#Tichondrius the Darkener | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

safrona-shadowsun · 8 years ago

Photo

{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!

12 notes · View notes

safrona-shadowsun · 8 years ago

Photo

“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

14 notes · View notes

safrona-shadowsun · 4 years ago

Text

Another Invasion

2020 Writing Challenge: 9/21 “Invasion”

@daily-writing-challenge

“Invasion” had been a word used out of style as far as Safrona was concerned. Much like an old client pattern she was familiar with on a tiresome level, demanding her personal touch on a contracted responsibility for a single bottle of wine that could easily be shipped on a schedule. The repetitive calling that was always right on time with its demand for attention. “Invasion” was printed in loud text as the headline of an Old God variety. She was none too thrilled. Historically, she remembered more than the dragging malaise she felt now.

The first invasion the courier remembered attending to swept her through time-warped Draenor - life had been a complicating, struggling blur before. Yet the dangers had been almost an exhilarating adventure on that first invasion, laced with an important drive. The Iron Horde surely had been a threat to Azeroth’s timelines, but she had taken on the responsibility of resource pushing between forts with almost, a gratitude. She had been recognized for her ability as more than a wine porter, and the demand of both Alliance and Horde trapped in their forts made her feel instrumental. The light of a romance had been on then too, and it had felt right to work together across the lines with the one she adored, unifying to help disrupt the time-twisted schemes ultimately of Gul’dan.

The second invasion of note had been faced with an unforgiving anger, the Legion’s hands seeming to have plagued her footsteps, taking away then the light in her life. There had been no adventure then, no uneasiness, no question of her actions. There had been only the means of gaining and refining her power to twist it against the Demonic Horde she had for too long been attached to. It was not a time she had enjoyed, wreaking havoc on each demonic invasion and shuttling to the ruined Argus to help break the Legion machine. There had been no vindication for what she’d lost with each harvest of a new demon for information, only darkening her soul further. Yet it had been a satisfying end to finally have Tichondrius’ remaining eye in her hands, breaking her ill-taken pact of so many years with its destruction.

Now the third invasion of world-shattering importance, the Black Empire leaking out beyond the conscious reality to take hold. There was no real victory in Uldum, fighting off what the Klaxxi had always said would come to be, and eventually return again. There was no real relief, no vindication in ripping away the life force of void-possessed souls that no longer had their minds or wills to themselves. There was a despair in Madame Goya’s voice she had never heard before in discussion of the state of the Valley, a hopelessness that the mindraker exposed her mind too, making sleep an impossibility. Tired, anxious, she rode on into the corrupted Valley, witnessed the alien masses and tentacles writhing from the once beautiful land. The existential dread was heavy on her, pulling her momentarily back to memory of the corrupting Sha. This was a hopeless infestation she could not process a reversal of.

The courier took a steadying breath, pulling tight on the reins of her hellish Dreadsteed. The demonic steed was only adrenaline and desire for chaos, barely restrained. Safrona gradually found her footing in this, demanding its descent into Void Hell. Fear was the mindkiller, and she would not be undone.

#Safwriting #Drabbles #Writing #Warcraft #Writing challenge 2020 #Safrona Shadowsun

14 notes · View notes

safrona-shadowsun · 5 years ago

Note

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

9 notes · View notes

safrona-shadowsun · 4 years ago

Note

⌘ : 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! }

4 notes · View notes

safrona-shadowsun · 5 years ago

Note

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

6 notes · View notes

safrona-shadowsun · 6 years ago

Note

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

11 notes · View notes

safrona-shadowsun · 6 years ago

Note

[ 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

5 notes · View notes

safrona-shadowsun · 7 years ago

Note

🔓🔓🔓

{ 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

2 notes · View notes

safrona-shadowsun · 7 years ago

Text

Initiation of the Perished: The Courier

{Writing between myself, @thefirstperished and @aranyaphoenix. This event takes place before Aranya’s disappearance. Thank you for reading if you do!}

Part 1

Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4

~Welcome to the house where the Sanctum lies, Where the Shadow sings and the ocean sighs, Where the Dark Phoenix sleeps when she does not fly, Come down… Down below… Listen to what the living don’t have the strength to know. ~

The Red Courier's ears twitched at the chant, the whispered susurrus that pulled at her indistinguishable from the Dark she was connected to and the sound of the waking world. Still, it was habit to question: "Did you...?" The smile slowly, knowingly spread across Aranya's face in response, and Safrona breathed a quiet, strange chuckle, knowing she would hear much more in the chamber of the Perished.

