#Stasi Sunrunner

[sithandsindorei]

“What Shape Does Your Pain Take?”

Glass Cage

You feel disconnected from the world around you. You can see everything, everyone can see you, but you're not really there. No one can really communicate with you, can they? You're isolated, even when you're around people you're alone.

You want desperately to be close to someone, but you're afraid of what will happen if you shatter your glass prison. You don't want to let someone in, you don't want to leave, and it's a constant battle of your own will.

It's easier to be alone, where no one can hurt you... Isn't it?

Tagged by: @anierous-sunblade​

Tagging: @ganshands​ and anyone who wants to tackle this! (Warning: this is by far one of the most accurate results I have ever gotten and I choked up a bit more than once.)

[reassambled-dragoon]

@windwyrm tagged my ass so WOOP. STASI TIME.

1). Go apple picking vs. go on a hay ride (she’d climb the highest damn branches just to get the best apples and we all know it) 2). Scary vs. sweet (...she uh, deals with enough spooky shit) 3). Sweaters vs. boots 4). Socks vs. mittens 5). Bonfires vs. football 6). Trick-or-treating vs. watch scary performances (CANDYYY) 9). Bake pie vs. bake cookies (don’t make her bake anything with no supervision) 10). Rain vs. fog (watching the fog when she’s in a safe place is so good) 11). Black cats vs. owls (BOTH IS GOOD) 12). Ghosts vs. wizards (yeah no she’d rather deal with mages) 13). Harry potter vs. Hocus Pocus 14). Go hiking vs. sleep in (hiking is great regardless. She loves it) 15). Cinnamon vs. nutmeg 16). Reading vs. writing 17). Hot chocolate vs. tea (LISTEN SHE CAN’T COOK FOR SHIT BUT SHE BREWS THE BEST DAMN TEA) 18). Live in a cabin in a forest vs. have it be fall 24/7 (cabins are really too permanent for her, she prefers camping) 19). Candy apples vs. caramel apples 20). Blankets vs. pillows (Stasirrito! STASIRRITO!) 21). Roasted marshmallows vs. roasted chestnuts (CANDY!) 22). Coffee vs. apple cider (Hot apple cider with cinnamon? YES!!!) 23). Red leaves vs. orange leaves (B O T H) 24). Braids vs. bows (braiding things is fun) 25). Scented candles vs. the smell of fresh baked goods (is her cousin making them? PLEASE) 26). Carve pumpkins vs. make pumpkin pie 27). Pumpkin spice lattes vs. chai tea lattes (she’d go for the pumpkin) 28). Coats vs. oversized sweaters 29). Beanies vs. berets (Stasi in fuzzy socks and a huge sweater sipping on hot cider with a good book? PLS) 30). Candy corn vs. peanut butter cups 32). Jump in a pile of leaves vs. swing on a tire 33). Corn maze vs. haunted house (again...with the undead stuff...no...) 34). Bob for apples vs. visit a pumpkin patch 35). Whipped cream on hot chocolate vs. marshmallows on hot chocolate

[sithandsindorei]

Stasi held up a placating hand. She never had been -good- at Common, and wanted to make sure she wasn't giving offense here. "The monsters are the ones that kill everyone and everything for no reason. You are no more a monster than I am."

She smiled, showing her own elven fangs. "Besides, I'm just tiny. Being my size means I can get into spots big lugs can't. And no one expects me to be able to fight things bigger than myself. Though...isn't there something healers can do for your pain?"

"Do you ever wish you were still fully human?" Stasi asked carefully.

Ask my Muse ANYTHING. There are ZERO LIMITS!

(Accepting!)

Gin ran a tongue along one of her canines, feeling it recede just enough to appear normal again.  “Mean ‘s no’ s’much o’ a curse anymore, ah’ve learned t’control it, use it t’m’advantage, yeah?  Who’s afraid o’a five foot nothin’ ‘uman?  ‘Ardly anyone, righ’?  Bu’ when tha’ tiny ‘uman suddenly sprouts up two feet an’ gains teeth an’ claws, then everyone’s suddenly gonna listen t’ya.”  She shrugged, flexing her hand a bit.  “There’s some…chronic pain ah’d rather no’ hafta deal with, bu’ fer th’mos’ part ‘s…manageable.  Some people still look at me like ‘m a monster, ah s’pose…bu’ fuck ‘em.”

( @sithandsindorei )

[reassambled-dragoon]

Decided to map out Stasi as an Elezen. AKA she has freckles and a healthier overall color because this is what she might look like if she hadn't stubbornly half-starved herself of mana for years. Might tweak it some more...

