#Safwriting

[gravekeeper-anna]

I heard a rumor that you like to collect teacups. What is the most precious one in your collection, and who gave it to you or where did you acquire it?

"My favorite now is a broken teacup that was returned to me when I was repaired, after my rather unfortunate fall at Lordaeron a few years ago. I noticed it was left on my little garden table one night, though I'm not quite sure how long it had been sitting there before I did notice it. It was repaired whole, little porcelain cracks filled with gold to complete it again, but still keeps the foundation of the damage it had survived. It's the prettiest little cup. But no, I won't be showing it off."

A sign of a smile pulled at the Gravekeeper's lips. "That cup was buried with me at the time by a fellow Keeper. A Keeper of Stories. She was a delight, and I'll always love that she gifted me that meaning in the teacup. I do hope to see her again, one day."

[roselyn-ravenblade]

[Sweet Sunday]: Does she consider herself to be a sweet person?

"Uhh..." Rosselyn shrugged slowly into her answer. Clearly she was doing unneeded mathematics in her head over the simple question. "I dunno? I don't think I'm, well, terrible? Guess it just depends on what you mean by "sweet"? I'm not good at...peopling."

{ @saltsparkle }

[safrona-shadowsun]

Daily Writing Challenge 2024

November DWC, Day 6 Words: Crack/Positive

@daily-writing-challenge

On some nights, Safrona reserved a confession booth not to invite others to play the Game of Secrets, but to isolate herself from the eyes of most others. The stress of Dalaran’s collapse had only started a continuous thread of anxiety that ran through her every waking moment of late. It reached her in dreams with memory, laced with possibility and nightmare both, robbing her of sleep. 

Life had become a gift of recent years, allowing her to build her professional life into a branching success, the start of a legacy to be proud of. People spoke the title “Courier’ with a respect the world never quite gave the role before, and Safrona felt right to say that her tireless work had in large part given birth to that respect.

A soulsinging haunt of a man had found her burning mess of a heart and made a Home of it, anchoring her to a love that felt like a beloved worship. He made her feel a comfortable joy she did not think she could be allowed in this life, and then built a place of belonging for her with the Sojourn, another element she never thought she could have. Her life had been built upon borrowings in so many ways, it was another deep joy to feel she was an integral part of the world.

Joys of completion, happiness, comfort…a cycle she silently dreaded that could be at its end, as history seemed to inevitably deliver her to. The universe seemed darkly dedicated to remind her that she was a Blight on the world, and belonged to nothing but the unseen spheres of the Great Dark Beyond. The decimation of Dalaran seemed the first sign, the spinning fragments of her own history trying to weave together and tear apart in her mind like a tapestry remaking itself again and again. She wound her fingers tight around a shot of Darkmoon Bourbon she had toyed with as her mind swirled with apprehensions and drank deep, hoping its sweet burn would numb her into a calm, and fill the cracks of her faltering professional veil. Whether Courier, Harvester or Safrona Shadowsun, she wanted no one to see her this way.

Regardless, her thoughts were felt by those that loved her most.

Music started in a slow rhythm on the live stage, a very familiar slow arrangement that gently permeated her scattered, anxious line of thought, and lifted her into a cadence she had taken the stage with before. Safrona’s lips spread against the cold glass in a sighing smile, a humored breath of gentle knowing, gratitude for the well-loved fingers that plucked the melody for her on his guitar, gratitude for the band behind him that played along. She found herself nodding in time, focusing on the voiced humming, a melody that set a warm tone that was a nostalgic grace, and a plaintive plea for peace.

…only she was not the singer humming in perfect succession, on the stage. When the notion finally struck her, Safrona rose from her booth, parting through the red velvet curtains that hid her with an intense curiosity. There her husband was with his beloved cherry wood guitar on his knees, strumming along in pinstriped black finery, his face shadowed by the old world class of his tall hat. The band behind him played the simple melody with dedicated vibe, swaying in time with its swinging notes.

