#Darkshire Sound

[thetaizuru]

(Darkshire Sound)

[commanderbragh]

Meet and Greet

February Daily Writing Challenge 2025

Day 3: Salutation

Banagan gently pulled on the reigns, guiding the larion through the afternoon sky. Here and there he could make out the road below through the opening in the trees. Banagan knew he was getting close when the trees started to grow thicker and closer together. The paladin gently coaxed the larion to gain a little altitude and veered him towards the left. Finally, an opening appeared and Banny directed the larion down. They gently landed at the flight path and Banny slid from his saddle. 

With reigns in hand, Banny stepped away from the flight path and looked down the road leading towards Darkshire. The larion padded next to the paladin, keeping watch as they traveled. Banny reached over and gave the larion a gentle pat on his side.

“It’s okay, this is home.” They continued walking, eventually turning off the road and taking a path that led to a familiar house. Banagan came to a stop about five meters away from the door. The larion halted and looked curiously at the paladin before scanning the area. “We need to wait here for a moment,” Banny explained though he wasn’t sure if the larion was paying attention. 

A deep growl could be heard from behind the house. Banny held onto the reigns and waited. After a few moments, a large winged lion came walking around. Flames danced around the lion’s wings and mane as it moved into view and stopped. It let out another growl, but this one was not as threatening. In response, the larion stared directly at the winged lion as a deep rumble started in his chest.

“It’s okay. That’s Valiant,” Banny said in a calm voice. “He’s a friend. You hear that, Valiant? Friend,” he added towards the flaming lion.

“What’s going on out here?” A voice called out as the door to the house opened and an older man holding a warhammer stepped out.

“Hi, dad.”

“Hi, son,” Bragh said as a big grin appeared on his face. Shouldering his hammer he strode forward with his right hand out. As he got closer, the rumble in the larion’s chest grew. Bragh stopped, his grin replaced with a look of curiosity. Hearing another growl, the elder paladin turned to see Valiant stepping to his side. “Behave, Valiant.”

“Sorry for dropping by unannounced, dad. Just thought it would be a good time to introduce everyone.”

“You know you’re always welcomed. So who is this?”

“This is Sentinel.” Banny gave the larion another reassuring pat. The larion still seemed unsure, but had stopped rumbling at least.

“Sentinel, eh? Nice name.” Bragh laid his warhammer on the ground and slowly stepped forward. “Greetings and salutations, noble Sentinel.” 

The larion looked from Braghaman to Banagan and then back to Bragh. The elder paladin stood in front of the larion with his hand outstretched. Sentinel sniffed and then thought for a moment before sitting down. Valiant moved forward to stand next to the elder paladin. The two great felines stared at each other, neither moving or making a sound. Finally, as if by some unspoken agreement, the two cats both laid down on the ground next to their respective paladins. 

Banny and Bragh looked at the two cats before looking at each other.

“He ever do that before?” Banny asked.

“Never. Probably the best outcome for a first meeting.”

“I’ll take it.”

“Well these two look comfy. Be a shame to move them.”

“Agreed. Are the chairs still out back?” Banny asked.

“They are. You want to grab them while I get us some drinks?”

“Yes, sir. Think we can trust these two alone for a minute?”

“Guess we’ll find out,” Bragh answered with a shrug before turning and heading back towards the front door. 

@daily-writing-challenge

[the-blind-geisha]

You're the Inspiration - Chapter 7

King Boo huffed at the remark, spinning around to where he was face-to-face with her. “It was only one time, princess!”

The woman closed her eyes, scrunching up her face as the hot air from his maw felt like a humid gale attempting to knock her over. “How about I tell you what you wish to know while I ask for information as well, King Boo.”

The boo’s lip raised slightly, exposing a row of jagged teeth in the process as he tried to figure her out. “Oh? And what is it you wish to know?”

“I’m aware even one such as yourself has heard about the children disappearing from Darkshire.”

That again.

King Boo knew it was coming given their exchange prior, but he hoped she wouldn't instantly point the finger at him. He wanted to answer in angered protest but he paused—his mind whirling with ideas. “Very well,” he said, his tone subdued. “I’ll allow that the moment you help me achieve what I need. Do we have a deal?”

Princess Peach assumed that was him wanting answers from her about something regarding Bowser. That sounded fair enough. “Deal.”

The king smirked, turning away from her as he headed down the corridor leading her to somewhere in particular in the mansion. “Enough beating around the bush then. I have a woman here in my care.”

Peach felt a bit stunned by that. “A woman? A human woman?”

“Yes.”

Her fingers curled near her chest, wishing she had some sort of item to arm herself with in order to free this woman. “You’re not… going to kill her, are you?”

King Boo sighed exasperatedly. “Half the time I wonder if you humans even know a damn thing about boos and myself with how you behave.”

Chapter 7

[agilneanrose]

“You are not really shopping, I dare to say. Is something on your mind?” A warm question, presented in docile tones, drew her from her thoughts and to the man hovering nearby. His searching stare free of judgment, the tilt of his head, and the faint lift of his brow quickly pulled her from the fog that curled itself around her thoughts and had effectively caused her to linger too long before the ugliest color of orange she had ever seen.

“Uhg..” She exhaled a disgusted sound. “Mister Alderson, you have caught me.” She turned from swatches on the wall, hands at once linking before her skirts. “I came to be inspired but I am afraid I am not fond of the samples you have this week. I had hoped something would jump out at me but instead have been treating your shop like an art gallery, I confess.”  The Threads of Fate was one of the most popular clothing shops in Dalaran, famous for quickly collecting fabrics from all over the worlds. They had their own hired seekers, much like the reliquary, but the seekers sought the new and different in the fabric and textile world. 

