#Servitors of Lothar

[graceintheshadows]

An ending

She stared at the paperwork for a last few moments.  The assignment, at this point, had come as no surprise—she had been in Nazjatar more often than hadn’t been of late.  Before the seas had opened up, she had been considering retirement again.  It had seemed time.

Elune—and the Alliance—had other plans, it seemed.

Either way, it was time.

She stacked the paperwork neatly on one corner of the desk.  It seemed so impersonal, now.  Cleaning had not taken all that long, all things considered.  Perhaps before she deployed she would swing out to Etharion and Thoran’s farm, just to see how things were.

To see how things were and tell him personally that she had been called up, that things had changed.

She folded the tabard neatly, smoothed a hand over the lion embroidered in gold.  Roiya smiled faintly, laying next to it her signet and aiglette.

It was time.

She slipped the key from her ring of them and laid it with the rest.  She walked to the door, pausing to whisper a prayer.  The protections on the office that she’d laid so long ago faded slowly, erased without a trace.  It would be up to the next occupant to lay new ones of their own.

Then, she stepped out, murmuring softly to no one and to all of them—though they weren’t there to hear it.

“Good-bye.”

[servitorsoflothar]

Another Lolthar update! Five months delayed due to M’s computer struggles but we’re here at last! The rest of the post is here.

@creekwhisper @josilverwright @vindicatorz

[lordaeronslost]

A scribbled note to Tauzen Skyforge

Tauzen —

Steer the hell clear of Gulliver Chadwell. He put a knife in me for having pointed ears and the balls to do my job.

Report’s in to HQ already. Be careful.

— Ghost.

@zan-of-spades

[tired-space-crow]

Join Servitors of Lothar: We got that good Dick content.

@servitorsoflothar

[josilverwright]

Funeral at Sea

2 August Starling's Gambit, Darkshore

Teldrassil is burning. Still burning. Likely it will burn for months. Years. There were precious few survivors to find on Darkshore. Few enough that could have fit on the By Fire and Blood, along with the Servitors that came. We hoped for more, I suppose. I hoped for more. The Gambit can carry thrice the people my warship could, plus supplies. So that is what we brought.

Not that a dozen more guns would have stopped the whole world from burning. Not two dozen, or a hundred. I can't buy into that sort of fantasy. Not now, now with the Horde intent on tearing down the whole world so that they don't have to share it.

My eyes burn from the smoke even at this distance. Ash falls like grim snow and it has only gotten worse. The shot and powder has been taken below deck and the sails are furled tight and covered. A stray ember could be the end of this ship too.

War is coming and Roiya's gone on a fool's errand into that blaze. Word is the Alliance will march on Lordaeron now, bringing it far too close to Aerie Peak. I don't believe the Keep would even be safe enough for Nia and Kixa now. I haven't discussed this with M, but I will bring it up, soon.

I don't know what's next -- for me or the Servitors. I imagine High Command will have something for us. But I look at that inferno and I feel that familiar stirring, in my mind, in my gut; like a snake's head rising, having sensed a weakness in its prey. This shadowy beast, this thing, will be held in check. I must pray it will be.

((Mentions: @graceintheshadows @mindspanner

[shadewhisper]

@vindicatorz works at Hooters?

[vindicatorz]

April 12th

I don't know what to do anymore.

We took on the fel reaver last night, and it went nearly as terribly as it possibly could have. So many were hurt in the process. Jo managed to finally take care of the reaver, but nearly all of those that were on the ground suffered heavy injury. No one is dead, but a few are teetering on the very edge. Was it really worth it all in the end? Maybe. I don't know. I suppose my opinion on it all doesn't really matter anyways at this point.

I've also come to the conclusion that I will do whatever I have to do to not be placed in the back lines again. I am not a ranged fighter, I never have been and I doubt I ever will be. It's not what I was trained for. While I can partially understand M's decision with my placement, I was still rendered near useless throughout the entirety of the fight because of it. Being unable to help is perhaps one of the things I hate the most, I've come to realize. I've been doing my best to assist with all of the healing needed, but I'll be the first to admit that it's not my forte.

