#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.

[colpeia]

Journal

Dear Tildalune,

I gave the observations from my allowed capture to the Hall of Guardians. They were grateful.

Not long after my return, I felt something strange. In the stars. I conferred with the Shafise. They felt it too. But they couldn’t afford to leave a vital trade that would otherwise spark a tribal war. I went instead. 

There was one problem. I calculated the source. It was in Vashj’ir. 

You know exactly why I have never gone there. I was tempted to not go. But it felt too urgent. I decided I could at least take a boat there.

I found Aranya, Halenvar, and some people I never met. I remained hidden at first. This was Old God business. A being of great cruelty would be awakened if a ritual was not stopped. As terrified of the water as I was, I knew this was not the time to flee. After a reunion I was hoping would be under happier circumstances, I followed them into battle.

No sharks, no teeth. Only naga and elementals. I was lucky.

We stopped the ritual. There was expected blood in the water and I nearly screamed. All I could do was look away. There wasn’t time to catch up with Aranya and Halevar. I was sad about that.

In times that demand adrenaline, triggered panic can have a delayed reaction. This is what happened to me. I got home and... just... the months of capture, the people left behind, stopping something from the Void, and the water... the water and the blood. 

I lost it. Glass was broken. I used father’s glue to put it back together. For a few weeks I stayed with the Shafisian mind priests. They healed me. 

Meanwhile I’ve been regaining my strength and my weight. Slowly. I lost less than I thought I would; sneaking mana pudding can only go so far. I’ve worked up from walking on straight surfaces in the Barrens to jogging on the wet Tanaris sand. 

On one of my jogs I saw the Shafise at their routine trading spot near Gadgetzan. They were speaking with a Human. His name is Bero. He’s warm and wears a straw hat. I learned that he is a paladin of the Silver Hand, owns land in Westfall, and uses it to shelter the homeless in exchange for work. He is in need of tools, glass windows, and a few other things. I was wary at first, but he seems more interested in helping those in need than he is with killing my people. 

I like him. He’s courteous, kind, witty, and a fun flirt. He insisted on cooking the whole tribe a meal as a gesture of good faith. I was impressed. And that man can cook! It’s been a long time since I had reason to enjoy meat.

He and the sultana arranged a contract. I’ll have to contact my parents about the glass windows. 

A few days after, I met Aranya again. We finally caught up, but now I’m worried about her. She’s been sating her mana thirst with a pact she’d made some time ago, but it had run dry. So she tried to go after an old enemy to feed, a demon. She wanted a broach enchanted with Shafisian magic, to use an illusion of him for a clever plan. I sent it to her a few hours ago. I hope it will suffice.

Aranya confessed that she had tried to live a life neglecting what she is. She lives for the hunt. It’s funny how friendship can transcend roles as ancient and primal as hunter and prey. Maybe I should have been troubled. But I wasn’t. If Aranya is a predator, she is a good predator. That is what separates us from simple beasts. We can discriminate. 

She was curious as to why I was jarred by Vashj’ir. I don’t know if she’d understand. I hope so. I trust her enough. If she really wants to know, I see no reason to keep it from her.

The eclipse is coming. I should prepare.

Love,

Colpeia

@aranyaphoenix @halenvar @commander-dawnstriker

[aranyaphoenix]

RP Snippets: Above and Below

“The magical defenses of Sunspire have had to change,” said Aranya. “The runestones were removed, and there’s a temporary ethereal dome to reflect magic for now. But Kurel has asked for a Titan-origin arrangement, which would stand up to the Legion, the Old gods...” The arcanist tilted her head to one side. “Almost anything but dragons, given the creatures’ titan-imbued nature.”

Colpeia’s slender eyes widened slightly, impressed. “A tall order,” she said.

Aranya nodded. “Learning about titan enchantments is no small undertaking. Their work was always very precise, and tends to rely on objects that serve as beacons, or locks and keys, or both.” The embers of her green eyes narrowed. “It was like they could encode their magic in such a way that the intuitive ways of mortals and demons could never touch.”

“I know this kind of magic could have very serious consequences,” admitted Aranya. Exactly the reason why she was so grateful when the illusionist agreed to help divide the focus of such power, share the burden. “If I tried to cast it alone, it could be the kind of lethal recklessness that even I couldn’t think of as even a wildly good idea.” The corner of her mouth pulled up “And... I’ve been guilty of some admittedly reckless and wild ideas.” She grinned lopsidedly.

