to him from the island's dense atmosphere. “Aah, it’s been a long time since I’ve tasted water this good.”

Anduin smiled, pleased with Basim's reaction. "The Kal'dorei have a way with nature's gifts," he explained. "It's said to have healing properties, and from what I've seen, I'm inclined to believe it. But each time I take a sip of their sacred water, I can't help but remember the tragedy at Teldrassil, the loss of so many innocent lives..." The king's voice tapered off, the deep-seated sorrows of wars past casting a shadow over his thoughts.

"I have heard about the Burning of Teldrassil," Basim said. "During my time in the Cathedral of Light, I had the honour of meeting the night elven children. Despite everything they've been through, their resilience is extraordinary, unlike anything I've witnessed before."

"Indeed they are," the king replied, his smile returning. And his curiosity was directed towards Basim now. "You know, in my time as an Alliance king, I've had the privilege of meeting people from all walks of life. I pride myself on being able to distinguish an outsider from a native. And you, my mysterious friend, don't strike me as a simple merchant from the 'Far East'.”

Basim’s voice deepened, the mask of Gilgamesh fading, revealing his true self, "You have a sharp eye. It is true that I have disguised myself as a merchant to cover the true purpose of my journey here. A purpose that's greater than myself.”

More on Ao3

[aquanthis]

can I hear about Adelia. I think that’s the name your night elf mage. please

YES ABSOLUTELY!!! ADELIA MY BELOVED!!! oh there's a lot wrong with her. a lot. there are many layers to this little mage good lird. look at her

^ seb's art ofc

i hope you like weird girls because that's all she's got!

Archmage Adelia Starweaver, Eternal Magus

ok the general info like usual: she's an arcane mage, an archmage, and she wields aluneth. she's a bisexual nonbinary woman and a complete disaster. she's a whirlwind of a woman and i'm absolutely obsessed w/ her.

personality-wise, adelia is a pile of masks so high that she doesn't really know who she is underneath them all anymore. she tries desperately to fit in and to pretend like nothing hurts or phases her, when in actuality every mean word clings to her like cobwebs. she puts on an act of being bubbly and loud and brash, trying to get people to like her, but the other people around her actually just can't stand her and think she's annoying. she's very much the "you could pour hot soup in my lap on purpose and i would apologize to you" type except it would be her laughing it off with a big smile and going to clean it up herself and never speaking of it again. this is how she copes. she's so normal lol <3

her childhood was fucked because her mother died shortly after adelia's younger sibling was born, and her dad basically put everything into trying to control adelia and "make her mom proud" or whatever. he tried to force her into druidism, and adelia was, uh. Not Happy! her autistic ass did not do well in druid school. the other students hated her guts and also made fun of her for the situation with her dad and that's when she picked up her Annoying Mask.

anyway, she was obsessed with stories about illidan. like, OBSESSED. special interest level obsessed. she felt validated and vindicated by illidan's rejection of druidism to become a mage, and she began studying magic in secret, all while disappointing her father and her teacher. despite the fact that illidan's life should've, by all means, been a cautionary tale, she did NOT take it as such, and look up to/aspired to be like him. she took the brunt of her father's anger/pressure/abuse, inadvertently protecting her younger sibling for the most part.

so! that was her life up until the draenei landed on azeroth. when the draenei came to darnassus, adelia met paleri (who avid grims oc fans will recognize as aemara's wife!) and they became fast friends. aemara had just disappeared to join the alliance military, and paleri was left aimless and lost, feeling like she couldn't protect her people as a simple engineer and wanted to become a paladin. adelia became determined to help her (had a bit of a crush on her too) and very quickly convinced paleri to go exploring with her. they left darnassus together, paleri determined to become a paladin and adelia determined to become a mage.

the funny thing about adelia, see, is that she's incredibly powerful. as in, her magic is like raw magic energy itself, unwieldy and volatile and unpredictable and dangerous. she has largely unparalleled skill at actually conjuring up the magic, to the point of eventually allowing her to become an archmage, but she's so fucking bad at controlling it. she's like a bomb about to go off at any given moment. so, when she and paleri go wandering together, there are a lot of. Incidents. lol

their journey takes them from burning crusade up to legion, all the while they made names for themselves as wandering mercenaries or minor heroes. and then, in legion, they join up with their respective class halls, pretty much go their separate ways, and begin climbing the ranks (surprisingly quickly).

adelia gets some bad flashbacks to childhood in the mage class hall. everyone fucking hates her. she doesn't know how to not be annoying because that's the mask she's used for so long so she just keeps up with it. khadgar is the only one who really tolerates her but even then he brushes her off (at first. they're kind of friends now). HOWEVER. when they're seeking champions to hunt down the artifacts, she gets chosen to hunt down aluneth. is this a little bit of a plot to get her killed? yes! but also she is the mage champion with the strongest ability with arcane magic, to a point that they can't just ignore her. so off she goes to hunt down the most volatile staff ever to exist lol

the aluneth questline goes as planned and everything and she picks up the staff. but it immediately starts berating her, as aluneth does. constantly. and at first she laughs it off like she always does, but after a while of the constant snide comments and contempt, she starts crying while trying to laugh it off, and aluneth suddenly gets slapped in the face. because, huh? what? this cringy loser girl who picked up the damn staff actually has feelings?

so it goes a little easier on her. just a little. and over time, aluneth starts to grow a bit of possessive attachment to her. a sort of "you're the only one who is strong enough to wield me so that means you're mine and i have to protect you" relationship. and at one point, adelia gets in a fight with her sort of nemesis (raquesis, one of august's ocs, a frost mage!) and is just kind of letting raquesis beat the shit out of her because adelia doesn't really have much fight in her when someone's being mean to her, and as she's about to pass out, aluneth fucking possesses her. and defeats raquesis on the spot. to save adelia.

it's like. all of the sudden, aluneth—this being made of pure, volatile arcane energy, that up until now was seemingly incapable of feelings other than contempt and pride—protects her. not for itself, but for her. no one has ever protected her before. she wakes up on the beach beaten half to death but alive and aluneth makes some smug comment like "you know, you can't rely on me to save you from everything" and adelia just starts wailing and hugging the staff as if it'll do anything.

she loves her fucked up magic staff :')

anyway uh she's still obsessive about illidan in legion so it's really funny that she's there when he's revived in the nighthold. she has some moments in the stuff i wrote about aquanthis in nighthold and it's all really fun. she's so silly. but yeah she's all starstruck by him

OH ALSO she ends up dating illidan's adopted daughter without knowing that and finds out later and it's REALLY FUNNY. adelia fidgeting like "can i meet him can i meet him can i meet him" trying to be so normal about meeting her hero. she meets him and he's like 😬 LMAO he does not like her. unfortunately

after legion she's just kinda, Around. when she's needed. she meets her little sibling again at some point and it's wild but that's something seb and i haven't developed too much so i don't wanna talk about it :P

to give you an idea of how silly she is, here's an excerpt from the gul'dan fight lol

my silly <3

anyway ermmmm it's 5 am and that's as much as my brain can spit out rn but just know she's a disaster bisexual and i want to pick her up by the waist and spin her around. my bestie

[swampgallows]

hi swamp hope you're having a nice day!!! do you know of any website where i can find the warcraft novels without. yknow. paying for them?

hi hi hello! i went hospital today and they took my blood. test results coming in look normal so far and my viral swabs were negative but im still feeling like crap so i dunno!

as for warcraft novels: it hasn't been updated since Legion but @wrathion compiled a big list of epubs/pdfs over at the Warcraft Content Archive! it has up to JUST before BFA (Before the Storm) so if you're looking for newer books (shadowlands grimoire, exploring azeroth: kalimdor/eastern kingdoms, etc., folk & fairy tales) you wont find them here.

i will say though that a TON of the novels are probably at your local library which you can borrow as an ebook or audiobook completely for free (and legally!) through the Libby app! I've "read" a lot of the recent Warcraft books as audiobooks because a ton of them are read by their voice actors! e.g. Sylvanas read by Patty Mattson, voice of Sylvanas Windrunner; Before the Storm read by Josh Keaton, voice of Anduin Wrynn; Shadows Rising read by Susan Wokoma, voice of Princess Talanji, etc. So in a way it's like a bonus audio drama, and I love hearing the voices they do (Josh Keaton's goblins were SO good). I like to put on podcasts or audiobooks while grinding or doing mount runs so i was getting full warcraft immersion with the audiobooks lmfao. listening to wow books while playing wow for more wow per wow. i hope this helps!

[tazindrox]

May DWC Day 6 - Gleaming

Eyes darted over the ‘red carpet’, which much to his surprise was an actual red carpet where people posed and showed off their wardrobe for the evening. How peculiar. BUT! He said he was going to experience it all, and that was the plan! Being one of Vixannya’s VIP guests certainly had its perks, and it allowed him and his plus one access to a variety of fashion designers willing to dress them for the night. 

He preferred simplicity and comfort over extravagance, knowing this was to be an all night event. His ‘date’ and clutchmate Aleta opted for the full works. She had decided to join him in her Visage form and wanted to be pampered and made to look beautiful. At least whatever standard of beauty the other inhabitants of Azeroth followed. She wasn’t so convinced that Tazindrox was actually handsome and that she had ‘an ethereal beauty’ about her. They had made a charming and precious duo on this ‘red carpet’, not really understanding posing or the intricacies of certain facial expressions - which immediately made them a paparazzi favorite.

The gallery was intriguing, especially to Aleta who had not spent a whole lot of time among non-Dracthyr. Pointing towards his portrait and exclaiming loudly, “Is that your dick?!” elicited a handful of nearby chuckles, but it really was a peculiar thing when you had never seen one before, especially on your friend, whom you had never seen naked in his Visage form. Briefly afterwards, she asked in a more hushed tone, “Can you show it to me later?” It would certainly be a night of many firsts for them both!

