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safrona-shadowsun · 7 years

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{Rp between Safrona and @aranyaphoenix that eventually carried into game. Thank you for helping me get more acclimated to rping in game again! Under a cut for length. With mention of @mrblaque!}

A short, penned letter in return was sent to the Arcanist detailed a time to meet in Sunspire Port, always injecting some needed organization within the bit of chaos of her days. The Courier was also a punctual creature, yet she arrived without her typical red cloak - today was not exactly a day for the typical business it would signal. Safrona was dressed only in the Ebonsilk gown that the lady Arcanist had given her on the first day of their meeting a summer ago, and today she was approaching few else. The expected company of the Ethereal also waited, the setting sun edging the starry light of his form with its color. Her gaze was cast out to the sea, idling on the scene that gave the Port its aspect of beauty.

Aranya could only smile, seeing the familiar gown she had given to the lovely Courier, and how the smoldering design matched the flame-washed appearance of Saraj's wrappings. It was like they had been donned in fire, just for the occasion of meeting with her. "It is good to see you both," greeted the arcanist. "Please, tell me what matters have been at hand."

A cant of the head was given by the lady importer, while the Ethereal flourished into the usual gentlemanly bow, show off that he was. "Too many matters at hand, but I'm glad for the moment to tear away from them to meet with you. " Safrona ambled along slowly down the pier, inviting Aranya to stroll with her. She seemed to want the conversation to be more private, away from passing ears. "But one of those matters I've felt... drawn to speak with you on." A small smile curved her lips as her absinthe eyes glanced the Arcanist's way. "If Blaque trusts you, I figure that is a good sign I can too."

"Likewise," replied Aranya with sincere warmth. "And your aid arranging with Saraj for the temporary dome for Sunspire was most helpful. I would be only to happy to return such a favor."

There was a silence from the Courier, unsure of how to begin to ask her questions, to ask the favors she would ask. Her natural hesitance did not go unnoticed, and the sincerity of the Arcanist came again. “How can I help, Safrona?”

She was unable to meet the sorceress’ eyes in that moment. “I hoped for a... favor. That you might keep something hidden for me. Or...safe, is more the word. Keeping it in Dalaran any longer might put me at risk of certain implications I am trying to avoid.”

Aranya’s whiskery black eyebrows furrow. “I can certainly do my best. What manner of “something” is it that could implicate you, may I ask?”

Safrona let out a soft exhale in attempt to release her nervousness, her absinthe gaze holding on Aranya a moment as she explained in a careful murmur. “It’s of a demonic nature. Sunspire Port was what I thought of as far as...security. With you and Blaque...”

Stepping forward and nodding, Aranya was quiet, all ears to hear whatever more needed to be said. But staring on the Arcanist drew in the Courier’s gaze, attaching to something beneath the flesh, idling sight penetrating. “There is...more I feel. A draw to you specifically. I am unsure how well you are connected to the Purveyor but...there is a familiarity that surpasses even what I feel in him in you...”

Ver’sarn blinked, silent and straight faced, as the Courier continued with her careful insight. “...you have touched something....tainted, haven’t you? I feel it, like a dark stirring..”

It was Aranya’s turn for her eyes to be chased away as she admitted: “I have touched--and tasted--many a tainted thing these past several years...it’s not easily understood by some. “What stirs...funny you should say that.” Safrona was met by a wry smile.

“This seems...or feels more recent.” The warlock continued a little more confidently at the admittance. “Either a newly touched demonic source, or something...resurfacing?” The curious edge was on her voice, still surprised in what she herself was saying. The lady Arcanist hardly seemed to be one embroiled in corruption. But she heard it, the dark static of something kept quiet for too long. “There are voices that I am tuned to in the Dark, and it knows your name.”

A nod from the Arcanist further solidified her insights. “There is one. One I tasted, one I crippled in ways that can never be undone. His face found me in my dreams, recently, making threats...or portents. I struggle to discern which.”

“...manipulative, yes? Even in death their hold is reaching. It is their nature to corrupt.” The Courier remarked with some bitterness. “I struggle in my own way as well, but it is more the nature of what I do. As the Legion has fell on Azeroth again, the demons have become more prey than I mean them to be. But every soul I tap into, that I rip from them is...not always the victory that some would celebrate.” She gave her attention back to Aranya as she looked out to sea, the storm that seemed to ever be building in the distance.

