thomasadderford

[thomasadderford]

Def the Venthyr. Is that even a choice?

(Hypothetical) What Covenant Would Your Character Join?

Let’s ride out the last of the BlizzCon hype with this question:  Which of the four covenants would your character join, if given the opportunity and made to pick?

Mozelle would go for the Night Fae.

[thomasadderford]

There Will Be Blood // Kim Petras

[thomasadderford]

Hi ! It seems with 8.3 coming soon [SPOILER ALERT] That Calia is going to try and be a guide for the Forsaken to go through their undeath state. It reminds me very much of Shadow Mom, but I wonder what she'd think of that ? Would she be happy that the princess is finally able to help her people ? Would she think it's too little too late ? And what if Calia tries to bring the Forsaken to the Light ?

Lucretia may be a little biased.

[thomasadderford]

October Writing Challenge

Day 1: Revenge

a story for @turning-through-the-never‘s writing challenge via my main blog @brillraven

~

How long had he been asleep? 

Where was Alain? Anne? Mother?

They...They were dead, weren’t they? 

The ground was wet and musty underneath his face. It had recently rained, and the moon was beginning to peek out between the branches of the tall Silverpine trees. He felt stiff...and this horrible taste crawled through his mouth like he had been chewing on pig slop. He felt tired and cold and so chose not to get up, but laid there in the grass watching the stars twinkle in the sky. He had always loved the Silverpine forest. The last time he saw it was when he was forced to leave Dalaran. Oh, Dalaran...it had been so long. Was Alain still there, he wondered? Did he still love him? 

It was then that the realization dawned on him. He wasn’t in Stratholme. In the quarantined hell-hole that was once his house. Barricaded inside like rabid beasts with his father...Stratholme was...not close to Silverpine. How did he get here? Did someone save him? Hope fluttered its birdlike wings within his chest. Someone saved him! He needed to find them and thank them! He lurched to the side, propping himself on his elbow as he planted his hand in the ground. He needed to get up. He had escaped. He could find Alain. Oh...Alain...

What he saw stopped his breath cold. Or, rather, made him conscious of the fact that he hadn’t been breathing at all. The hand planted on the ground was deathly pale, almost blue, and moldering as the flesh rot away in places. His fingertips were entirely gone, cream-white bones wiggling in the dirt. It was at this time that he heard a voice. It was raspy, like sandpaper across skin, but he recognized its deep timbre wavering with emotion. 

“Thomas...Oh...Thomas, my son...Oh...by the Light, my boy...”

Slowly, with a mechanical precision, he inclined his head towards the noise, and recoiled when he saw his father. Lord Adderford was a well-built man with golden blonde hair and a full beard. He cut a very noble figure, but now the glowing blonde locks were the color of sewer water, his pale flesh rotting away in places, a black tongue like a river eel lolling out of his mouth. One of his eyes was missing, and the one that remained was a ghastly yellow that glowed in the dark like a wolf’s. 

Thomas was rooted to the spot with fear. Not just the fear of his father being a Scourge, but the fear that his father had somehow escaped Stratholme with him. His memories of his father were of snarling condescension and a strong backhand, of a grip that could tame a horse and nearly crush a windpipe, of a vast and cruelly efficient network of thugs who could drag his son out of the arms of his lover and into a magic-nullifying cage that was carted through backroads and across mountain passes to avoid the prying eyes of people whose opinion he cared about. 

As Thomas thought these things, he felt the cold arms of his father wrap around his shoulder, the noble lord’s shoulders shaking in silent sobs. He was...happy to see him. As Thomas raised his hands to observe them while his father embraced him, he noticed a tiny flicker of flame dance from bony fingertip to bony fingertip. His magic had persisted through all of this like a rusted key left in the bottom of a shoe, the force that now filled his chilled body with warmth, flames, rage, fury.

He gently placed his hands on his father’s head and embraced him. He clutched his father tight, tighter, tighter, tighter, the man in his arms beginning to writhe in discomfort. 