The afterparty itself was completely unexpected. He had heard the descriptions and the vague tales, but he never imagined this. The opulence of it all was overwhelming, and Tazindrox found himself completely caught off guard the moment he walked through those darkened curtains into the gleaming lights of the Water room. It felt like a dream come to life, and immediately he wanted to explore everything.

Aleta curled her fingers around his forearm, clearly experiencing the same reaction as her large, rose-colored eyes drank up the space. “Holy fuck! I hope you have your notepad on you...”

“Holy fuck indeed….and of course I do” He patted his chest before immediately honing in on the massive display of food, which included people lying nude on the table covered in what appeared to be raw fish. Weird. “Food, and exploring?”

“Yes.”

There were all sorts of dishes from all over Azeroth being offered, with a waitstaff and chefs on hand to fulfill any special requests. The two of them immediately loaded up their plates to the extreme, and then some, before starting their trek around the rooms, snacking and staring in awe.

Taz exchanged pleasantries and introduced his friend to any familiar faces they ran into, but mostly their attention was occupied by just observing everything. And eating, of course. There was so much food, they didn’t want it to go to waste! He did, however, warn her that overeating or drinking too much in her Visage form would be a horrible idea and make her sick. They had a lot of space to cover, so pacing themselves was key.

Aleta’s favorite area was Earth, especially the hidden secret gardens with fairy rings that when you stood in the middle, illusions of fairy dragons would come to life and begin to sing and flit around. The first time it happened, they both startled and spilled some of the contents from their stacked plates, although the moment the food touched the ground it magically vanished. Which, naturally, stole their attention for a while as they attempted to figure out where it went, and then how their plate suddenly refilled with the very thing that was dropped. Fairy rings were definitely magical!

Moving onto the Air room, Taz pointed out his good friend Ryland performing up on the silks. Aleta stared at him, not once looking away until the half-elf caught sight and gave her a charming grin and a wink. “...I think I may understand the appeal of these elves.” Typical of Ryland to capture the heart of just about anyone, he hadn’t seen Aleta that smitten with anyone since the before times. “He makes my loins feel very tingly. It’s a strange feeling in this form.”

“That’s a fairly usual reaction around him, I have come to learn. It happens to me too.”

“Huh. I think I would like to look at his dick later too.”

Taz nearly snorted his drink out through his nose. Any passers-by would have likely assumed that comment was sexual in nature, but he wasn’t so sure. She was curious, just like him. Although if anyone were to seduce her, it would probably be Ryland. At one point much later in the evening, Taz was fairly confident that he had when he noticed them slipping into a dark corner and remaining there for a good 20 minutes.

After a few more moments of staring, they made their way into the Fire room: This was Taz’s preferred element. He made sure to point out not to step on the lava on the floor because it may melt their fancy shoes. Although once they saw others wandering across it, it was decided that it was safe to traverse. It was loud and flashy in this room and there was fire everywhere, and neither quite knew where to put their focus. Until he noticed Dicenne on the main stage, armed with two flaming whips.

“Ohhh, I have met him before, he’s a very nice fellow.”

Aleta canted her head to one side, a little uncertain about that description. He wore a little bit of leather and a lot of body paint, glitter, and oil. She found herself mesmerized once more, especially when the end of one of those whips snapped around a nearby human’s wrist and yanked her closer, where they proceeded to do things that were perhaps more suitable behind closed doors. 

Neither could look away though, and that was probably the point of it all. Fire was an extremely dangerous element, and something about watching this happen live in front of their faces felt dangerous as well. It took a few moments to realize that Dice and his current partner weren’t the only ones enjoying these types of pleasures.

Taz slowly glanced towards Aleta, who was currently holding onto and gnawing at what appeared to be a piece of steak as she watched Dicenne and the human woman. “...Wanna get some more food?”

“Yes.”

With that, the two quickly made their way back to Earth to overindulge in their own way. They could explore more later, but this was more important.

@daily-writing-challenge @vixannya @rylandfalkov @dicenne​

[longveil]

Book of Burdens: Author's Note

I love building on top of and expanding in-game lore, and my latest little story (with, hopefully, more to come) is no exception. For those of you that never played through the Mists of Pandaria expansion - a wonderful expansion sullied only by the massive content drought at the end - The Book of Burdens is referenced in-game as part of The Seven Burdens of Shaohao.

An exploration achievement, The Seven Burdens of Shaohao has you traveling across Pandaria to read scrolls that tell the tale of the Last Emperor of Pandaria as he sought to spare his people from the foretold Great Sundering. In so doing, he was forced to overcome each of the Sha. The Sha, of course, are malevolent spirits spawned from the remains of the Old God Y'Shaarj after it was slain by the titan Aman'Thul (long before the Sundering). In killing Y'Shaarj, Aman'thul tore a rift in Azeroth that created the Well of Eternity, and led to the titans entombing the remaining Old Gods of Azeroth (C'Thun, Yogg-Saron, and N'Zoth) rather that risk further damage by slaying them.

All of which makes Shaohao's journey, and the effects of the masks, quite interesting for our dear spooky shadowy Seraanna. Don't you think?

Postscript: There's also The Burdens of Shaohao, an animated telling of the tale by Lorewalker Cho, but that version doesn't mention the masks. And yes, there are even in-game items. All the fun...

Post-Postscript: I never did make it clear, but this story and the one that preceded ("The Bridge") are set during the last year of the timeskip. We have not yet caught up to Dragonflight's now...

[igotopinions]

Books I Read in 2023

* = Re-read

Check out past years: 2012, 2013 (skipped), 2014, 2015, 2016, 2017, 2018,  2019, 2020, 2021, and 2022. Follow me on Goodreads to get these reviews as they happen. 1) A Book of Blades: Rogues in the House Presents edited by L.D. Whitney This book, assembled by the great guys behind the premier podcast in the genre, is an excellent way to sample a breadth of contemporary Sword & Sorcery fiction! My favorite story was "The Blood of Old Shard" by John R. Fultz, with Scott Oden and Howard Andrew Jones' tales close behind, and there were no duds in the mix. "The Blood..." really surprised me with a heart and inventiveness which the opening doesn't give away yet, you realize upon finishing, deftly sets up. 2) Fires of Azeroth by C.J. Cherryh Left my big ol’ spoiler-laden review on Goodreads for ya. 3) Black Paper: Writing in a Dark Time by Teju Cole 4) The Citadel of Forgotten Myths by Michael Moorcock *5) Neuromancer by William Gibson 6) The Expert System's Brother by Adrian Tchaikovsky 7) The Expert System’s Champion by Adrian Tchaikovsky I confess I finished the first book in this series having enjoyed myself, but wondering if I'd remember what I'd read a year from now. I don't have that concern with its follow-up. Tchaikovsky has enriched the world he set up in the first installment quite nicely, and I hope I get to explore it further in a third. 8) Old Moon Quarterly: Issue 3 9) Swordspoint by Ellen Kushner 10) The Gurkha and the Lord of Tuesday by Saad Z. Hossain 11) The Dreamthief's Daughter: A Tale of the Albino by Michael Moorcock 12) Cinema Speculation by Quentin Tarantino Do you think you’d enjoy hearing Tarantino discuss mainly his childhood and adolescence re: movies that meant a lot to him during that period? Congrats, this is extremely that. It could not be more that. 13) The Shadow of the Torturer by Gene Wolfe 14) Consider This: Moments in My Writing Life After Which Everything Was Different by Chuck Palahniuk Roughly 70/30 instructional / biographical. Has a lot of good advice, focusing on a more literary mode than classic genre stylings, all in a voice and coming from a place any Palahniuk fan will be familiar with (I would have been stunned NOT to find something like the "Voice of Authority" snippet in a writing book by Palahniuk). Entertaining and providing what mostly felt like useful, actionable advice, I'd say it can be handy for writers who aren't knowledgeable of the author's works, but knowing at least a couple of his books can help contextualize his advice so you can determine which parts are right for you or not. 15) Death Angel's Shadow by Karl Edward Wagner 16) Night Winds by Karl Edward Wagner 17) Wyngraf Issue #1 Edited by Nathaniel Webb 18) Rakefire and Other Stories by Jason Ray Carney 19) The White Lion by Scott Oden 20) Werner's Nomenclature of Colours: Adapted to Zoology, Botany, Chemistry, Mineralogy, Anatomy, and the Arts by Patrick Syme, Abraham Gottlob Werner (Illustrator) 21) Tehanu by Ursula K. Le Guin 22) Lord of a Shattered Land by Howard Andrew Jones *23) Annihilation by Jeff VanderMeer 24) Authority by Jeff VanderMeer 25) Acceptance by Jeff VanderMeer *26) The Sailor on the Seas of Fate by Michael Moorcock 27) Kundo Wakes Up by Saad Z. Hossain 28) Swords in the Shadows, Edited by Cullen Bunn 29) The Lies of the Ajungo by Moses Ose Utomi 30) Doppelganger: A Trip into the Mirror World by Naomi Klein 31) The Encyclopedia of Amazons: Women Warriors from Antiquity to the Modern Era by Jessica Amanda Salmonson 32) New Edge Sword & Sorcery #1, Edited by Oliver Brackenbury 33) New Edge Sword & Sorcery #2, Edited by Oliver Brackenbury 34) A Book of Blades: Volume II: Rogues in the House Podcast Presents, Edited by L.D. Whitney 35) Old Moon Quarterly: Issue 4, Spring 2023: A Magazine of Dark Fantasy and Sword and Sorcery, Edited by OMQ 36) The Wingspan of Severed Hands by Joe Koch 37) The Sword of Rhiannon by Leigh Brackett 38) Camp Damascus by Chuck Tingle 39) Old Moon Quarterly: Issue 5, Edited by OMQ STATS Non-Fiction: 6 Fiction: 33 Poetry Collections: 0 Comic Trades: 0 Wrote Myself: 2

[sekhisadventures]

Adventures in Azeroth: Stories of Avalon and Savage United

Table of Contents

Forward

What follows is 100% non-canonical but anyone who plays the games should realize that pretty quickly.