[sithandsindorei]

How Stasi Flirts

Tagged by @anierous-sunblade :D

“If you can keep up with me, then we’ll talk.”

(alternatively!)

“I guess you aren’t afraid of heights, since you’re falling for me, huh?”

[reassambled-dragoon]

@windwyrm (and Key, hanged if I know who you are on Tumblr I’M SORRY) and other lovely amazing people helped me finish Balance of Power!

I’M SO ECSTATIC RIGHT NOW.

Now, to get a Marksman Azerite set and work on my timing so I can raid like this, awwwwww yisssss. (And get the cyan skin, because sweet lord I need it. The gold default is flawless though send help.)

[sithandsindorei]

Headcanon:

Stasi learned Orcish when she was healing and recovering with the Warsong clan in Nagrand. So, if different clans have different accents (and I can only assume they do, at least, the older ones who survived the camps), then her Orcish would have a Warsong twist.

Not that it ever comes up in RP, but here we are.

Oh, and ironically, she knew Common for far longer, but she's far far far more fluent in Orcish.

[sithandsindorei]

A Gin in your inbox: "Can one actually be neutral durin' this 'orseshit?" Gin looked to the other hunter, trying to remember if she'd seen her around Highmountain before. "Like really, 's it physically possible."

Stasi scrubbed a hand down her face and gave an explosive sigh. The huge spirit-tiger behind her was giving Gin an unmistakable glare–a rather clear ‘start anything and I will finish it’.

“I don’t know, but I’m trying my best. The last thing I want is to end up shooting anyone from the Lodge, or people who went to Argus.” She shook her head in disgust and looked at Gin. “Look, I’m no shaman or druid, and I’m sure as hell no pacifist, but both sides are committing mutually-assured suicide at this rate. We haven’t even begun to recover from our losses from the Legion and Argus campaigns, and anyone with a jot of common sense knows it.”

Alata rumbled quietly in agreement.

“Then again, no one will listen to me. I don’t matter, and I never have. What’s the point in speaking up? Maybe things would work if the smart ones just quietly vanished and helped the diamond dwarf…oh, no, that won’t work, that’s desertion.”

[sithandsindorei]

Sweet Dreams...

((Round two of my elf’s nightmares. This, again, is super old. Feel free to listen to this as you read, because mood much?))

"Hush-a-bye, don't you cry. Go to sleep, my little Stasi..."

  The woman gasped for air, her chest heaving as her seared lungs tried desperately to work. Fire licked at her flesh, superheating her chainmail until it turned to ash. The roaring wind that fanned the flames eerily seemed to echo her cousin's voice, distorting soothing words into a hellish melody.

  "Way down yonder, in the meadow, poor little baby's crying 'Mama'..."

  After an eternity, the inferno vanished, leaving her lying in a sea of embers. She struggled to her feet and stared at her surroundings. The vista before her was an echo of the End Time, with the ground littered by charred bones and melted weapons. The wind continued to sigh; with each haunting note, the bones reformed and clattered upright, beginning to sway in a macabre dance. Within the skulls and helms, coals flared to sullen life; if the bodies bore jawbones, those dropped open to laugh and sing. Her horrified gaze recognized the ruined robes worn by Kiyokko, the blood-red shield Linthara bore, and Feoden's helm, from which lurid red flames danced instead of his lich-fire gaze. When a heavy hand descended on her shoulder, the woman whirled around to behold the ghastly, smoking remains of Elder Goretotem.

  "Birds and butterflies peck 'round your eyes..."

  Two birds, one a smoke-trailing druidic stormcrow and the other a mummy-wrapped specimen, shrieked laughter as they dove at the barely-living elf's head. Wickedly-sharp talons and beaks, the tips white-hot fading to sullen red, slashed and stabbed at her face and shoulders. Steamingly-hot blood began to flow, blending with her tears. No matter how she tried to twist away, to protect herself, the elder's hand kept her firmly in place, a vise that the woman didn't have the strength to break. The more she struggled, the worse her wounds became, until her tears and blood had seared what was left of her flesh away.

  After a lifetime, she, too, was a swaying, humming mannequin made of bloody, blackened bones, bearing nothing but a silver chain around her neck. The pendant depending from it swirled with the colors of fire. The voice continued to sing, though his words were fading with a satisfied sigh.

  "When you wake, you shall have...all the pretty little corpses..."

[sithandsindorei]

@ask-logosh

[sithandsindorei]

Burn.