“Thomas, what are you...Thomas, stop this. Thomas? Thomas! THO-” He wasn’t able to respond. Thomas had found his strength and forced his father down onto his back onto the dirt, his rotting hands covering the entirety of his father’s face. The man began to scream, clutching and clawing at his son’s arms to free them of the vice grip, the kind of grip only a dead man can have. The sound of cracking bone was heard, as well as the flicker of embers. There was no hesitation now, no cowering, no hiding. There was only the roaring of flames, the screams of a dying man, and the scream of a dead man taking revenge, the lone eye of the moon standing witness. 

Afterwards, in the dark loneliness above his father’s ashes, he found he wanted to cry. So badly did he want to cry, to release this misery that gnarled like an ancient tree around his soul. He was undead, an abomination, and utterly alone. He found, however, that the tears did not come. He was not capable of them anymore. Summoning a flame in his hand, he thought then of ending it, of engulfing himself in his own fire. How much more misery would await him? What joy was there in this curse?

That was when he heard the Banshee scream. That was when he learned that one could still have hope after death.

[thomasadderford]

They did not expect you to fight. They expected you to cower down, bow before them, accept the fate that they had thought out for you. All the more satisfying, then, to smirk up at them through the blood, saying i'm not done yet. You have no idea of the extent of my defiance.

[thomasadderford]

“I am someone who did not die when I should have died.”

— Anne Carson, from Grief Lessons: Four Plays by Euripides (via violentwavesofemotion)

[thomasadderford]

“But look at what happened at Arathi! The gap between us is fading! Humans and Forsaken can indeed be friends, I’ve seen it happen!”

Thomas hobbled down the road from Orgrimmar to Razor Hill. The Alliance camps were being taken down, the blue blight upon his familiar barren wasteland of a home city. Jut the other day he had thirsted for the flesh of these worms. This was to be his baptism, his tide of blood and widow’s wails that brought glory to his queen. He had understood the lesson she had taught; nothing lasts, honor is meaningless. And now here he was, reviled in his own city, and being followed by a lone human cleric down a deserted road. 

She kept talking. “And now that Sylvanas is gone, you can have a true Menethil back on the throne of Lordaeron! Calia’s recently undead too, there’s so much you two have in com-hrrk!” 

The words caught in her throat as the muscles in her throat contracted closed. She choked on her own spit, then simply choked, her vision swimming in her eyes as she leaned forward to grab onto Thomas’ shoulder for support. The undead, one bony fingertip pressed to his palm in silent spellcraft, whirled around and watched as the girl fell to her knees then on her face, clutching at her throat to will the dark magicks away. 

The warlock knelt down to her face, close enough that she could smell death on him. “You utter the name of a Menethil in my presence and I will eat your heart raw. Foolish bitch, your kind will never be safe as long as I live on this miserable rock. The war has ceased for now, but there will always come another. And when it does, I will litter the streets of Stormwind with so many dead that Arthas himself would have trembled. I will make my queen proud.” 

He recognized that he was taking the situation out of hand. He was angry, at everything, even at his queen, and his anger had been rotting like a festering corpse in his mind ever since the funeral of the traitor, Saurfang. He needed to get out of the city, somewhere isolated he could retreat to until he managed to calm himself down. With a snarl of annoyance he released the curse on the girl, took his staff, and swung it hard at her stomach, causing her first breath to be a lurched gasp of air. 

“Tell your king that the horde is not to be trusted. Tell all of the Alliance. I want them to tire of this peace. I want their revenge, their misery, their suffering, all of it. That’s the only thing left that isn’t fake...” He then turned and began to walk away, leaving the human on her side in the dirt, gasping for air.

[thomasadderford]

my demon

[thomasadderford]

Thomas, a hunched forsaken with flaring yellow eyes beneath the brim of a pointed warlock's hat, leans on his staff. "So that's it then? Everything that's happened is behind us now? This war was instigated because we knew the alliance couldn't let bygones be bygones. What's changed now? The only good thing to come of this was that old orcish fool died his "hero's death" and faced the consequences of his treachery. Now I suppose all that's left is to bend to the alliance's demands."

