#The Shafise Tribe

[aranyaphoenix]

Phoenix Darkening

Aranya sat quietly on a gilded floor, looking out at the stars above Zandalar. She was calm, still, breathing evenly and slow, despite what she was about to do. The arcanist looked down at a beautiful crystal trinket with a crescent within it, a gift from Colpeia’s tribe after she had sent them aid in the wake of Sargeras stabbing his sword into the heart of Silithus and robbing the Tanari illusion-weavers of one of their most sacred places.

It was a gift that later came with wisdom and warnings spoken to her, as she requested training in an illusion so deep, that she could lose conscious control of herself and it would still remain in place until she deliberately willed it away. A disguise to let the Thalassian woman cross to the other side of the faction war, stay afloat of matters in the world, keep playing a hand that could matter in a world where Azerite now decided the fate of so many. An illusion as only the Shafise could craft to let her pass for ren’dorei amongst the Alliance.

“What you ask has its dangers, Ankaa,” the sultana had warned her, calling her by her Tanari-given name. An illusion that strong required both strength and surrender. She had to give herself to the power that she invited and allowed in, but also needed an anchor within herself to keep her being who she was. It was a process that could drive one mad, if they survived it.

Colpeia hadn’t left Aranya’s side for a single moment of the phoenix-mage’s training. It might’ve been that the lovely desert-elf felt she would never forgive herself if anything happened to Aranya and she wasn’t there to help her, save her, bring her back, do something. It was actually a comfort to have her there, to have her see and know what her friend could do, her limits.

Aranya closed her eyes to the Zandalari skies, it was time to get this over with.

She breathed slow and deep, following the breath with her mind as it came into her and left her. Then she went deeper, following the rhythm of her blood, focusing on a particular power that flowed through her, and there were many to choose from. The red mana Kazakus gave her, charging her, keeping her sharp. The Sunwell’s sparkling, arcane light, giving her life. The essence of Felo’dal, her phoenix familiar, pulled into herself so long ago when he sacrificed himself for her in the Firelands, and she couldn’t bear to have his existence so utterly ended. There were also lingering traces of magic and mana she had siphoned from prey.

Aranya chose one thing within her to be her anchor, and focused on it utterly; how it felt, where it came from, what it did in her veins with every breath and beat of her heart. Then she opened her mind, inviting in something else, something from beyond the definitions of reality, in which space and time were merely words that didn’t actually mean anything. The purest primordial form of existence, the thing from which reality itself somehow coalesced into being and could one day dissolve and return back to.

Her eyes immediately flew open, their colors no long a smoldering green, but a whirling chaos. Her mouth fell open in a silent gasp that didn’t come, the wind somehow taken out of her. She fell forward on her hands and knees, shaking uncontrollably. Her blood raced in a panicked rhythm, she wanted to push whatever felt like it was now re-weaving her bones and skin away, but she rolled over, collapsing onto her back, shutting her eyes tight as she somehow forced her mind back onto that one power within her that she had chosen to anchor herself through this, going inward and letting go of everything else.

When she finally stopped shuddering and felt she could finally breathe again, Aranya just remained lying on the floor for a moment, dizzy, re-orienting herself, pressing her cheek to the cool floor and appreciating the stability it gave. Eventually her breathing calmed, and she lifted her head, midnight blue tresses falling back from her moonslight-hued shoulder as Halenvar pulled her close and tight to him, almost crushing her against his massive chest.

Aranya loved his warmth and solidity, it was wonderful.

“I hate watching you go through that,” said Halenvar, his tone sounding strained.

“I’m sorry,” breathed Aranya, her voice now having an otherwordly echo.

The first time that the valarjar had ever witnessed what it was that his now-wife had to go through each time to maintain her latest choice of disguise, Colpeia had had to hold him back, almost having to resort magic to do so. “Don’t! If you interrupt now it could kill her!”  

Aranya’s husband loosed his grip on her to told her face in his strong hands, his blue green eyes holding the pale blue stars of hers. “Be careful,” he said, like always. “Come back to me soon.”

“I will,” promised Aranya, kissing him.

@beamgully @halenvar

[colpeia]

"Welcome” Back

To elven members of the Shafise Tribe whom this concerns,

We have reviewed your case, sent on August 30th, regarding the nature of your banishment from Quel’thalas due to your apparent involvement with the Ren’dorei’s creation and subsequent void corruption. 