This is the stories in my own personal headcannon for my characters in the online RPG World of Warcraft. I claim no ownership of the Warcraft franchise or any of the elements therein and this should be considered a work of fanfiction and naught besides. All elements in these stories, save for my characters themselves, are the intellectual property of Blizzard Entertainment.

I’ve been a WoW player since just before the launch of Burning Crusade, but I’ve been playing Warcraft games since the very first Warcraft Orcs and Humans on the PC back in the 1990s. Its safe to say that I consider Azeroth a second home at this point, for as goofy as some parts of the story can become its still a world I can’t imagine living without anymore.

Because of that my characters in the game have taken on a sort of life of their own for me, some of them have been around for years themselves, and thus I decided to actually give them some stories beyond just ‘today I killed fifteen kobolds and sold their ears for a tuppence apiece.’

Also, I tend to re-read this a lot and edit when I catch something I goofed up or something that bugs me. Don't be shocked if it really isn't the same the second time you read it.

!!!NEWEST CHAPTERS!!!

The Time Between: Suffer a Witch to Un-Live

The Time Between: The Avatar of Y’shaarj

The Time Between: For Quel’thalas

Characters

!!!UPDATE 09/19: All Character Pages now have links to up to three important chapters for the characters, to help you get started if you want to follow a specific character’s story!!!

Protagonists

Members of Avalon

Nelen Fullmoon

Jaie Swiftpaw

Samantha Montebank

Dareley Steelhammer

Shalandrae Deeproots

Zhan-min Irontummy

Aziguni

Members of Savage United

Grimo B. Blamstick

Nitika Dawnhoof

Mola'raum

Sekhi

Galdia Grimaxe

Edwood Vargas

Laurelgosa

Krag’thar Stoneshaper

Merihim Suneater

Others

Jeemjazo Redmane & Murgly Jim

Leza

Malgum

Antagonists

Members of Unlimited Sin

Dissonantia, Witch of the Blackwald

The Demons of Unlimited Sin

Gremori Autumnleaves

House Wintersky

Alalestria Wintersky

Sinranir Downstrider

Others

Nyloc Athel of Suramar

The Story

As follows, the story’s chapters are listed in chronological order starting with The Witch of the Blackwald. Simply start there and continue on from that point.

Pre-Warcraft Era

The Witch of the Blackwald

Warcraft 3: Reign of Chaos/Frozen Throne

On a Pale Horse, He Rode

Broken Wands

Steel in my Hammer

Arugal's Solution

Sam, I am

World of Warcraft Classic

Preludes to Adventure

Burning Crusade

Whose Side are You On?

What Have You Given?

Wrath of the Lich King

The Forge and the Forest

Cataclysm

The Worgen Wizard and Witch

Open for Business

A Wrathful Guard

Friends Among Enemies

Dark Dreams

Mists of Pandaria

Pandaren in the Big City

A Barrel of Hozen

Experiments with Darkness

The Breath of Y'shaarj

The Sha Within

The Song of the World

Warlords of Draenor

What Could Have Been

Legion

Home Sweet Hellhole

Lok'tar Ogar

Thunderstruck

Battle for Azeroth

Welcome to the Dark SIde

Thief For Hire

Flames, Smoke, Pain, & Death

A Good Soldier

To Ashes, To Dust

Hey Foxy Lady!

A Mag'har Orc in the Banshee Queen's Horde

Lost Home, Found Hope

The New Hire

Shadowlands

The Uncrowned King

The Young Lion in Chains

Enemies Off the Port Bow

Savage United We Stand

Battle Plans

The Maw

Marileth's Marvelous Slimes

I am You, Who am I?

The Void Sees Many Things

Fur Black as Night

Time for Tea

For Those We Lost

Domination

The Maw Opens Wide

The Singing Sands

The Lords of Dread

Dead Men and the Tales They Tell

Burned Bridges

You Are Who You Eat

Beyond Death Itself

How to Conquer Reality

Preparations

Answers

Villainess

The Warlock of Dark Waters

The Shamanbrewer

Back to Bilgewater

Three Years of Peace

Further Adventures in Azeroth

Why Do I Fight?

New Finds, Old Friends

Virulence

The Family Business

The Deep Dark Woods

Holiday Traditions

Goblin Ingenuity

Dragonflight

Homeward

Coming Troubles, New Adventurers

Taking Flight

Setting Sail

Fractured Order

The Witch Returns

Unlimited Sin

Landfall

Weapon Repairs

Sibling Rivalry

Green Flame and Rot

Brightflame, Dim Memories

The Heir to House Wintersky

The Storm Eater

Anger Incarnate

Lost and Found

Remembrance

A Pirate’s Life

After the Storm

Memories of Darkness

Her Final Song

On the Nature of Souls

Earth Quakes, Paths Open

Securing the Path

What an Ale Needs

The Sapphire of House Wintersky

A Brief Interlude

Firefox

Matters of Family

Cutlasses and Caves

Azure Light in the Winter Sky

Battle at Bilgewater

Unnatural Beings

Druid Disappeared

Demons

Aziguni’s Lucky Number

Soon to Dream

Shining Unity

Dissonantia

Home Once More

The Time Between

Infinite Problems

Adventurers in Time

Sins of the Father

Pandaren Paradox

Suffer a Witch to Un-Live

The Avatar of Y’shaarj

For Quel’thalas

The War Within

(Coming Soon!)

Appendix A - Personal Lore

What follows is some personal snatches of Lore I wrote for my characters in their TRP profiles. I’d been meaning to copy it over for ages, now I have an excuse to do so, so why not? These bits are just flavor and fluff to flesh out my roster. The dialogue for them is all in the character’s own words.

Members of Avalon

Nelen's Library

Jaie's Favorite Recipes

Dareley's Scars of War

Sam's Trophies of Treasure Hunting

Zhan-Min's Elemental Brews

Members of Savage United

Grimo's Invention Scrapbook

Galdia's Memories of Draenor

Sekhi on the Songs of the Shadowlands

Other Characters

Dissonantia's Attempts at Immortality

Appendix B - Important Locations

What follows is a list of important story locations for Adventures in Azeroth and the heroes of Avalon and Savage United. I’m going to update this as the story continues. The maps represent places that have no actual in-game location and were made using the Inkarnate D&D map creator.

Avalon House

Offices of Grimo's Savage United LLC

Nelen's Sanctum

Dissonantia's Lair

Sekhi's Cart

Appendix C - Random Fun Junk

This section is simply for goofy random stuff that I made for giggles. These are just fun trivia.

Failed Adventures in Azeroth Characters

What Every Adventurer Needs: Avalon

What Every Adventurer Needs: Savage United

What Every Adventurer Needs: Others

[emilylorange]

Tortollans have a longer lifespan than most of Azeroth's denizens, and their storytelling tends to have a span to match - though, for the right audience, some of them are willing to shorten their tales to a couple weeks in length. 

This is for week two of the STVBonfireBash: 'Meet the Locals'. The four characters on the right are: Shazza (soft_orc), Ezrial (mine), Dynamae (kudgen_art) and Tonfyal (armentarius).

[late-to-the-fandom]

In which Renathal's quest to learn more about the Maw Walker is almost as difficult and time consuming as the quest after which this story is named. Rated T for brief, inexplicit mentions of death, violence, and non-graphic sexual tension.

Takes place shortly after "A Spilled Tea", before Denathrius' imprisonment.

"Are you quite comfortable?" asked Renathal, with the sort of razor-edged politeness that would have cut another Venthyr’s sense of self-importance to ribbons.

The mortal across the table from him, however, merely shivered, taking care the motion did not disarrange his long, well-coiffed blond hair. 

“Hardly. It’s freezing,” he berated the Dark Prince. “And you’d think with the number of candles in here you might actually be able to see something.”

Renathal’s eyes fluttered briefly closed. His well of inner patience was deep, but not infinite, and it had been centuries since anything had tested its limits like his on-going quest to discover more about the Maw Walker.

To add insult to inconvenience, it should have been a straightforward task. Any other time in Renathal's existence, he could have consulted the Curator, or the Master's private library. The Master himself would probably have known much about the Maw Walker's people offhand. But both the Curator's memory and her archives were ruined, and Denathrius and his library were no longer at the Prince's disposal. Still, with the surfeit of mortals currently residing in the Shadowlands, Renathal had expected little difficulty in locating another of the Maw Walker's kind to interrogate.

Recent events had illuminated the intriguing possibility that the Maw Walker might not be averse to negotiating new, more intimate, terms to their friendship. It was a tantalising prospect, though one fraught with difficulties, and while none were insurmountable, Renathal thought it prudent to collect more information on her before deciding how best to proceed. Besides, his curiousity had been salivating for some time for further details of the rebellion she had mentioned in passing but refused to fully explain.

He had sent Draven to Oribos with the task of retrieving a less recalcitrant Nightborne, but the mortal the General returned with bore only the barest resemblance to the Maw Walker. A shorter, paler elf with long, blond hair and small, green eyes, he introduced himself as a Sin'Dorei. But Blood Elf was the translation, and the term most familiar to Renathal. There were more than a few of those souls in Revendreth.

"What sort of information are you looking for?" asked the elf, adjusting himself in his chair with a long-suffering implicative of a cushion filled with nails.

"I would like the history of the Maw Walker and her people," said Renathal, ignoring the elf's show of discomfort. "And please, spare no detail."

The Sin'Dorei raised a long, blond eyebrow.

"I do have another job, you know."

But he gave Renathal an hour.