And the young Sin’dorei woman that had taken the stage by microphone, dressed in a gorgeous wine colored evening gown, met her eyes in recognition. The singer’s voice fluttered with a brief excitement through her humming sequence, but she recovered quickly as she took another breath and continued humming the melody beautifully. With a matured grace, the songstress extended her arms with flowing address toward Safrona as she swayed gently to the slow, lounge-like beat. The familiar humming was touched with a nuance of emotive expression Safrona could never have achieved herself without the use of words, moving her at the soul, much like her husband had learned to with his own talents. Listening on until the slow end, her eyes did not leave the young singer until she realized they were brimming with tears, feeling a strange surge of pride.

A gentle hope had been left like a veil over the audience, and even Safrona’s torrent of dark thought was lifted to a more positive plateau. She had not yet spoken a word to Serenas Dawnsinger - perhaps for the 3 years since the girl reached out she did not know how to - but now her daughter had apparently found her again, against all odds, against all doubt.

There would be too many questions perhaps - some of what Safrona did not know how to begin to answer. But in seeing the young songstress wear her own wine colors, smiling so eagerly at her as she awaited on the stage among a wash of applause, the worry about the world at large and its dark portents seemed to fade for Lady Shadowsun for this relieving moment. Maybe they all did deserve these kindnesses, these little fortunes and joys after the hell they had been through. This...love.

{ Referencing @thefirstperished . And introducing a new character, over at @dawnsinging }

[gravekeeper-anna]

" I have quite the rod for your anatomy. And I don't mean the mechanical variety. "

Sinful or Sweet Sunday

"Oh Superb," the Gravekeeper stated with some sign of dry mirth, disbelieving the anonymous heckler. The armored eidolon was beautiful in some death-touched eyes, as she had heard it. But her lifeless form full of sharp, hard edges was not exactly the ideal of lust.

"If you might be brave enough to come out of the shadows, I might grace you with the sight of a naughty ankle." An ankle bone, perhaps. Maybe their own, if they were terribly unlucky.

[roselyn-ravenblade]

TMI Tues #5! (If you need something IC, you can say that Viktor or Wilon asked)

5. What’s the most awkward topic you’ve ever had a conversation about?

A lengthy stare at the handsome Viktor, and Roselyn gave in to a weak little chuckle. Amber eyes finally rolled away as she slowly strung her words together for what seemed like an eternity. “Well...I...dunno if you know me, but I...ehm...I’m sort’ve thinking most of every bit’ve talk is a bit awkward for me?”

Her shoulders had drawn up quite high, but slowly began to roll back down as she tried to relax and think. “...seem t’think it’s probly about when a boy I liked asked me quite the assortment of very...eheh...probing questions. But I was about 16, and it was a very long while ago...and I don’t remember any bit of what was said...”

Rose winced with the roadblock of the concerning memory she wanted to forget about, and gave a sigh. “Just what was done.”

{ @s-p-giffy / @viktoraraelson - thank you

[safrona-shadowsun]

It had been a letter that was charmingly decorative, but upon opening it and reading the declaration and proposition, Safrona stood staring at the photograph with a growing confusion. It wasn't the first time she had been sent a proposition or a love letter - as a Courier it was either a jesting game some put themselves up to or the occasional anonymous confession. This one was quite bold with his claim, she did have to give the young man that.

She did not remember speaking one word to the boy, but she did recall that he served the B'andtherion House...and she certainly did not need rumor to spill among them to ruin her business and potential other possibilities in Silvermoon.

It was best to let the poor puppy down, gently.

And so a letter in response was delivered to the guard, by way of an Ethereal of all beings, known to tend a little wine bar in the Royal Quarter of Silvermoon known as The Red Room.

A bottle of Thalassian Bloodwine, an old world merlot that was the Courier's signature was offered. It's deep, dark red was the same hue of Lady Shadowsun's long braid.

The envelope given bore a wax seal of a violet-red wine glass, half empty, or half full, however the perceiver may comprehend the sigil:

SD - Though I am quite honored to be held with such esteem and admiration, I must decline your affections. I am already married on two avenues - to my beloved and to the business. I am well spoken for. But you are young and full of energy, and clearly have a romantic soul. Take this bottle of wine and woo someone else that might catch your eye, if they have a taste for such things. Consider contracting my assistant Saraj there at the Red Room if you desire more wine for future romantic endeavors.