“Mmm, they were common prey for me as well, once upon a time. I hunted them in the days we tapped mana, for sustenance. But what no one could have known was what part of my true nature that fostered in me.”

A quiet attentiveness continued in the Courier, the verdant gaze of the Arcanist returning to her with intensity. “I liked it, Safrona. I found a visceral pleasure in the hunt, the triumph, the taste of tapping the essence of my prey before they fade away. That’s never gone away. It’s an addiction deeper than blood, my predator nature. But it’s been years since I gained full self-control and few know or really understand it...”

The importer’s brow furrowed both with some confusion. “...how did you stay...yourself, in it all? Did they’re hatred not haunt you? Their destruction? Until you could not remember who you are?”

Aranya shook her head, “I felt nothing for them after I drained them. Like an animal, or a beast. And that’s what I struggled with, being my own master of myself, trying to not let the urges of my blood be what controlled me. And yet, that urge for the hunt stirs more strongly than ever again....He saw it in me as he faded beneath my hand. He knows.”

A momentary silence again, as each woman considered the words already passed, the words to next give. Aranya broke it with her wry smile. “The Tomb changed the whole game, didn’t it? A font of power for them all, even the weakest ones.”

There was a gradual nod from the Courier as she agreed. “It changes much. And in the years I have survived, I’ve fought a long habit of needing to...change as well. Or go back to the beginning of what I know, I suppose you can say.”

A nod now from the Arcanist, kindly in tone. “Perhaps we can help each other...”

“I am hoping so...” Safrona began on an anxious breath as she rolled a finger up across her temple. More cracks in the Courier’s composure tonight than she would be privy to before the typical acquaintance. “But you need to know more of me in order for that to happen.”

A directing nod to the Ethereal, and Saraj breached reality to access Void Storage, pulling an articulated chest of dark orgin from its hollow expanse. As it hit the wooden dock with a heaviness, the disturbed reality healed.

“My initial forray into the Dark Arts was paved on a road of ignorance, Miss Aranya. A decade ago I was...different. Naive. Too trusting. Desperate. Vengeful. And I trusted my fate to the wrong mentoring hands. A decade ago, I earned boons of power by offering up the innocent to the Dark. The purer the soul, the better the sacrifice, the better the boon of power by which to earn. And with our own measured currency invested in the soul, it was not long before I began offering up pieces of my own to better cement my path to power.”

Aranya nodded gravely, but it was not with a judging eye, coercing instead for the Courier to continue.

“In the days of my Gathering, my coven, this was...simply the expectant. We did not question who we served, the names we gave ourselves to. In those days, the name Tichondrius was one meant for all else to fear and us to divulge long-dead secrets from.” Safrona’s eyes settled on the chest lain before them. “By the time I could gather my will to break from the ‘pack’, the gravity of what what was done was...there. My soul tethered to names sworn in the Great Dark, to demonic overlords. I have managed to outrun my fate for years in one way or another, but the Path ends the same either way I walk it.”

“Dark bargains were made then, I take it?”

A stiff nod now from the Courier. “I had long settled with my fate. That I belong to the Dark, when I take my last breath and cannot steal another more.”

Aranya almost seemed bemused now, trying to lighten the moment. “Doesn’t sound like a very pleasant afterlife, eternally in thrall.”

Safrona’s smile tightened. “In thrall? More perhaps hollowed out by others to serve as a vessel. There are many ways that the entities of the Dark can stake a claim on a soul, and none are too pleasant.”

The words stole the mirth from the Arcanist. “And what of your soul...?”

Safrona lighted a finger at her own breast, simply feeling the heart that beat beneath it, the thrum of the soul it echoed through. For a moment, her eyes misted over with the knowing she could lose all of what she had tried to make her own, even if she lost all right to it long ago. “What is left of who I am is...chained to the Dark, food for the Dreadlord I swore it too. Even in death he continues to mock me, eternally bound to the Dark as I am, knowing I belong. I have no future. No afterlife. And I had thought I had long settled with the price I am to pay...”