“Lady Sunshield..” He began and she knew the words that would come and did. Fabric was art, yahyah, dressmaking was a skill, yahyah, she can linger all she wished, yahyah. An art gallery was a compliment, yahyah. She knew. Again her thoughts drifted and when his hand swung to the side her gaze followed as she focused once more on his words. “... and I have some new pieces that I have yet to swatch, perhaps you would like to see them.  The bolts are in the display case here…” (cut for lengh and to not be annoying, more after the break)

She allowed him to lead her to a glass display where protected beneath were rows of cloth-covered buttons along with bolts of satin, wool, and a dark linen that looked metallic – absolutely something her brother would wear beneath his tabard. That one might work.  She tapped on the glass right above the knitted folds. “You know how to solve all problems, I was lost and you’ve brought me to the best place - the linen there. It would make a fine piece for my brothers.  The metallic is interesting, if you could set it aside? I will place my order shortly, shirts I think.” 

“Of course, my lady. I confess I was hoping you would see it. It fits well beneath your father’s tabard.”

“Agreed.” She watched him move behind the glass, remove the bolt and it wasn’t until he vanished into some back room to store her selection that she caught the movement at the top of the stairs that led down to the first floor of the shop.  Dark hair,  a scar-laced face, and mischievous green eyes that were familiar but not unexpected.

Melek. 

She waited until he spotted her and then fixed a quiet smile in place.  She could feel his restlessness from here, it was in how he walked, how his eyes searched the shop to note the others there.  How his fingers found a resting place in a casual front of laziness but there was nothing lazy about the Knight. Ever. He was dangerous and even more so now that he was bored.  

Fucking bored.

House Sunshield’s success had come in the wake of the Civil War.  They had kept their land, they had circled their wagons and fought - from squire to baker, they all had fought as if they would lose everything. And when the dust settled and the blood dried beneath Westfall’s unforgiving sun? They were okay. Alive.  Araian’s attention turned at once to securing their borders, sending their Viking allies to create and lead a new patrol.  He sent his children to oversee the rebuilding of his towns and even Darkshire saw the fruits of their success as they added their strength to the patrols already being created by others and funded as much as could be budgeted. The Brass Key quickly became beloved allies and the town was left in their capable hands so that House Sunshield could do…what?

Shop. Retire. Have babies. Fall in love. Experience heartbreak and again and again? 

Perhaps that would work for some - a life of farming, babies, and peace. She worked tirelessly to make sure the right paperwork was brought to her father’s attention so that their knights had a piece of land to call their own. Land strategically assigned near others - effectively creating a circle of defense around the keep.  They would be able to raise their children there, if they wished. Farm the land, if they wished. Some did. Some retired right away. 

Except him.  “Is anything ever good enough?” He greeted her once he was close and whatever she was going to say in her own greeting vanished. Age was finding him, gray hinted in his beard and next to laughing eyes creases had begun to claim a forever place - though he was no less dashing for it and he knew it. Her smile dimmed only slightly before it returned to fix in place.

“Do you accuse me of being picky, Sir Melek?” She gasped her mock offense as her thoughts raced and doubt crowded in. Perhaps she shouldn’t take him, perhaps he deserves to retire with his daughters, have more babies, and marry.  His relationship with her sister was wild,  like a match that kept relighting and she didn’t understand it but she wasn’t meant to, she supposed.  Was this how her father felt when his children sought partners? It was terrible not to meddle. His response to her offense she could not recall even if he offered gold for the memory, instead she distracted both of them by laying a fabric swatch against his chest to test the color. Green. A forgotten forest floor that maybe saw the sun once in a rare moment, fitting.  It was a nice color but she was stalling, regretting summoning him and mentally backpeddling all at once.

“What is it, my lady?” He knew something scratched at the back of her mind to be spoken into existence, a decade of service and love gave him that sixth sense she supposed. “You have watched your squire remain dedicated to my father and house. He has fought for most of his life with us and now perhaps views his seat on the council as a retirement position.” She was stalling, over-explaining and she knew it. He knew it but was too polite to hurry her along. 

“His lands are a place to raise his son and for him to grow old farming, not that I say he would not pick up his blade should it be needed….” A different swatch color replaced the green. Blue. The color of the ocean after a storm, a nostalgic color for him? “Are you of the same mind? Do you crave retirement? Do you wish to settle on your lands and raise your wild daughters?” He had two, twins. Their mother was a fortune teller who had been traveling through Darkshire when they met.  No one knew much of her, save for the fact she died following him and Adamar to the war in Draenor.

He remained still beneath her dress-up.  Patiently waiting for her to spit out why he was summoned to Dalaran and to a dress shop of all places. 

“There is no escape..” He began and at once she stiffened, insult gripping her spine painfully. “I crave the taste of blood, bitter on my lips. I want to be set loose, I want to be free.” The sea was pulled from his chest and in its place she set a gray that she hated immediately, the color of a used death shroud at best. She stared at it, turning his words over before she spoke. “There is always an escape, Sir Melek.  But I do not see you as a man that needs an escape, more so just a man that needs a purpose. Escape… “ She repeated, unable to shake the insult his words caused. Did he feel trapped in service? A slave? Anger bubbled to life. “Are you trapped? There is no lock you cannot pick, no guard that can keep you. What freedom do you seek?”  She knew her words grew clipped, the softness fleeing.

“True, yet my blood fills with lead at the thought of turning heel and leaving..” His lips tugged into a wry sort of smile. Was he enjoying the hint of her rising temper? Most assuredly. “I am happiest when I bleed... I was told that once.” Her offense faded quickly and she let her hand fall, leaving the gray behind as she listened. “A truth was plucked from my soul” he continued. “..by an old hag. I have been exposed ever since - I want the violence." His stare left her and moved to the swatches on a nearby counter, motioning with a lift of his chin. “Perhaps a red, crimson?” Blood. 