In that time, the Prince of Revendreth learned a great deal about the history of the elves of Azeroth; their descent from one race called the Highborne, and how its splintered factions became the variety of elves their world now contained.  Despite his protest of busyness, the Sin'Dorei recounted many tangential tales of his own people, but his font of garrulous knowledge dried up considerably when Renathal pressed for more about the Shal'Dorei, or Nightborne. Except, this elf called them something different.

"Why do you refer to them as, Nightfallen?"

The Sin'Dorei's eye roll was the very picture of elegant disdain that, on anyone else, Renathal could not have helped but admire.

"Well, I shouldn't really, anymore," said the elf. "I suppose they're all the same now. But the ones who rebelled called themselves 'The Nightfallen' and, you know, old habits." He shrugged, and made it look like a move in a dance. "I suppose they called themselves that because they'd fallen from their once grand place in the world. Suramar City used to boast itself as the 'jewel of the Night Elf kingdom'."  He wiggled his fingers skeptically. "Not hard since the majority of them live in trees but it's nothing compared to Silvermoon."

The elf paused to allow himself a well-tailored smirk, and Renathal blinked at him drily. He very much doubted either mortal city held a candle to the eternal beauty of Revendreth.

"And now, it's as much a ruin as this place," continued the elf blithely, eyes wandering the room in distaste. "Or so I hear, I've never been personally. But Lor'Themar, our Lord Regent, has been excessively generous in his assistance to the First Arcanist. He sent quite a few from Silvermoon to help them secure their city."

"The First Arcanist ... that would be the Nightborne ruler?" prompted Renathal, steering the discussion back to relevant waters.

"She is for the present. I don't know what their permanent plan is. They're historically led by some sort of coalition of noble houses. And the Grand Magistrix, but you know.” The elf shifted fractiously in his seat. “Are we nearly through? This chair was clearly not designed for beings with proper nerve endings.”

Venthyr did not require air to exist. Renathal's deep, rattling inhale was entirely affectation; a subtle warning to the mortal before him that he was rapidly losing patience.

"It is safe to assume," he said crisply, disregarding the elf's complaint. "That the ephemeral histories of one minor race on one small world are predominately unknown to those of us who have spent our existences blissfully unburdened by such quaint mortal affairs."

It took a moment for the elf to grasp this scathing pronouncement. When he had, he rolled his eyes once more, though this time it was accompanied by a blotchy, unflattering flush.

"The Grand Magistrix Elisande was the Nightborne's de facto ruler for something close on 10,000 years. Before she made a deal with the Burning Legion and let demons infest their city."

Renathal straightened in his chair. At last, they were getting somewhere.

"Anyone who disagreed with her was cast out and lost access to the Nightwell, their source of power. The First Arcanist was one of those, I assume the champion was as well.  They put a stop to Elisande eventually, but they're still purging the Legion from the land." He shook his head. "Really, they ought to have dealt with her much sooner. When we discovered what Sunstrider was-"

The elf's editorial comments drifted to the background of Renathal's thoughts. He leaned on the arm of his chair, stroking the hair on his chin absently, as he compared this new information to the cryptic hints the Maw Walker had dropped. He supposed this Grand Magistrix was who she had meant by “her people's Denathrius", and he assumed her rebellion of subjective success was what the Sin'Dorei called "The Nightfallen". But nothing the elf said so far accounted for why the Maw Walker would not speak of it. Unless...

"The rest of the Nightfallen. Were they destroyed?" asked Renathal, interrupting the Sin'Dorei's diatribe.

"What? No, of course not. Not all of them," he said exasperatedly. "I mean, I'm sure many were killed by the Legion, but there's plenty left. Haven't I already said Lor'Themar sent them aid? Really, if you're not even paying attention -"

But the Dark Prince of Revendreth had finally had enough, and his title, unlike his breathing, was not an affectation.

He leaned slowly forward, claws clicking menacingly against the table, and his expression would have cowed even the most hardened of Venthyr. As for the mortal opposite, he looked as though he might faint; his pale face registered a wholly inelegant terror. And the only reason he was not reduced to a gibbering puddle of penitence was Renathal’s determination to extract every bit of information he could.

"And the Maw Walker’s family? What became of them?” Renathal said into the chill silence.

"Dead, I think. She let slip something about a dead sister once, but I don’t know any details." The Sin'Dorei’s voice quavered with the dregs of fear. "Besides the fact that she's virtually indestructible, nobody knows very much about her."

Renathal's burning amber eyes narrowed dangerously.

"You told General Draven you were her friend.”

"I said I knew her, and I do!" cried the Sin'Dorei, cowering in his chair. "I followed her around in Zuldazar, and we fought together a few times but you have to understand - the Champion doesn't have friends! Not really. Even her own First Arcanist doesn't talk to her. Or about her. I don't know anybody who does. And she does not like to be asked questions."

This time, there was no artifice in the Sin'Dorei's shiver. He looked a great deal less glamorous with his pinched face discoloured by fear, and Renathal allowed his own features to soften enough so the mortal would not ruin the chair's upholstery.

“Very well,” he said, and for the first time since their introduction, granted the elf a small, smug smile.

In fact, though it would not do to show it, Renathal felt almost excessively cheerful. The idea that this mortal - and his careful good looks - enjoyed a much lower standing with the Maw Walker than Renathal himself set him in such high spirits he could not even be disappointed the elf had nothing else useful to offer. He produced a sincere thank-you and a more than civil farewell before allowing the elf to gather what remained of his dignity and scuttle from the room. With the door safely shut behind the Sin'Dorei, Renathal gave his smirk free reign of his face.

She doesn't have friends, the elf had said, but had the Maw Walker not called Renathal just that at last week's Ember Court rehearsal? A different kind of friends, he remembered her thrilling words perfectly, and he leaned back in his chair and basked in the warmth of his immoderate pride. He had not learned all he wanted, but this proof the Maw Walker preferred him to her mortal acquaintances made the time spent more than worthwhile.

And - he steepled his fingers in front of him - it was not as though he had learned nothing. True, he had as many questions now as when the interview began - such as why the Maw Walker was here at all instead of aiding her own city’s restoration efforts - but he also had a greater grasp on Nightborne history, which could make it easier to coax the details he still lacked from the Maw Walker herself. 

Renathal’s jovial self-satisfaction lingered through the rest of that day and into the next, insulating him from the disaster that was the first official Ember Court.

Reflecting on it as he scanned the now-empty courtyard for his co-host, Renathal was hard pressed to decide which part had been worst: the Maw Walker's spectacular failure at the Ritual of Atonement that elicited actual boos from the socialites in the crowd; some debacle with the dredgers Renathal had not personally witnessed but which resulted in the shattering of Theotar's favourite tea set; or the manifestations of sin erupting from the court's meagre anima font and assailing the precious few nobles who had consented to attend. The Prince had closed the court with his humblest apologies for the various mishaps, and assured their guest of honour - Cryptkeeper Kassir - that next week's would be a much more traditional affair.

Certainly an inauspicious inauguration, and yet … a smile teased Renathal's fangs as he spotted the Maw Walker's purple gown at the top of the rampart stairs. Apart from her belligerent argument with the Accuser over the appropriate atonements for sin, none of the incidents had really been her fault. And besides, he thought cheerfully as he crossed the courtyard, it was nice watching someone else fail for a change.

The Maw Walker was perched on the highest step, back ramrod straight and eyes tightly shut. If it were not for the slight breeze lifting loose tendrils of her high-piled hair, she might have been a statue carved from purple-hued stone. Renathal walked, rather than glided, up the steep staircase, letting the precise thud of his plate armour boots herald his approach. But the Maw Walker's eyes remained closed even when he stepped across her, carefully placing the items he carried on the nearest iron baluster.

"It could have been worse," he said by way of greeting as he set to work preparing his after-court gift.

A vague hum was Renathal's only indication the Maw Walker heard him until the pop of the cork from the bottle made her eyes snap open.

"It was only your first official foray," he continued, pouring a generous measure of anima wine into the two long-stemmed glasses. " I assure you, they do get easier. And Kassir is fortunately forgiving. He has already promised to return next week. So, we will have another opportunity."

He bent to offer a glass to the still-seated Maw Walker who regarded it steadily for a moment before, at last, accepting.

"To your first true court experience," said Renathal wryly, clinking his glass against hers.

He straightened and lifted his glass to his lips, then lowered it when he noticed the Maw Walker staring blankly at her own. Admittedly, it was the wrong sort of glass for this wine, but the best Renathal's dredger contacts had been able to purloin. He wondered if the Maw Walker - a self-proclaimed connoisseur - was particular about such things. But before he could inquire, she gave what was, for her, a dramatic sigh.

"I've been hosting courts much like this for thousands of years, your Highness," she said. "I'm afraid I’ve always been a bit disappointing."

Thus unburdened, she drained the glass in one, then held it out to Renathal again. He eyed it hesitantly, unsure if he ought to refill it or take it away. 

"These sorts of affairs were a regular pastime at home," the Maw Walker added.

Renathal hastened to pour her more wine.

"Suramar, you mean," he said tonelessly, scrubbing his voice of any trace excitement.

"Mm," the Maw Walker hummed her agreement, sipping her second glass more sedately. "Political parties and courts ... impressing guests ... forging alliances over drinks. It's strange ... " She cast somewhat unfocused eyes on the courtyard below before continuing thoughtfully, "Running all the way to a different plane of reality just to find the same things you had at home."

Renathal took a short sip of his own wine, but tasted only the triumph of being granted the perfect opening.

"It is true," he said, after swallowing. "There are many similarities between our respective realms."

"What do you mean?"

The Maw Walker's voice had shed some of its dreamy quality, but Renathal, eager to flaunt his new knowledge, chose to overlook this.