Her voice took a soft, yearning turn, staring out to the ocean where so much began and ended. “And yet...in the three years I have began to learn to live again? I...have come to want more. To be more, to live...more. I may have become greedy, but I want to claim a better death when the day comes, at the very least. Is this too much to want, my friend?”

There was no answer, but the gentle wrap of arms around her. At first there was hesitation within the embrace. Even within Aranya’s inner struggles, she was not a demon, and the touch lighted on a submerged yearning for something to break up the monotony of Fel-taint the Warlock had fed on alone. But with an instilled control, and the heavy reliance of warding runes inscribed to her skin, she inhaled only the comfort that was offered from a friend.

“I think I know how this can be done,” Aranya murmured as she released the importer. “And perhaps it will bring some light for me as well.”

“...yes...” Lacy fingers gestured to the chest. “This is why I bring the chest to Sunspire Port. To you. To Blaque. Your Order. I think you can help me.”

“What is in the chest?”

“What is left of the Lord of the Nathrezim. What I could manage. His dormant eye.”

The wheels visibly turned in the Arcanist’s head as she gazed to the ‘prize’, even as Safrona further explained. “I need to severe my connection to him. To the Legion. I want to.”

The thoughtful gaze lightened with a spark in her eyes, Aranya’s lips slowly pulled to a smile. “If Blaque will allow it...I believe I know just such a condition that brings this about.”

The Courier injected her intensity to the matter. “Aranya...My freedom’s cost is death, either way. And I understand it can be my own, if it must be.”

The grave silence returned as the sorceress nodded, and Safrona dared to perk a smile. “Luckily we have soulstones, yes?”

“Or something very near to it.” The Arcanist paused to collect her wheel of thoughts, then elaborated again. “Tezzakel. That was the name of the first demon I crippled beyond repair. Because I drained him of his power and killed him in the wastes of Outland, a world saturated by the Nether. Talk to Blaque, there is a way you can face your death, and if it is done in the heart of the Netherstorm, you may yet have your freedom, one way or another.”

Safrona muttered the name beneath her breath to commit it to memory, as such names held power. But as Aranya mentioned Netherstorm, there was a glint of recognition in her eyes as they blinked back up to the Arcanist.

“...fitting, I think. I died there once. Fell from the clutches of the Nether when I tried to denounce what bound me, deny the sacrifice of my love.” She was momentarily lost in resurfacing memory, of which Aranya brought her back from with the encouraging comfort of a touch to the arm. “Thank you for your insights. I will...confer with Blaque. But enough of the glum talk. I think I promised a certain sorceress wine.”

#Safwriting #IC #Aranya Ver'sarn #Mr Blaque #Tichondrius the Darkener #Canon #Thank you for reading if you do!

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safrona-shadowsun · 8 years

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“A pact is a pact, Mistress. You did not think the Darkener would forget you, did you?”

“....”

“Your silence speaks volumes, sweetness.” The succubus’ voice was lyrical damnation, her chuckle a sultry stab. “You can’t escape, no matter what sweet skin you wear.”

“...”

“The power he gave, he could take away, my love. But he knows you are ever seeking. Your existence is a thrill, has meaning, potential, and he could have you in his service again. Bringing the pretty little dark hearts to him, to remake this world. As we used to...”

“...”

“Come again to the Dark’s Embrace, where you belong. You know you belong nowhere else. Look at all that is destroyed in your wake, all that you lose from lifetime to lifetime. You fight against the inevitable, when you could have all you desire as part of his plan.”

“...”

“Want for nothing else...need for nothing else...”

“...”

“Your soul is sworn, the bed made...”

The soft exhale from the Courier released.

“Maybe it is time to lay in it...”

Each silence was built to be broken, the temptuous voice cut in a fel-flame pyre until there was nothing left but power to draw on. The demon had burned so fast there was no time for a scream. Staring long on the scorch marks that now patterned the Ramhaken rug, Safrona sighed, and summoned her Voidwalker to roll the ruined piece away.

For as many years as the succubus had been in her service, and as much as the warlock had changed, Elernia had not.

And yet the demon’s tongue held a vile truth with each word spoken, leaving a scar upon Safrona’s will, and the chains that bound her soul to Tichondrius feel that much tighter.