She tisked and at once rolled her eyes once she spotted what he was motioning to.  “Weighted - because you are not a coward, and your oath binds you in the ways that oaths do for those that know what power those words have.  Red? Crimson? Would that not be a flag of warning? Like a warning sign for those going there where they should not? Doing what they should not.. no.” No warnings allowed, that would not do. She pulled the gray from his shoulder and in its place, a black settled. Black worked.  However, when the light hit it just right, it softened. That also worked. 

“I take it the answer to my question is that you do not wish to play house with my sister on your farmland.”  “No, I don’t…” His words were in agreement with her assumption, changing it to fact.

She doubted very much her sister wanted to play house on a plot of land either.  “I have thoughts..”

“Tell me everything.” 

@melekdyneer @theoldlord - mentioned @sunsandwolves - mentioned

[lenora-reyes]

Lenora Reyes's Not-So-Secret Diary

March 13, 632 K.C.

Dear Diary,

There is a great deal I'd like to share with you since my visit to Darkshire. First and foremost, the rumors surrounding the reappearance of House Sunshield was true. My venture to the darkened wood was not in vain, and in this darkness - I found light once again. It started in the form of Sir Adamar Meadowcroft as he caught sight of me by the fountain. Of all the people that would bump into me first, I might have secretly hoped he was last. And not because I do not respect him or hold utmost admiration to his stature as a Knight, but more so due to my disappointment in myself for abandoning him when he might have needed me most.

Regardless, I have found peace with myself since then in the short time among Lady Sunshield and the other Knights. It was a testament to my character and my inner strength to find courage in life that had fallen to my own self-doubt and darkness. The opportunity to reinvent and bring honor back to my life has been something of a blessing granted by Lady Sunshield. She has ensured me that my return was one that was forgiven and welcomed yet again.

So... Let me introduce you to, Sir Jonathan Folcard - he is the most collected of the knights and caters the embodiment of knighthood in word, deed, and through example. It is evident that he is the heart of the knights, if not the face. There is no doubt in my mind that Father would have spared no hesitancy in offering accolades of praise to Sir Folcard and saying something along the lines of... 'we need more men like you.'

Then there is Dame Eleysia Stormcrow, a Kal'dorei knight with ageless wisdom, ingenuity, and experience in the cursed land of Duskwood. My interactions with her have been brief, but she is an educator by the sounds of it. Perhaps that comes with being a guardian to a child, but... it's hard to say. My Mother would have certainly exchanged words with her about faith and the like. A conversation that I would likely lack the cadence of enjoyment for.

Sir Melek Dy'neer is another knight whose art comes in the way of secrecy, observation, and adaptation. While conversations with him were often unexpected and not arranged, his involvement in my own endeavors are most welcomed. Especially prior to my spar with Sir Adamar Meadowcroft. I would worry for anyone that should cross him or betray his trust, as his tactics are designed for accuracy and efficiency with lethal outcomes.

And of course, here I am returning back to my former Mentor. According to Adamar, my punishment for my breaking of oath was to tend to his son of 3 years. I have yet to meet this child of his, but it saddens me to know he is without his spouse. I don't imagine I will make his child any happier without his true mother present. But for both of their sake's, I'll see what it is I can actually do. And that spar I was mentioning earlier? Well... Adamar is quite formidable in the way of the shield and defense. Not to say his offensive abilities are anything to write off either... Especially given his connection with the light, I wonder how it came to be. He seemed especially taken aback that I kept good care of his former armor, which felt like the only thing I was capable of when I retreated from my duty. Oh, right... I'm deviating from the point... now back to the spar.

Let me just state the obvious. I am RUSTY. Despite my efforts to keep training by my sword. Considerable preparation was necessary after Branson provided me with new armor. Diary, make note, Branson is an eccentric dwarf with a penchant for bloodshed. I think he would sooner goad someone into a fight than service armor if he could choose to.

The chainmail is lighter than my former protection and it compromised my ability to adapt to footwork and apply strength aptly. Yet, Foe Reaper's in Westfall make for great adversaries on short notice. Nor do the farmers mind when it's one of their devices that are haywire that need cut down for service and re-acquisition.

Having had that experience before I engaged in combat with Adamar on a sleepless night was... exhausting. And there is more I must do to earn my honor and hold true to my oath. But no preparation at all would have likely told volumes in that spar. And instead, I found myself doing a fine dance with Adamar. Ugh... that's right... I will have to talk about dances later.

The exchange of our mock blades were not often, but they happened more than I fell prey to them. Needless to say however, when it comes to shields, I am sorely lacking in strategy and will need to invest further on penetrating such defenses when the need arises. Had it not been for my Lady's intervention to encourage me to carry her will, I might have seen myself out of the spar sooner. Yet, I can't help but wonder if there is still some anger harbored deep in Adamar after that use of spit. Or perhaps his effort to make it even was enough to satiate his former dismay in the way of a 'Wet Willy'. I shudder to know what prompted such a retaliation... Perhaps the evil in the world is not limited to demonstrations of crime, but harmless pranks as well.

But it would seem that I must return the favor of sorts to Adamar upon making my way to Southwatch. According to Lady Sunshield, I am within my right to act with retribution and sour the greaves he treads with. So, I am to make use of mud and... soil that which is a knight's responsibility to keep polished and presentable when representing the House they serve. There is no missing the image of my father rolling in his grave that I am going to enact this sin. But at the very least, it shall be all done afterwards. Or I should hope...

The arrival to the Keep will not be long now in Southwatch. Days have been spent attributing to my belongings and arrangements. Sheryl Fahnestock, a local farmer of Westfall has lent me Dopey, her trusted donkey for several days given that my horse was not available. I have been informed that my horse was borrowed when I was in town and I've yet to see it now.