After my conversation with M the other day, I used the Mark to try and contact the King. It appears as though the connection has been severed. There's simply nothing there now, despite the Mark remaining. I'm not sure what to make of it. My eyes have not gone back to normal either, yet, despite the loss of the connection, which only provides more confusion. Perhaps he has died again? I may speak to M about it, I haven't yet decided.

But I did test the weapon out, away from the others. It is still there, though the power seems to have faded some. It was more difficult to call upon this time. I had the intention of asking about it, but since the link was severed, I didn't get the chance. But I'm confident that it would still bring me back should I die, despite M's trepidation on the fact. I'm not sure how many times I have left for it to do so, but it's only been...four times that it has had to so far. Two of those I'm not sure if it would even count for, as they were unavoidable. There is still the occasional residual pain from them, but it is nothing that I can't live with.

I haven't had the chance to talk to Izarre and Folcan about all that's happened yet. Folcan asked me again before I left, but there was not time to explain then. I've yet to formally leave the Game, what with this 'hiatus' that it seems to be on, and I've not yet decided on whether or not to entirely do so yet, or if it's even possible for me to at this point now that I've become an actual player within the larger scale of it all. I need to speak with the King or the Architect at some point, probably. After the deployment.

All I know is that I don't want to disappoint either of them again. I've done enough of that with far too many people these past few months.

{ Mentions @mindspanner, @josilverwright, @fools-king }

[dexcrank-blog]

M and Dex working on their megarobot that most definitely won’t make an appearance any time soon but was a fun way to kill time before Kara last year.

@mindspanner

[etharion]

Ethjournal vol.4, April 4

((There's a significant time gap between entries.  About seven pages are covered with nothing but doodles, faces of Servitors past and present.  There are other images as well, the mind-memories of old friends, annoyances, and brief acquaintances who still managed to make enough of an impact to end up committed to paper.  Then, finally, some text.))

April 4

It's funny--I haven't touched this book in months, but today as I was cleaning out the Commander's office it fell off the shelf and whacked me in the head.  I took that as a sign.  

To be honest, the reason I haven't written anything is because I haven't really wanted to.  At first I was just busy, to the point of being overwhelmed.  But when the moments came when I was able to pause and breathe--the moments when I would normally write or draw or otherwise try to sort out the turmoil on paper--I had no desire.  There was no urge to do it.  

Now, I only feel an urge to end it.

My father lives on as Eledhron Felsight.  He fell at Hyjal, yes, but not to his death.  It's complicated.

In the initial months after this most recent Legion invasion, my thoughts took a dark turn, helped along by my mother's words.  The only way to finally live up to my Father's legacy would be to die fighting the Legion.  The only way to live up to Síla's sacrifice, Meri's sacrifice, and the sacrifices of other Servitors--Masana and Sky for example--would be to die fighting.  The only way to prove my commitment to the Servitors would be to die fighting.  I had no concrete plans to actively seek out my demise, but I was ready to throw myself at it when the opportunity came.  Not because I was tired of life, but because I didn't deserve it.  

Then Eledhron admitted the truth to me, and the whole edifice of what I thought was reality came crashing down.

In the months since, I've been sifting through the rubble, looking for whatever truths I can use to rebuild.  Here are a few--the ones pertaining to the Servitors of Lothar, at any rate:

I came to the Servitors looking for purpose, a young man unmoored.  With the Servitors, I found the purpose of duty, and the fulfillment of serving something greater than one own's pleasures.

I came looking for stability and a place where I could build a life for my child.  Essilte was nine then.  

She's seventeen now.  She is tall and slender as a reed, strong as steel.  She is both smarter and wiser than I will ever be, thank Elune.  She is sometimes stern and serious, sometimes gay and carefree.  She loves to experiment and learn.  She's already a budding businesswoman, with Merric Wines and Spirits, and a keen student of the arcane arts.  She loves to swim, just like her mother...my dear lost Taniwë.  She keeps Meri in her heart and still calls him An'da, yet she's been able to accept another--Thoran, and all his big-hearted loving bluster.  She is a kind and loving big sister to two young children, having accepted them as readily as if they were her own blood.  She's made terrible mistakes and paid a dreadful price for them, but she survives and grows, like the Greentree that Meri named her.

