#Safwriting

[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?"

[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]

[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]

"Large dogs, you say," Safrona chuckled a little dryly. "One of my Runners would be ecstatic to know that. I don't think he needs to add another dog to his pet collection, but I suppose I'll inform him of these Plains if he becomes an official courier. He has the...well. Will to help, certainly." Another more subdued chuckle for Zeehva. "You'd like Quint, I think."

"If these maps continue to trouble you, I'll gladly take a look, or even have my sister do so at the office. No extra charge. As long as you tell me the story of what you found. You know I always like your stories."

{ @zeehva }

Teatime Tuesday: "I've heard something about secret treasure troves out there on the Isles. Come into anything good or are the rumors a bit inflated?"

Zeehva offered a cheeky grin at the question. The dragon isles were by far her favorite place at the moment, but an injury to LuLus leg had them back in the city. "You'd think large dragons wouldn't be all that great at hiding things.. but they actually are.. I've found so many things, but it isn't all gold and gemstones like the rumors say. Sometimes it's a box filled with items that help sentimental value to the dragon. But there are things hidden everywhere, you just have to know where to look. My favorite find so far is a wooden carving of a bakar, those large dogs in the plains, that doubled as an urn.. I found it near a ruined burial ground. I was tempted to keep it but thought better of it and instead remade a makeshift grave for it. Whoever owned the bakar, I'm sure they'd appreciate him remaining close to home. I've also found a few maps that Im working on deciphering.. they've got me stumped at the moment though."

Thank you @safrona-shadowsun

[safrona-shadowsun]

In your hands, you hold a letter - to whom you do not know its contents are to be addressed to. Does curiosity get the better of you? Or will you abstain and never ensure it is received by its recipient?

It was for a long time Courier, a 'pet peeve'. Of all things, why send an envelope in complete anonymity, and not even address it to whom is meant to receive it? Even a child knew to scribble a name or at least the beginning to letters on an envelope they meant to send!

And of course, in came the susuruss of voices to collide with a singular 'advice':

Ö̭̪̾̎p̴̴̷̳̻͖͍̈͞ȩ̛͎̣̟ͨͬ͋̌́ͥ̐̒̕͟͞n̵̸̵̷̨̖͈͚̞̙̜͍͓̝̹̓͛̾͌̐ͮ̿͑̈ͪ̀ͬ̔̓̇͆͒̄̕͟͜͠͠͠ Ḭ̴̛̥͈̂͆́ͩ͂̕͠t̨̧̯͑̀̿̈́͆,̴̙ͯ͆̓̽̓ ơ͉̼̿̈͗̒p̧̱̥̳̺̱̉̋̃͠e̵̪ǹ ỉ̝͈͋̀t,̵̵̶̷̸̨͖̳͎̖̥̫̞̭̦͓̻͙͍̲ͩ̋̓̏̄̾ͬͬ͑̑ͫ̓ͤ̂͂̚̕͜͜͞ Ọp̷̛̳͇͎̤͇͎̺̲̖̈́̈ͦ̽ͬ͌̏͋͆̇ͦ͠͠e̵̛̛̖̘̞̹̣͎̳̥̯͖̤͈̞̲͙͕̒̍̆̽̊͌ͩ̍̎̎ͧ͂̀͝n Ī̮̘͟t̴̷̷̡̞̠̜̻͚̬͂̅̓̃̒̊͘̚͢ o̩̺̠͔͇̭͓ͤͧ̈́̈́̀̿ͭͩ͘ͅp̡̺̹̮̻̆ͫ̇̉̈́̓̕͝é̵̵̵͔͕̣̫͕̘̫̼̲͉̖̫̗̲̗̱̦̼ͤ̿ͥͤ́ͤ̎̈́̂͢͢͡n̷̺̲̻͍̰͔͊̅ͧ͑̀̍ͧ̽̎͑ͨͤ͑͆̓ ȋ̶̶̼̠̜̼͖͎͍̖̭̗̀ͬ͊̓̐ͤͨ̚͢ͅt̷̶̨̬͉̱͍̖͉̬̘ͤ͋ͮͧ̑̓́͡ ơ̸̸̥̮̫̜̠͚̏p̴̸̸̢̡̡̳̘̳̬̠͓̞̮͙͔̩̘͎͙̝̗͐̎̀̇ͯ̎̓̿̐̃ͯ̂̇̌ͮ̚̚͜͝͡ͅȩ̵̵̭͈͚̜̮̽͊̈́̿̌͑ͫͩ̿ͫ̄̆̈̎ͨ̾ͨ̕͡n̖̣̥̗ͩ̂ į̢̛̫̳͇̙̠̔͗ͣ̍͂̏͘͠͠ţ̛͚̣͙̤̪̝̗ͤ̓͠ͅ Ơ̼̤̪̫͔̭̬͙͂̅ͫ́ͣͯͧ͗͊̌̿ͮ̆͘͘_̵̲͙̫̘ͤ̑ͭ́̓ͬ͐̾͒ͭͯ͘P̶̶̵̨̛̛̖̹̥͙̥̘̣͔̖̤̗̤̮̜͍͕̯̓̅̒̐͌̏̓̓̐̀ͤ̐̓̔͛̀̓͞ͅE̴̴̢̧̛̞̭̣̗̝͓̬̫͛ͫ͋̓ͮ̋ͥ̽̈̐ͧ̊̂͑ͭ̈́̌̒̔̽̕͟͞͡N̴̶̼̤̝̥͈̳̰͔͐̇̐̇̿͑ͩ͒ͭ͂ͯͮ̀͗̆͊̀ͤ͜͞ͅ I͓T̵̩̙̮͍̘͙̰̺̣̼̻̺ͮ̃͋̉̓ͤͥ̉͒̊͐͗ͤ͋͐͟͝

Safrona slammed the incompetent envelope on the bar table, staring a murderous hole through the Ethereal barkeep's head. The tender's glass cleaning paused a mere few seconds, then continued, rather unphased. Saraj spoke with his smooth, calm tones: "The...envelope, will be kept for a few days, madam, and be discarded if none come to retrieve it, as etiquette would demand."