#Safwriting #IC #The Courier #Drabble #Tichondrius the Darkener

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safrona-shadowsun · 4 years

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What if Safrona sided with the Legion to embrace being a warlock even more?

The Ethereal's essence glittered prettily within the Felshard, granting it the shine of bastardized life. A moment longer was spent to admire it before it was fed to the pyre, stoking the gifted manifestation of Tichondrius the Darkener: a single eye. A great anchor of Legion power still survived on Azeroth, and it was in Safrona's hands alone.

There had been no other way when the voice came, reminding her to what she swore herself to so many years ago. Keruptis Sa Diablo had always spoken dark truths she had went too long trying to forget. She was ever connected within the spheres of the Great Dark. Pledged, fated to annihilate the living, and allow the universe to begin anew. Azeroth was long past its prime. It would not be long before the Void cycle would begin. Power was all that mattered.

There was a mere moment of hesitation, however, trickling in like an old friend. She had started to make a life here, to be lost in it. The succubus sensed it. The taloned fingers came gently, unraveling her long braid of hair. The voice that accompanied the touch seemed the only truth anymore.

"Second thoughts? It'll happen. You lost everything that mattered, didn't you? Tch, mortality is for the birds, sweetling. But we are here. The Darkener has only been waiting for you to listen again. You know this."

The hungry flame of Tichondrius' orb reflected in the Warlock's eyes, until they mirrored the ochre color. "Better to burn at the flesh than feed the disease," Safrona whispered in agreement.

The inhuman grin stretched across the demon's lips.

Sliding her fingers across the sharp edge of the Felsteel altar, Safrona inhaled softly as she called forth its Man'ari made map of Azeroth. "To so many others I'm still the Courier. We'll continue to use that as needed. I've some deliveries of "Bloodwine" to make."

The demonic blood introduced into the stock was subtle in flavor and detection, allowing days for her clientele to develop addictions, and months for their bodies to either manifest their strength or serve as the needed sacrifices. "Send our agents for our flowering little felbloods before they draw too much attention. And I'll go take on the Harvest."

"Yes, my darling..." Elernia sauntered next to her Mistress, finally proud to serve the Warlock she always meant to be. "You need to feed, after all. Now....shall I bring her, my love?"

The Warlock restructured her thoughts, eager. "She is here...?"

"Your little friend? Oh yes," the Sayaadi announced with a victorious hiss to the ear. "Raetheron has her in his thrall as only Nathrezim can. A favor to another Dreadlord as I hear it. She has potential but...maybe more of a risk. Too connected to her Circles, her people."

"She is not lost to me. I have a proposition for the Dreadlords." Safrona insisted, eyes trekking back over the blips of her map. "I need Nessex. We'll make Lady Ver'sarn the dark phoenix she's always desired to be."

"I love it. And the other? This...first of perished? His ilk?" The words were cut between the succubi's fangs with distaste. "There's nothing fun left to play with in the risen, you know. But we hear the little arcanist is chained to him."

Brow furrowed, the Warlock considered. "I...will go to him as the Courier, assess what he knows. Inform the Lord Raetheron. If I can...acquire his service, we'll have more in service to the Legion."

"And if not?" The succubus inquired with a hopeful sway.

"Well.” The Sin’dorei witch moved in to kiss her demon’s lips, only to drag the delicate blade of her demonic athame across Elernia’s skin. A gentle, tease of a cut. “Another sacrifice into the fold in an effort to bring the Darkener back, yes?" She whispered, cupping her lips to the glory of Sayaadi blood.

The altar's eye flared menacingly in approval.

{Thank you @asharinhun! Referencing @aranyaphoenix, @thefirstperished, @nixyandrith}

#Safwriting #IC #WHAT IF BAD #this is so bad #I am sorry #Warlock #Legioin #Warcraft

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safrona-shadowsun · 4 years

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⌘ : Where do you get some of your inspirations for plots/head canons? Offer an example, if possible (for Saf). ღ : What sorts of plots/characters/scenes do you have the most difficulty writing, and why?

⌘ : Where do you get some of your inspirations for plots/head canons? Offer an example, if possible (for Saf).

