#Safwriting

[safrona-shadowsun]

February DWC Daily Challenge 2025 Day 2: Feb 10 Cage/Power

@daily-writing-challenge

It was not unusual to see a void-shifted Lady Shadowsun in the late hours of the Sojourn, a starry eclipse of playful sway, given a little too much to the delight of drink and satisfying confession. But tonight was not such a night. Tonight was a desperate escape near the Altar of the Perished, stumbling from her own summoning gate. And the empowered void in her overwhelmed every sense she had, swirling like a black hole, impairing all of her spatial awareness.

Steps were a struggle– she had let an invocation of demonic flame devour her energies out of necessity, anything to deliver her mind to despondency, even some thoughtless coma. She needed this death of the mind to find her center again. The Harvester slid to the floor of her own summoning gate – almost. She could feel…something catch her and slump with her to the base of her gate. The numb bubble of distorted silence began to at last dissipate, at last letting sound crack through at the behest of another, well known shadow. She dared a brittle smile as she felt the First Perished’s signature wash over her, wrapping her in the cloak of his own presence. She was finally safe, here. He was Home.

“Who d’ I need t’kill, cherie?” the promise was whispered and then pressed against her temple with the gentle gravel of her Soulsinger’s voice, gathered up against him. She felt his rough, pale hands squeeze into her with the urge to comfort. Her fingers twitched as he checked for signs of life, finding her heartbeat, sliding shadowy fingers down the strands of her turbulent soul. A massive scattering of void-addled soul crystals released from the undulating aura of her body. She was breathing, cognizant, but weak by the flesh.

Tears edged the corners of her eyes, craving his anchoring. An anchoring was always needed, but now moreso as the Harbinger’s whispers were seeded deep, and left her haunted with the dark mirror of what she truly was. Harvesting the Ascended Nerubians was all that she could do in her desperation, to cling to the masked layers she did not want to have torn away. It did not matter if she lived on 100 different lies, only that they were hers, claimed of her own volition. But even in this act of individual rebellion, the Harbinger’s forces fought her just enough to present the challenge. In the end they were just the lure with their sacrifice, just as the Harbinger planned. 

Xala’tath was kin. She felt it at her core, as any remade by the Void would. The Harbinger sifted through her labyrinth of borrowed memory and history and found her obscured core, pulling it into clarity for them both to see. She had always been a Child of the Dark, connected to the Unseen spheres from the moment she opened her first grimoire and heard the ‘forbidden’ speak, and recognized it as an aspect older than Creation itself. And within her was a dormant path to change. Change was evolution, and through her it could be enacted so easily with the web of her worldly connection, resource, pathing, vital location, and subtle influence, leading to the deconstruction of cyclic systems of stagnant ‘civilizations’ only serving the Light-favored, wealthy, xenophobic and militant few. And change could only ever be enacted when one took the hand of power to level the playing fi–

Safrona wrenched her mind from the Harbinger’s vision of possibility, struggling to mentally cage the will of the Ascended she had taken into herself and the dark pulse of desire that had tried to build through her with it. It was a certain break in sanity bled with a long quiet rage that the Harbinger sought to enable in her, driven to systematically tear down the infrastructure of so many cities that she had worked herself to the bone to support, like some scorned sociopath. It was some old spark of scorn dredged up from the betrayer she had once been decades ago. An unsettling downward spiral that she did not wish to admit she had stared down from an upper wrung, especially after her exile. The fact that she could envision it at all spoke to something that remained twisted in her, but an aspect of her nonetheless. 

“I…I think enough have died tonight…” she finally voiced, indicating the void corrupted shards spinning away from them on the cellar floor, the many Ascended she had consumed in a last defense that had started her own undoing. She knew not if they were even fit for the Loa’s taking and had no strength to release them to his altar. But there was hope always in her Soulsinger’s arms.

Language was the simplest touch, a sacred exchange as their fingers met and intertwined as they had a dozen times before. “I am yours and you are mine,” she whispered repetitively to her beloved like a mantra, fingers hooking and curling into his physicality with a possessiveness. She breathed the soil and smoke of him as if he were clear air, an absolution. He was a shade that would not flinch from her, that would not burn with more than devoted passion, that could not erode. She could summon armies of demons and malefic entities to serve her from numerous realms, conduct a symphony of fear and pain over an army alone, but she felt a strength in her Orchid that was beyond her, and had long fascinated her, even now. He equalized her, gave her balance, and she loved him for it all and more. 