Colpeia smirked, tilting he teacup against her lips to finish off its contents. The eclipse weaver set it aside on the arm of her chair. “It’s never wise to be reckless, but the best discoveries come from wild ideas,” she said. “I think if we take great care, we may be able to accomplish what you want.”

“I’m fairly certain we can,” said Aranya. “And I think with your background in math, the precision of titan magic would also make you a wiser choice as a partner in this than another.”

There was also the matter of Rariv’sha, the missing Tanari princess.

“There’s so much that I owe to her, and to her generosity, Peia,” said Aranya. “I can’t just let her go.”

Aranya pleaded with Colpeia to teach her any magic of Tanaris that the eclipse weaver knew. Khepris, Shafise, Mirage, anything that could be used to connect to the missing woman and allow the arcanist to find her faster. Simple scrying was obviously not enough, and Aranya had not been able to reach her by amplifying her reach across the ley-fabric of the world - as she had done with Kurel in the past.

“Then perhaps what you need,” suggested Colpeia. “Is the Gaze of the Stars.”

Aranya blinked, fascinated and intrigued.

Colpeia asked, “Do you remember the crystal that teleported us to my tribe’s location?”

The phoenix-mage smiled, recalling the beautiful and mystical charm. “I do,” she answered.

Colpeia explained that its enchantment, its make, was from silithyst crystals, and that its energy went above and below the world. “The energy feeds into the view of the stars. The ley lines are the colors that it sees,” said the desertborn. “This way, wherever its assigned source goes, it can find. It is how a separated Shafisian can rediscover the tribe before dying among the sands.”

Aranya looked amazed. “That... sounds like it would do it, yes.”

But what to use as a source to connect to the missing Khepris woman?

{Don’t worry, the enchanted bear and blanket that Ra gave Valéria won’t be harmed.}

@beamgully @rarivsha mentions to @kurel-andiel @sunspireport and tags to @halenvar since this was at his cottage in Valdisdal the day before we got the whole Stormheim band back together.

This took me more than a week to post, so sorry!

[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

[aranyaphoenix]

The Union of the Eclipse

Aranya had been to Tanaris before. Adventures, pursuits, and battles with the Legion’s most recent push into Azeroth had taken her there. But in any of her times coming to the sandy South of Kalimdor, Aranya Ver’Sarn had never been to Land’s End Beach, only flown over it.

It was a delight to see Colpeia’s home here. Charming, with a relaxed atmosphere, and plenty of small cacti kept decoratively around the place. The ‘hellos’ once Aranya arrived were warm and brief, and within minutes the two mages were transported by an beautifully made charm of Colpeia’s, which was enchanted to take them to where the rest of the nomadic Shafise were camped, no matter where the other Tanari were.

Aranya had looked around with appreciative eyes for the wondrous aesthetic of the Shafise, and been greeted graciously by the tribe and by Sultana Zahashiq. The celestial hues of the tents and garb of this tribe left the Thalassian feeling a bit strange in her phoenix-motif reds and golds, but she let this feeling pass.

Within the tent of the sultana, Zahashiq had expressed that she - like Colpeia - had an auspicious sense of what trade relations could be between the Eclipse Syndicate and the Shafise - a tribe known throughout the sands as the Eclipse Weavers. Nonetheless, the venerable woman requested Aranya to further describe what sort of organization the Eclipse Syndicate was

The arcanist explained that the syndicate had originally been an entirely underworld organization, headed by her very dear friend, Opheron the pyromancer, who had recently retired.

“While we've still kept much of its ‘black market’ operating methods,” said Aranya. “I've had ideas to refine it, broaden it with fresh directions, and even see it operating in the open... As its namesake, an eclipse, does.” Her words seemed to come inspired in the moment, as she explained, “The sun shines, there is light... But its face is masterfully veiled by the moon.”

Sultana Zahashiq seemed impressed with Aranya’s choice of words, and concurred with an estimation that Colpeia had of the Thalassian woman. “You could have been born among us." The high approval in her tone resonated deeply. By her wizened demeanor, one could guess this was not a compliment she threw around lightly.

Colpeia smirked at the Sultana's remark, and Aranya blushed just a little at the praise.