In a drowsy stupor, Colpeia shuffled to her vanity. She blinked at the mirror and stopped. A bucket of ice water couldn’t have awoken her faster. Knitting her forehead in disbelief, she rose an inquiring hand to her cheek, leaning over her neat assortment of makeup for a better look. The maroon undertone to her skin seemed... subtler? --as did the streaks in her hair, and the intensity of her eyes’ cyan glow. Her eyes clamped shut before blinking rapidly, unsure if it was a trick of the light.

The law of Silvermoon states that anyone practicing extensive shadow magic shall be banished. Though we are unfamiliar with the Tanari tribe from which you hail and its customs, we have analyzed the magic you use, including the worst cases. We confirm the evidence that while void magic is technically included in Shafise practices, it falls short of the illegal quantity made clear in section 32A, paragraph 3, and that this amount has also undergone intense, disciplined control methodologies for several thousand years without major incident.

In a drowsy stupor, Colpeia shuffled to her vanity. She neared the mirror and a jolt of astonishment froze her in place. Many seconds dragged past, before she found the nerve to bend so far forward her nose almost poked its cool surface. It wasn’t just her. The “void” colors were fading. She was beginning to resemble how she’d appeared before this all started. The change was temporary?!

You put forth four claims: 

A few elven members watched the experiment from several yards away, while most of the Shafise prepared to teleport them back to Tanaris the moment anything went awry - which they did. 

To prevent political misunderstanding by appearing in person, and given our restrictions on receiving letters via teleportation, a letter was dispatched to inform us of the infraction the Ren’dorei committed. It was intercepted by a caravan raid. (The perpetrators have since been in our custody.)

You did not absorb any of the void energies that the Ren’dorei had, and your appearances changed due to magics already in use.

All of your members, without exception, did not make treasonous agreements to join or assist the Alliance military and have maintained neutrality.

After thorough investigation via anonymous witnesses, divination, scrying, and arcane testing, your claims have been confirmed as true.

Colpeia approached her vanity with wary steps. Today, she could barely detect the colors that so recently saw her expelled from one of her homelands. The streaks in her coffee-brown hair had drained into a conveniently tasteful shade of caramel. Her eyes were returning to the hue they’d gradually been shifting toward since the Sunwell was rejuvenated, but in full completion this time: Gold.

We are pleased to inform you that following this assessment, we have determined that none of you have broken the law for which you were punished. You are welcome back to Quel’thalas and your banishment is pardoned, under a condition. Should any member of the Shafise tribe break this condition, the banishment will resume for the entirety of your people, and any dispute attempt will be ignored.

Although the measure of your questionable magic use falls under legal limits, the exposure you do have is enough to raise concern among the magistrate. You are to always maintain a distance between yourself and the Sunwell no shorter than 5 kilometers. The law regarding void magic use still applies to you as it does all of our citizens.

We have received several reports about your members experiencing a return to their original appearances before the experiment took place. This shall certainly help in re-integrating your elven members back into Sin’dorei society, and eliminate misunderstanding in future relations with your people.

Shorel’aran,

The Silvermoon Magistrate

Her stare bore into the letter’s perfect cursive. It took three weeks. Three weeks, and all superficial signs of false identity had evaporated. Then this letter arrived.

She was Sin’dorei again. 

Or perhaps, she never stopped being one? 

She wasn’t certain what she was during that tumultuous experience. It was already a baffling existential crisis, and now yet another layer of complexity had collapsed upon it. Two conflicting forces crashed in her head: The pained anger - yet detachment - of being rejected by her own people due to their misjudgment, and the kinship still tying her to them. Then there were the friends she had made, the ones who were considered Horde. What about the Kaldorei woman she saved during the burning of Teldrassil? Did rescuing civilians make her a traitor, or did it only serve to prove her neutrality?

The greatest stereotypical fear of an illusionist is to lose oneself to the deceptions they weave. Had she managed to realize this fear without it?

Colpeia shut her eyes in perturbed silence, deflating from a meditative sigh. Her mind cleared. Questions pushed unimpeded to the surface. The ones she deemed irrelevant drifted away, the others she grabbed, until a list of the unsolved formed in her mind’s eye. Patiently, one at a time, she delved through them to calculate options. Choose answers.