 “I wonder that too. These times are uncertain, that is true; but even in the face of incredible odds, there are always choices. Some are less obvious in nature, subtle acts of resistance in the face of those who will seek to bend others to match their ideals. And then there is the more obvious path; aiding one another through adversity, picking up the pieces and building things anew.” Saviéran’s suggestion was accompanied by a raised eyebrow and an unspoken question.

 “In the end what I am saying is this: do not let the bastards grind you down. In the face of those who cannot accept you for who you are, stand firm. Find strength in those around you. I cannot for the life of me see any virtue in those who think that they should rule, but I see all the potential in the people on the ground, whose lives matter more than any entitled blonde git in a crown. You and those around you make the changes in the world happen, and political ‘power’ is only ever dependant on the agreement of the people.”

 “And let’s face it, there are exceedingly few of us who see any legitimacy in a southern brat and his collection of lackeys - or is he their pawn? Though that is a question for another time.”

[thomasadderford]

Nothing lasts

[thomasadderford]

Do you remain loyal to the Dark Lady? Come my brethren, let us speak. 

(ooc: looking for other loyalists, particularly Forsaken! It’s a rough time right now, we’ve gotta help each other out.)

[thomasadderford]

The Cursebinder’s Protector

Insatiable hunger... frozen woods... lost... inhuman... depraved.

For some, wendigos are a travesty of legend but for others, they are as real as the air we breathe. The bone-chilling tale of the wendigo originates from Algonquian Native American folklore and is the horrifying result of brutal starvation and desperation.

A lone hunter strayed from the path, becoming trapped in a snowy wasteland, succumbs to the gnawing craving to fill the hole in his gut... with human flesh.

Having grown fond of the flavour, the hunter consumes more and more. With each victim, the hunter finds his humanity slipping away, his body becoming more and more bestial. The hunger does not dissipate either, in fact, it only grows stronger with each passing kill. Yet, the hunter cannot stop himself. He continues to feast on human flesh until he turns into something hardly human. A wendigo. They are said to have the ability to replicate human cries, drawing its victims deeper into the woods and towards their death.

You have always been something of an anomaly. You have never quite fit in. You may seem normal enough but it is as if you don't quite fit into line with everyone else. It is this disconnect which connects the wendigo to you. Maybe you were once a target but now, you are a curiosity. It has dismissed its hunger pangs to observe you. Maybe you remind it tragically of the life it once had. Whatever the reason, it desires to protect that spark you carry, that which should never be extinguished. You have since become rather isolated, putting up a facade to keep others at bay. Perhaps it is this isolation which causes you to lose touch with humanity or the connection with those around you. Maybe you are the type to eat away your problems. Just remember: stick to the path,

You never know where desperation may lead you...

~

tagged by: multiple people, but I saw it from @safrona-shadowsun

tagging: anyone who’d like to do so!

[thomasadderford]

[thomasadderford]

The warlock leaned on his staff, his shoulders slightly quaking in a odd gesture that supposedly was silent laughter. “You follow a man who has changed loyalties so many times that no matter who you side with, you and your people will never be trusted again. By all means, work with the alliance to plot my queen’s downfall, but you’ll never be considered as more than the treacherous dirt underneath a human’s boot. They will have their spies watching your glittering city, skulking about in your streets, until they deem you have lost your usefulness and end you. You could not survive without the horde or the Forsaken and you will not survive once the alliance removes its hand of blessing from you. 

“‘Tis a pity that the living always choose their precious life which is ultimately such an an ugly and useless thing to protect. When you finally do succumb to death, you will understand like I do just how pointless the endeavor is. And who knows...when the shadow of the infinite looms over you, you may choose a second chance like I did. Then your shame will be complete.”