"Very good," Safrona muttered, and let herself exit to the back of the Sojourn, seeking the meditation gardens, or her husband, whichever came to calm her first.

[safrona-shadowsun]

{Excerpt from some ongoing rp with @duraxxor that we laughed at ;))

Plop.

The old fisherman had taken notice of the new arrival to the Tavern of the Mists, given him a long stare, then returned to his cast of his fishing line, content to watch his little cat-shapped bobber make ripples in the water. The younger Pandaren on the porch took longer notice at the crimson clad visitor, stopping mid-beat of a welcome rug. He turned to briefly yell inside the tavern in preparation. “Ah, new visitor! Put on more tea!”

The masked stranger watched carefully as the local folk didn't seem to mind even his appearance the slightest. Of course, who really could with the variety of people that came in and out of this remote area of Pandaria? There was a twinkle in his singular eye as the young one made a note to start new tea for him.

Duraxxor's voice picked up smoothly as he said, " I appreciate the hospitality but I seek the one you may call the Courier, Safrona Shadowsun. Have you seen her?

No eyelash was batted, no stare was given beyond the welcoming one the young Pandaren gave as he nodded indelibly, before stopping mid nod, and cocking his head with performative thoughtfulness. “I may, I maaaaay, traveller,” he spoke, stroking an imaginary beard as he ‘mused’.

He then grinned and in a most striking impersonation of Illidan Stormrage, boomed, “You are not prepared!” A packaged bean bun was suddenly tossed, and hip bumped to Duraxxor. “Now you are prepared! Maybe!” he stated with a full belly laugh. “What do I call you?"

There was a stiffness about Duraxxor in that moment as the child approached with his impersonating banter. That singular eye winced a bit, giving signs that beneath the masquerade was a smile. " You know, that was pretty good, young one. "

With an idle bending, he knelt down and procured the bean bun, softly opening it to apply it just beneath the mask. " I am a man of many names, but I wonder... what is it you wish to call me, friend? "

After finishing his statement, the bun vanished from sight, almost as if it were immediately consumed into the void itself.

The Pandaren blinked at the magically vanishing beanbun and then guffawed. "MagicMan! That is what I will call you!"

He leaned forward in a cartoonishly bold gesture, animatedly speaking with the cadence of a Southshore Pirate now: "Or do I call ye "HungryMan, lad?"

The masked stranger rubbed his protected chin in thought. Magicman or Hungryman? Hmmmm. Those were certainly traits that he possessed outside of what was best described as his identity.

This child was quite entertaining.

" Hungry Magic? Mungryman? " It seemed he was willing to play along with the vivid imagination this Pandaren had.

" Ahoy lad, there's treasure to be had. The Courier be hiding the stash of Rum on her flagship! " His own pirate came out in him, swinging his arm in his own cartoonish nature.

The boy had another hearty laugh for “Mungryman” as he started up the misty path from the humble tavern, pausing a moment to let his company catch up.

“She be doin’ no hidin’ of anyting, mon,” he smoothly shifted to another syntax, perfectly emulating the often musical accent of the Zandalari, or another tribe of troll.

“De lady be generous to dem who prove dey wort’, eh?” He then hunched over and stretched out his arm, pointed 3 furry fingers in Dura's direction, much how a troll might point.

“Ya be nice, don't make trouble when y'step inta her parlor, she may be givin’ ya a taste o’ de Rum, or any nectar ya like.”

A wide grin, and the Pandaren stepped into a swirl of mist that seemed to enshroud him.

“But de first test? Dat be gettin’ up de mountain to ‘er in de first place! Hah!”

And with that, the mist seemed to take Seon away, disappearing entirely.

The following of this strange Mungryman was fluid in steps. It was as if he were a bit of a shadow attached to the boy's back. He stared through his masquerade, finding the child to be intriguing with his own impersonations. What a coincidence, he was quite the impersonator himself. But to see this child going from pirate to Zandalari was quite the feat.

"Hmmmmmm. You seem to know the lady quite well. And dare I say, that is good to hear. " He bowed his head, feeling as though the truth of the matter was coming out and when Seon disappeared and made it a note to tell Mungryman that he was needing to journey up the mountain. A dramatic pause was offered before he howled out in laughter.

" Hahahahahah! Good show! Welp.. it seems it's time I made my way up the mountain then. I suppose I should not be surprised... "

And so, Mungryman went on his way up the first elevation in his step.

In the absence of his young host, the cold fog of the Veiled Stair seemed sharper, cloudier, inhospitable. It obscured Dura's path, directionless, a mist buffetting what seemed a stalking intruder rather than the invited.