And did I mention the fellow by the name of Finn Skylark? I'm not going to lie, my initial impression of him was... jaded. Perhaps it was due to the locals of Darkshire or my lack of interactions with him. He always seemed... unamused, disappointed, or... bothered by certain actions. When I gave my knee to Lady Sunshield, I think he questioned why I was so formal. Yet, after several conversations now - I think he is just a bit rough around the edges at first. It takes some continued conversation to get him to acknowledge you have a brain in your skull. I may not be the most gifted magic bearer or scholar, but I can tell when I'm feeling judged. And... recently we have come to a common ground for discussion regarding books and improving one's self. I'm looking forward to reading the books he lent me. In fact... Diary, he wrote one of the books! So this will make for passing the time before bed more enjoyable.

Diary, I know that this is a big passage this time around, and there is so much more I wish to discuss. Yet my hand aches from the handling of my belongings prior to this move. To sum up my next thoughts, there are the Necrolords in Duskwood, the emergence of Nyrsylth and Freya, Grandma Mabel, the Kirin'tor Investigator, Mr. Greer, Ichibod, and more! OH AND THE DANCE! I fret greatly on this dance as such a talent was more of my mother's thing than my own. Father told me I was better off fighting than dancing. Now that I have to do both, I wonder what will come from it.

Soon I will have my own room in Southwatch and the deed with Adamar's boots will commence. Light, if I could commune with you, I would ask that if Adamar gets angry again to please guide him away from exposing the truth of my actions. Until next time, Diary.

@theborderlandcoalition @agilneanrose @valorandvictory @adamarmeadowcroft

[elenorasweet]

Not to be rude, but it sounds to me like Oliver Darkshire has made this their entire personality.

[zariasona]

Moonlit Couture

Now Zariasona sat in her Manor with her Head Servant, Agnes, who had been by her side dutifully for years now. Agnes, who had been kind enough to forgo her wages so that it was one less thing for Zariasona to stress over, had just brought over a tea and kettle.

"Mistress, This tea may be on the weaker side. Our reserves grow low." Agnes did not like bringing such ill tidings to her Mistress, but it was sadly a part of the reality that was the days to come. She understood that, and hoped that Zariasona would too.

"I know. I saw the reserves last night when I couldn't sleep again. Even as I carry the twins, I find it harder and harder to sleep. The weight of this is becoming heavier as the days draw on. I've contemplated going and helping Uncle Lytholas at the vineyard. I know that he is in need of assistance, and he'd pay well too."

"Mistress, I think that would be a wise idea. I do not envision that to be the 'clean' work that you are used to, but I know that it would work for you twofold. One, you'd get out of the house and not be so confined. Since stepping out of politics.. You've become such a homebody. Secondly, you enjoy being busy Mistress. You have never been one to sit idle like this. I may not have known you for eons, Mistress, but I know you well enough to know that this is a burden upon your soul."

Zariasona could do nothing more but offer a lighthearted chuckle. There was no denying the truth in Agnes' words. She hated being idle, and she hated staying home so much. She had always been one to hustle about the City. "You know me well, Agnes. Alright. I will reach out to Uncle Lytholas and mention working for him. But I had also hoped to perhaps pitch an idea to you."

The servant woman looked to her Mistress with a look of shock. "Mi-Mistress, you wish to ask for my opinion on something? I hardly think I have the knowledge or know-how that you do to be able to provide any sort of sound advice to you."

Lifting the teacup to her lips, Zariasona closed her eyes as she carefully drank the tea that was less strong than she was used to. "I must confess something to you, Agnes. Despite everything, I view you in a sense as a motherly figure to me. I know that my own age greatly surpasses yours, but you and I have been very close for some time now. Surely you know that, and no part of this comes as a surprise."

It was true. Agnes had yet to hear the words from Zariasona. Now that she had actually heard her words, Agnes held a wide smile to Zariasona. "I had a feeling, Mistress. But I dared not speak or act in a fashion outside of what had already been established years ago now. Last thing I wish to have happen is to be cast out-"

The mere thought of casting out Agnes sent Zariasona roaring in laughter. "You really think I'd toss you out?! Dearest Agnes, you have been my biggest confidant over the years. I couldn't have navigated Stormwind without you. No no, Quite the contrary, you are an Emberspirit, like it or not." She gave a firm nod. "That said, Let me tell you of my idea!"

Excitement filled Zariasona's form as she trembled from it. Even her smile seemed wider than what Agnes had seen before. "Darkshire has no clothing boutique. I have been saying for years that the small town is missing something. So, I had the thought to open a boutique. And I know just what to name it! Moonlit Couture."

If Agnes knew anything, it was how important the moon was to Zariasona. More specifically, the golden crescent moon pendant she used to have was lost in the rubble in the fall of Dalaran. "Mistress.. I think that is a fine name. Your mother would be proud. And as your stand-in mother? I am equally proud." She held a wide smile as she uttered the words to Zariasona.

The quivering lip soon came to Zariasona, and she was quick to set the teacup down. Before long, the Archon's arms wrapped around the elderly woman. "Thank you, Agnes. Truly. I suppose I ought to tell Teremath.."

"Tell me what now, dearest?" As if on cue, Teremath had walked into the room with his muddied-up boots.

"My Lord! Your boots!" Agnes quickly hopped to her feet, ready to scold the Lord for his dirty boots.

"Oh Dalah'surfal! Your timing is impeccable. Let me tell you about this new boutique." Zariasona quickly patted the seat beside her, urging Teremath to come sit as she spoke with exuberance of the newfound idea while Teremath listened intently.

[theborderlandcoalition]

Dreams or memories..

“Do you hope for a girl?” Rosemarri moved from table to table, collecting mugs and abandoned plates to add to the comically growing pile he balanced in his arms. Her sing-song tone tattled her excitement and at once he grinned.

“Today it is a girl we think about, tomorrow a boy. What do you think of the name Lily? Or Abigail?”

The Scarlet Raven tavern was all but empty now, just a few people talking quietly between themselves near the large hearth. Earlier there had been a traveling band that had stopped and the whole place had been filled with music and dancing. A rare pleasure really and after? A mess. Rosemarri was an awkward innkeeper, running the inn like a noble house because that was all she knew and since this was her home now - it worked for them. A least the food was better.