“I need you,” she whispered with varied meaning, all collecting at his lips as she pressed to them in a soft kiss. Here, she could taste the elements of the soul she loved so well, a link that quelled one madness, and delivered her slowly into another she much preferred; love was its own brand of insanity. A craving made tender, until it was not. 

Safrona’s fingers trembled to free a caged soul from a shard, fueling the ritual to contain her precous Soulsinger’s spirit to a Soulstone. Then the inevitably of her yawning hunger rushed to claim him, to drain and devour with an unholy desperation. 

“Then take, lova’ mine,” his whisper invited fearlessly, found her at the soul with a tender urging. She felt his heart blazing beneath his chest between splayed fingertips, enthralled by the vital transfer of one that worshipped her so reverently. “Y’already have all of me…” 

Phantoms woke in the Altar room of the Perished amidst the sweet sacrifice, called by the First of the Perished with what draining strength he had in him to command. However corrupt, each crystal the Harvester brought was carried by ephemeral hands to the Altar, for each was a boon of power promised to the Loa. The carousel of ghostly offering continued, until the First’s life force drained to its last, the fire of his heart, dulled. With his death rattle, the ties that bound him to life and his charges snapped, casting the cellar into a desolate silence.

Broken from her euphoric theft but renewed and cleansed by her beloved’s sacrifice, Safrona devolved into a trembling panic for several manic seconds as she processed her Orchid’s wilted form slumping to the cellar floor with an awful sloughing. Grasping the soulstone tighter in her grasp, she shattered it to release his safeguarded soul.

Dread washed over her so deeply in the passing of seconds, seeing a repetitive nightmare playing out before her now in the waking world. Dread that she had gone too far in her hunger, and that her beloved Orchid would not return. Gripped firmly by her own traumas, another terrible reality layered on to her spiraling thoughts: what if he then came to only live within her, as the many she had consumed before him?

Then she heard the soulstone’s magic resolve like a resounding funeral bell, chiming in its finality. A sound of hope, nestled at the bottom of the puzzle box of wrong released on her tonight. An ethereal play of light played over his face as his spirit returned, and the Orchid’s own brand of shadow soon flaked from him as he stirred, renewed. The burning heart flared to life with a particularly wicked afterburn that rung around his ribcage as he drew himself back up to sit, causing him to cough aggressively. His eyes found her intently as the vital rhythm settled in him. She was stricken, yet vibrant with the chaos of a layered emotional resonance she so rarely let herself feel. They called it, ‘living’.

“Promised t’ya," he spoke, her Orchid’s hand reached to cup tenderly around her cheek, thumb grazing a stream of tears. “Neva lettin’ go.”

The warlock felt her own chest heave with relief, and soundlessly, she fell forward to wrap the love of her life in the tightest embrace she could muster.

{ With reference to the amazing writer at @thefirstperished }

[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]

"I totally didn't mail a pipebomb to ya!" the vulpera called after Selithar, leveling a thumbs up at the closing door in her face."Have a great day!" And the cheery little courier was on her way. Ahhh yes. A job well done for Empyrean Imports!

{The amazing art and character belongs to @aglitchysylveon . Syllvea is a courier under Safrona's employ ;)}

<A simple letter, delivered by a familiar white vulpera with a disturbingly cheeky grin> Did you know: licking postage stamps can make you fat!

Selithar looked down at the letter, arching a brow as he read the contents. "What does...wait..." he looked at the Vulpera and then back at the letter and then back at the Vulpera before frantically running his hand through his hair. "I'm just going to... go over here... behind this door... and close it... and lock it.." he said slowly, clearly disturbed by the Vulpera's appearance. @safrona-shadowsun

[safrona-shadowsun]

February DWC Daily Challenge 2025 Day 1: Feb 19 Hypnotic/Star

@daily-writing-challenge

Music || Wandering Star by Portishead (dark version)

It was only to be a simple drop of emergency supplies, a plea by Alleria’s troops entrenched close to the walls of the Nerubian Palace. They had asked for the Courier by name, and it was neither a request she would pawn over to her own runners, or one that she could fully ignore. She was more certain of her resistance to the near hypnotic Void Call in the subterranean depths, prepared with specialty wards, with talks to those closest to her. A summoning of Death’s gift presented more certainty: the little skull-faced fox demon had kept her focused in the perimeter of Azj-Kahet as he promised he would in previous excursions. Cavu flicked his tail, excited for an adventure.