Rp Plots are often something that someone else brings to me with an idea, and I go along with it, such as the idea to have Safrona deliver something highly sought after to Asharin’s grandfather. Headcanons are often ideas that make sense between characters I have had mine interact with, the more established the relationship, the stronger the headcanon.

Personal plots are often pulled out of the universe occurences within the world Saf lives in...such as I knew Safrona was going to be looking to sever her ties with Tichondrius the Darkener in WoW once he was glimpsed on the Broken Shore in the beginning of Legion in-game, and that became an ongoing thing to write, and in some cases bring other characters in to help her with. Personal headcanons for my characters have at times been a part inspired from other fictional ideas I’ve admired, such as Voldermort’s use of horcruxes and Safrona being in essence a horcrux of her original form in attempt to achieve immortality/ridiculous power. But there are little headcanons in and around her personal existence considering her mental state and issues that honestly feel all her own, and that I am constantly trying to clarify them to myself and make them make sense within her portrayal. Saf is one of my most complicated characters, and even for me sometimes there is something new to uncover beneath the ‘normality’ she reflects.

ღ : What sorts of plots/characters/scenes do you have the most difficulty writing, and why?

I’m slow overall at writing plots and stories right now, but I think what I struggle with the most is combat-centric writing, especially for Safrona who I don’t feel is a very combat-centric character.

And as far as characters go, I have the most trouble with writing consistent villain characters that feel interesting and believable. Despite having a large interest in horror and psychological suspense, I just have trouble keeping a character so black and white, or I wander toward cliche ‘insanity’, which I really don’t want to be writing. Being a mostly not-evil person that doesn’t really enjoy hurting people myself, lol, it’s hard to also consistently stay in that mindset for a villain or antagonist and not feel emotionally or mentally drained. But man, do I really love a well-written villain. I want a Hannibal Lecter level of villain to write, but I just don’t think I can commit to it. I like the idea of redemption in characters way too much.

{ Thanks, @asharinhun! }

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safrona-shadowsun · 5 years

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Turning points in their life

The turning points I will list for Safrona is information that very few people will have IC knowledge of, as Safrona doesn’t speak very openly about who she is at her core, and who she has been. On the other hand, it is not impossible for some to come into rumor of some turning points while not knowing the details of Safrona’s involvement. I’m open to possibilities with ooc communication.

- There are few memories of who the Warlock was that she’ll hold to, but joining a cultist group by the name of the Scions of Darkness many years ago was a move in her long weave of existence that, for all its bad decisions, helped mold the Warlock into who she is, the lessons learned from that time, and the Brethren she came to know.

- An opportunity came to claim a new identity for who we know as Safrona now after an experiment with the Sha went horribly wrong. That opportunity was a major turning point in her life, as it became a promise to leave behind who she was before this moment of ‘rebirth’. Her start to a new life began during the events of Mists of Pandaria and is considered the only beginning that matters.

- Adopting the identity of the “Siren of Booty Bay” was a shift in her life, becoming the right hand and lure for a criminal smuggling operation and assassinating competition.

- Just as becoming the Siren was a turning point, being able to abandon that dead end lifestyle with the help of Madame Goya was another shift in character development. Madame Goya helped her form the foundation for who the Courier is now.

- Meeting Renwyck Darrow { @renwyck } and following through in what would become a doomed relationship nevertheless jumpstarted a humanization for Safrona that seemed frozen for her. The fallen watcher affected her demeanor and characterization more than even she sometimes lets herself realize.

- With the invasion of the Legion came events that would shift Safrona’s drive and main purpose as a Black Harvester, including her severing her ties to Tichondrius the Darkener a final time with her induction to the Circle of Perished { @theperished-wra } and pacts made with the Loa, Bwonsamdi.

- Between connections to a revitalized Karazhan and the exploration of Argus, the door that had been closed to the Void in the Warlock many years ago was flung open after a particular chain of events, resulting in Safrona’s exile from Silvermoon and a return for her to Stormwind...which for her in many ways people do not know, is coming back to a beginning.