A hunched and masked Forsaken speaks with a voice like sandpaper, eyes gleaming yellow. "Forgive me if I seem skeptical, but you must not really hate humanity all that much if you seem so ready to follow your traitorous cur of a leader into their embrace. Perhaps you should take the void as well and follow Alleria. Or even Vereesa, since standards and integrity seem to matter so little to you."

Rillumas tilted his brow down at the hunched corpse, the golden glow of his eyes flared like gasoline to a bonfire. “I follow a man who cares for his people, who will do what is needed for his people’s survival. I follow a man who held a dying nation in his arms and brought life back to it, I follow a man who has stared death in the face countless times - without succumbing to it - for the sake of the kingdom and people he loves.” Every syllable that left his lips was filled with the most vile poison mere words could be filled with.

“To dare think anyone can be ‘traitorous’ to the husk that gleefully tosses away the lives of her own people, the Forsaken, and the Horde at large - not out of need, but a first tactic in any battle, such a rarity it is - thank the Light - she is allowed to lead from the front line as she is so tactically inept she is like a child playing soldier. She is a weak, mindless BEAST cowering behind poor souls ripped from their rightful sleep that they themselves are far too IGNORANT to question her ineptitude.” Rillumas pauses for a moment, his teeth gnashed together to such a horrid degree they seemingly on the verge of cracking.“And to compare the loyalty i have to my people, my Regent Lord, as to even SUGGEST - even in insult - that I am to follow the self righteous, self serving THINGS that dare lay claim to being Elves is enough that I should smite you now and leave you smoldering in the dirt of the earth you were so wrongfully wrenched from. Now, leave my sight before I nail you to a banner and leave you to rot.” He spat those words out, a rage alight in his chest he was moments away from breathing fire.

[thomasadderford]

Reblog if you give permission for other characters to:

Hate yours

Be rude to yours 

Become your character’s enemy

Be willing to attack/fight yours in a plot

Develop a bromance or platonic relationship 

Have or receive UNreciprocated feelings with yours

Team up with your character against others

Otherwise engage in non-romantic interactions

[thomasadderford]

Traits

Bold those that apply, italicize if occasional

╳ FLAWS

moody | short-tempered | emotionally unstable | whiny | controlling | conceited | possessive | paranoid | lies | impatient | cowardly | bitter |selfish | power-hungry | greedy | lazy | judgmental | forgetful | impulsive | spiteful | stubborn | sadistic | masochistic | petty | unlucky | absent-minded | abusive | addict | aggressive | childish | callous | clingy | delusional | cocky | competitive | corrupt | cynical | cruel | depressed | deranged | egotistical | envious | insecure | insensitive | lustful | delinquent | guilt complex | reclusive |reckless | nervous | oversensitive | rebellious

♔ STRENGTHS

honest | trustworthy | thoughtful | caring | brave | patient | selfless | ambitious | tolerant | lucky | intelligent | confident | focused | humble | generous | merciful | observant | wise |clever | charming | cheerful | optimistic | decisive | adaptive | calm | protective | proud |diligent | considerate | compassionate | good sportsmanship | friendly | empathetic | passionate | reliable | resourceful | sensible | sincere | witty | funny

🖌 SKILLS & HOBBIES

art | acting | astronomy | animals | archery | sports | beach combing | belly dancing | bird watching | blacksmithing | boating | calligraphy | camping | candle making | casino gambling | ceramics | racing | chess | music | cooking | crochet | weaving | exercise | swordplay | fishing | gardening | ghost hunting |  hunting | ice skating | magic | engineering | building | inventing | leatherworking | martial arts | meditation | origami | parkour | people watching | swimming | puppetry | pyrotechnics | quilting | reading |collecting | shopping | socializing | storytelling | writing | traveling | exotic dancing | potion brewing | tricks & trinkets | crow keeping |

tagged by: @ms-winford

tagging: anyone left who’d like to try!

[thomasadderford]

If my muse was a Disney character, who would they be?