“Enlighten me of these ideas,” continued the sultana. “By what creeds do you conduct business? And what sorts of items do you typically feature in your wares? I'm certain they must be interesting if you operate free of outside governing power.”

“We hold buyers' and sellers' interests over bureaucratic interests,” the arcanist made no hesitance to reply. “Plenty of what can be termed ‘black market’ is not even necessarily unlawful, but gets around sanctions, ordinances, tariffs, and often for a better price than what trade officials allow. As for items...” Aranya was a bit more thoughtful for a moment, the side of one slender finger coming across her lips for a second. “During Opheron's time as head, a lot of things were illegal or banned, yet moved through the syndicate unhindered,” she admitted. “I want to expand that to almost any goods anyone can't sell for what they’re truly worth.” After a beat, she added, “Not to mention, faction tensions tend to get in the way of free trade with embargoes, at times. How silly of them.” A sly smirk spread across the blood elf’s face.

The sultana chuckled at that last remark. “There is a reason the Shafise have strived for allyship rather than war throughout our timeless presence among the sands. Yes, I'm aware of the nature of a black market,” she said. “What catches my attention is your unprompted reassurance that not all of your activity is unlawful, simply breaking laws that are superfluous or even against any greater good. From the way you speak, I can guess you are a woman who holds ethical business in high regard. Is this true?"

Copleia noded supportively at her sultana, but allowed Aranya to answer for herself.

The Thalassian nodded very solemnly, and replied, “Very much so, Madam Sultana.”

The queen of the Eclipse Weavers what terms the arcanist would see in a trade arrangement with the tribe.

“The syndicate would take a percentage of the value of goods from your tribe, and distribute as far as we reach. Even as far as the Mok'nathal tribe of Outland. And we would open trade from all the worlds we are spread through to you,” answered Aranya. “But unlike other regulated trade, there would be no buyer's tax or trade tax, or fees. No cost to you as the buyer but what you exchange for what  you purchase. The other side of the deal will already have their percentage taken ahead.”

Sultana Zahashiq noted aloud that these were fine promises. “I would, however, like to talk numbers,” she pointed out. “What percentage do you have in mind?”

Aranya gave her standard policy cut for an answer, “No more than ten percent on most goods, but I may have to insist on a hard twelve percent for a few items that may have ordinances against them that make them harder to move or secure.”

The sultana considered this for a moment, her eyes hard with thought. Ultimately she agreed that the terms were well within the reasonable range that the tribe usually dealt in, and the accord was made.

desert flower by rastlion

Outside once again, Aranya was instructed through the Shafisian ceremony of the oath flower, whereby she gave her oath to the entire Tanari tribe that the terms between the Eclipse Syndicate and the Eclipse Weavers would be honored, by herself and all within the syndicate, and that no dishonor or harm would be done to them from the same. Breaking of this oath on her part would require her to ingest the same poisonous desert flower she swore by, and if by anyone else in the syndicate, then she would be bound to personally deliver them to the tribe for justice. This oath would be binding for as long as the sorceress lived, even she she were to step down as head.

@eclipsesyndicatewra @beamgully

[colpeia]

Kings, Queens, and Traders - RP Snippet

They were nestled in lush pillows atop a Shal’dorei rug, bathed in the dim violet light of Shal’aran’s furthest caverns. Lady Astra, in her refined, Nightborne poise, sat in silence as her great-great-great-great granddaughter nodded to the Tanari friend she had invited.

“You’re far from criminal,” Aranya noted - a fun irony in Colpeia’s mind, considering she had personally helped her steal countless books from Suramar’s abandoned libraries, “but such a thing is really only a stereotype. Black markets exist because of kingdoms and their sanctions when they can’t be worked with. Given how rare your tribe’s goods are, you’d likely find a better buyer through the Syndicate. Yes,” she nodded firmly, “We can absolutely be an international reach for your tribe’s needs.”

The corners of Colpeia’s lips stretched the smile draped between them, practically reaching her ears. The Eclipse Syndicate. The Eclipse Weavers. How could they not? “Wonderful. I’ll let my Sultana know. It’s her you would be speaking with. Sultana Zahashiq,” she clarified. “The Shafise pride themselves on mutual relationships whether it be cultural, an allyship, or business.” There was a brief pause. “She’s human, but she’s far older than she looks. And she looks very old!”