Already on landing, Safrona felt the vibrations of the void magic infusing the cavernous city to be a normalized experience, one now oddly expected, like a white noise that made utter silence unbearable. Briefly confirming with the strangely charming hosts of the Severed Threads on her intended location, Safrona boarded one of their own short flights to take her as close as she could be to the Palace.

Subtlety was not needed here, but the vibrato of the voidsong had grown deep and disconcerting near the palace. She elected to summon Wraithsong, bathing in the Xorothian flames that birthed the otherworldly horse was a welcome distraction. Soaring above freely gave her a closer look to the madness below. Ascended clashed in pockets against united forces from above, but the fight had grown thin; the Nerubians seemed endless in this place. She tracked the pillar of an erected Lightstone where her contacts were meant to be, and slowed Wraithsong’s flight as she realized its beacon had been eclipsed, pulsing void light.

This did not bode well. Still, the Courier pushed on. She had to confirm the loss. Someone could have survived and been waiting on her delivery.

And someone was.

Wide fire aimed her way, that of��Ren’dorei? Three of them, and a group of Ascended in tow as they shouted for their attention. The remaining camp had been compromised, mind’s turned against their own forces. It could be assumed the Harbinger’s direct influence had swayed the desperate to betray the rest. And she had flown right into the problem. Almost. One had their bow trained on her, but did not let their arrow fly again. Their fire had been too wide for such an obvious target as well. These sharpshooter’s were Alleria Windrunner’s personal contingent. Their shots would have landed home. As she drew closer to circle the single sharpshooter, he hesitated with his rifle where he had a clear shot. This one was either awaiting a signal, or they were fighting the influence to attack. It was an opportunity, either way.

Wraithsong screamed as the Wrathsteed darted back, and bowled the single sharpshooter over at full force. Safrona hopped from the cradle of its seat to dart for the beacon, ready to feed it the purified crystals it would need to reverse its eclipse. As the two mind-addled sharpshooters returned with their Ascended assistance, she gripped a Nerubian with a curse of Terror so great it turned and ran through its own forces with its own catatonia, knocking some off their many legs. An archer let an arrow fly toward her with masterful aim, and it sliced into her hand, making its home into her palm.

The pain made her angry, and with spite she set two seeds of corruption into his form, riddled his body with more curses until he convulsed under the sheer agony. Ripping the arrow from her hand, she awaited the regrouping of the Ascended before calling on Cavu to empower her with Death’s Embrace. Her life draining was vicious and quick, rendering him into dried meat in a matter of seconds - his expiration flowered into an explosion of Fel erosion, catching the entirety of the group in a doubled backblast that stunned each and weakened flesh with further life eating curses, taking what remained of them to withered corpses by the time they reached her.

Safrona cursed underneath her own breath, feeling no real victory here. Her hand had healed decently, but she had not one chance to snap up one single soul. Cavu of course, clapped rather excitedly, now eternally the strange cheerleader in her life.

The remaining, hesitating Sharpshooter dropped to his knees in fear and confusion as he struggled with his own conscience, and for a moment Safrona considered snapping up what she needed from him. Her thoughts were quickly whipped away from that consideration as reality warped around the Sharpshooter, sucking him into the sudden manifestation of a Void Portal. 

Safrona could feel her blood run cold as the seconds stretched on in that moment, sensing the arrival of a dread presence as it attached to her conscience before the body gained purchase. With immortal grace, the Harbinger drew herself through, like some ancient, lost star. Xala’tath stared her down with an all too pleased smile. Beautiful. Terrible.

“Ahh,” she chuckled conspiratorily as she took her measure of the warlock. “Courier.”

This…knowing, was uncomfortable, unexpected, jumbling once streamlined thoughts. She was being singled out under the pinpointed gaze, and it spawned a thousand questions she did not have the time to consider. She had a job to do. Darting for the beacon, she focused as Cavu ran at her side on all fours, hoping against hope that reactivating the beacon would erect the barrier of Light enough to keep all that was on her at bay.

Ascended fired on her, taking her down at the legs; not enough to be lethal, but enough to pin her to the ground. Cavu whimpered, tail between his legs. The little demon barked at her, and then she heard nothing. He was lost, drawn back to the realm from whence he came.

The Harbinger’s voice melted through the static all around her as she hovered closer. The mere presence of the ancient power caused Safrona’s void energies to roll against her own senses, deafening sound, isolating her to an abyssal connection. 