Foreign noises haunted the cold mountain fog, threatening to lead him to a steep drop, should it see fit to lead a monster astray. Some percussive beat could be heard around him, alike a wardrum, and a voice boomed from that pattern heartbeat: a gravelly, strong voice of a famous orc Shaman.

"You stalk the elements like a hunter, but seek to sit at the table as a guest? If you think for a moment to draw blood, you will want to turn back here and now. You will not find what you want."

As playful as his host had been, clearly this 'game' was dead serious in delivery. The "Courier" was well-protected.

When the voice of a shaman made a note to call him out on how it is he approached, there was a pause in his step. Duraxxor's senses arose from their depths and began to pinpoint where the voice was at least coming from to some degree. For every sound had an echoing source.

However, considering that the orc was not directly attacking him, he ceased going on the offensive. His stance loosened and his head tilted to the side.

"Sharp eyes and rightfully so. However, I did not come to battle or to commit violence. I have come seeking an audience to exchange words and perhaps even an apology for an error, so to speak.

" His sincerity shown, possessing a calm that the mist itself could often bring another. But the Lord would not leave it at that.

". . . I will only continue if allowed. But if I am denied, then I will discontinue wasting everyone's time. "

The 'orc's voice could not be pinpointed from one source, awash on waves of mist that slipped from all directions of the obscuring fog.

"The elements judge you, and find you wanting..." the voice boomed again, and some crackle of jade lightning cascaded from the right, then left of Dura's periphery.

And then ...the mist cleared for the large ball of fur that rolled out before him, perfectly balanced in a martial pose that imitated a dragon. Just as it seemed the young Pandaren might strike, he shifted to a slumping casual stance and shrugged.

"--Wanting a drink probably! Hah! Okay, yeah buddy, you're clear!"

Seon laughed as the mountain mists further cleared for a pair of intricately carved gates, topped with the regal wooden heads of cloud dragons. Beyond that, a neatly curated garden cut an entrance way for a traditional Pandaren retreat.

"It's been real, Mungryman. Just, y'know. Don't bring in any weapons or cast offensives or other funny business, or they'll throw you off the mountain."

Seon bowed, both paws clasped in front of him in a prayer-like pose, then switched one of his hands to deliver a sideways peace sign. "PEACE BRO."

And again, the mysterious young Pandaren seemed to be enveloped in mist, disappearing from sight.

Duraxxor, aka Mungryman, had passed the test, and the Elysium Sanctum awaited.

[safrona-shadowsun]

Day 3: Bargain / Myth Daily Writing Challenge 2024 February 20th - Day 3

Demonology cut into her late on the Path, the study netting her now as it should have so many years ago when she had called her first imp from the Nether Reaches. Her aim had been different in those days, as different as she was now in the flesh. Vaguely, she could recall the wisps of anger from some forgotten corridor of memory, some betrayal she could no longer source. Such slight vibrations of memory that could have easily been the old slivers of soul from entities she had collectively taken through the years.

It would be sensible to think of these alien fragments as pieces to mold to her own identity and accept them as such, but speaking the words did not always fit them conveniently into the mind, the heart, the fractured soul. Stolen life and memory without a vital component of experience never seemed the very normal transition of growth, no matter how appearances could deceive.

Still, the desire to inflict pain was an old vice that seemed integral to the core now, a desire she knew had lead her into the obsession with curse-weaving, the eventual sharp hunger for souls. A wild obsession that her demons fed her into for so many years, that she had inexplicably bonded with them over, and became too close in a way she regretted now in some ways. 

Elernia was by far the strongest example of how she had gone wrong on the Path. The succubus had been allowed too close, too deeply embedded in her histories, attached to who the warlock may have been in years prior rather than who Safrona strived to be now. And while having the cunning Elder Sayaadi in her menagerie proved advantageous on many occasions, the demon’s audacity had never cooled, nor her jealousies or avarice. Inflicting death as punishment was only really ever temporary through the years - Safrona was beginning to feel Elernia was becoming eager for each murder. Far be it for her to cut the strings from such a willful demon and loose her on the universe. No, Elernia needed to be cowed.

So now Safrona followed the myth of a solution to the Tomb of Sargeras, irritated that she was strategizing a more dire method to keep the damned succubus in line. Much as she held her dismay for collecting another grimoire, the glowing tome she’d spotted on the altar of offering in a particular alcove looked promising. Safrona found herself reading, for once, or rather skimming past the Eredun text and admiring the illustrated imagery, the debased scrawlings of ritual reagents–

A scourged whip lashed out at her knees, a nasty weapon embellished with felflame. The void resonance around the warlock was strong enough to absorb the damage however - or consume it. “Really?” Safrona retorted in deep annoyance at the succubus who dared, who did not know she had slaughtered the lower floor of demons beneath them with a single notes of whispered death. 

“Hello Pretty~” The indignant reply only caused the fel-tinged succubus to lash out again, as if it would make a difference. She laughed, even, a strike of madness to overcome the inkling of doubt the demon may have had in seeing her strikes fall useless. “It’s so nice for a sacrifice to bring themselves to the door for once! Let me thank you for the delivery!”