"Well, the parallels between the Master and your Grand Magistrix speak for themselves," he said, taking his time with each word as if only now considering them. "Rulers who have betrayed their realms to an enemy in exchange for power. In Denathrius' case, the Jailer, and in Elisande's, the Burning Legion. And, of course, the Nightfallen rebellion has much in common with our work here in Sinfall."

He chanced a glance at the step below him. The Maw Walker was openly staring. Shock radiated off her like a wave of her arcane magic, and Renathal used his half-full glass to cover the smirk he could not quite contain. 

"How do you know all this?" she asked in wary wonder.

Renathal, who had absolutely no intention of ever admitting the lengths to which he had gone to gain this information, merely arched an eyebrow and gave a shrug the Sin'Dorei would have envied.

"This is not Bastion, where souls are divested of their memories. Those who arrive in Revendreth bring many stories, their own and others. And I have always been a passionate collector of such tales."

The Maw Walker's eyes narrowed, and Renathal cast about for a decent distraction before she could pick apart his non-answer.

"Of course, stories lack pictures, but from what I understand, Suramar City was once nearly as handsome as Revendreth."

He was taken aback at how well this rudimentary tactic worked.

"Nearly as handsome?” the Maw Walker repeated, the growing shrewdness in her face abruptly vanishing. "Suramar City at the height of its power was the jewel of all Azeroth. Truly, there is nowhere that compares.”

Renathal sniffed, and took another sip of wine. "Quite," was his only reply, but its dubiousness did not go unnoticed.

"I am not sure you could be considered a qualified judge, your Highness, having never left the Shadowlands," said the Maw Walker loftily. "I have been to many, many worlds now and have yet to see anywhere more beautiful than Suramar City before its fall. It was..." Her mouth hung open, waiting for the right word to appear. But language ultimately failed her, and she shook her head. "Beyond description."

Biting back the argument unlikely to vouchsafe him more answers, Renathal dipped his head and agreed, "I am sure it was considered very beautiful among mortal cities."

It was the closest he could come to concession, but apparently it would not do.

The Maw Walker's glass rattled as she abandoned it on the stone step and finally stood, squaring against the Dark Prince with uncharacteristic vim. He gave no ground; indeed, the spark in her blue-white eyes - not to speak of her body's sudden close proximity - made anima pump through him pleasantly and his heart affect a faster pace.

She stared at him for several, unblinking seconds, and Renathal could not decide if she was more likely to hit him or kiss him. But the Maw Walker - always full of surprises - chose, instead, a wide and wine-dark smile.

"Would you like to see?" she said in a voice that promised mischief, and before Renathal could fathom her meaning, let alone decide on an answer, the Maw Walker had reached up and touched her fingers to his temple.

The last time she did this - when rescuing him from the Maw - her spell had granted Renathal a unique mental clarity. This time, it dropped a heavy purple veil over all his senses. The wuthering wind and caustic Light of the Ember Ward disappeared, replaced by the soft murmur of running water and a silky, violet twilight. He opened his mouth to ask the Maw Walker what she had done, but a glance at his new surroundings temporarily robbed him of speech.

The entire world was drenched in agnate shades of purple and blue. Renathal's vision swum as his eyes tried to focus; the lack of visible horizon on which to anchor himself made him sway. A city engulfed the skyline on every side, swelling in endless crescendos; it felt as though he was drowning in a sea of enormous, graceful buildings. Except, to call them buildings was uncharitable, almost indecent - they looked birthed, rather than made, crafted through some more elegant magic than Revendreth's steel and muck-made mortar. He craned his neck to follow their silhouettes where they surrendered to a glittering indigo sky.

"Welcome to Suramar, Prince Renathal."

The Maw Walker's voice broke through Renathal's trance.

“How is ... what did ...” he stuttered incoherently, his brain stumbling through the deluge of sensations, but the Maw Walker - as was often the case - understood his concern without words.

“Don’t worry, I haven’t kidnapped you," she said in mild amusement. "This is just an illusion. We’re still standing on the ramparts. So be careful where you step."

Her warning recalled Renathal’s sluggish mind back to his body. He became aware of his slack jaw, his loose grip on his half-forgotten glass.

“So… what do you think?” the Maw Walker asked with ill-concealed smugness.

Renathal brought his wine to his lips and swallowed thoughtlessly, buying himself more time to craft the admission she was certainly owed.

"You ... did not exaggerate,” he said finally.

The Maw Walker's laugh lacked condescension. It was a free, light-hearted sound, happier than any Renathal had yet heard, and her face was bright with a joy that made her look, somehow, younger.

“And you’ve hardly seen anything, your Highness. Come!"

She grabbed his free hand and attempted to drag him forward, but Renathal dug in his heels. Thrown off his axis and scrambling for some semblance of control, he regarded the Maw Walker sternly, an expression only part jest.

"I have asked you to call me Renathal."

The little violet spots on the Maw Walker's cheeks were the same shade as the surrounding twilight. She wet her lips briefly, then conceded, "Very well. Come then, Renathal."

She tugged at his hand, more gently this time, and Renathal allowed her to lead him into the illusion of Suramar City.

Conscious of the ramparts hidden beneath them, the Maw Walker picked a careful path through a courtyard of such splendor even the Master would have been envious. To Renathal's surprise and delight, she turned out to be an effusive guide, all her usual reticence gone as she named and explained Suramar's intricate architectural details. His eyes drifted in and out of focus, struggling to absorb each new wonder, but the longer they wandered, the less Renathal noticed the sights at all - the towering magenta topiaries, the dusk lilies floating in softly glowing pools - and the more his attention fixated on the Maw Walker herself.

Perhaps it was the anima wine or some effect of her own arcane magic, but the visible change it wrought in her usually impassive face was striking. He had noted on many occasions the Maw Walker's various physical attractions, but the carefree smile she wore now - as natural on her face as her nose or eyes - had transformed her into something as exquisitely lovely as the city she clearly adored.

At first, Renathal kept up a suitable dialogue, nodding and querying where appropriate, but this eventually trailed into pensive silence as he drank in the Maw Walker's voice. What must it be like to be talked about with such undisguisable affection, to be thought of in such adulation it leaked into every word someone spoke? His mind conjured mesmerizing fantasies of the Maw Walker saying his name like this, and the thrilling shiver it drew from him caught her eye.

"Where the arcwine is - Oh." She broke off mid-sentence and stopped so abruptly Renathal nearly knocked her down. "I'm ... so sorry, your - Renathal. I - I suppose I've made my point. I'm sure you must be bored. I'll take us back."

Embarrassment marred her earnest beauty, and Renathal could not permit it. He tightened his grip on her hand before she could end her spell and slip away.

“No, not at all! Far from it," he insisted. “This has been a rare delight. I have loved every minute we have shared here, I was ... merely wondering ..."

The Sin'Dorei's warning about the Maw Walker's stance on questions gave Renathal pause. But ... he was a different sort of friend; she had said so herself. Surely such rules did not apply?

As if in encouragement, the Maw Walker's thumb absently stroked the back of his hand, and the intimate gesture infused Renathal with a warm and sanguine confidence.

"Why did you leave Suramar?"

A cloud passed over the Maw Walker's shining face. She blinked it quickly away.

"I am better suited other places," she said, which answered nothing, and Renathal pressed recklessly on.

"Better suited somewhere other than your home? Other than ... here?"

He indicated the magnificence around them with his glass, spilling wine across the illusory marble. It made the Maw Walker laugh, albeit less fully than before, and pluck the cup from Renathal's careless hand.

"Is this your way of saying you no longer need me in Revendreth?"

"Absolutely not."

The low growl in Renathal's words surprised even him, and made the Maw Walker's breath catch sharply. He was suddenly very aware of how little space remained between them. To lean in and taste the wine still lingering on her lips would require no effort at all. But...

His eyes flicked from side to side, vainly attempting to penetrate the rich purple glow of the illusion to the courtyard lurking underneath. It had been empty except for the guards when he had first found the Maw Walker, but he had no idea how long ago that had been ... or who might have ventured out of Sinfall's depths in that time ... or even where exactly in the courtyard they now were.

Renathal inhaled deeply through his nose, a breath necessary only for cooling his heated anima. Reluctantly, he eased himself back a fraction, adding a measure of cautious space between himself and temptation.

"I am certainly not giving you permission to abandon the oath you swore to Revendreth," he said. "But it is evident how much this place means to you. It seems strange for you to have left it."

The Maw Walker's breathing was also measured, and Renathal wondered if their thoughts ran the same tantalising track. But when she spoke, her voice was subdued.

"This is Suramar as I remember it before the Burning Legion," she said. "Nearly everything I loved about it - that made it home - is gone. It is ... not like this anymore." 

This time the Maw Walker succeeded in freeing her hand, and she touched Renathal's forehead again.

The noise assailed his senses first, a cacophony of terrified screams and uncanny, eldritch shrieks. Glancing around the same courtyard through which the Maw Walker had escorted him, Renathal watched as demons of various incarnations prowled the once pristine streets. The glowing trees and topiaries were alight with fel green flame, tainting the purples and blues in a jarring, inconsanant glow.

From a strictly aesthetic perspective, the scene was inarguably horrible, but Renathal was less discomfited than he had been upon his first vision of Suramar. Terror was much more his wheelhouse. He watched in professional curiousity as the fel creatures wrought their havoc, and cocked his head in interest at one beast in particular whose horns and hooves and wings were oddly familiar...

Renathal took a half step forward, intending to inspect the illusion, but the Maw Walker's hand suddenly clutched his shoulder, winning his undivided attention. His amber eyes widened as they found her face, more startled by her sickly pallor than any of the surrounding horrors. She leaned closer to him - head bowed, eyes closed - and if Renathal had not known her better he would have said she sought his protection. Which made it all the more fortunate none of the visions could do them harm; the Maw Walker's obvious and uncharacteristic distress had frozen him in place. 