“Oh pretty pretender. You amuse me again with your denial. You fight so hard against the draw, but you can feel it, can’t you? You struggle against the tide. It’s such a shame. You are a Child of the Dark, and all paths lead you to this truth, and to me. When will you stop fighting the tide and let the current take you to me?”

The world thrummed around her as Xala’tath beckoned with an outstretched hand. “I can give you what you want. What you will need.”

The Harvester glared in return and rose despite her injured legs, allowing her great scythe to manifest. Her devoted Voidlord answered the call of its truename in demonic at the same time, intrinsically tied to its Mistress at the soul. The very summoning seemed an act of rebellion in itself, adrenaline masking pain.

“Do you know why I ignore you, Harbinger?” Soul shards floated around Safrona, readying for a fresh harvest. “You sing the same song as every would-be god and demanding demon lord before you. And I am so, so tired of the tune.”

The Harbinger chuckled and sighed, dissipating from her sight. Ascended Nerubians began to close in to her location, more than the Harvester knew she could ever outlast on her own. She calculated her options, all leading to some form of escape.

It was not the overwhelming odds that sent the shiver up her spine though, but the feel of the Harbinger’s voice against her ear, manifesting from her own void infused shadow. Her fingers dared to pluck one of the warlock’s shards from the circulating aura around her, keeping it for herself.

“Then let me sing a new song, “Courier”. We are kin, you and I. Closer than those that only know you by the flesh you wear. No demon saw you down the first steps to your reach for power. No “Scion” opened your eyes to the Great Dark Beyond. I knew you then as I know you now. So thrash, if you must, and drown in the Void that birthed you. In time, you will be where you need to be. Hungry.”

With this, the Harbinger winked out of sight, and left her to a kingdom of Ascended. All Safrona knew she could do was begin the Harvest, consuming the crumbling lifestone she’d managed to create. Each beat of a curse was a count down to the moment where her demons could ready the ritual of the Altar gate, and bring her home.

She only hoped there was enough of herself left to bring back.

[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.

[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 }

[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]

The ground floor of the Sojourn had quieted on into a late night, and like a phantom in billowing blue silk, Serenas quietly made her way down the steps from the second floor. The young woman was no prisoner of the Sojourn, but she had elected to sequester herself to the room given to her for more than a week, only attempting to seek out food when she thought her presence would not be sensed, like some timid mouse.

There was not a time that the girl was not being watched once she left the room of course. Eyes were beyond her notice, in shadows, in walls. And now, between drawn curtains of confession booths. The girl froze when she spotted the writhing curiosity of leathery tentacles part from the low light of the dining area, the great Felbeast shifting on its spot on the floor near a booth. Safrona shifted as well in her cushioned booth, the light window of her confession booth slowly gaining its bronze luminance.

"Does the demon frighten you?" Safrona's voice seemed to throw from many directions of the 1st floor, resonant with her void-touched aura. "Or are you still actively avoiding me, Serra?"

The demon continued to track the girl's uncertain movement, the way she collected her hands together in front of her, fingers digging into her own flesh with a spell of anxiety. "N...no I..."

Safrona was patient, allowing the girl to collect herself. If was no longer an outright fear she sensed prickling at the soul, but a cloud of unease that muddled the soft light of the Dawnsinger. A few seconds ticked by, and the young noble's words rung clear.

"I did not wish to be a disturbance, merely." Her voice was a delicate bell, wrapped in humility. A humility that dipped into a moat of guilt as she added in a quieter refrain: "....again."

Safrona stood from the booth table, pushing the red velvet curtains that flanked it aside. A subtle flare of her fingers dismissed the Felhunter dominated the floor. She watched as Serenas blinked at the sight of the monstrous canine seeming to dissipate into nothingness, as if it had all been an illusion in the first place.

"You act as you have never seen a demon before," Safrona chuckled beneath her breath at the girl's unease. "Silvermoon is one of the few cities where they are permitted. I find that hard to believe."

"Well," Serenas shrugged helplessly. "We, ah, don't usually have them at the estate. House Dawnsinger does not really house practitioners of this...art."

"I see." Safrona stated, refraining from her instinct to pry at the girl with more questions. This was new, and they had been ghosts for so long in each other's lives. She would not take more than the girl could give. "As long as he is not given reason to react, Wraafenn will not be a problem." She let her customary impishness influence a curve of a smile. "I wouldn't wriggle tasty bits of magic for him though unless you are comfortable with him stalking you for more."

"Oh," Serenas sounded silently, considering all the little light-threaded origami animals she had created in her room of late could be a lure. "I will keep that in mind."