The long-time courier in Safrona actually scoffed in mild amusement, standing in place as the void aura absorbed each futile lash, unharmed. The whip-play in itself was quite a skill, the demon’s flourishes and lethal dance no doubt intimidating if the power had matched the display. The demon had signs of evolution by Legion standards, her wings marked by Fel flame, armored for battle. Clearly the Sayaadi was trained for more than petty games, but the warlock wondered if the Fel progression had eaten her mind too far to even comprehend manipulative tactics.

“Come now, you must be smarter than this.” Safrona sliced out with her scythe to sever the whip’s lashing. It was the least she could do that would not annihilate the lesser demon outright. “It’d be worthless for me to spend energy in killing you. The Nether would spit you right back out - what a week later? And you're not strong enough as you are for me to even bother collecting. So why don’t you just stand pretty and answer my question instead?”

“Why would I bargain with mortal trash?” The Sayaadi spat, but was caught off guard enough by the idea to cease her attacks. 

“Because your sisters believe it to be fun, I imagine?” Safrona slipped into Eredun, which the demon seemed further surprised by. Clearly she had never bothered to hold a conversation with any that entered the ‘temple’, besides her own kind. 

“You desire something then?” The succubus tilted her head with a progressing curiosity. A smile began to curl smugly on her fanged lips. “Power? You come to the Tomb of Sargaras for Power.”

“Ugh, nothing so simple or trite.” Safrona sighed. It was a truth, but she did not like the demon’s wording. “I am not looking for…’evolution’, get that right out of your head now.”

The demon pouted, her urge for violence temporarily stalled for the interest of a new entity, a new power, stronger than her own. Her baring of teeth in a smile loosened, inviting the thrumming power she sensed to prickle at her senses, as well as something distinctly abnormal from the Warlock. “You are blessed with power already, and you know my tongue enough to have tasted our ways. You crave power, right down to the pretty little light you call a soul.”

“And you crave possibly to not suffer another inconvenience of being cut from the waking world, so why don’t you stop trying to analyze me before I tire of this and displace you?”

A heated chuckle was dredged up from the demon’s throat, but she quieted and gave her attention.

“I am looking for a grimoire or texts on Sayaadi-specific spells. Augmentation, perhaps…anatomy maybe.”

The Sayaadi laughed. “You are looking for a scroll of instruction on what… Sayaadi customs? We do not write stories, my Pretty.”

“Maybe you should. The leading heads of the Legion have been severed, and Sargaras himself has been thrust away to the ends of the universe, as I hear it. And you are bound here eternally, waiting for orders that will never come.” Safrona mimicked the common Sayaadi, casually eyeing her nails. “Or, what? Waiting for the next opportunist to march in here and slaughter you for the laughs?”

This drew a hissing response from the Sayaadi. “There is nothing here for you. And we are many.”

“Well,” the Warlock shrugged. “I’m sure someone enjoys bowling through the masses of you?”

The succubus hissed violently and leapt upon Safrona, wings buffering her assault. The resulting explosion of Fel mouths from the Warlock manifested within seconds, the Felhounds eager to tear into any flesh for their Mistress. Each dog wrestled the Sayaadi to the ground, rejoicing in her screams as they held each wing fast, pinning her to the floor of the debauched temple. It was by pure luck that the demon had not suffered full death on the initial result, but now the Sayaadi’s life’s breath was a single thread hanging in the balance. As potential ideas washed over her thoughts, Safrona felt the collector in her rise with a need, and that inkling of desire for power bloom beneath it.

“You know you will never leave this silly little haunted house, demon. You are without a leader. Without a goal. You are stuck, dying here every week, never progressing, never knowing what lies outside those doors.” 

“Kill me already and leave then, pfhah!”

The warlock smiled inwardly, and heeled her own demons, eventually watching them be pulled back to the realm they emerged from. “I could free you, in a manner of speaking. Bind you to me.”

Now the succubus cackled, choking on her blood. “You mock me! Why would I agree to that?! You entered this place to destroy me."

“And now I ask you to join me.” The warlock stepped away from the dying demon, casually stepping from the mess on the temple floor as easily as one might step away from casual notes of conversation. “Or you could not. You could die here again, enter our world a week later again, and repeat the whole stagnant cycle for another decade, or century. And I will move on to better things, more secrets. More power.”

“A slave…to the legion’s whim…” the demon rasped. “Or a slave to yours? Tell me…what is the difference?”

“Well, you won’t be trying to decimate Azeroth anymore, that is for certain. It’s various degrees of change, potentially. Not that you’d understand it now, in this place. But it will be more than you ever had now,” Safrona breathed out a full sincerity. “You do not truly begin to evolve clinging to the past.”

Binding a new demon to her 'employ' hadn't exactly been Safrona's plan, but it was a progressive step in the long run.

{ @daily-writing-challenge }

[safrona-shadowsun]

Daily Writing Challenge || May 2024

Day 1: Mysterious / Appearance (Gravekeeper)

Day 2: Agony/Embrace

Day 3: Shame/Favorite

Day 4: Drama

The Elysian Sojourn had grown in such a short amount of time, swelling with visitors especially since the discovery of the Dragon Isles. Even a few dragonkin had managed to make their way to the Sojourn, drawn by the offer of bathhouses and confessions, or to soar their way from the apex of the Veiled Stair’s mountainside retreat where the Sojourn was nestled in the Pandarian lands. Safrona had certainly made a home of it now. It was a point of pride for her, somewhere she could drop professional pretense and be comfortable in her skin.