Professionally Yours,

The Courier

To the Lady of Deliverance

Dearest Safrona/Courier/Delivery Lady, You do not know me, nor do I know you. However I have seen you go to and fro with a package, a parcel, a letter... doing your duty with such diligence that would make any hardened, obedient soldier shudder in intimidation. I write with great admiration and I admit, blushingly so, that I am captivated by you. You move like an ethereal wisp but do so in a manner that I can only describe as breathtaking. I would know the woman beneath the cloak. The person beneath the parcel. The courtesan beneath the Courier. Would you... entertain such a thought. A thought of two souls connecting on such a level that not even the gods themselves could have anticipated it? Perhaps we might dip our toe into this pond? I would have you make a delivery: you unto me. There we may laugh, drink and... perhaps explore this newfound bond between us. Eager to be stamped by you. -SD PS I've attached a photograph of myself so you can gaze into the soul of the one who penned these words.

@safrona-shadowsun

[safrona-shadowsun]

Daily Writing Challenge 2024 November DWC, Day 2 Words: Deceit/Eternal @daily-writing-challenge

As the last breath of the summoning command left her lips, a shadow seemed to divide from her own figure, birthed from it to become its own identity. A vague surprise laced the void elf’s features in seeing the succubus greet her, taloned fingers threading the length of her long braid with learned affection.

“Hello, Pretty,” the demon breathed with silky sweetness, as if some returning lover from the annals of time.

“Elernia,” Safrona replied with a backward step away, none too impressed. “You have not been answering my calls. Should I be concerned?”

The Sayaad shrugged helplessly, holding out both hands now with a performative befuddlement. “Well, you do now have what, one, two, three of us now?” She counted off on her fingers with a showiness, referencing the other two demons of her species that the Warlock had newly brought into her service. Elernia wrinkled her perfectly sloped nose at her Mistress. “I think the calling gets a little lost in translation. Maybe it’s time to really personalize our spells, Sweetness.”

A skeptical glance came from the Warlock now. “So you have not been…untethered from me, then? I am surprised you came to me at all.”

Elernia pouted, drawing near once more to her Mistress. “I’ve been with you through this life and the others you have taken, my love.” The succubus gently took the Warlock’s hands into her own, lining their fingers together. “I know you like no other, as you know me. You have me eternally.”

A knowing, devilish grin spread. She preyed upon her mistress’ secret desire for the deepest devotion, for unyielding worship that spanned lifetimes. A desire that few mortals could fulfill. “Those two young ones, they’ll *never* compare to me. You know it.”

The succubus lifted her mistress’ arms apart, appraising her appearance as if admiring her fashion. “And here now, you have been growing in power as I’ve always hoped for you to! How many demons have you in your service now?”

Safrona sighed and slipped her hands from the Sayaadi’s fingers. “Not enough,” she muttered in a slip of dark honesty. “They are…servicable I suppose. An exciting discovery in their first contact, but just a scattering in the long run. Brief impact.”

“You want something new,” Elernia construed, purring at the confession as if it sated her with some perverse satisfaction.

“I want to make sure the deep insurgence of Void in the new areas isn’t going to make a damn puppet out of me.” Safrona explained. “If Xala’tath can turn ancient civilizations beneath the earth to her own ends, what do you think she can do to a surface dweller who is already in tune to her frequency?” Safrona sighed shakily to herself. “Sometimes…my thoughts drift to places and I don’t even know if they are my own anymore.”

“Then you need us to remind you of who you are, silly sweet girl,” Elernia spoke. “Besides, the real reason I’ve been so quiet is because I’ve been researching for you. You've been fretting over all this other silly business you've not been paying mind to the other threats around you.”

Elernia slipped her talons so carefully in the top of her own brazier, slipping a pulsating crystal from the alluring curves of her bosom. It was fit into the warlock’s hand, closing her fingers fondly over it. “Dreadlord Raetheron. He picked up on your aura again like the sweet meat you are, and he’d been watching you, calculating how to strike. Had to intercept, Sweetness. I only snatched a shard of the soul, but you'll be able to track him entirely, and end him. Or. Bind him to your service. For real this time. Prove it to yourself that you can. Another step in that domination you need.”