The most blatant question of all she solved last. It was as simple as it was hard to answer: 

What now?

Her eyes reopened. 

Now, I do what I have meant to do since this foolish war began.

[willowgust]

Shafisian Eclipse Ritual - Interest Check

Since I only just got back I haven’t had time to finalize this before the actual OOCly eclipse, but I had an idea for a possible little event if anyone’s interested.

Context of the Shafise Tribe: The gist of it is that Colpeia’s Tanari tribe, the Shafise, are also known as the Eclipse Weavers due to their cultural rituals and abilities. They believe that when you die your spirit is sent to the moon, where it exists in a dream-like state (called the Fathom Dream) while you come to terms with the life you’ve just completed. Once you’re at peace, you wait until the next eclipse when your spirit will be delivered to the sun. A stagnant version of your spirit remains on the moon while your core moves on. Within the Sun Mother’s Womb, you wait, until you are reborn into a new life through Her life-giving rays. 

During a solar eclipse, however, not only are satisfied spirits delivered, the Shafise are also granted the ability to lift the veil so they can speak with the spirits in the Fathom Dream who are still not ready to move on. This is in the hopes that reaching out to the living will help them on their journey, or perhaps they can help each other. Unlike the lunar eclipse, the solar eclipse ritual requires that they travel out of the desert if necessary to be within the range of the total eclipse. 

The ritual includes ribbon dancers known as Star Sweepers (inspired loosely by Chinese ribbon dancing), singers known as Crescent Talkers, and three magically lifted ribbon dancers acting as conduits, known as Veils of the Dark Noon. 

Although many of their practices are kept secret, The Ritual of the Crescent Sun is generously open to all peaceful outsiders who long to reach out to their deceased loved ones. When a spirit appears to you, you briefly vanish from the physical plane and join them in the Fathom Dream, until the total eclipse fades and the link is broken. However, despite the attempt to reach out, a spirit may not appear to you, and it may not be the spirit you were expecting. They could be busy or unready to reach the living.

How this can apply to your character: If you want your character to be able to speak with someone who died, this could be their chance. If you want me to play as the spirit who reaches out to them, feel free to ask! I’ll do my best to do them justice. :D

When would this event happen?: Iunno. xD Depends on how much interest there is and when you guys are available. I don’t think anyone is gonna complain if we do it like, even a week or two after the real OOCly eclipse, right? So whenever.

If this is something you’d be down for feel free to either message me via Discord, Battlenet, on Tumblr, or just leave a comment on this thread. Happy eclipse! <3

I’mma tag random people because I don’t know who’d be interested. xD If you’re not tagged it’s not because I ignored you or something, I’m pulling names out of a hat because I literally have no idea. I’m not expecting this to be a huge event but, hey, I figured I could throw it out there, right? :D 

@aranyaphoenix @firemagicked @darnath @kurel-andiel @velerodra @andijelly @fuzzymigglet @grandynetheroshan @halenvar @laceandhalos @wolf-queen @amaracraven @dicenne @unabashedrebel @gabbrialla @shaded-hawke @preachersooc

[colpeia]

Sungrass Oasis

~ Music ~

The crisp ocean breeze felt revitalizing and abrupt in such sunbaked air. Beneath an otherwise lavender sky, peach colors streaked around the sun as it hid behind a glittering turquoise horizon. Salty sea turtles roamed the shore.

On a large wooden deck overlooking the beach, a pair of tawny blood elves squatted over the sides of opposite lounge chairs.

A pensive sigh escaped Colpeia as she gazed up. “Well, at least we’re no longer hated for what we’re not.”

The solemn nature of Roholly’s nod didn’t stop the characteristically peppy bounce of her ponytail. She said nothing.

“What are mother and father going to do?”

“They’re returning to the glass forge,” Roholly said. “It’s still there, thankfully, and undamaged. So they’re going to continue running Beamgully Crystal like before.” She hesitated, an uncomfortable thought tugging her lips. “I’m honestly not sure whether Eversong Woods is going to welcome them back with awkward guilt, or the same scowls that made them leave. You know how they are about their craft, though.”

“Passionate.”

“I mean, it’s just as well. Finding a suitable place in Dalaran never got easier. Not for them at least.”

“Are you’re staying, then?” Colpeia asked.