Aranya gained a sudden lift to her whiskery eyebrows at the mention of the Sultana, and inhaling a subtle, but deep breath, she withdrew a mithril forge scarab pendant on a silk link chain from a pouch on her belt. “Speaking of desert business...” she alluded, then asked softly, “Can you tell me about this?”

Colpeia wrinkled her brows as her friend presented the scarab necklace. Inclining her head, she extended her dark palm to accept it for a better view. The arcanist carefully lowered the trinket, which Colpeia drew nearer to her face, peering at it first with intrigue... then amazement. She murmured two words so quiet it barely hovered over her breath: “The Khepris...”

“The Khepris?” Aranya repeated. “What is that? What does it mean?”

The desert dweller looked back up at her, her manicured fingers handling the scarab as though it were the most delicate and valuable treasure ever found. “They are an extinct tribe. They revered the scarab as a symbol of rebirth, to come into being. They were led by the Scarab King. You would know a Khepris by the crescent moon marked on their foreheads, blessed by him. Their people practiced dark, malevolent blood magics. The Shafise and the Khepris held a friendly trading relationship for many generations, similarly to the Black Mirage.”

A look of profound realization began to flood her face as the Eclipse Weaver’s words sank in. Her eyes drifted to gaze at nothing, her lips slightly parted. She barely breathed.

“The Scarab King and his family had a name,” she continued, “Aesta. Decades ago, the Aesta family left Tanaris, and the tribe dwindled.”

Astra looked worried. Aranya asked in a careful tone, “What was their relation to the Black Mirage?”

Colpeia considered this for a moment. Finally, she shrugged a shoulder. ”I can’t say,” she admitted. “Kurel would know more than me. Though,” she added with light sarcasm, “we both know how chatty he is.” With measured care, she reached her arm to offer the scarab artifact back to her. “You have brought me the jewelry of an extinct people. This is quite a find.”

Before she could ask where she’d discovered it, Aranya beat her to it. “Kurel was the one who gave it to me,” she explained, “and asked me to speak with you about it, since my path was more likely than his to cross with yours, here on the Isles. I told him I’d do that for him.”

She quirked her lips, trying not to look hurt. What she said was certainly true. Somehow it didn’t sting any less. She nodded as Aranya kept going, regardless.

“What I didn’t tell him is that the person he got it from, the one he’s so curious to know about from this trinket, is a client of mine. If she is what this pendant implies she is... I think I’m placed now between two desert royalty, and my next move will likely decide a lot.”

Colpeia’s walnut-colored brows knit together with heightened, intensified concern. “Your client is a Khepris?” she asked incredulously. “Who is she? Where did she get this pendant?”

Aranya shook her head. “I’m not sure. She’s mysterious, dangerous, and...” She smiled. “When she and I talked, I told her about Valeria, about how I’ve kept her safe at our old home in Shattrath. About how few chances I got to see her in present circumstances.

“Your daughter,” Colpeia clarified, more for herself.

“She dismissed my asking price for what she wanted me to do and insisted paying me over four times that, intent on seeing to it that I had more opportunity to be with my girl.”

“That was very kind of her,” she softened.

Aranya nodded, “Very generous, yes.” She loosed a long, drawn-out sigh. “I gave Kurel my word. I will tell him what I know, but I also have to make him understand some things. I can’t be caught between a king and a queen with aims of tug-of-warring me into being a pawn for one or the other. I’ll have to do this carefully.”

“If Kurel wanted to understand the meaning of this pendant,” Colpeia began asking, as mathematical as ever, “why didn’t he simply ask the woman who gave it to him? Perhaps she refused to answer. I’m curious about why she did to begin with.”

It was Aranya’s turn to pull the corner of her mouth. 

“The Shafise were often caught in this conundrum. They had many allies. Perhaps their diplomatic techniques would be of use to you? Just to keep you out of their mess. You’re business partners and perhaps friends, with no other involvement. Right?”

She nodded. “I suspect she may already have some game afoot with him. And that’s true.”

“It’s usually wisest to keep it that way, or it will get messier.”

A wry smirk crossed Aranya’s face. “Thankfully neither have tried seducing me yet.”

They both burst into hearty chuckles.

(( Mentions: @aranyaphoenix, @rarivsha, @kurel-andiel ))