Safrona gestured to the booth table, where a meal awaited. "Come and sit. Eat. You don't need to steal bites from the kitchen. You have some letters. You'll need to forgive me for going through them. You came here without the usual channels and I feel it's necessary to take precaution."

Serenas had tensed, even as she came closer to the booth, and sat as instructed. "....no one knows I am here. Except maybe, for one. How would I have letters? They are addressed to me?"

"...you have some fans here, at the Sojourn, it seems," Safrona let her knowing little smile play at her lips. "And I have a some very well connected couriers, elsewise."

"...oh," Serenas could only respond as she stared at the delicately made crepe on her platter, surprised to see something so familiar.

Safrona eased into the booth seating, and let the red velvet curtain fall to afford them privacy. In this, she could feel the wary rise of Orchid's attention pulse through their innate bond, watching somewhere from a shadowed corner of the Sojourn. He was aware of his wife's rituals within those booths, the games of confession that fed increments of her unnatural hungers. She was fond of how protective he had grown of the girl, softened herself by the almost paternal instinct that had woken in him through Serenas.

She is the blood of my blood, but I will not claim any bit of her soul my love, I promise, she offered in thought to console his wariness, even as she watched the girl lift the first bite of his crepe to her lips. Even I have my limits. Stay close however, if you wish. The well fed open themselves to conversation, and this one has been long in coming, I know.

Indeed, by the morning, Serenas had been quite forthcoming of how much of her life had been lived for her in Silvermoon, and how deeply she wished to be free of the life expected of her. Tears had been shed, apologies accepted, and promises made to keep Serra's life her own. As far as Safrona was concerned, what marriage that had been arranged for her daughter was null and void, without her permissions.

Safrona could never quantify the full truth of why Lady Dawnsinger had never returned to her life after her fall - she carefully gave Serenas facets of truth that the girl would understand and comprehend, carefully answering only what needed to be known, as she gave to most that pried. And as with most, her little fragments of truth were enough to satisfy.

In the burning core of her being, she was unsure if the mother that Serenas craved could be resuscitated. Something that echoed it was all that remained, a mere shadow, learning to pantomime the lives of others to the point of mastery. Yet even a shadow could swallow memory and birth it again.

"You used to call me your 'last light,'" the girl had said with a hushed sweetness. "Anah'diel. Don't you remember?"

Anah'diel. The word struck her, had been lit in her memory before in her current life, without a real reason why. A phrase that had felt important. A fond name she had given those few that had lit her path at its darkest, calling her home.

And now, looking on the little light that was Serenas Dawnsinger, it all started to connect.

Anah'diel. She could not speak it, but the phrase felt like an anchor, another tether to follow out of the dark. Another needed anchor so craved, in quiet, at the soul.

{ Relevance in reference for @serenas-dawnsinger and @thefirstperished }

[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]

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]

(Non) Anon-Day!: Safrona is an old character with a lot of lore and history. In all of that, I missed WHY she left her children and old life behind?

A very good question, and one that Safrona has never discussed very openly, and never really intended to. Despite Safrona's lengthy history as a very successful figure, the history before the "Courier" has always been something of a mystery. Now, long kept secrets are beginning to leak, and they began with Safrona's sister, Wenne, locating her and burrowing into her current life.

Extreme memory loss is to blame as Safrona has made her sister aware, and by proxy her daughter, Serenas. Her old life was 'damaged' in Dalaran during Jaina Proudmoore's purging of the Sunreavers and other Horde 'betrayers', and the former Dawnsinger matron was, by all standards, reported to have been killed. She nearly was of course -- it is a long fall to be thrown from Dalaran and land a mangled body below.

Who would become Safrona Shadowsun survived the impact, but not entirely intact. There was not else to be done but to survive, and begin anew. Safrona has never been able to recall the Dawnsingers, or her former life, save for occasional triggered flashes of tactile memory she could neither understand or desired to investigate. Void madness further fractures what is real or not in current times, but some of what 'episodes' show her are also shapes of unhinged truth.

It is of course only a facet of truth among many that Safrona holds regarding this situation. There are very few that come to know other facets that complete the mystery, and those few that have earned a facet are often sworn to secrecy. It has always just been enough for Safrona to be the "Courier' for most, after all.

But what matters now is that Safrona is dealing with the consequences of the revelation of the Dawnsinger children, and how this strange family drama progresses is yet to be seen...with further writing and rp ;)

{ Thank you, @kharrisdawndancer! }

[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 }