There was gratitude in Roholly’s smile. She glimpsed at her feet. “Mhmm. I’ve already settled in, so it’s like, why return to Silvermoon? Why return to a place that was so quick to cast us out? People I had worked with for years acted like they’d never known me... It hurt.” The echo of grief leaking into her voice dropped to bitter sarcasm, “Really, I’d love to see how they deal with telling patients they need a root canal. They were far too sour. The people I work with now are a lot nicer.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

“What about you though? Enough clientele?”

Colpeia huffed a laugh, “They haven’t stopped. Though, most of them have been architects. Civilians want to rebuild and protect themselves. After Lordaeron and what happened in Teldrassil, I’m not surprised.” She stopped, her humble expression heralding a confession. “Actually, because of the extra money, there is something else I want to do.”

“What’s that?” Roholly blinked, bewildered. “And honestly, why? Why work any harder when you’ve already such a solid income?”

“When this war started I was already tired. I’ve rested. Now I see a lot of other people tired. Tired, injured, and very sad. I want to give them a place to rest.” Unthinkingly, she turned to the hills winding just behind and beyond the beach house. They resembled dried and knotted-up honeycombs. “A place with soft seats and hot tea. Maybe somewhere in Gadgetzan.”

“That sounds ambitious when you don’t have a tribe to help you,” Roholly joked.

Colpeia looked back at her and returned a knowing smile.

She sat on the bed, her room under the blue blanket of midnight. A silvery glow brushed every contour. The window behind her was open, revealing distant waves glittering under a nearly full moon. Their rhythmic whisper was a soothing but everyday nostalgia to her while a cool draft carried its hush inside. Colpeia’s long stare sank into the vanity mirror against the wall. She looked as dazed as she felt.

Her motivation wasn’t purely altruistic, and she knew it. This was a time of war. She was plagued by an addiction only battles could feed - not for bloodlust or power, but an insatiable redemption she didn’t need in the first place. It spiraled her into a desperate black hole of this-still-isn’t-good-enough-to-absolve-me. If she dedicated herself to soothing survivors, it meant she couldn’t go to wanton lengths rescuing people in danger.

The mathematician knew a negative feedback loop when she saw one. Colpeia was Tildalune’s curse, which made her feel guilty, which piled onto her continued self-blame, which was Tildalune’s curse. She projected her acquaintance’s death onto people in danger only to re-experience severe personal failure if they weren’t saved. This trigger was unavoidable in wartime.

It was fortunate her tribe offered so many methods of mind-healing; they were helping. It couldn’t stop there, however. Constant over-exposure didn’t help to desensitize her, but a change in environment might.

How does one stop a negative feedback loop? Replace the causing variable. After Tildalune’s death, she had fantasies of nurturing her back to health and providing comfort. What if Colpeia frequently did something that she would associate with this ‘fake memory’? She could soothe people who survived danger, instead of succeeding or failing as their white knight.

She could learn to stop. She could focus on how she’d grown to care about Tildalune instead of how she’d failed her.

Tildalune’s spirit could be free to move on. She promised.

A vague breath of a silhouette flashed the corner of her eye, and a honeyed voice beamed in her head:

It’s time. Run, my sweet desert gazelle. It’s waiting for you. You know I’ll be right behind you.

For the next week Colpeia was a montage of sending proposal letters, receiving terms, ordering equipment, and huddling over a floor plan.

In an eclipse-like flash, holding a crescent pendant, she vanished. Colpeia reappeared amidst the celestial themed tents and Silithus-esque crystals floating above the ground. Presenting her floor plan to a gradually swelling group, she delved into thorough detail - the aesthetic, the business plan, the modest building she’d be renting, the spirit of the lounge. The appraising eyes mulling over her words eventually exchanged amenable glances.

Several yards from the shore, a herd of camels sped majestically across the gold sand, their hooves kicking up clouds in their wake. Thick ribbons of cloth gracefully fluttered behind their human and elven riders. Gadgetzan drew nearer.

Slowing to a saunter through the dusty port town, the half-dozen Shafise approached the clay dome building Colpeia had described. Knicks of moderate wear greeted them.

The following month was a slew of repairs, painting, tiling, heaving furniture, positioning lights atop secured ladders, and repositioning ornaments. Regularly catered at the entrance were water and food fine enough to convey a grateful gesture. 