She's wonderful.  She's a miracle.  I love her and had a small hand in shaping her...and I don't think it would have been possible without the Servitors.

I didn't know it at the time, but I came to the Servitors looking for family.  And I found one.  A dysfunctional one, to be sure, but still family.

I never wanted to become Commander.  And in a way, I'm not cut out for it--not the way Mena is.  But I think perhaps I was the Commander the Servitors needed, these past few years.  Looking back I found the entry I made the day I became Commander.  This is what part of it says:

It’s official, but it still feels wrong.  When I joined the Servitors, all I wanted to do was prove myself useful and worthy.  I never wanted to lead.  Now it falls to me to keep our order alive in the lean times coming…or make something of whatever remains.  If I ever need to remember my duty, I just need to recall the look on Davvi’s face–the tears in her eyes–at the meeting today as I explained our financial situation.

The Servitors are her family.   Her home.  As we have always been the home for the lost, the orphaned and dispossessed, the loners and odd ones.  Swordsisters and swordbrothers come and go, but the Servitors will remain.  I do not need to ask myself “What if the center does not hold?” because I am the center now.  I will hold.  I will hold for myself, for Davvi, for Arydd, Nel, Seda, Dani, Lav, Shivs, and anyone else who might seek a home and a purpose with us.

I held.  I held the center, and now we are strong again, even in the face of the Legion.  I leave our legacy to Roiya, M, Bromm, and their chosen Adjutants, confident that they are the right people for the right time.

I leave the Servitors having done what I needed to do, and now it's time to move on.

[graceintheshadows]

The Last Hours of Teldrassil: Shadowgrace

Smoke clogged her throat, stung her eyes.  It was hard to breathe, but she couldn’t stop.  She had to keep going.  There were too many people there, too many that couldn’t escape without help and there would not be enough help.

She abandoned us.

It had been a blip on a subchannel, word that Tyrande had reached Stormwind with Malfurion Stormrage. That, if nothing else, would have driven her to at least try to reach the city before all was lost—for she knew in her heart of hears that all was lost—but she still had to try.  Someone had to try, as their high priestess had seemingly abandoned them.

Elune, light and love incarnate, watch over your children as we face the darkest shadows of our lives.

Her eyes stung as she wrapped a strip torn from her cloak over her mouth and nose to help mitigate the smoke.  Her ribs ached and she knew she was bleeding—the last moments as they grew close to Rut’theran before it was obliterated by a falling limb of the great tree had not been kind—and for a second Roiya was glad that the cloth was still damp with saltwater from the sea.  It would help for a time, at least.

Why had they been so keen to follow her into this hell?

Goddess have mercy on them.  Goddess have mercy on me.

She sucked in a breath, barely managing not to cough, and plunged deeper into the billowing smoke. Her boots echoed hollow on the stones, the sound muted by the roar of flames, of heat-driven wind, of the screams of the trapped and the dying.

Burning was a terrible way to die.

She dropped her shoulder into a burning door.  The wood splintered, ash and embers spiraling around her, melding with the shadows swirling around her.

I am shadow, your hand in dark places.  Elune, watch over me and help me to save your people as I walk in the shadows of Your light.

“Come!” she barked at the family huddled inside, reaching a hand out to them.  “Hurry!  There are portals at the temple.  Hurry.”

They hesitated for a moment too long.  She plunged deeper into the cottage.

“You need to go,” she said urgently.  “There is no time.”

“You’re Shadowgrace,” the elder of the three women inside said, her voice a raw but hushed whisper. “What are you doing here?  Our world is dying.”

“Elune commands, and I obey,” Roiya said, gentling her tone and swallowing the cough that threatened. “Our people are dying.  Where else would I be if not saving them?”

The woman’s eyes glimmered, tears there not only from the smoke.  She swallowed, nodding hard, clutching a girl of perhaps ten against her chest.

“Go,” Roiya whispered, her voice almost lost to the crackling and the screams, the rushing wind and the sound of falling debris.  “Please.”

The woman nodded, gathering her child, the others with her fleeing out into the plaza in her wake.

Her own eyes stinging, Roiya coughed once, then again, hard.  For a second, her vision dimmed.

Elune, please.  Do not forsake me—do not forsake us.