Some enormous demon of rock and green flame lumbered around the corner. Its steps made the ground beneath them shake, and the Maw Walker actually shiver. Her hand holding Renathal's wine glass trembled so violently he was sure it would shatter. But it was only when her head hit his chest plate that his trance finally cracked in alarm.

"End this," he said to her. "Now." 

It was a command, and though Renathal lacked his medallion, it rang with unbroachable power. Eyes closed, the Maw Walker's fingers crawled up his face; locating his forehead, and pressing hard, and -

- and they were standing on the silent ramparts overlooking the Bridge of Banishment.

Renathal shook his head to clear the dregs of the vision, blinking in the abrupt change of light. The clamor and chaos had left a ringing in his ears, so he felt the Maw Walker's short sigh of relief against his chest more than heard it. Squinting through the Ember Ward's harsh light, he inspected her discreetly. Not that she noticed; her eyes were still squeezed shut, fingers fisting in his shirt. It would wrinkle the material, which was a ridiculous thing to be thinking about, but Renathal's mind was still fumbling to find sure footing in a world where the Maw Walker was afraid.

"I suppose that would be the Burning Legion," he said slowly.

He hoped his voice might break the spell of whatever horrors held her captive. But the Maw Walker only nodded once, another quiet tremor wracking her frame.

Renathal glanced around the ramparts and what he could see of the courtyard below. Apart from a few scattered dredgers, and the Stoneborn guards he knew waited at the gate underneath, there were no witnesses to observe them. With all the gentle, respectful caution he would apply to a skittish sinrunner, Renathal slipped his arms around the Maw Walker's bare shoulders. She didn't move - another surprise - although one considerably more pleasant.

The initial shock of her fear now fading, he found he very much liked being the Maw Walker's source of comfort. Seeing her capable of anything so mundane as fear was as nice a change as watching her fail at the Ember Court. It made the illustrious champion of the Horde seem more real, not to mention what it did for Renathal's ego. In fact, the only thing marring the buoyant experience was his inconveniently irrepressible curiousity. 

Even as his fingers stroked soft circles in the Maw Walker's silky gown, his mind was racing, seething to know why such commonplace enemies should upset her. He sifted through the sights the Maw Walker had shown him, searching for something she might have let slip ...  Let slip ... the Sin'Dorei had used those same words, and Renathal was struck with an idea.

"Was your sister among those Nightborne killed by the Legion?" he asked, realising his mistake too late.

The Maw Walker stiffened in his arms. She released her hold on Renathal and lifted her head, face fixed in an expressionless mask.

"Did one of Revendreth's souls tell you that as well, your Highness?"

The words were tinged with an unmistakable frost. Renathal scrambled to construct a plausible explanation, a suitable excuse. But he could think of nothing, and the Maw Walker was still staring, and he fell back on his old failsafes: dark humour and charm.

"In a manner of speaking," he said, painting on a wry smile. "I do not believe I specified whether the soul was living or dead. Or ... whether they were condemned to Revendreth or here on some different errand."

The Maw Walker blinked slowly, then turned, still carrying Renathal's wine glass, and walked briskly down the ramparts in the direction of the stairs. Leaving Renathal's heart to plummet miserably as he kicked himself for his misstep. Her uncommon volubility in the illusion had disarmed him, lulled him into a false sense of candor. And now ...

Now, he thought glumly, he had damaged the remarkable friendship they had managed to create, and almost certainly destroyed his budding hopes for more. He would be demoted to the same status as the Sin'Dorei: an acquaintance whose tiresome company the Maw Walker was occasionally forced to endure. And that thought was so unbearable, Renathal forsook his own scrupulous self-regard. 

He followed the Maw Walker's path down the ramparts, in something shamefully close to a run, determined to offer an apology she could not reasonably refuse. He had no idea if he was truly sorry, or even what he had to be sorry for, but that was beside the point. The Maw Walker was the refreshing oasis that sustained Renathal in these tumultuous times, and he would shelve his sense of fairness - and his insatiable curiousity - if the alternative was losing her altogether.

His brisk footsteps slowed as he rounded the corner. The Maw Walker was still at the top of the stairs.

She had retrieved her abandoned wine glass and was filling it again, Renathal's own waiting beside it on the iron baluster. When the glass was full - much more than was strictly proper - she emptied the last of the bottle into his. Renathal took this as a sign the Maw Walker would permit his presence, though he walked the rest of the ramparts with a greater degree of caution.

"I'm sorry," she said as he reached her, though she addressed the courtyard below. "I know things are different here. Death ... doesn't seem like such a loss. It's not the end of anything for you, but ... you must understand, it was for me." Wine trickled down the Maw Walker's chin as she gulped down the last of her glass. She brushed it away, fingers hiding her face as she finished, "My sister's death was the end of my life, and I prefer to let it rest in peace."

There was a definite tremor in the Maw Walker's voice, but her hand as she set down her glass and picked up Renathal's was steady.

"I know you have an ... excessive fondness for stories," she said, turning to face Renathal though not meeting his eye. "But mine is disappointing. And I prefer it to be forgotten. I hope you can understand this, and I hope ... we can still be friends."

The Maw Walker held the wine out to Renathal like an offering of peace. Its request was inherent, and he hesitated only a second before acquiescing.

If privacy was the price for her friendship, he would find a way to pay it. He nodded his agreement, accepting the glass with both hands.

"I apologize," he said, and was surprised to find a genuine earnestness tripping his tongue. "I cannot pretend to truly understand, but ... you do not have to explain if it pains you. And ... I am sorry for your sake that circumstances have led you here. Revendreth must seem a very poor replacement for your home and your family."

The Maw Walker blinked, and her sangfroid gently thawed.

"I wouldn't say that," she replied. "Renathal."  She added his name in a voice as soft as Suramarian twilight. And while it could not quite be called adoration, it still made Renathal's anima effervesce.

With a final eloquent shudder, the Maw Walker shed the conversation like an ill-fitting coat and leaned back against the balustrade.

"Alright," she said, adopting a business-like air. "Explain to me how atonement works. All these different sins and their punishments, I just - do not understand. How do you decide what sort of punishments make up for the different kinds of crimes?"

Renathal's long-suffering sigh would have made the Sin'Dorei's pale face green with envy, as would the friendly, familiar way he leaned on the balustrade beside the Maw Walker.

"We do not punish in Revendreth," he explained. "We educate."

The next hour found them propped side by side, debating the intricacies of atonement. And while they remained at least a sword's length apart, Renathal genuinely felt no disappointment. It was not exactly how he had hoped the evening would end, but, for the moment, he was smugly content in the knowledge he remained a different sort of friend.

The Maw Walker was not going anywhere. Renathal could wait.

Read Part 21: Mortal Reminders: What are you hiding? | Visit the Masterpost

[lothirielswan]

"The Boyfriend"

Continue the tale Dear Prince Dandelion here!

Quest Objective: Prepare the perfect first date.

Bonus Objective: Choose the most romantic location on Azeroth!

— MOUNT HYJAL —

“Cheers to our courtship,” My glass of  Pandaren Plum wine clinked against Anduin’s.

“Cheers,” He smiled into his glass.

My eyes rose to the canopy of leaves above dyed gold from the bleeding sunset as I took a sip. A picnic at Mount Hyjal seemed like a fun “official” first date. Faerie dragons serenaded one another from branch to branch. A magical mist of stardust hovered over the lavender lake that replaced the first Well of Eternity. 

“I’ve never been here before. It’s beautiful,” Anduin leaned back on his elbows. The silken blanket beneath us rippled despite the pillows piled on one side to keep it in place. 

“It is. No wonder Ysera preferred here to Northrend,” I said, thoughts drifting to the Dreamer. 

“Did you know her well?” 

I shrugged and set down my glass on the picnic basket. “She used to join my family’s poker nights. She made mojitos for everyone…I miss her.” 

The balcony where she used to stand, weaving magic in the air, was empty. My chest tightened at her absence.

“Did Alexstrasza ever join? I noticed she didn't sit with your family when we met in Pandaria,” Anduin noted politely. 

My gaze traced the lip of the lake before us. The surface shimmered like the transparent cloak Alexstrasza used to wear. My time with her at Wyrmrest Temple was (trips to Stratholme aside)...strange. Alexstrasza asked for stories of Outland and my mother. When I asked for stories of Azeroth, the conversation turned…evasive. Alexstrasza would avoid the topic of my mother like an unpleasant rumor. That rift never repaired, despite all she had done to remedy us. 

“Not really. I always felt as if there is something that Alexstrasza is hiding.” I admitted. 

“Sounds like you when we first met,” Anduin chuckled to himself. 

“Was I that bad?”

“It was more like a rogue. Now, you just seem more like you—if that makes any sense.” With a hesitant hand, Anduin reached out and tucked a stray hair behind my ear. 

The sun now slept. The flora of the forest casted a dim glow; giant flowers and mushrooms bathed our skin blue. Faerie dragon wings whispered as they frolicked in the shadows. 

“Are you cold?” I asked as Anduin sat up, pulling his knees to his chest. 

I opened my arms. Anduin slid between my legs and leaned against my chest. Lavender melted the air. 

“I didn't know much of Kael’thas when you first told me he was your father.”

My body stilled. I hadn't realized that my confession in Stormwind was the first time I admitted to Anduin who my father was. He hadn't reacted much; when he claimed I was royalty, I thought he knew. Perhaps he meant my maternal family. 

“I heard of him from Velen and Liadrin. When I heard of him in the past, I always focused on the Sunwell—I wondered if it had any connections to the Naaru.” Anduin admitted.

“And?”

“I’m curious. What was it like on Outland with him and Illidan…?” In the silence that followed, Anduin apologized. “I’m sorry. If you don't wish to speak of it—”

“It’s…complicated.” I said, relieved Anduin couldn't look at my face as I spoke of the following. 