{ @ms-winford - thank you for a most interesting question! }

#safwriting #About Safrona #Safrona Shadowsun #The Courier #The Harvester

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safrona-shadowsun · 6 years

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Ask me my "TOP 5" anything! : villains !

1. “Myself, likely,” Safrona breathed out quietly against the opening of her flask , lips barely touching its chilled metal as she held the question in her mind. The wry smile captured her mouth, tugging at a corner as she’d continue. “Some days I’m my own worst enemy, yes. Not so easy to defeat either.” A chuckle. “I never really go away.”

2. “The Old Gods, and associations…which by that margin I know they’ve had their tendrils in much of what’s tried to corrupt or destroy what we’re all trying to exist in.” Fingers slid through burgundy strands to scrape upward against the side of her scalp.” But more threatening for all we don’t know, and all our minds might not be able to withstand without going mad.”

3. The Courier sifts her fingers down and out through her long spirals of hair, settling it back down to gather on her shoulder. “The Legion. Yes, Sargaras left us all with a lovely parting gift in Silithus, but specifically Tichondrius the Darkener was my…personal obstacle. The only reason I don’t give him a higher spot on my list of ‘bad’ is because the Lord of the Nathrezim is no longer an immediate threat.”

4. “People that bottle pisswater and attempt to pass it as premium alcohol and hike its price to be more than its worth.” Another sip of her favorite bourbon was taken pointedly. “ It’s an evil that has to be stopped, always.”

5. “…a haunt of the Ghostlands.” Safrona murmured, her minds slipping to places she didn’t quite wish to visit again, particularly over the memory of a chill so cold it burned and the long, anxious drag of a soul-soaked blade meant for her damning demise. “And a reason over many other haunts that I never stay long if I’m made to wander that way.”

{ @tursidhion-felomelorn }

{ @loveherdekay }

#safwriting #ic #the villains in the courier's life #this was quite difficult to answer #but she figured it out

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safrona-shadowsun · 6 years

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[ read ] your muse reading something to mine .

{Non-Sexual Acts of Dominance}

The bowels of Karazhan occasionally became it’s own respite for the Courier, even if the dark, decrepit cellars were remade into luxury by a convincing lie glamoured by the Warmage’s hand. Much as she accepted the lie of her own existence and claimed it as her own, she accepted the gift of what Eurath weaved to be a certain truth for her too. There was a certain understanding shared, both upon the same Path and having allowed themselves to walk it through unnatural means. Within secret chambers, the world could be…anything they wanted it to be, at the master summoner’s behest.

Often, the professional meant to only bring his ordered wine or small luxury the Warmage would request of her, never taking too much of a respite with the man no matter the temptation - she was his Courier, not his Lover, magnetic attractions be damned. But descending now to see him with the typical cask of Bloodwine hoisted by a Walker of the Void, she found Eurath awaiting with his knowing smile and…a book.

…clothed, of course. The sorcerer was many a devilish thing, but he wasn’t obscenely lewd.

“I hope this isn’t how you’re intending to pay me,” Safrona’s chuckle withered from her lips, eyeing the book he now approached with.

“Let us call it a bonus on top of the usual charm of my company, mm?” It had been his turn to chuckle as the lady courier pinned a skeptical glance to his teasing grin. “Your pay will be due, and well deserved as it always will be, lady courier.” He drew her attention downward, running a set of fingers down her right sleeve and collecting her fingers with knightly courtesy in his own, before setting her digits onto the bindings of the book. No, not a book. It came to life with archaic whispers beneath her fingertips, as any magic grimoire would for it’s darkly inclined reader.

“What…is this?”

“You know,” Eurath chided now against her ear, slipping halfway behind her to peer just over her shoulder. “You can already feel the power of its words running under your skin. But you have ignored such too long, haven’t you?”

How she recognized it’s spells as soon as its latch was loosed, the familiar text in different tongues, detailed illustrations of demons within its margin, the process by which to summon, or beseech the greater. It was her own grimoire, passed on to her by the Dark Lord, Keruptis Sa Diablo. One that she had destroyed when Tichondrius the Darkener began speaking to her again, calling her into service to the Endless Dark to which she had sworn her soul to. Her dread came at the passages she flipped to as remembered, the detailed artifacts of Generals and Lords of the Legion, those boons gifted to their most devout cultists.