Wraafenn even accompanied her openly here, the large hellhound sprawled out beside her signature booth like a most unusual canine, seemingly playing the slothful guardian. Despite the demon dog’s laid back demeanor, most visitors made sure to give Lady Shadowsun’s “pet” a wide berth out of sheer intimidation. Perhaps tonight, she had intended it that way. 

Waiting behind the red velvet curtains of the booth, she made sure to offer up the usual Highland Scotch and extended the invitation with a gentle pluck of the soul braided to her own: her Soulsinger. Going on 4 years as bonded, she weighed the confession she wanted to confide in her husband, but did not know how. Yet he was the only soul she could bare herself for so deeply.

Velvet notes echoed from steel wire as the final plucks creaked from his fingers, the usual performance ending for a much needed break. “Than’ ya’, we’re gonna take a lil’ break ta’ wet our palates an’ we’ll be back ta’ brin’ some music fa’ ya’ weary bones”, the man said before resting his ebony guitar on its pedestal, then walking slowly down the stairs into the darkness behind the stage. ”Take a breath’ lads, I need a smoke an’ a drin’.” After a few claps to his back, Orchid pulled a thin roll of parchment from a leather pouch, placing it to his lips before it began to burn a soft purple glow.

Sweet smoke smelling of wine slipped between his lips to his nostrils as if he was a dragon roiling a fire within his chest. The simplicity of music and the reverberation of joy that poured from the patrons of the Sojourn was intoxicating in a way Orchid’s soul needed in some dark way, like a spirit remaining so long as there were those that remembered it. As the sweet smoke enveloped his senses, he could feel the soft tugging of his soul, a beckoning longing for his attention. Four years, the longest relationship he held ever in his time on this planet; an irony that kept his intrusive thoughts from burgeoning his mind. Stealthing his way through the bar to the owner’s private booth, the smokey voice announced his presence before his silhouette did.

“ Wha’ can I do fa’ the finest lookin’ purveya’ of spirits I’ve eva’ seen? I ‘ope the music this evenin’ is ta’ ya’ likin’ as always.” His wide brimmed hat pushed past the curtain as he slid into the booth. A silver ashtray appeared beneath the slowly falling ash of his burning herb roll. Slowly taking the hat from his head, Orchid’s crimson hues slowly rose up the form of the woman before resting solely to meet his wife’s eyes. ”Don’ find ya’ hidin’ away ‘ere as often an’ definitely not wit’ ya’ puppy. Somethin’ wron’? Is there somethin’ I ‘ave ta’ ‘andle”, he asked with a cursory glance toward the patrons.

Safrona let a smile curl at the sound of his voice, her eyes glinting at him in the soft shadows of the booth with gentle humor. Words delivered on a warm air for him from a little tease of a smile: “You're always to my liking.” In consideration of his worry, a brief chuckle hummed between her lips. Her eyes lifted from him to settle on the pour of his scotch in the glass near her. “No need for your blades here, love. Wraa's mostly on display as a gentle reminder to not tempt the beastie into action, and that seems to work well enough, yes? People know the Sojourn is a place to relax. A place where they leave their violence at the gates.”

A soft inhale, and her fingers drifted back to the base of her flute of wine - deep, dark red, like the prominent hue of her long braid. “I'm here for confession. And like any soul with a tangle of words needing to be unwound from them, I desire that touch of privacy.” Safrona gestured to the booth seating beside or across from her invitingly. “I'd hope you'd help me untangle some secrets, find the right way through.”

A smile was offered in return as his hand moved toward the glass, caressing her fingertips before dragging the glass towards him. Despite wanting to sit beside her in the booth, the air of the word ‘Confession’ kept him in an unusual state, not one to get confessions from the living as Safrona was. Silently he swirled the scotch before bringing it to his lips, taking a subtle sip, running his tongue gently against his lips to enjoy the taste. “ It isn’ like ya’ ta’ be so tangled, physically an’ emotionally; least not when our garments linga’ on us.”

A knowing chuckle pulled from his lips as he sat forward, clasping his hands before him as he gazed at her softly. “ I accept ya’ offa’ of confession an’ will seek ta’ offa’ wha’ advice I can give or I can simply be an ear fa’ ya’. Whicheva’ this confession requires of me. But first, please, take a sip an’ calm ya’ nerves. No sense gettin’ worked up an’ frustrated befa’ the words even come, my heart.” Nudging his glass of scotch toward her, Orchid snapped his fingers and his garb shifted into more darkened priestly garments, his own unique style on the holy raiment.

“ So tell me; wha’ is it tha’ troubles ya’ so? I assume since ya’ askin’ me, it’s nothin’ b’tween us since ya’ wouldn’ seek confession wit’ me, simply seek me in our chambers an’ speak from the heart. Is it somethin’ wit’ the Couriers or otha’ business? Don’ know much about it but maybe I can offa’ an outside perspective.” Placing his clasped hands against hers to ultimately stroke the back of her hand with a finger, Orchid did his best to ease the tension he felt emanating from her.

Safrona gave an elegant tilt of her head for her lovely Shadow, both in acknowledgement and acceptance of his words and the offer back of the glass of scotch. Even as her fingers slipped around the cool glass, her eyes swept down his form as his clothing shifted, quietly enchanted by his trick. The man had always been a certain secret magic to her in voice, presence and deed. She found herself hiding her little adoring smile with the press of the glass as she sipped, weak smiles she had for him long before he claimed her heart as his own.