Sungrass Oasis was ready to open.

Colpeia sat over the bar scanning over a collection of slender menus. They catalogued an overwhelming list of loose-leaf and blooming flower teas. The rest were fanciful snacks: clamlette magnifique, clam chowder, goblin deviled clams, firebloom crab cakes, cactus fruit salad, Shafisian desert dumplings, hot roc wings, fried scorpid, and prickly pear sorbet. She wasn’t initially pleased about needing a supply of meat, until a goblin explained they always had these ingredients leftover after pest control and harbor maintenance. It was good they didn’t go to waste. This would also give the Shafise tribe the opportunity to showcase some of their traditional recipes along with blends.

Though a hole-in-the-wall, it was contemporary chic and polished, a message of modern class that she knew would hook the landlord’s interest. The floor was tiled in sleek black, and the walls painted white, brought to life by voguish artwork. Framed in thick, black frames, the paintings were as soothing as they were stylish. They depicted modern abstract, turquoise beaches, and desert blossoms. A few were pieces that might have been pretentious in another setting, but somehow felt innocently trendy here. Two of them were offset by equidistant sandstone bowls resting in tasteful square impressions on the wall. Sweeping glass sculptures ribboned with solid colors, some glittering in the light, added bold character. Most of them were feet tall and stood on the floor.

On each black chair was a plush, pale yellow cushion. Filled with sand, sea glass, and shells, a candle resting in a glass bowl embellished every table, along with a daisy in a white vase. A handful of firebloom petals were strewn about them. 

Outdoor seating overlooking the beach waited behind a thick curtain. It ironically had more space than inside. Fit for a posh vacation photograph, a pergola strung with lanterns hung over the display, with translucent lilac curtains draped to the sides. To keep customers warm in the chilly desert evenings, a gemstone fire pit sat in the middle. The area was lined with potted, flowering cacti and a low wicker-weave fence. In place of daises were 

One task remained before it opened: Reach out to old friends.

[willowgust]

~ Music ~

When: Pending, depends when you’re all available! 

Faction: Neutral - all are welcome if they can agree to be peaceful

Platform: Discord

What is this about?

Colpeia’s Tanari tribe, the Shafise, are also known as the Eclipse Weavers due to their cultural rituals and abilities. They believe that when you die your spirit is sent to the moon, where it exists in a dream-like state (called the Fathom Dream) while you come to terms with the life you’ve just completed. Once you’re at peace, you wait until the next eclipse when your spirit will be delivered to the sun. A stagnant existence of your spirit remains on the moon while your core moves on. Within the Sun Mother’s Womb, you wait, until you are reborn into a new life through Her life-giving rays.

During a solar eclipse, however, not only are satisfied spirits delivered, the Shafise are also granted the ability to lift the veil so they can speak with the stagnant spirits in the Fathom Dream, as well as those who are still not ready to move on. This is in the hopes that by reaching out, they can help each other on their journeys, alive or dead. It is also possible to sense or even see a familiar spirit leaving the Fathom Dream to enter the sun. This ritual requires that they travel out of the desert if necessary to be within the range of the total eclipse. 

The ritual includes ribbon dancers known as Star Sweepers, singers known as Crescent Talkers, and three magically lifted members acting as conduits, known as Veils of the Dark Noon.

Although many of their practices are kept secret, the Ritual of the Crescent Sun is generously open to all peaceful outsiders who long to reach out to their deceased loved ones. When a spirit appears to you, you briefly vanish from the physical plane and join them in the Fathom Dream, until the total eclipse fades and the link is broken. However, despite the attempt to reach out, a spirit may not appear to you, or it may not be the spirit you were expecting. A spirit could be busy or unready to reach the living.

The Shafise predict the totality of this eclipse will last an impressive five minutes.

TL;DR: How can this apply to my character?

If you want your character to be able to speak with someone who died, this could be their chance. If you want me to play as the spirit who reaches out to them feel free to ask! I’ll do my best to do them justice. ^^ Otherwise, what your character experiences on the Fathom Moon is pretty much entirely up to you. 

Message me if you’re interested and I can send you a link to the Discord server!

Tagging those that seem to have shown interest: @andijelly @aranyaphoenix @halenvar @kurel-andiel @preachersooc @deylivia @unabashedrebel @wolf-queen @generalcero @ryderflynn @firemagicked