Yet, in their margins the text had been reworked from chanted script and prayers of summoning to simple notes on the use or dismantling of each artifact. The Eye of Tichondrius even, was detailed, naming it’s use as a manipulative tool, and it’s destruction by the Council of the Black Harvest. “You…recreated my grimoire. But…rewrote passages. How in..?”

“Come, Lady Safrona, you did not think our times spent together was not being put to purpose? Your mind is a bank of intrigue…And I am helping you to invest better in its knowledges.” He guided her fingers to new particular pages, outlining summons and demonic invocations he had written that she had not ventured to practice, so much ignored, never followed through.

“…I am not ready,” she murmured tensely, haunted by failure, by pacts, by sacrifices she ought to never have made. Trying to prove herself to nothing that mattered now.

“When then, will you be ready, Safrona? A year, a decade?” She felt his other fingers run gently down the weave of her long braid, adjusting it over her shoulder. “When you now walk through the very Void with such exquisite discipline, when you have shredded the Darkener’s Eye as it looked upon you? No Council had the guts to destroy it, did they? No.”

His fingers flicked expertly through pages until he showed her the Observer, the Warmage’s voice seeping it’s conviction even in its tantalizing whisper. “You are worthy of this. Capable. You have always been, Courier, now more than ever. It is time to stop growing stagnant. Banish the fear of your past. You are beyond it. Now…come, you can read Eredun? You speak it fluently. Call it’s name, bind it to you. This is a long overdue summon.“

Eurath lead her into the words, reading them in his knowing whisper, until the words were her own, and she could feel them burning in her veins. Then, as if leading her to a dance floor, Eurath elegantly lead her steps to the glowing rune of a summoning and binding circle. There, he relinquished his hold with a bow now, and set to be her encouraging audience.The summoning and binding, and start to finally mastering the school of Demonology, would be her own journey, long in coming.

“You are on, my Lady,” the Warmage smirked, ready to smite her summon, should it go too wrong.

{ @elibraddock / @eurath }

#safwriting #the warmage #warcraft #warlock #demonology #warlocks supporting warlocks is my kink

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safrona-shadowsun · 7 years

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🔓🔓🔓

{ Send 🔓 to learn one of my muse’s secrets! }

🔓 {Safrona excels at soul binding, connection, targeting, and manipulation as a Warlock, and it is a certain investment and understanding in Necromancy that helped to boost her knowledge in this aspect of dark magic.}

🔓 {A dreadlord by the name of Raetheron has been long associated to her bloodline, one that she once became blood-bound to after drinking of his blood during a ritual, a precursor to her becoming under the eye of Tichondrius the Darkener himself. With her tithes to the Legion finally severed, she does not feel his former compulsions as she used to, but the lesser Dreadlord observes still now, in different form, perhaps waiting for an opportunity to tempt the Warlock again.}

🔓 {Safrona has been working with the Consortium’s Ethereals since their first establishment on Azeroth, developing more of a loyalty to their universal mercantile ways than to factions of the Alliance or the Horde. She is considered an honorary Nexus Trader, and treated as one of their own. The Protectorate, on the other hand, have lost some trust in her since her affliation with the Locus Walker and the Void. }

{ @twosidedsana }

#Safwriting #About the Courier

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safrona-shadowsun · 7 years

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Let's say Saf was offered a deal. Sacrifice an innocent to get something she has truly desired for quite some time. Would she? Let's sweeten the pot and make it someone she knows. How about Kiro?