While drink was usually the catalyst for easing a confession from a burdened soul, it was the sweet smoke of his consideration that gradually settled her nerves, the simple touch of his hands. Though the curtain of anxiety that had been gathering over the past months still remained, somehow it felt drawn back, the flood beginning to start to drain. Allowing herself another exhale, her hand abandoned the glass for the comfort of the worship of his calloused fingertips.

“It’s all…a very fine drama buried. I try to cover it up with business.” A wry smile emerged now in admittance, murmuring. “You know I always do. Business is always, heh, easier, yes?” The wry chuckle escaped her smile, shaking her head as she continued carefully. Uncertainty gripped her, unsure of how much it felt right to reveal, even to her closest confidant. “You have not met my “sister” officially, and she has only heard the whispers of you. But she has tangled into my life very stubbornly since she found me. Enough to take my name, like you. She would say she is family now. And since the last summer passed, she has been…difficult. Childishly avoidant.” A dismay cooled the warmth of her murmur for him. “I did not bend when she pushed too far. But I am the one left with some pang of guilt, for it, somehow.”

A deep breath filled his chest as her fingers joined in the worship of his, lacing gently against the weathered calluses that lined his palms and fingertips. This subtle worship of theirs was some of the most intimate they shared, a gift of offering as tithe to the confession. Orchid kept his face stoic yet attentive, as to not project false intentions or understandings.

“I believe there is more to be said but I won’ condemn a name yet. So I’ll simply focus on ya’ instead of the situation first as I feel I’ve not all the information.” His hands clasped hers reassuringly in hopes of keeping her emotions calm.

 “Family is difficult - even they spirits when they come ta’ see ya’; one of the many joys of life eternal. Neitha’ of us ‘ave ‘ad much luck in the way of handlin’ family when people attempt ta’ get close. We see the negative,  ‘ow they could ‘arm us. It’s taken time fa’ me but no, not e’eryone is out ta’ get me. Doesn’ mean I’m not still vigilant against it. I’m not sure wha’ ‘appened m’love, but just from the first bits of information, could the guilt ya’ feel be tha’ given she is ya’ family, ya’ ‘ave a desire ta’ be close ta’ ‘er but the fear of ya’ supposed wickedness forces ya’ ta’ push ‘er away? Could it be in fact, despite ya’ constant shovin’ away an’ she truly wishes ta’ connect wit’ ya’, wants ta’ be a part of ya’ family as much as ya’ spirit wishes fa’ it, even if it believes it will brin’ nothin’ but ‘arm?”

An incisor bit the inside of his lip slightly, not for fear of pushing too hard or fearing reprisal but more of concern other beings would attempt to interject into the conversation, ones he had every desire of ending permanently. A hand of shadow made corporeal gently embraced a blade hidden in his jacket, waiting for the moment Safrona’s more intolerable servants decided to put her nose where it didn't belong. He stared at her with subtle worry, watching the etchings of muscles in her face for any movement, any twitch as to what thoughts swirled within her mind.

There was no interruption; outside the booth, few patrons carried on with the buzz of background conversations and laughter, most that visited the Sojourn sought to make use of private rooms and baths where they could relax singularly or with friends or lovers in the same privacy Safrona sought now. Wraafenn remained unmoving from his sprawled post just outside the booth, calm and satisfied to a point of lethargy. Even the Ethereal knew better than to disturb the Confession booth unless personally called upon. Saraj assured no wandering guest would bumble by and be a bother, enticing onlookers with the particularly magical expertise of his mixology with the interest of an order. 

The shadow of certain particular monsters of malice did not haunt the Sojourn or her mistress tonight either, thankfully. Just as his ever-aware instinct would lead him to his hidden blade, his wife’s fingers tightened into his own.

“Yes…” Safrona answered in quiet return behind a culpable smile, “every day is a challenge to cool the darker instinct in me and the hunger that follows in those tethered to me.” The nebulous light of her eyes watched his own for a long moment, and slowly fell to his chest. “You know it, in moments, yes? Sweet as it is for you to share it, the life I gave you comes with its acidic price, its increments of madness.” Her eyes remained fixed at his chest. “We are family in that way, bound to our little sin against nature. More than any other has been for me.”

The smile for him waned once more, drawing back up from the exposure of that thread of truth, now loose. “Wenne is…a story, a tale I let her tell me as I pretend to fill a role. I carefully digest it, and, yes, I do grow to care for the story, for the role she gives me. But the chapters of truth I hold? I accept she can never know them. Giving her those truths might as well be subjecting her to the ugly end of her sister all over again. And nothing would be the same. So I silently build and mend with her, let her build this story of family as she will. In time, maybe it can be. Everything else, it can be water under the bridge, yes?”

The anxiety began to bubble to the surface in Safrona again as she arrived at the crux of her confession, “At least, that is what I thought before…” her lips trembled with what she could not finish. Her fingers left his and slipped into her lap, pressing into the letter she had read a thousand times since she had been given it. The precious letter was lifted carefully, and pressed into her Orchid’s hands. Wet-eyed, his wife gripped his fingers intensely, allowing her whispered confession to travel along his bonded soul rather than the dry throat the words could not break through. “There is a daughter. And I am terrified to cross that bridge.” 