Lifting the crystal to hand, Safrona felt the familiar dread pulse of the demonic Lieutenant. The first to bind her to the blood of Tichondrious the Darkener, through him. The origin of her power, and a remnant of a tormentor for years. The Warlock was impressed, but the skeptic in her did not die. “And you snapped up this shard of an Elder Dreadlord’s soul all by yourself?”

“I have my ways,” Elernia retorted with a little grin, then a blow of a kiss before phasing out of her reality again.

Safrona sighed thoughtfully, examining the crystal with a slow turn. She knew Elernia kept truths from her. And yet in the grand scheme of things, that recognition seemed unimportant.

Little lies were every part of the Sayaad’s design as much as the same deceits were of her own.

[safrona-shadowsun]

So, I hear like your breasts how you like your muscadine, delicately squeezed and fondled?

A chuckle, and Safrona cast her gaze up with a delayed bemused humor, and away to continue with a retort: "Funny, I don't know what grapevine you've had your ear to, but there is only one that knows in what way I might want to be handled . You can go on to dream of squeezing 'grapes' though yes?"

Her gaze slipped out from the confession curtains to a certain musician on the stage beyond them, too eager to share the silly message and perhaps challenge him to tease her with better words.

{ Thanks spicy anon ;p Tagging @thefirstperished for reference! }

[safrona-shadowsun]

An Unexpected Summon

"Cavu!" it echoed through the cellar, a little friendly bark as it's fluffy ears perked, absolutely unphased by the warlock's attempt at banishment. "....what?" Safrona muttered back in abject confusion.

{ A commission for @nehku, featuring their OC Cavu and Safrona! Got carried away and decided to canonize the association, and wrote a story that pertains to it! Full story is below the line. }

Where the hours of a deepening night might settle into quiet comfort for the ground floor of the Elysian Sojourn, very few souls would be allowed to search the deep cellars a long walk below. Past winding stone cellar paths, past fortified stone walls, stacked casks and barrels in organized rows. Past mirrored doorways that only recognized those souls marked for entry by the Perished, a lowly-lit lair of forbidden art could be revealed, and altar walls dedicated to entities of dark necessity.

Safrona stepped back with an uncertainty from the summoning circle on the stone cellar floor, even as it's light began to dim, deeming the calling by the warlock a success. No doubt, it was a circle that had served the Harvester sufficiently before now, pulling minor demons and entities through the Nether by their name. But the one that walked from her circle now was unrecognized. It wore a skull of its own kind on its own head. A precious soul crystal was in its paws in offering. To her?

Its tail was...wagging. Happily. Like a little dog, or something of the sort. It was too happy for a demon. And strangely...cute? Immediately suspicious. Its appearance had caught Safrona so off guard she had delayed the banishment she had meant to impart. Her fingers snaked out to entrap the strange little demon in the quick invocation...and the banishment fizzled, useless.

"Cavu!" it echoed through the cellar, a little friendly bark as it's fluffy ears perked, absolutely unphased by the warlock's attempt at banishment.

"....what?" Safrona muttered back in abject confusion.

It's little skull face tilted one way, and then the other, much like a canine trying to understand the sound she made in turn. Was it some strange alteration of vulpera? Were there fox demons now? It hadn't been affected by banishment. It couldn't have been that powerful. But there it was, stalled in its approach, intelligent enough to gauge her uncertainty and await her to engage instead. It held an entire soul crystal in its soft little paws, not just a shard, and it was tempting her with it.

A particular mask shivered to life in the shadows of the altar wall, otherwordly light filing its empty ocular sockets. It laughed.

"Now, here y'are, Harvesta'. Ya be summonin one o' mine now," the Loa of the Dead's very amused voice flowed through the mask. "Don'cha be rude ta Cavu dere. He be helpin' ya."

With Bwonsamdi's vouching for it, the little 'demon' was urged to continue in its approach until it stood right at the warlock's feet. The creature barely came up to her waist, and by now it was lifting the crystal far above its ears for her to take.