Her laughing stare brought his attention back to what she was saying. The baby!

“We talked about it, dreams and hopes and all that.” He slowed to a stop, and sniffed at one of the tilted mugs. Was that mead? Getting supplies Duskwood was such a chore - let alone alcohol. The bards must of brought it with them - another sniff and he attempted to grip the mug with his teeth and pull it closer. Just a sip.

“Planning is so fun - so you have names picked out for - Oh! No no, do not drink that. You do not know what is in it. Give that to me.”

He had just clamped his teeth down and when she reached up to steal his hard won prize he grunted and turned his head away, and then let it lull back. Perhaps if he could just spill it on himself, he could lick —

“Oh..” This ‘oh’ wasn’t the same disgusted sound and he straightened, mug falling to the ground.

“Alright now?”

“I suppose the baby does not like me wrestling dirty mead mugs from its uncle.” She stood in place, one hand on the wooden railing and the other holding the underside of a very large belly. She was adorable, really. He imagined Samantha would look like that soon enough, hobbling around and finding odd was to pick up somethings the bigger she got.

The urge to go home and crawl into bed with his very pregnant lover was overwhelming and he flashed Rose his best charming grin.

“How about: you settle in, put your feet up and first thing in the morning we’ll get all of this cleaned up? I’ll come help right before patrol.”

“Do not turn that smile on me!” She laughed and then waved him off. “Drop what you have in the kitchen and I will coax that scoundrel of a husband of mine to clean the rest when he gets here..”

“DEAL.” He hurried to dump the dirty dishes in the wash bin and on his way out he paused to tug on one of Rosemarri’s messy curls before heading out the door. Just outside? Chaos, wild and hot. He could smell the sickly scent of fear and heard the screaming that sounded from a thousand miles away. What was happening? What was burning? Smoke stung his eyes and he squinted, tipping his head downward to try and see. He turned back toward the Inn only to find the door shut, they shut? Since when? Rosemarri was in there, she’d be safe as long as the fire didn’t catch. He turned back to survey the town, to get his bearings but where was the fire?

A night watchman spotted him and raced towards where he stood. “MARSHALL. There is a fire..”

“I.. I can see that, where? The embers are falling like rain, we can’t let them catch. The whole town will go up.”

“West, right outside of town. One of the resi – Marshall?”

Bile built in his throat, his eyes glazed over as raw fear gripped him. Held him. It curled in his chest and then dropped to his belly. His legs lead.

“MASHALL - GO..” Araian, Lord Sunshield gripped his arm and shoved him forward. Physically yanking him from the fear that numbed his body. “MAGES —-- the Marshall, I want the fire ---- before Darkshire loses every---- they have left. MARHSALL NO — ”

He was moving, it felt like the road was now mud and the faster he moved the deeper he got. People around him moved so swiftly they were blurs, their faces made no sense. Nothing made sense.

They wouldn’t let him move up the path, physically holding him in place. It made no sense - why send him if he couldn’t help? The fire had to be stopped.

Someone was screaming, they were just yelling Samantha’s name over and over. It made no sense. She is sleeping, stop screaming her name - she is sleeping. She is sleeping. She is sleeping.

Where was his house? That wasn’t his house. His house was a cute cottage with flowers just planted and owls that had moved into the rafter just outside the door. This morning they had a whole talk about the owls being good luck. That wasn’t his house. That was the carcass of a building with magic ice built up along what was once studs and pillars.

She is sleeping. She is dreaming of a wedding and babies.

She is sleeping.

She can’t be dead.

When Burrich wakes, he can smell the fire still. That intimate pain and savage loss is wedged in his belly, lingering there in the wake of the vivid dream

[kandoros]

I first heard about this book through some reddit post, and upon reading the description I was unsure whether it was fantasy or nonfiction. A bookstore with a ghost? Well that might just be one of the stories of an old building. Customers described as Draculas, Spindlemen, and Smaugs? Possibly just artistic creativity, and the unhealthy opinion of humanity generated by any occupation dealing with the public. Or maybe it wasn't nonfiction. Maybe there really was an undead spirit haunting the lavatory, and they really did have patrons with scales or a sad aversion to garlic. I'm seventy pages in, having just finished a section where they have to inventory the store to hunt down some missing items which had been intended for sale in some tropical country, and therefore impregnated with a pesticide to prevent them being eaten by bugs. But now it was felt that the description should start off with "handle only while wearing thick leather gloves" instead of putting the warning AFTER the spells. Remembering how an early part of the Discworld novels start off by listing which books in the university library can only be read through smoked glasses or while taking a cold shower? I'm still not sure if this book is nonfiction. References to London merely moved the alternative possibility to 'urban' fantasy. And the author's name doesn't help matters. "Oliver Darkshire"? Sounds like an evil Dickensian hobbit.

[fel-path]

When Varah wanted silence, she visited her sisters. 

Outside Darkshire, between Twilight And Brightwood Grove, stood the remains of a long forgotten chapel. It bore the sigil of a tree with roots that turned into a blade, the iconography nearly faded after decades of erosion. In this part of Duskwood, there was no sound of life. No songs of birds, the chittering of spiders, the howling of wolves or the wails of ghosts. 

Silence, the only sound to be heard was the soft patter of rain falling upon the stone.

The witch, donned surprisingly in heavy plate, made her way through the old graves. Twenty headstones were carefully tended to by her, as once a week she would brush the leaves and moss away, driving the spiders from this sacred, morbid location. 

One grave site in particular was her destination, looking upon it with a sad gaze, hidden by the heavy helm of her plate.

SISTER DELPHIA WINTERSCAR. CLERIC. DAUGHTER. HERO. 