{Looong post ahead.}

Another sleepless night. The chest that held it’s ‘treasure’ was becoming the curse in her life, instead of the chance for freedom. She could nearly feel the dormant eye on her, no matter how it was shut away from sight. Tichondrius was laughing at her from beyond the Eternal Dark, knowing she was unable to destroy a simple eye alone. And who could she possibly trust with power to assist? Another covetous Warlock that might steal her damned prize, the temptation of power the title of ‘Lord of the Nathrezim’ too enticing to deny? One of the Lightbringers who would persecute her for holding to the Eye for so long, especially when her connection was exposed? How many would the Eye corrupt by simply staring into its fetid gaze? The decanter of Darkmoon Whiskey Reserve was on her new, smaller desk, always the old friend within reach. She welcomed the company of its warmth like none other. The succubus invited herself as additional company, lewdly draping herself in part against the sanctity of the Courier’s desk. "Everyday is a struggle for you, isn’t it, Sweetness? But there’s a simple solution here, and you can solve it all by yourself, like a Big Girl.“Safrona rolled her eyes at the demon’s seductive theatrics, begrudgingly moving her decanter and glass away lest both be spilled. But Elernia had slipped away, meandering toward the chest. “Take his power for your own, and in the taking, you can be free. Stronger.” The demoness purred. “How long have you practiced, stayed in control despite all? You earned this. It is just a portion of power, but you can have it. A small army of Dreadlords to be your eye, to call to your command.”

The warlock, long stagnant in her power, always too cautious with her climb for more, rose from the desk to approach the chest, half on guard, half called by Elernia’s tempting words. The demon knew she spoke to the Seeker hidden in her Mistress, the seed of darkness that was always went wanting. “It is only the eye, not the Heart. At most it would grant control over a Dreadlord or two, especially in such a depleted state.” Safrona sighed. “What power is there in that?”

“More than you think.” The demoness grinned, red and wicked. “Or is it denial? You are so modest, Precious thing. You know there is power here to be unlocked, power that can be revisited. It only needs the right energy to start. You know what to do…”

The word unravelled on a whisper from Safrona as she unlocked the chest to stare on the dead eye of the Darkener. “A sacrifice?”

A nod from the succubus. “Give it another to feed on. To enliven it. The brighter the soul, the stronger the wakening. Given by your hand, you can twist the binding…be the Entrapper, not the Bound. As a Warlock is meant to be. Make THEM bend the knee.”

“…I don’t want them to bend the knee. I want to kill them all.” Safrona spoke with a sharpness.

“…I know what you really want.” Elernia spoke with an almost sympathetic whisper, chasing her eyes away. “You want what they took away. Your Watcher of Duskwood.”

The words stabbed into Safrona, reopening an old wound she had tried so neatly to stitch up in her heart. “Sacrificing to the Eye will not bring back Wyck…” she whispered with a stunted yearning.

“You speak as if your lovely boy is dead,” the Sayaadi snickered. “He is not, you know. Hiding only. Avoiding you. Afraid, likely.”

There was still her mournful silence in reply, a slip of her gaze back to the Eye as Elernia continued.

“Take in the power of the Eye, and you can call him to you, make him yours again, eat away his fear, his doubts. Eat away YOUR doubts.” Elernia tapped a taloned finger against her chin. “As for a sacrifice, we can start with that nosy little rogue you’ve attracted. He’ll only keep digging into who and what you were, after all. Cute, but annoying. And of course, we can make it look like a very unfortunate accident on the Broken Shore…curious kitty getting his comeuppance, mm?”

“…wait, you mean Kirollis?”

“Is that his name? Good, lets start with tha–”

The chest was slammed upon the Eye, Safrona’s none-too thrilled reply gaining strength. “I know what you’re trying to do. How stupid do you think I am? Taking in the power of the Darkener? Even a taste of it would be enough to corrupt me beyond sense. I’m disappointed that you don’t know me better, Elernia. That you are still trying to play the same game after all this time. Trying to gain the upper hand.”

Elernia pouted, but was wracked with a Curse of Agony a moment later, bringing her to a moan of both pleasure and pain. It got her attention, at the very least. All it earned from the Warlock was disgust. “I am going to find a way to destroy the Eye. The less there is of Tichondrius the Darkener, the happier I will be. And there is nothing that you can say that will change my mind, you silly, conniving little bitch. So stop, before I send you back to the Nether in burnt pieces.”

“…as for what I really, truly want,” A sigh as she walled the weakness back up that Elernia had touched upon, her Watcher. “You do not…possess what you love. Love is a choice, and he has made his in staying away. But that is what love *is*: giving the freedom to make that choice. Learn something about the mortals you prey on, would you already?”

{ Thanks for the ask, @unabashedrebel~! Mentions of @renwyck !}

#Safwriting #IC #Prompt answers #Canon #The Eye of Tichondrius

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