"Think o' dis one as a gift. Or a reminda o' whatcha owe Ol' Bwondsamdi, eh? Ya been off track, girlie. Distracted wit' all de void t'ings. Mighty distracted. Y'have dat fear y'gonna lose y'self out dere - we know. But you trust y'frien' Cavu here, he remin' ya whatcha after! He gonna help ya collect!"

"Cavu," Safrona repeated, hesitantly. An annoyance flit through her reply. "I don't think I'll need this...gift."

"Ya will accept dis boon from me, girl," the Loa spoke now as the humor drained some from his voice, vaguely threatening. "We don't wanna be discussin' revisin' ya deal, eh?"

The Harvester paused, understanding the implication made. "I see." A short inhale was made, the void elf's reply on an accepting exhale. "A new summon then."

Cavu's tail wagged with a continuous vigor as he was addressed. The little demon turned to wave a furry paw at the glowing loa mask above the altar.

"Goood, good," Bwonsamdi crooned pleasantly, "y'summon dis one when de Voices get too much, deep in de bowels of de world. When de Void try t'take my Harvesta' from me, when de Harbinga' try n' slip in ya mind, y'have my lil helpa t'help ya t'rough. Keep ta de tithe, Harvesta. Ya got souls to take." The Loa's voice dissipated at that, his mask once again growing inert above the altar.

Safrona at last took the soul crystal from the little 'demon's paws, and Cavu pat her hands in the interim, as if to reassure the warlock.

[safrona-shadowsun]

The Fall

{Takes place on the day of Dalaran's fate, in the War Within.}

The world was on fire again.

Or at least, Dalaran was, in a matter of speaking. Not so much as on fire, as smashed to smithereens.

Life never left Safrona alone long enough now to relax for long. She had been spoiled for the last year, business adequately taken care enough without too much of her direct involvement. Her sister seemed made to manage the import office in Stormwind and Saraj had been in his element at The Red Room in Silvermoon. Her Courier teams were well trained - that she personally made sure of. Those that called on her personally always paid handsomely for her delivery or acquisition. Confessionals had become the expectant nearly every night, taking time to reunite with those that sought conversation. Even the Dead seemed less in need of The First Perished, giving her more time with her Orchid. The days passed with less worry, and more relaxed joy.

Until they did not. 

The problem with becoming a depended figure imbedded to the infrastructure of most civilization, was that people depended on you to deliver. As an unofficial Postmaster of Dalaran, the panic and unrest became maddening as requests and demands for assistance washed over her communications, asking specifically for the Courier by name in the wake of an entire city’s plummet. For such a small city, the connections and resources contributed and inspired by Dalaran had been an immense loss felt all around Azeroth, on top of the lives and homes lost. But moreover, Safrona had been satisfied to see her own ties forgotten to it - no one expected the Dalaran Mailroom to ever go dark.

The love of the convenience in Dalaran never completely outweighed the lingering resentment she held for the famed city and its citadel. A resentment that lingered in the delicately pieced together memory of a particular culling that had left her in disarray, lost to so many that had cared. She had accepted that resentment as the puzzle piece of her identity, a once Dawnsinger that would never be the same. Business had her passing quickly through for only the use of its portals when needed, nothing more. Some distinct spite had wished the portals would go dark, that the honored ‘throne’ of the Kirin Tor and their oh-so-selective involvement would no longer be regarded or needed by the rest of the world. 

Even among the horror, the distress of numerous voices and the demand of news from Dalaran, Safrona Shadowsun felt an inkling of vindication to know that damned city of her undoing had lay dashed to pieces. Some dark part of her had wished she had been there to see it fall. When she had finally stood among the wreckage, something inside her smiled with cold victory, embracing that resentment with a desire to see it bloom into so much more. 

She had not remembered how she arrived there, or how long she had been standing, watching the Nerubian forces try to end the rest of the survivors in the wreckage. How they had grown so powerful and came from nowhere, had been so effective in dismantling a single city. Perhaps it had been its time, and something better could be rebu–

“You are a courier?” The question cut through her reality, ending the dark fog of swirling thoughts her mind had wandered to. How long…had she been standing there, doing nothing, thinking…thinking of…?