Varah knelt down before the headstone, laying her sword down next to her as she reached to pull free the helm from her head, ebon tresses already slick from the rain that fell lightly through the small clearing. The helmet was set down by the sword, a clawed hand coming forward to run those claws ever so gently across the surface of the stone. “I’m sorry, Delphia.” 

The silence that followed was lengthy, Varah’s breathing growing heavier as she felt her heart swell with long-repressed grief and sorrow. She was unable to fight back the tears, eyes welling with water before they began to streak down along her face. 

“You will never know, but I tried. I tried to stop them… but I failed. I alone thought I could hold back the tide of malice and Fel fire… pride is my greatest sin, which is why I forever suffer the greatest punishment… surviving where you, my beloved, perished.”

The witch broke, choked sobs coming from her as she slammed her fist into the soft earth, keeling over before rolling onto her side, laying down feet above the old remains of the cleric. A clawed hand came up over her face, as if to hide her shame from the silent gravestones of the ones she cherished most in life. 

“It’s not fair…” She began, her words spoken between choked, ugly sobs. Here, in the silence and solace of this forgotten place, could she let down the walls that she so jealously guarded herself with. The cries became wails, the haunting sound of grief and agony carried upon the wind.  “...I should have died with you. I don’t deserve this life, this chance at redemption. They all do not understand…” 

Slowly, Varah shifted herself to lay flat upon the ground, the claw at her face moving to press down upon the earth, as if reaching for the woman that lay beneath. Her glowing, yellow eyes were reddened with grief, painted lip trembling as she lay still, attempting to swallow the sobs that wracked her chest. “Come back to me, Delphia. Even as a shadow… even as a dream, just please… come back to me…” 

[frostsworn]

It was the frantic wailing of Blind Mary that alerted Jairius that something was very wrong outside of Darkshire. Bane’s hooves thundered over the wet road as Jairius hurried towards the sound. It was the middle of the day, but in Duskwood that meant it was just as dark as midnight. He didn’t need sunlight to see where he was going, though. The Light flashed through the trees like an abrupt and very localized sunrise, and Bane balked at the edge of consecrated ground, his hooves sizzling. Jairius grabbed his runeblade and ventured further on foot.

There, in front of Blind Mary’s cabin, stood Aradrius, his shield raised, using the Light to fend off attack by...a Rider. Behind Aradrius floated Blind Mary, something clutched to her chest, screaming in fear. Aradrius’s ears were bleeding from the banshee’s wails, but he resolutely kept his shield raised, weathering blow after blow from the Rider before him. 

Ghostmaw! Come! Attack the Dark Rider! Show this minion of Medivh why he shouldn’t challenge the Scourge! A roar from above, and the frostwyrm landed behind the Dark Rider, forcing the undead thing to skitter backwards away from Aradrius and the dragon, or end up with her jaws around his midsection.

That was when Jairius attacked. Attacked...by controlling as many of the nearby undead as he could, sending the hapless ghouls to mob the Rider. None of them could do enough damage to hurt the thing, but they could keep it off balance, keep it from being able to mount a good offense. Then Jairius leapt into the fray himself. His runeblade, Oathbreaker, didn’t cry out in hunger, but in eagerness. It didn’t need the soul, the blood, not like the newer paired blades that were still so young, but Oathbreaker did enjoy taking life...unlife. Jairius rushed to Aradrius’s side, and together the two brothers, along with the horde of undead under Jairius’s control, began to drive the Dark Rider back.

At least until the Rider’s back hit the side of Blind Mary’s house. Then the Rider stopped retreating. Ghostmaw let loose with a blast of punishingly cold frost that slowed its movements. Aradrius’s Light burned where it touched any of the undead, but especially the Rider, as if Aradrius was trying hard to concentrate it on the threat. The blood magic Jairius employed stole the vigor from the Rider, slowing its movements. It seemed as though they would win. Before Oathbreaker could descend for the final blow, though, the Rider gave a determined cry and thrust its sword out. Out, and into Aradrius’s chest.

Jairius snarled and brought the runeblade down, half-severing the Dark Rider’s head. He felt the subtle pull as the runeblade tried to devour the Rider’s soul, but whatever magic bound the Rider to Duskwood and Deadwind Pass was also stronger than the death knight’s runeblade. Jairius kicked the dead not-dead thing and slung his blade over his back so he could kneel to check over Aradrius.

The paladin had collapsed like a puppet whose strings had been cut. He lay in a heap at Jairius’s feet, bleeding profusely from a gaping hole in his chest. Jairius didn’t need to ask anyone. He knew. His voice was a quiet growl. “You’re dying, Aradrius.”

The paladin coughed up blood. “No. No. Mary. Was helping...need to...” He tried to get up, but didn’t have the strength.

Jairius eyed the paladin. “What were you doing?” He looked over to Mary, who looked on mournfully but didn’t explain. “A healer can’t help you, Aradrius, there’s too much damage. If you’re determined, I can call Adahlissa, but you know what that means. The two of us together are powerful enough to bring you back...but necromancy can’t restore life. You know that.”

Aradrius didn’t have the energy to speak. He simply nodded. Once. Before he succumbed to blood loss and pain and passed out. His breathing rasped, then he was still.

Jairius knelt to pick the paladin up and tied him to Ghostmaw’s saddle. He released his control over the lesser undead and climbed into the frostwyrm’s saddle. “Darkshire, Ghostmaw, I need to pick up Lissa. Then we’re headed to Raven Hill. There are enough necromancers there on a regular basis, we may as well make use of what they’ve left behind.”

While they were waiting on Lissa to get her things, Jairius penned a note for Thomas and for Cartery:

Thomas, Cartery,

There was an attack this afternoon. A Rider attacked my brother, Aradrius, while he was helping the banshee, Blind Mary, with something. He wasn’t able to tell me what it was or what drew the Rider, the Rider landed a killing blow before I could temporarily incapacitate it.