The cottage creaked. A whispered curse escaped her lips as a beam came down in a cloud of embers and sparks like fireflies in the summer air.  The sound of its crash left her ears ringing and she stumbled out into the streets of Darnassus, into the streets of a dying, burning city.

There would not be time to save them all, but she would die trying.

[servitorsoflothar]

A HUGE thank you to @risrielthron for taking our guild photos! Check out the splash page on our website! Lookin’ good for another year.

[lordaeronslost]

A letter to Cord Embersong - 29 July

This letter is written hastily on good parchment in sepia ink. In the right hand margin is a charcoal sketch of a long vial, sealed with some kind of wax.  Bright green ink colors whatever liquid is inside the sketched vial.  The letter is sealed in plain gray wax.

 Darling –

The bitch is up to old games.  We’re sure of it.  Stay away from Undercity.

STAY AWAY FROM LORDAERON.

Stay safe and don’t play her games, don’t dance to her tune.

Stay safe.

Stay alive.

Stay away from there. Stay away.  I don’t know what exactly the bitch has in store but it’s not good.  Shit like this is never good.

Stumbled over a wagon en route through Alterac to Undercity.  I think you can guess what we found in four crates inside.

Think of the event that the world can never forget, what happened in Northrend years ago.

Stay safe.  Stay alive.

Please.

 Ghost.

[ @darlingknave]

[ordombogwater-blog]

Reaver Aftermath

As Ordom surveyed the three battered and burned forms of his comrades Beyarma, Skybrooke, and Frovelos, he could not help but utter, “Broken Shore. The name was never as fitting as it is now.”

[josilverwright]

It’s back!

[mindspanner]

I have been encouraged to post some of the highlights of our Servitors of Lolthar thread, so here, enjoy the guild at it’s very best. If this gets enough response I might post more. There’s two pages of these on our forums >.> 

(tagging for mentions and interest: @s-artec, @etharion, @bluelivingwizard, @creekwhisper bc this is ur fault)

[shadewhisper]

Bad decision.

The fel reaver continued to chase them down.  The Distraction Team had done their jobs and regained its attention, leading the enormous mechanical construct toward the lava-filled pit where they intended to trap it within range of the cannons.  M’s mechanical voice droned at top volume through the COMM “GET UP THE RAMP TO THE AIR SHIP WE NEED IT INTO THE PIT.”  But the reaver was picking up speed.  Sky couldn’t be sure that it wouldn’t just follow up the hill, trapping M and Bey along with her.  

So she ran.  Not up the hill, but toward the pit.  At ground level, right to the edge of the bubbling green fel lava.  She raises her daggers high over her head, their enchantment sending out a bright flash of moonlight whenever they strike together.  “Over here, you overgrown clockwork!”  She thought the reaver had been at top speed, but it managed to run even faster, its booming steps heading straight for the elf.  Her breath hitched in her throat, but she held her ground.  Her knees shook, but she refused to let her feet move.  Nel and Fro were on the thing’s legs, attaching a braided cable, and their success was more important.  If the reaver was coming after her, it wasn’t attacking them.  

Suddenly a wave of water washed over her, sliding her feet backward onto rapidly-cooling lava.  A large mass of salt-stained wood slammed into her chest, whipping her head around and pushing her down into the molten fel-touched stone.  It felt like everything was on fire.  Her nose filled with saltwater and the acrid stench of burning hair.  Roiya’s dagger.  It was still tucked tight inside her belt, and she went to pull it loose, her fingers stiff and her grip slipping as her flesh melted in the intense heat.  She threw the blade with all her might, praying that maybe at least it would survive this fight.  The water was gone, but her ears filled with the sound of her own screams and the emergency alarms of every COMM in the area.  Everything went dark.

She felt a warm grasp around her left hand, though the sensation was muted as if through thick gloves.  Squeezing back sent a spike of pain up her arm; her whole palm felt like it was covered in shards of broken glass.  “... Mom?”  But no, when she forced her stiff eyelids open, blinking and squinting against the light and the dry, sandy feeling on her eyeballs, it wasn’t her mother at her side.  

“R-Roiya...?  I’m... alive?”

mentions @mindspanner @beywood @nelmadge @frovelos @graceintheshadows