It didn't matter now. Alleria Windrunner was staring at her with a stoic, but slow march down to concern as she waited for a response. “The Courier? The others have spoken of you.”

Safrona had meant to reply with all the professional grace she could muster. An explanation of her elevated role, the charm of invitation to business all was ready behind Lady Shadowsun's lips. But under the intense gaze of what amounted to be a celebrity, a bewildered answer came: “I…yes?”

The decorated Windrunner took in a breath, recollecting her efforts and patience as she pointed to the struggling forces. “We need an emergency supply. Backup. I am told you can be depended on to do both.�� 

It was the Courier’s turn to sigh, hiding her trembling breath as she readied a void storage portal for whatever resources it could give. “Yes, yes of course.” 

Damn Alleria Windrunner, damn all of them.

She could not exactly say “no.”

{ Small mention of @thefirstperished }

[safrona-shadowsun]

"What do you usually make others see when you inflict fear on them magically?"

"Mm?" Safrona sounded a questioning hum in the wake of his own, though she had heard him as she swallowed her mouthful of wine. The smile she offered was perfectly pleasant, deceptively harmless - no one with such a smile could inflict fear and horror, could they?

The Nethermancer knew better.

"I don't make anyone see anything," she stated with specifics, "but trading in raw fear and horror is something like trading in wine." The void elf's smile seemed less pleasant as the words slipped through it, though the nature of her smile stayed the same. "I...uncork the bottle, only, let it flow. Haunt. And an imagination has a way of taking in a new horror and making it their own very quickly."

{ @nixalegos - another answer long in coming. Thank you <3 }

[safrona-shadowsun]

Daily Writing Challenge 2024

November DWC, Day 7 Words: Peculiar/Theory

Directly following the events in this story with the Gravekeeper.

@daily-writing-challenge

Peculiar: that was the word for Viktor Delacroix’s death. A man of quiet means that operated a print shop in the Trade Quarter of Stormwind. Not memorable in appearance by any means, yet exceptionally well-dressed in his Black Mageweave. At least, this is what Safrona had been told by the SI:7 agent who she contacted to investigate.

The fel-touched ink staining his fingers had made her senses buzz in familiarity as she caught the glimpse of them before he was fully covered. Warlock. A curseweaver, as she had been for so many years. She was already putting together the pieces of what they did not find of him.

Clearly he was of a certain quiet, meek sort of cunning, having forged connections in the underground to most likely boost his livelihood and studies. The attachments of his history as an acolyte were carefully contained from public knowledge, and like any good Warlock knew, there were always compromises to make to get so far without stumbling in the pitfalls along the Path to Power. Then to be found dead, headless, and literally with his trousers around his ankles seemed a fate reserved for the less meek.

Even if Delacroix had not received the final deathblow in such a vulnerable manner, the aim was to humiliate him. The theory spilled out clearly in her mind - the Warlock had been murdered, humiliated by someone with a deep hatred, or a dark motivation, bent on sending a message. Very little had been left at the scene as she had heard it, save for a cloak and its identifying clasp, now being bagged as evidence. A red cloak, like wine. Deep dread captured her heart beat for half a second.

The Courier did her due diligence with the legendary composure of a saint. The detective escorted her to SI:7’s offices for proper questioning.  Safrona answered each question of her own whereabouts, the details of the business at the Trades office, and named every employee affiliated with or working in Stormwind, giving only information that pertained to the questions asked. She inquired about the items found, offered that the cloak looked familiar. Better to offer a small truth than have the investigator pry it out of her and build the bubble of suspicion.

The victim's dog tags were presented first, so briefly - they were not of any affliation of hers. She thought it best to not point attention to the strange, scrawled eye on the back of the dog tags. Her contact could further explain at a later time in privacy, over a glass of wine, if she could avoid the Stockades prison tonight.

The burgundy red cloak was next, and this she admitted to being given to her couriers. Breathe in, breathe out. It saddened her, that it had been left to the nondescript victim, trash to be disposed of when they were done. A silver clasp bore the sigil of a glass of wine, half empty, half full, however the perceiver would translate its meaning in their mind. A sigil that was supposed to represent possibility, dependability, service, luxury.