Aradrius voiced a desire for Adahlissa and I to bring him back. Whatever he was working on, it’s important enough to him to accept undeath. I won’t fight him on this. I’m leaving you this note so you know, if you hear or sense any necromancy in Raven Hill tonight, it’s probably us. Since the crypt keeps attracting necromancers, we thought we’d scour it for the materials we need instead of having to set up a fresh ritual site elsewhere.

I expect that even though Ghostmaw and I were able to nearly part the Rider from its head, it’s only a temporary inconvenience. Whatever animates it wouldn’t allow my runeblade to do any permanent damage to the Rider’s soul, so once it recovers, it might be back. Hopefully there’s nothing around Blind Mary’s cabin that will attract it back here. I think I saw her hiding something, but I’m not sure what it was.

I will be back once I’ve taken care of my brother.

Your friend,

Jairius Frostsworn

[thetaizuru]

(Darkshire Sound)

[commanderbragh]

A Bad Day of Fishing...

February Daily Writing Challenge

Day 6: Holiday

The sounds of the river echoed as the waters rushed past the sand bend. It gurgled as it splashed against some rocks further down and created a sense of peace and calm that was so rare in the shadows of Duskwood.

Banagan sat on a large rock on the bank of the river. He flicked his fishing rod and sent his hook out into the water with a slight plop. He tugged on the line a couple of times and then waited as the current pulled his baited hook. Next to the paladin, his larion companion lay on the ground with his chin resting on his paws. While the paladin watched his fishing line, the larion kept watch on the river and the tree line on the opposite bank. 

Banny reeled his line back in and looked at the empty hook.

“Something got lucky,” Banny chuckled as he reached for a can next to his rock to get another worm.

A quiet rustle happened on the opposite bank. Sentinel’s ears perked and his eyes started scanning intently. Noticing the change in the larion, Banny lowered his fishing rod to the ground and picked up the sword that lay ready behind him. The rustling grew louder which caused Sentinel to push himself up to a seated position as he watched the trees. The branches parted and a worgen poked its head out. It sniffed the air and then looked directly at Banagan. Its lips curled back to show its fangs and it let out a snarl.

The larion looked directly at the worgen. Fanning his wings out, Sentinel started to growl. The deep rumble grew into a fierce roar that echoed across the water. The feral worgen stopped and stared at the larion. Then, with its head dropping low, it withdrew back into the trees. Banagan and Sentinel could hear the sounds of the worgen retreating deeper into the woods until eventually the sounds of its passing faded. Banagan waited a little longer before putting his sword down and picking his fishing rod back up.

While the paladin continued fishing, the larion remained seated. Sentinel’s head slowly scanned the area and his ears flicked at every sound. Banagan cast his line a half dozen more times with no success. He was about to admit defeat when he noticed that Sentinel was no longer looking across the river. Instead, the larion had turned his head and was now looking towards the road behind them that led back to Darkshire. He didn’t hear anything, but still lowered his fishing rod to the ground again and retrieved his sword once more.

Sentinel rose up to standing and faced the road directly. Banny stood and moved to the larion’s side, his sword held at his side. After a few moments, a padding sound could be heard coming from the road. A few minutes later, a familiar rider appeared on the back of a fiery winged lion. Banagan relaxed as the lion turned and trotted towards them, finally stopping in front of them. Valiant let out a quiet huff which Sentinel returned.

“Afraid the fish aren’t biting today, dad.”

“Well you know what they say about a bad day of fishing,” Braghaan replied with a chuckle. “Sadly, I came looking for you.”

“Everything okay?”

“As much as it ever can be. But you got a message.”

“A message? What’d it say?”

“No clue. Not my mail to open.” Bragh pulled an envelope out of the back of his glove and held it out to his son. Banny stepped forward and took it. Twisting it over in his hand, he looked at the wax seal that held it closed. He paused for a moment before breaking the seal and pulling out the letter and reading it.

“Everything okay?” Braghaman asked calmly.

“Yeah. They want me to head back. Guess my holiday is over.”

“They opening up a new front?”

“Who knows? I’ll find out when I get there.”

“When are you leaving?”

“I’ll head out after dinner,” Banny answered with a sign. “May as well get one more home cooked meal before heading out.”

“Figured as much,” Braghaman said. Reaching behind him on the saddle, he untied something wrapped in brown cloth. “Also figured I’d better give this to you as soon as I could, just in case you decided to leave sooner.”

“Thought you didn’t read the letter?”

“I’ve received enough envelopes like that in my time, son. I know what it usually means.” The elder paladin leaned forward in his saddle and held the long package out. Banagan stepped forward and gently took it.

“What’s this?” Banny asked as he hefted the roughly three foot long item.

“Open it.”

Banagan laid his sword on the ground and looked at the package. Pulling on the cord that was tied around it, the brown cloth started to fall away revealing a scabbard and a gleaming golden hilt.

“What’s this?” 

“A new tradition, I guess? I would love to say that this is a family heirloom that has been passed down from father to son over the generations. But the reality is that your grandfather was a farmer. I don’t know that he ever owned a sword, to be honest.”

“So what about this one?” Banng asked as he pulled the sword from its scabbard to reveal a polished blade with etchings along the side.

“That’s my sword.”

“I thought you didn’t like using swords.”

“I don’t now. But once upon a time, I used to carry one. That one, in fact. I had it cleaned up and repaired. Even paid someone in the city to put a couple of charms on it as well.”

“Why?”

“Because if you are going to go out into the world, trying to save it time after time… Well, that’s kind of a family tradition I guess. So it seemed like a good idea to pass this on.”

“Are you sure, dad?”

“Yes, son. And in many, many years, when you’re in my position, you can hand it over to the next generation.”

“Thanks, dad. I appreciate this, really.” Banny sheathed the sword and slid it into his belt. 

“Gather up your stuff and let’s head back to town. We should get your gear together and then we can figure out what to make for dinner.”

“Yes, sir.”