@daily-writing-challenge

Written with @thefirstperished

[safrona-shadowsun]

Daily Writing Challenge || 2024

Day 1: Mysterious / Appearance (Gravekeeper)

Day 2: Agony/Embrace

Day 3: Shame/Favorite

It was a meeting, in secrecy. The warlock constantly underestimated Elernia, and now she swore Safrona would pay for her lax attention, her utter dismissal and betrayal. Their infernal bond waned as the warlock's bond with the new young succubus AND incubus strengthened, allowing the Elder Sayaad to roam further from the warlock without notice. She lured a victim by teaching her name to the right lovesick acolyte and she was effectively summoned in the dank crypt long enough for her to overpower and slaughter the silly elf. And now, presenting the fresh flesh with the right sigil, she bid the one in mind to attend her.

The Sayaadi presented herself in her full demonic glory for her potential new favorite. No glamour, even giving over the truth of her name. A Sister would have been taken aback at such a risk. Elernia might have even been called foolish, a weak link among the Legion even, once, but there was a trust to be earned here with her audience. She could feel the cold distrust in the icy stare she was given as her victim rose anew, yet Elernia basked in the presence as if it were a stage spotlight, putting on her best infernal charm. She was intent on winning over her new prospect.

“Why did you call me here, demon?” Her company was not so easily charmed, none too thrilled to be called to the husk the demon murdered.

“Mmmn, curiousity,” Elernia offered coquettishly. “You would not have answered unless you were just a bit curious too, no? Have you forgotten me already?”

“Perhaps." How DID the demon know the personal sigil to call that particular soul by? "But I will not play your games long, especially if I don't feel quite entertained.” Her company’s voice darkened with an insidious edge. “Sometimes toys like to break.”

The succubus laughed, titilated. “Oh…promise my Pretty? We can play any time, but I called you here because I’d like to think we have some things in common.” Elernia sighed with a little dramatic flair.” My mistress shames us both.”

“I have very little care in how your mistress shames you. She is a mistake. And she will breed more mistakes until she is buried.”

“Oh, I absolutely agree,” Elernia grinned intensely. “It took me far too long to realize that little truth, sadly. I placed her on a damned pedestal for SO very long. Now the years of devotion to her melt to nothing, and I've been such a fool. I am nearly 327 years now, my Pretty, and I am shamed to only now see the lesson. The Shadow on the Sun is a mistake of life, and has little worth on the Path of Power. She is disgustingly complacent, wasting every breath she's stolen."

Elernia could see her contact had quieted with a gathering interest, giving pause to all that she would say. “After all my years of devotion and service in making her stronger, she dares to replace me. ME.” Hate oozed out in each sharply spoke word now, the demon did not mince a word. “I am trapped, made useless, cast aside. Abandoned by the one I have been a constant too. And I seethe.”

Her company scoffed. “Seems to me you must lay in the bed you made. Maybe you’ll warm the empty sheets with your ‘righteous’ anger.”

“Oh, but I’m a little rebel.” Elernia shimmied, and slid her fingers down her skin sensually. “And I want a new bed.”

A wave of dismay, even disgust radiated from her singular witness. “Don’t even think to ask. I will NOT pact with you. I won't make the same mistake again.”

Elernia pouted briefly, but feigned consignment to the denial. “Be that as it may, scorned soul to soul, I offer my help to you out of the kindness of my little black heart. If she gets to play favorites, so will I.”

The corpse sighed. “So now you’re going to find new ways to annoy me? I don't quite like the idea of you knowing how to call me.”

“Oooh Pretty, that hurts! Think about what I'm offering. A direct connection to the little bitch. Information, freely.” Elernia leaned forward, basking in the luminent visage of her company as she whispered her schemes. “I offer opportunity for you to take. I can see that one gleaming desire when you look at me, even now. You desire to make her suffer as much as I do.”

The banshee gazed now in return, her yellow eyes agleam on the succubus as she processed the potential of the words that next slithered off the demon's tongue. “And when we have ruined her enough and had our fun? I will happily help you to bury her."

Elernia felt a swell of victory as the corpse the banshee wore showed a sign of a smile, just before it rapidly rotted, contorted upon itself with sickening crunches, and lay dead once more. "I must go, the spectral form replied, an old haunt to the demon that held its wealth of nostalgia. "Perhaps...we'll speak again. But first, be a good demon and de-bone your little gift for me. "

The Lady Haunt gazed on the crumpled acolyte thoughtfully as the demon began to separate bone from the withered husk. "In fact, make more gifts of more stupid warlocks for me, and I'll continue to answer in the "flesh". I think it's terribly fitting of you."

@daily-writing-challenge

[safrona-shadowsun]

Daily Writing Challenge, May 2024

Day 2: Agony, Embrace

Where it came to closing a rift in partnership or negotiating good graces, Safrona often found that gold warmed icy rifts well enough, especially in the form of gifts.  Exclusive invitations to a gallery exhibit were secured after a lofty donation from Empyrean Import’s banks, bringing her sister out of a taciturn manner that had stretched on for months. 

“Who did you have to sell to get those?” Wenne replied with a tone of laughable disbelief, plucking the invitation from the offered hand too carefully.

“I’m magic, don’t you know Miss Wenne?” Safrona quipped with playful retort. She watched with some several seconds of silence as the arcanist studied the mysterious art featured on the flier. “In Dalaran, no less.” It was spoken with a softer, impassive dignity, but Wennefer’s eyes fastened to her quickly.