A sigil of Empyrean Imports, and tonight it was tarnished by a debauched murder.

And even as she herself was blessedly cleared from the investigation, and she was ordered to bring each of her employees to the office for individual investigation, her fingers gnarled as she silently spiraled into possibility. Her couriers would not commit this act and sour the name of the business so carelessly. Would they? How well did she really know any of them? Even then, why Delacroix? He was not a client, only having heard his name by his contact in the report of the murder in the first place.

Or had she missed his name in books? Would they find his name recorded by one of her couriers?

Safrona walked from the SI:7 offices, in a methodical daze. Her fingers were still gnarled, biting into the lace of her own gloves as her thoughts cycled to larger waves of paranoia. What if the acolyte had been her mark, a volatile soul promised to the altar of the Perished? She had never seen the body. Or did she? Delacroix...

The name smacked of an ugly similarity to dark utterances in a sordid past. Had she, in some fugue state of restless action and hunger, taken him, then wiped the act from active memory with the prize of the soul crystal itself in hand? Such things had happened before, in the moment. She could almost envision it now in her mind, the act of ripping the soul from vile flesh, the satisfaction of his slumping body, another damn warlock manipulating the world paying the final price for his audacity. Show him what a tool he really was. There was nothing so vindicating as Harvesting the monsters of the world.

The departure home was a swirl of mad theory, anger, guilt, doubt, dread and memory that brought her like a storm to her bedroom, and even her beloved Soulsinger could not find the eye of calm in her. Her panic set her to rip reality open, seeking the room of personalized void space where she secreted away her deepest treasures: dozens of otherworldly gems and crystals housing slivers and whole souls that she had Harvested. She raked her fingers through them all like a woman madly searching for a precious jewelry piece that had been lost, and found nothing familiar to the acolyte soul that had been described. What if she had already given it to the Loa? What if? What if she had wrongly incriminated one of her own? Her devoted Runners? Her Little Sparrow? What if…what if her sister, what if her…own blood?  

Sliding down to the floor of the ‘closet’ of void space, Safrona attempted to decompress, at worst, disassociate. Crystals fell harmlessly with her slumping form, odd decorations that glimmered in the silk of her skirts, her long winding braid of hair. She felt her Soulsinger fall on her like a shadow then, arms corporealized to wind around her and embrace her against his chest as her panic died. Her own arms shuddered as they gripped around him, surrendering the dark theories that plagued her as she sought an anchor to the only other soul she knew to trust, fully.

Safrona could hardly even trust herself in her darkest moments.

{ Brief mentions of @thefirstperished and @alliesdelimma }

[safrona-shadowsun]

Safrona smiled deeply at the little revelations granted her by the Sparrow. She seemed to learn something new every day the girl was in her own company. Allie was full of stories, and Safrona often committed herself to quiet listening just so she could devour them.

It was the reference to Father Winter's elves that urged her own words. "Ah I've had my little ritual for the dressing up part, but I have not done it in some years. Stormwind Orphanage was always particularly glad for the delivery from one of Greatfather Winter's helpers in the flesh. Always made the little faces there very happy. It's nothing I'd ever require of you, dressing up. But I do have a couple of spare outfits if it's something you might be interested for your own enjoyment."

Safrona thought a moment, "I used to help with these "WinterVeil Shares" at orphanages across Azeroth every year. Or beyond. Different children would make gifts or cards knowing they would go to other children they had never met. And then I would deliver them. It was a little event many were very excited for, and the participation was off the charts. I think Father Winter would have been proud."

{ @alliesdelimma }

"You'd make a cute elf."

Stepping into the Couriers offices, Allie tugged off her hood and shook out her hair. Absently she ran her finger through her burgandy hair, tugging at the growing locks as she tucked some strands behind her ear. Idly the thought slid through her mind that she was long overdue for a haircut. Just past her shoulders it was the longest she'd had it since she was a little girl. She just needed to find a mirror and a sharp kni-.

"You'd make a cute elf."