@daily-writing-challenge

[the-blind-geisha]

King Boo x Reader - You're the Inspiration Chapter 1

It was always ill advised to go anywhere near the woodlands at night. The twisted, bare trees resembled a naked gallow support, ready to hang any and all who dared to walk so freely beneath them. 

Children were notorious for never taking warnings seriously, causing so many to become lost in the haunted forest just outside of town. There was a marketing billboard within Darkshire that now was full of nothing but lost children's descriptions.

For many, it was too depressing to dare to be near while others took it upon themselves to try and hunt for them—only to never be heard from again.

Even if it was hard for her to ever consider doing so, she did take quick glances at the listings pinned there upon the wooden board. Never did she want to see anybody she knew hanging there staring her in the face, as it felt like the woods did nothing but swallow the souls of the innocent.

Nobody new today , she thought to herself, tightening her grip upon the umbrella’s handle. Breathing in steadily and then out, she headed for her house only to be stopped by the sound of someone hammering away at something.

Her eyes caught sight of some Toads working with a few of the human villagers just outside of town. They were trying to repair part of the outer town’s wooden fence. It had collapsed from a dry bone’s attack a few months back.

She shivered a bit just recalling that moment.

“Careful, now,” a familiar old voice insisted. “We don't need any accidents to occur.”

Chapter 1

[renaultmograine]

I think the important thing to remember about wow is that Metzen does what he thinks sounds cool, rather than committing to well thought out concepts.

He was a highlord, a military (and religious? I think only paladins get it) title that as far as I can tell wasn't used at all IRL. Tirion is the only lord we see with actual veritable lands that governs and shit (Of Blood and Honor), outside of like... Daval Prestor? Who just has a nice estate if I remember correctly (Day of the Dragon)?

Honestly, Hearthglen is the only place I can say with any certainty is governed by a lord in any lore relevant way. I know Darkshire is and maybe Lakeshire too but that's not really addressed.

Anyway, regardless, yes, in a proper medieval fantasy he would have staff and whatnot taking care of things in his estate, but Warcraft is not really a medieval fantasy, as much as it likes to dress up as one. The fact that he doesn't have any staff brought up or living in a relatively modest home for a lord is up to your own lore interpretation. Maybe Alexandros just likes larping that rustic life considering he doesn't live in Capital City.

I've been reading a lot on like medieval European society lately because I am curious to understand the Alexandros situation, like he was a knight? And also a lord (they call him Lord) so he had some land and people working on that land (though probably not a lot). Were there other people living on Alexandros's estate? Someone had to look after and raise Darion when he was a baby because Alexandros certainly couldn't do it alone and they didn't have formula back then. Someone also would've been watching the kids while Alexandros went to fight? I don't know why I am so invested in this.

[rolandnaerth]

Anastaul Nae'rth

Her mere presence gave him an almost physical response of revulsion, this close, he could feel his skin crawling as he sat across the table from her. Her shriveled hands moved over the glowing orb, slowly as she cupped it, peering down from the hood she wore, thankfully covering her face. He had never seen it, but his imagination was vivid enough to know he didn't wish to.

He hated her and this place, deep in Darkshire where the hag kept her hovel, even the trees around seemed dead, cracked branches and dead leaves littered the outside year long he was sure. The air always seemed thicker, when he needed it to speak that was. 

The Death knight was once again glad his more mortal senses had long since passed the way side, otherwise he wasn't sure he could have entered here at all.

She looked up at him, he couldn't see her eyes but he sensed them, the same way he sensed the cruel grin that was now aimed directly at him. He pushed down the urge again for perhaps the hundredth time, and didn't cut her down where she sat. He knew it wouldn't be that easy if he tried, the women simply oozed old power, but there were plenty of  bodies here to summon more than enough help in tearing her limb from limb if he so chose too. Instead, he took a deep breath, aiming his own glowing eyes at her.

"What is it hag? You've seen something, out with it!" He sneered at her, tossing a heavy bag of coins on the table.

 The sound that came from her next was difficult to make out, but after a moment he realized the shriveled half dead hag was laughing.

"Come Knight, see what I have found…" She croaked, the wispy and grinding hack of a laugh continued as she removed her hands from the ball, a scene slowly making its way through the green mist.

He stood suddenly, his attention firm upon the scene unfolding in the cursed ball.

A boy….A young elf child, barely walking it seemed, holding the hand of a beautiful Sin'dorei woman, well dressed, a noble most likely he thought. He smiled as he watched them walk through familiar woods, guards flanking them from a distance. 

Suddenly, and as quickly as it came, the scene vanished, leaving only the green mist once again, swirling unnaturally in the opaque crystal ball. He furrowed his brow, irritation bubbling to the surface as he looked down at the hag. He could feel her smile again, the hair on his neck standing up under her gaze.

"Hmm, you know what you see?" She croaked at him, rubbing her hands together almost gleefully.

He said nothing, only looked away from her before his own smile crept slowly across his face.

Indeed he did.

He knew what he was looking at.

Weakness.

Absolute and perfect weakness.

What really pleased him though was the answer. The brief view gave him that and so much more. He almost didn't want to kill the hag, almost. She would live awhile longer, he may need her visions again, although they were fickle and few and far between as of late.

Quickly, he turned on his heel, the relief was almost physical as he reached the door and stopped.

"I was never here. Breathe a word and you can serve me for eternity in undeath." He warned her. Another one of those laughs was her only reply that followed as he left.

His dead brother owed him much, and payment had just been revealed. He had much to do, but he was not in a rush.

He never acted swiftly, he'd waited centuries for this, what was a bit more time to him? 

The Death knight was a patient creature, with a deep burning grudge that had kept him going this long, a little more time mattered little.

He got on his charger and dug his heels in, taking off into the pitch black night. 

The smile still firmly attached to his face.

It had been too long since he visited his homeland. 

It was high time he remedied that.

@laceandhalos for mentions.