“When my father came to Outland, he nearly reconciled with my mother—but I think she did so more for my sake than her own. The affair happened not long after.” 

Anduin peeked up at me. “The affair?”

“My father betrayed Illidan by joining Kil’jaeden. But Kael’thas tried to convince Illidan of his loyalty—or maybe he did care for him, I don’t know…”

“Kael’thas…and Illidan?”

“Yes.”

“And your mother remains on Outland…”

“Yep. With my aunt who belongs in a psych ward.” 

Anduin stiffened in my arms. “And yet you still remain close to Illidan? Enough to help him with Ar—with…his one hundred and sixty pounds of stupidity?” 

My face caved into a smile. “You’re adorable. Yes. I don't know how we’ve remained so close…It could be our shared desire to thoroughly remove the threat of the Legion. He is very good at that.” 

Or maybe we both represent a time long past that we will never get back. 

My mind wandered back to my mother and her long silence. The affair wasn't pleasant. Perhaps it had more effect on her than I thought—that might’ve been the source of her quiet. It was doubtful that my aunt would ease things. 

“Does that mean I finally win?” Anduin mused. “Have the Kaldorei finally proven themselves better saviors of the earth than dwarves?”

I laughed quietly. “Maybe. I guess you’re right.”

“What do I win?”

“Hmm…” My arms tightened around him as I thought of a reward.

The world around us was in slumber. Meadows of lilies swayed, their long necks tossing their petals to and fro. It’s a shame we spent so much time discussing darker subjects. I’m glad Anduin knows, but I had other plans for tonight… 

I leaned into Anduin’s neck and pressed an experimental kiss there. He didn't move.

“I assume that by courting me you also agree to the… physical components.” My lips grazed his ear.

I placed another kiss on his jaw. Anduin’s adams apple bobbed as he swallowed. “What exactly does ‘physical components’ entail…?”

I turned his face towards mine with a finger under his chin. “Whatever you desire. Why don't you enlighten me?” 

My lips pressed against his. It felt like my first kiss, the almost foreign feeling of my mouth moving against Anduin’s. Soft as lily petals caressing one another, stems intertwining, whispering seductive thoughts. 

Anduin turned in my arms. My fingers scrambled for exposed skin, curling around his neck. His pulse was hot and throbbing beneath my touch—

Anduin moaned into my mouth. The desire to be soft and gentle burned beneath my craving for him.

Our positions changed; Anduin’s body was under mine. My tongue traced his lips. His hands clutched at my back as if holding on for dear life. Every inhale roused lavender. 

My lips parted from Anduin’s to trail down his neck. Red spots blossomed across his skin. My teeth grazed his earlobe, “How far would you like to take this, Your Majesty?”

Pants escaped Anduin’s parted lips. The voice that answered was husky and aroused, “Whatever you see fit, my rose.”

Anduin’s labored breathing paused as my fingers drew a random design on the inside of his thigh. He jolted beneath my touch. My fingers traveled higher—

Wings flapped above us. A snarky retort disrupted the quiet. “For once, I am overjoyed by my lack of eyesight.” 

I stilled. My face remained pressed against Anduin’s neck, holding my breath. Maybe if we’re quiet, he’ll just go away… 

Anduin’s voice entered my thoughts. Are you sure you want to leave your hand there? I don't mind in the least, but— 

Oh! Sorry! 

Our bodies remained entwined. The cool breeze from his wings tousled my hair.

“If you plan to make me uncomfortable with this grand display of affection, let me remind you that the Den of Mortal Delights existed in the Black Temple. Don’t let me…dissuade you.”

I inhaled sharply. Speak of the devil. My breath flared against Anduin’s skin, “Perv.” 

“The current circumstances would apply that title to you.” 

I climbed off Anduin. We sat upright. I bit down to prevent a lot of nasty remarks from escaping. The one time he decides to do something parent-like! Just give me one hour alone with Anduin to sate this thirst— 

Illidan landed before us. His nose crinkled in Anduin’s direction. “This is the boyfriend?” 

“Yes.”

Illidan’s expression soured. “Blond men obsessed with bright objects are drawn to you like moths to an open flame.”

“And I could say the same to you.”

I imagined Illidan rolling his eyes beneath his blindfold. He couldn't see my hardened glare of contempt, but I continued to wear it.

“We need to speak. Alone.” Illidan said.

“Okay.” I placed my hand atop Anduin’s. “Please share your little gems of wisdom with us.” 

No one moved for a long moment. Anduin’s eyes drifted to me, questioning whether I bluffed. I stared straight ahead, waiting for Illidan’s next move.

The demon hunter broke the silence first. “I prefer not to share this in front of Arthas the Second.” 

“The boyfriend stays—and be nice!” I patted the blanket below us. “Join us.”

It was the most miserable I had ever seen Illidan as he took a step forward and kneeled on the silken ground. Nothing would be hidden from Anduin. I wouldn't tip toe around him as Alexstrasza did with me. Illidan was also an integral part of my family…and Anduin would have to get used to the craziness somehow. 

“What I am about to share cannot be uttered by any other living mortal.” Illidan’s whisper was hushed by the shivering lilies. 

Anduin and I exchanged a look. He inched closer to me and took my hand in his. We waited for Illidan to continue. 

“Someone has released Sargeras from the Titans’ hold.” 

A high pitched ringing noise deafened my ears. The world around us unfocused, lines blurring and brown filling my vision with a bright, bleeding red. 

Anduin’s voice echoed from a faraway place. “How? Who released him?”

“I do not know. Whoever it is is mad enough to put the entire cosmos at risk.” Illidan’s words had an edge sharper than his warglaives. 

The red was dissipating, but the voices around me traveled through water to my ears. My hand tightened around Anduin’s as I willed reality to return. 

“Do you know where he is?” Anduin asked.

“No.”

Who could undermine the Titans? Why would they unleash the destroyer of worlds? 

“Is the Legion returning?” Words finally forced their way from my dry mouth.

The last Legion invasion of Azeroth affected every life on the planet. Thousands had perished. Now it was worse. Now I had too much to lose. 

Illidan’s claws curled into fists. “Whoever unleashed Sargeras must be found…and eliminated.”

Continue the tale Dear Prince Dandelion here!

[agilneanrose]

Southwatch War room

“Rosemarri?”

She blinked, pulling herself from internal thoughts before she shifted her attention to the owner of the voice in the doorway.  Burrich. She shook her head slightly, attempting to shed  the clinging fingers of dread, and forced a smile.

“You can come in..” She moved around the table that had previously had her full attention. A sturdy old thing with a thick map the only responsibility that the table had. The map was of the known world, the surface constantly skittering with ticks of arcane magic beneath what looked to be chess pieces.  She waved her hand to motion to the map and the figures. “I call it the tattle tale table. Mostly in use when our people go to war. You see here? This one is Adamar and there is Yelena.” She plucked the figure off of the table and the moment she did the illuminated chess-like piece went dark in her hand.  “Each piece is enchanted.” She set Yelena back on the map and at once the figure began to glow.

“I can see where they are at all times - upon Azeroth.” A pause. “..unless they are dead.”

A movement from the corner of the room saw the youngest Sunshield leave behind her book and creep toward where the pair stood. Her arms tangled around her mother’s hips and a fair cheek pressed against her side. “Where is Grandpa?”

“He isn’t on the table; he did not go to war.”

“Where am I?”

“Silly girl.” Rosemarri’s head leaned forward, peering at Harmony for a moment before she turned her attention back to the map. “You can see they are in the ocean there.” She explained the arm not curled around her daughter motioned to the landfall that was taking shape slowly upon the living map. “And that is where they will end up today.” 

“Where is Greer?”

“He stayed home to help Grandpa - “

“Grandpa doesn’t need help.” She pressed her face firmly onto her mother’s side, refusing to look at Burrich or anything other than the map. 

“But it can be nice to have.” Araian’s voice sounded from the doorway, drawing the attention of those at the war table as he approached. He clapped one hand on Burrich’s shoulder only for a moment before Harmony’s form demanded both of his arms. “How close?” 

“They will reach land by nightfall.”

@theoldlord

@burrichgreer

[sjolldorei]

~ Local Hero Returns Home from years of travel and glory! ~

Sjoll Sunguard, Sin'dorei adventurer of some renown, has returned to Quel'thalas for some much needed peace and quiet. After a long career of danger and heroism, this swordsman has decided to setlle down at his ancestral home in Eversong, where he plans to "spend some quality time relaxing alone, before helping to train the younger blade wielders in Silvermoon", our reporter was told.

Read more in the full article below.

Mr. Sunguard, pictured below on the Azurebreeze Coast, has come home to our lands of beauty and peace after his long and painful career as a warrior of the Horde.

We were honored to interview Sjoll as he walked along the beaches, gifting us a brief insight into his adventurous past.

"I first took up the sword when my father, Sol'osh, started training me," he began. "The woodland to the south where we lived wasn't the safest, quite far from any guard presence, so it was for self-preservation as much as anything else."

Growing up, Sjoll had two seperate parents - A Sin'dorei librarian, Sathir Sunguard, and an Amani elder, the aforementioned Sol'osh. We were quite intrigued as to how the young Sjoll came into the care of an Amani, life-long enemies of us Sin'dorei.

"It was a... strange situation. I won't say too much, only that both of my parents cared for me to the best of their ability, and I love and appreciate them both dearly for that."

The adventurer wasn't keen on elaborating further, only saying that the two parents had been in contact several times since his adulthood, and got along "very very well."

"I left eversong in search of adventures and, well, to explore! There's so much world out there to see, it never truly ends." Sjoll's passion for our world of Azeroth - as well the many worlds beyond - jumped out of his words, our reporter noted.

As tales were told of glories and gore from times gone by, we headed south towards the home Mr. Sunguard would be living in from now on. Unfortunately we cannot let loose every little detail, so we've compiled a short list of the most exciting questions:

Q: What's the most danger you've ever been in?