The comment came as a surprise, causing her to drop her hand and spin on her heels to greet the source. Pulled from her thoughts or not she still smiled brightly at the remark. "I do make a cute elf! Both like this and disguised."

Taking a moment to set her stuff down and hang up her scarf she turned once more to continue, "So, technically I think I'm part elf...somewhere. Lucia, my mother, she was half elf. I'm not sure what my father was to be honest but that's besides the point. So I've got some elven blood in me somewhere. For all the time I spend outside I don't really...tan much...and I've heard that is sometimes a trait of elves not to tan as much. A rumor I've heard at least, so if nothing else its in my skin but not my ears..."

Trailing off she touched her rounded ears, imagining herself with long slender ears that bounced about as she ran. Her eyes danced at the thought.

"But when I worked as a courier through Dalaran I got myself an enchanted gem that let me look like one of the Sin'dorei. It took my features and made them more elvish. I thought I looked cute at least like that but still. Maybe I can get one again if ever the boss Ladies need me to do deliveries to Silvermoon or Orgrimmar." A shrug followed.

The Little Sparrow paused then and her head cocked to the side. "Unless...were you talking about dressing me up as one of Father Winters elves?"

((Tagging @safrona-shadowsun as one of the boss ladies! But also to thank you for the fun ask!))

[safrona-shadowsun]

A Gift for an Orchid

"Someone left a gift for you," Safrona coyly hinted to the Man in Black as he broke from another holiday song request on the stage of the Sojourn. "Seemed quite a precious gift so I've left it in the bedroom. Take a peek when you have the chance, yes? Tis the season."

Sure as his wife had said, a new item had been added to the nightstand where the Soulsinger's most precious strings were often left to lean against the bedroom wall. The small bottle had been positioned with intention to catch nearby light, drawing his attention with the sliver of illumination, and the simple emerald ribbon tied around it. A less inspecting eye may have pinned it as a simple bottle of cologne or potion, but the liquid inside gleamed with a subtle ethereality signaling that it was much more. A handsomely printed Winter's Veil card was set next to it, and inside he would find his wife's handwriting.

Gift reveal below the line...possible mild spiciness?

My Orchid,

I could not chance your gift being taken by another by mistake, rare as it is, so I left it in the sacred space of our bedroom. Inside the bottle are the waters from the Life pools of Ardenweald, bolstered by the essence of powdered healthstones. It is a euphoric delight I wanted to give your tending hands.

You might use it to create something truly spectacular in our gardens. Or you might annoint your own body with it and have life flood you in full for a time. Be warned that if you do imbibe, I will most definitely be taking advantage in worshipping you in all the ways you will find yourself needing me to. I am sure either way, you will use the bottle well. Your joy is my joy.

Merry Winter's Veil,

~Safrona

{ @thefirstperished }

[safrona-shadowsun]

I want to hold you hostage until you give up the best bottle in your collection of wine. I know you’re holding out on me!

"My prized choice in wine might not turn out to be yours, so tying me up and keeping me in your closet might be ill advised at best, and world ending for you, at worst." The Courier smirked, as if presenting a near challenge in itself. "You might want to think more sensibly about your kidnapping scheme before you enact it, no?"

[safrona-shadowsun]

How do they kill? Do they try to minimize suffering?

It perhaps depends on a situation.

In defending herself, Safrona doesn't typically like to kill, but she desires to drain the will to even fight from a soul, cursing the aggressive into impotency, or terrorizing someone into inaction. Better to turn a situation to her advantage and make a would be enemy even doubt their own motivation, and the worth in what they do. In these defensive situations she is typically annoyed, but she is not hungering. They are not a target - they are a waste of her energy. Much more satisfying to cripple, and be on her way.

In a hunt however, Safrona's endgame is to break the body of the damned, and capture the soul, and that certainly means a harvest is the intent. Her curses become a symphony of doom, and the demons she releases tenderize the sacrifice -- the harder they struggle, the more they suffer, the faster their physical energies expel against forces that do not tire, who's hunger does not die. The suffering is sweet vindication. The more monstrous a soul, the better the victory.

{ @nixalegos - thank you! }