((I found an old, old, old RP journal series I’d done six years ago. Welcome to just one of Stasi’s many nightmares. Nothing has been tweaked; it was all current as of...six years ago. Heh.))

Where there's smoke...  

Ashes, wind kicking them into her eyes. Where is she? Everywhere and nowhere, the landscape swimming in and out of focus. Clouds of fog and choking ash slam into her with the force of a hurricane, alternately driving her to her knees and shoving her upright. Her armor shifts and changes between her former Farstrider uniform, a floor-length gown with sleeves and hems dripping lace and gems that are as heavy as lead, her sturdy blood-red-and-gold leathers, and her new chainmail. She gasps for breath as the winds become a vortex, turning the fog into a wall as solid as pyrium.

...there is...  

Oranges, golds,  ember reds, and whites start to flicker within the opaque grey walls. Furtively, at first, as if sniffing for their prey. She stares at the alternately bright and sullen colors, clutching weapons that, like her clothing, constantly shift and change: a useless penknife, a pair of wicked daggers, a runed glaive, an ornate longbow, and a rifle with an axeblade attached. Laughter echoes with each changing hue, growing louder as the colors advance. Soon, the pennants start to reach inward, to the diminishing center where she is trapped, licking at her like the tongues of snakes. They know their prey is trapped, unable to run. The fear they taste is their sustenance, causing the tongues to grow and swiftly overtake the wall of grey.

...fire.  

The flames' laughter becomes a deafening roar as it reaches for her, the tongues becoming grasping, greedy hands. She screams with mixed rage and fear as she tries to fend them off, but shred by shred, taste by taste, her defenses fail. Her chainmail--her surest, strongest aid--melts like wax, pooling at her feet, along with her glaive; her rifle literally explodes in her hands. The flames roar louder, squealing in glee as her leathers char and fall off in flakes next, her daggers disintegrating and leaving her hands raw. The gown and penknife don't stand a chance, literally going up in smoke.   All that remains is her longbow and the Farstrider gear she had tried to bury, though these, too, begin to singe and smoulder shortly. Every inch of her skin is raw and red, like a rare steak; her knees shake as she forces herself to stand upright, her bow raised in defiance...

...that is useless. A form coalesces in the flames, taking the shape of the one woman she despises still, a woman who should be very dead: her mother. Arya sneers at her daughter, raises a hand, and the flames dance closer still, leaving fresh, almost-loving kisses along her arms. Before she can shoot her arrow, the form shifts to that of her former mentor, who simply shakes her head and laughs, mocking her stubborn pupil who doesn't know when to quit. The vortex spins tighter, beginning to devour the archer in slow, savoring bites.  

As she falls to her knees, unable to stand any longer on legs that are nothing but charred, flaking scraps of flesh, bone, and armor, her mentor fades, becoming a tall, shadowy form, with eyes containing nothing but glowing embers surrounded with black, black, black. The shadow raises his arms, twisting, mutating, growing larger than life, his robes falling away to become monstrous bones. A massive skull leers down at the helpless woman. She shoots in desperation, but the flames devour the arrow before it fully clears her bow, which also turns to ash...as her body is consumed.  

She screams.

[reassambled-dragoon]

Eagletalon PVP, Horde and Alliance.

[sithandsindorei]

“You have pretty eyes” - For Stasi from Kruga

Stasi’s hood had fallen back as she watched a squad of Orgrimmar’s aerial guards, leaving her scarred face exposed–not that she minded or needed to hide, but the shade was useful. She glanced around and saw an Orc guardswoman; given her spirit-cat hadn’t growled, the orc wasn’t deemed a threat, so the elf tilted her head and studied the guard curiously.

“I–uh–thank you? I’m kind of surprised you saw them, since I’m a bit beneath your notice,” Stasi said in rather good Orcish–cracking a joke at her own short height.

[reassambled-dragoon]

In Tumblr parlance: “Oh mood.”

[reassambled-dragoon]

Me: “I’m gonna work on Corellia today!”

Me, five minutes later: “...aww, Nutz.”

[reassambled-dragoon]

Post your fave OC’s screenshots from 2017 and tag your friends! 

Tagged by: @tracinyad :D

In order:

-Anjastasia Sunrunner -Rei’ki Ilsun -Khorryn “Persephone” Darkford -Lord Glacius -Rei’zen Ilsun -Jaal Ilsun -Kaelas Ilsun

Tagging: @smuggler-captain @dxrthsanguine @abyss-wolf @emperor-of-eternal-sands @hasilith and anyone else who wants to do this!