A: That would probably be during the Legion campaign some years ago. I was working with the Armies of Legionfall to secure various smaller invasion points, when one of my allies was dragged into a Legion portal! I ran in straight after them, killing a pair of felguards and distracting an infernal while my comrade, an enchanter, worked furiously to reopen the portal that had closed behind us! If it wasn't for them I would've died on that Legion world.

Q: Have you ever known love?

A: Ah... quite a few times, but only for fleeting moments. Sadly the nature of adventuring tends to keep a person on the move, so nothing has lasted. But I think I'm quite happy with a solitary life. It suits me well!

Q: Do you think you'll find love now that you've settled down a bit?

A: Are you asking for yourself...?

Q: Do you have a favourite battle technique you'd like to share?

A: There was an old classic I used to love, "The Bladestorm" - I'm sure you will have heard about it. The warrior would extend their weapons outwards and push their strength into whirling their entire body around in a deadly spin - much akin to "The Whirlwind" - but refusing to stop for neither friend nor foe. I could only manage 8 or so seconds, but a talented warrior could go for 20 at least!

Q: Many of our readers will be wanting to ask for advice, or words of wisdom. Do you have any of those?

A: Hm... It may be said often, but always follow your heart. This world is a wild place - busy and enormous, certainly, but filled with potential for anyone to be anything. And if you ever need any help, please, rely on the adventurers that came before you. We want to see our sucessors succeed as much as we did, if not more!

Lake Elrendar, pictured above, spills forth from the Amani mountains and flows down into the Western cost of Quel'thalas. Sjoll will be living near its pine-dotted shores for the forseeable future, although he assures us that there are still adventures in his future.

"Don't be too surprised if you come knocking in the future to find a note on the door reading 'Gone out for eggs, be back in 2 years' !"

If our time with Mr. Sunguard told us anything, it was that he was always eager to help out any adventurers in need - so if you need any personal advice or assistance, I'm sure you know just the elf to ask! Just be aware that he might be on a months-long trip to the shops if you're unlucky...!

[zoriaah]

🇨🇵 Voici le lien de mon webtoon en Azeroth, dont l'histoire s'écrit depuis le début de mes aventures en 2016. Nous suivrons mon personnage principal majoritairement.

C'est avec joie que je partage son histoire avec vous.

🇬🇧 Here is the link to my webtoon in Azeroth (french only). I write the story since 2016 and it keeps evolving. We will follow the storyline of my main character mostly.

I am happy to share this with you.

[jerek]

good lord this one's a beast. heimdall oc/canon 3

Nothing had come of the incident with the raven. Except that Heimdall didn’t sleep so easy. He’d thought he had sharp ears before, but now… now, he could hear a sparrow’s wing-beats in Midgard.

One question he’d been asked a few nights ago was still rattling around inside of him: do you read memories?

He didn’t think he could. The closest he came was piecing together what happened to someone based on who they were now: he’d never outright seen an event in someone’s past. Of course, she who’d asked this question was so nondescript as to render the answer irrelevant.

He fancied the idea of reaching further with his foresight, though. Beyond momentary attacks. Beyond intent or strategy, even. The All-Father had him there, he would admit.

No, he was not particularly upset that he didn’t know where Midha came from. If anything, he wondered where she was headed. A solid plan was out of the question. If any decision was made, it would be made for her.

Their latest meeting was at the far cliff, far from the Lodge. On a low outcrop, half-shrouded in mist, one could make out a silhouette.

“You,” he said, “are going to get yourself killed.” He offered a hand, which Midha watched for a moment before taking. “I hope you’re ready for that.”

She stood. She felt even lighter than the boy… hell, she looked lighter than the boy, with all the advantage of height she had.

He sighed. “Am I talking to myself? Exactly what are you doing in broad daylight– where the All-Father can see?”

“Has he seen me yet?”

Heimdall snickered. “You’re funny. Almost as funny in the tongue as you are in the skull.” He walked in a slow circle around Midha, once again taking stock. Wasn’t too often he got to compare Aesir with mortals… and visually, when she was standing still, there was nothing to suggest she couldn’t be immortal.

He liked being behind people. Just off to their side. From that position, he put a hand on her back and looked out into the sea of clouds.

And once again, he had to break the silence. He gave her a little smack on the tailbone: “Lighten up a little!” He paused and added, “No offense.”

For a second, it looked like she might truly be offended by that. And then she smiled.

It was better than being a God. He grit his teeth inside a closed mouth. She asked him: “I guess I’m alright, then?”

“Odin hasn’t mentioned you, no. He’s forgiven mischief far worse… but I’m his most reliable. The worst I’ve ever done is see his ideas through after he forgot he came up with them.”

She made a little noise of acknowledgement. She was… quite unbothered, and it didn’t make sense. No reaction, no anger– he barely knew when she was confused, and only because she wasn’t the type to pretend she wasn’t.

“How come,” he asked now, “you know so many specifics about me, and I only know the broad strokes about you?” He turned to face her, and squared her shoulders to make her face him. “Don’t you think I’d like to hear specifics?”

“I don’t know that you’d believe me.”

There was that cold again. “Judging is my job.” He let his own offense roll over him, almost tickle him, and he let out a single breath’s worth of laughter. “In Asgard, everyone has a role. Your role is to appear to me, to nobody else, and to tell me all the things you won’t tell anyone else! Now…”

He put a thumb to the padding of her lower lip. “Use this mouth of yours. Start with… I don’t know. What’s the last thing you killed?”

She sank deep into thought. Possibilities flashed in her eyes: spectacular tales, all of them recollections of real events. “I’m waiting,” he reminded her.

“A manifestation of N’zoth.”

“Ah. And what would N’zoth be?”

Again, she was thinking of how to explain it. Eventually, though, she settled on this: “One of the first gods on Azeroth. It was… corruption embodied. Parts of it would manifest, and I was sent to cut them down.”

“So she’s a mercenary.” He curled his finger and thumb under her chin. “A living weapon.”

“I’m the part of my employer that does what the rest of him can’t.”

“Who’s the employer?”

She blinked at him. He could tell she was pondering whether or not to tell him. The walls of Asgard repeated around the secret. Don’t tell him, he could–

“Wrathion.”

Heimdall grinned. “Who?”

“Wrathion. A dragon in human form. There isn’t enough time in the day for him to do all the things he needs to do.”

He stroked his own chin, too. He’d have to take better care of his stubble. “It’s a shame you have no will of your own. Poor, boring little wallflower. All the freedom you’ve felt and you waste it living other people’s lives for them.”

Whatever they ate back there, she still had a stash. He could smell it on her breath as he leaned in. Almost like apples… but not quite.

“What is it like? Back on Azeroth?”

Midha watched the cloud-sea ripple. She recalled aloud… “People die as fast as they’re born. They’re born as fast as they die. Every culture is built on the assumption that half or more of us are willing to fight for our living, and so… it enforces itself.”

“That doesn’t sound too unfamiliar,” he said.

“I guess not.”

He tilted his head. “You’re a random, mortal woman. You are… far beyond the reach of any eye or ear of your homeland. And you’re still thinking of doing someone else’s bidding. Why? Why not run away for good?”

A bird chirped somewhere in the distance. All the reasons were swimming around in her head again.

“You know: if you don’t answer me, I might…” He looked at his hand, and watched his fingers walk back up to her lip. “I might just reach in and get those answers myself.”

“To prove not everyone ends up like me.”

Heimdall blinked. “Very noble. It must be awful there, then, but I suppose someone has to get their hands dirty.” He almost turned away then and there: leave her with her thoughts, he surmised, so she might be as hungry for his voice as…

“But you could have been a little more descriptive.” His hand clenched around the sides of her mouth. Her lips splayed in a fishlike pout.

He lunged forward and thumped her head on the stone behind them. He shut his eyes to her, holding her wrists, even as they slid up and down on the rock. Fight, he urged her. Kick like a rabbit.

His mouth ached with how she pressed her teeth. He only let up enough to ask, still halfway down her throat: “What’s that on your breath?”

Some type of fruit, definitely. Rich and dark and dry, but sober. Mortal. Mortal women, at least this one, were decadent: like the cream the cat got.

He wedged his hand between their two faces and pinched her nose. His shoulder pinned her other arm. Their strange dance spun the both of them almost all the way around. It was difficult to dodge like this, when the object was to remain in physical contact, but they ended up roughly where they were before, her skull to the rock, his elbow jabbed into her own, their opposite hands holding above their heads.

She tried to speak. She couldn’t, of course. But somewhere in that muffled, strangled sound, one she had to repeat twice for him to get it, there were two syllables. Heimdall.

His laugh was almost involuntary. He let her breathe: he pulled out and furrowed his eyebrows at the spit-bridge between them.

“It would be so easy.” He wiped his mouth. “Tell Odin myself. Better yet, summon the armies of Asgard down on whatever rift you crawled out of. After all, Midha, I am the watchman. I… am the…”

Heimdall brought his hand to his cheek. There was a tremor in his hand. His cheek was burning. Down his chest, his heart was backflipping, and his gut was twisting. He could read his own intentions too, see himself for what he was.

“Watchman,” he concluded. He stared at her for a long while, but really he was looking backward. Inward. What for, he didn’t know, because whatever it was: he couldn’t find it. Eventually, he had to live in the moment again, and when he focused on her it was as if he’d never seen her before in his life.

Regardless, he crossed his arms and rested his forehead on hers. “Think I should quit while I’m ahead?”

No answer. No thoughts to read. She might as well be his right hand.

He sighed. “You really don’t care whether you live or die, do you?” With a little too much of a shove, he turned away and began to climb back up. “If you don’t hear from me, you’ll hear from the All-Father.”

He had to tell him. Today. Before he found a reason to put it off.