“The exhibition’s in Dalaran? You…don’t go there. I mean. I don’t even now. Much.”

A lifetime of memories passed between the sisters as their eyes met in that moment. Memories that played differently in each engulfed iris, blinded only to their own visions, translating feebly. Yet there was an invitation to understanding.

“A little agony in each corner of that little city,” Safrona breathed out insightfully. “But we don’t survive this long without learning to embrace a little pain, no?”

“You are going to come with me, right?” Wennefer now replied intently.

“Absolutely. Might bring Miss Rose with too, art lover as she is. Besides, I don’t want to miss your face with the announcement of the After Party.”

Wennefer was only half listening now, fallen back into the study of the art design featured on the invitation. “Hmm…what do you think?”

Safrona gave an extended glance at the design: “Two hands, mimicking each other. Pretending. Maybe a gesture of invocation. It is the city of Dalaran, after all.” 

“So basic,” Wennefer rolled her eyes. “Even Miss Rose knows art’s not just lines and design and color. It’s supposed to make us feel something, Saf.”

The older Shadowsun scoffed, half-amused. “Right then. What do you feel it all means when you look at the very expensive invitation, Wenne?”

The arcanist tilted the design in hand one way, then the other, and settled with certainty on her answer. “Unity. For good or ill.”

@daily-writing-challenge @vixannya

[safrona-shadowsun]

Anon day: Why is she always so grumpy?

"I'm not," the void elf lifted a brow at the accusation, scoffing ever so faintly. "I am not exactly a ray of sunshine either, but perhaps you caught me in a mood, yes? Or...deeply concentrated? I've heard it through the little grapevine that some think I'm bothered about something when I'm simply busy with a task. No need to worry, I won't bite." The Courier let her lips curl with a playful turn. "Unless you need to be bitten."

[safrona-shadowsun]

𝟐-𝟓 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐘 𝐁𝐄 𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐘

𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒

Burgundy Red, like a deep wine and blood still within the vein.

The smokey Violet of a settling evening or unknown shadow.

A vibrant Blue, the glow of the manifesting Void and scattered nebulas.

𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒

A deep, savory wine uncorked, Quel'danas Bloodberry infused.

Goldenfire Orchid oils, subtle sweet floral aroma distinct to elevated areas of the Valley of the Four Winds.

The faint scent of burning leaves, stronger in the aftermath of a summon or spellcast.

𝐅𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐎𝐍

Steampunk Fantasy with built in corsets for support.

Pandaren-inspired robes or kimonos in feminine styles.

Colors representing varied hues of liquor and wine.

Ankle-cut boots.

Distinct jeweled pieces worn with ulterior magical purpose.

𝐎𝐁𝐉𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐒

Augmented radio Hearthstone.

Ethereal Datapad/Speakstone.

Red Velvet Coinpurse.

Business Cards.

Embellished liquor flask.

𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐘 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐀𝐆𝐄

Stately, observant, hands usually occupied.

Professional, courteous distance.

Diverting, disarming smiles.

Physically engaged, yet distant eyes.

𝐀𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐒

WINE.

A galaxy or nebula contained within an eye.

A raven skull etched on a silver coin.

A heart scarab.

An elegant scythe.

Tagged by: @nixalegos - thank you!

Tagging: (No pressure) @thefirstperished @asharinhun @aldoreth @astralfox0893 @duraxxor @hazriel @mremaknu @fel-temptation @mistressofsha @twosidedsana @kharrisdawndancer @jacelandon @gloamingdawn @ithiliosstarstrider @cythion @eldridgecandell @darkspear-dancers @kaisinasunblade @ziorea @kyuusei-shadowleaf @alliesdelimma and anyone else who might like to!

[safrona-shadowsun]

I would like to treat you like red wine, bottle you up and allow you to age!

"Is this your way trying to say I am immature?" the void elf stated with an amused scoff. "Rude. As everyone's Courier I'd like to think I'm very mature."

[safrona-shadowsun]

New race unlocked, Vin'dorei. "Children of the Vine" with the Courier as their Regent Lady!

Oh, that nearly raked through the Courier's professional veneer, a full, rich laugh rushing from her lungs. Words flowed through when she recovered, sifting through a pleased sigh. "Oh, I don't know who you are, but you've made my night." Safrona lifted her glass of red in toast to the new 'crowning' in jest. "I absolutely need to have my cartographer visualize this into a mock house crest now."

[safrona-shadowsun]

" You have... A deep shade of red upon you. I enjoy the color red. "

The void elf narrowed her eyes slightly at the Red Devil with the sharp smile, her own features eventually softening as she allowed her own smile. "I'm very well aware of what you enjoy, Lord Daevara," she replied with an easy courtesy. Her gaze pinned with a knowing, her smile tugging to a corner with a certain cool playfulness. "At least when it's from a bottle. All the same though, thank you."

{ @duraxxor xD }

[safrona-shadowsun]

"You have always seemed so poised when I have seen you. I hope you are well." Tinnaire smiled at her.

"I do try," Safrona replied with the slow turn of a knowing smile. "I have been spoiled the last few years and I'm a being strongarmed into the thick of a veritable mess. Ah, but maybe it's needed if I get to hear the delight of your voice again, no?"

The Courier's even tone dipped from the professional to a hint of the playful. "You should tell me your taste in drink, so I know what to lure you with next time, lovely."

{ @kharrisdawndancer ;) }