Even in the call of invitation to gather, other whispers twisted at her soul, corrupt, reminding her of to what the Warlock belonged. And as many times as she let Voices find her soul to soul, she had tried so long to not reach too much in return, knowing what followed her would seek to plant its seed of corruption in the souls she would bond to. The days of the Hegemon of the Scions of Darkness were long gone, but demons outlasted the lives she cast away, no matter how far she tried to disassociate, evolve, grow past the evils of what she swore herself to. The Burning Legion was aptly named, and the Great Dark they tasted was all she knew. Yet the Black Orchid showed her his brand of Darkness, and the Dark Phoenix promised freedom through it. But even freedom had a price...especially for her displaced soul. A soft, nearly gentle utterance of words slipped from her lips, turning the harsh Demonic command she spoke into elegance. The locks that held Tichondrius' dead eye noisily hissed out of place, letting her look over the oversized oculus kept there. "Any other Warlock would use it to their advantage. A way to spy on the Legion's forces...or augment their abilities. I'm fairly certain some would murder for it so they could grind it up and snuff it up like some...bloody ancient mana crystal. He hopes for it, in fact. That one would be so foolish to use him. Ingest his power. Give him another link to this world, or...breed through it." It was a long few silent moments that she had stood, hovering over the chest, hearing the temptuous call of the Darkener, taunting and cajoling all at once. She had long numbed herself to it, put it at the emptiest hall of her mind, housed only in nightmares she drank away. Few else would have the will to resist so long, but her will had been tempered through life and death, building from sheltered ignorance to the Courier she was now. But better men and women than she fell before. It would only be a matter of time before she could succumb, now with the Legion at Azeroth's very doorstep. A cradle of magic was born between the Warlock's fingers, a conglomeration of soul-fed tainted flame, a drop of her own blood and malefic magics Tichondrius granted her long ago, mirroring the shape and size of the eye in possession. Gently, Safrona set the Soul Effigy to spin independently in the middle of the chamber. "I will need your aid in destroying it. This will save us a trip to the Nether, Ms. Aranya, and enable us to destroy this last piece in this realm and the Hungering Dark that chains me." The chant seemed to start again, and it tugged an errant smile from her lips. It was much preferred to the monotony of the Demonic. "Of course to sever the pact, I will also need to be severed from this reality. I trust you and the First to do the deed." A moment of deepening quiet fell over Safrona more, and she looked away, back toward the spinning effigy that awaited. The smile that curled at her lips was brutally gentle. "I am fully aware I may not return from this. But a courier is replaceable yes?" She chuckled softly, hauntingly, putting away the knowing that she had never said her goodbyes to those she cared for most. "If I am not meant for this world, I trust the world will somehow go on without me.

Aranya blinked at the soul effigy. A link to the Nether? A way to make and sever the connection without the perils of moving the courier to the heart of the storm? It was brilliant, really. Her forethought was most commendable. "If you will be actively connected to these things when you go under, then their connection to you will be pulled across with you," said Aranya. "They will be as vulnerable to you as you to them, and you must be stronger, not to survive the ritual, but to let your soul survive." The phoenix gently grasped the red courier's shoulders. "Do not think of life," she said. "What you seek, what you will serve - whether it's one thing or the other - is beyond life." A softly felt echo passed between the Perished and the initiate, as the Dark Phoenix called to the First. ~Endala tal endal, rea aranal, san'dorei~*

{ Breathe the breath of death, and rise, child of the dark. } ~She is ready.~

“Yuav ua li cas tuag tau ua rau kuv, kuv muaj rau koj “

(What Death has done to me, I offer to you. )

The form appeared from the darkness of the Altar like a specter shrouded in mist; even the features were unseen, the voice was unmistakable to those closest to him. Crimson hues stared toward the one that summoned him, casting a hint of familiarity before settling upon the one called Courier. It had been a long time coming, one he knew would arrive far sooner than Safrona would've believed, even if she would not allow herself to see this was all had been planned long before.

" Safrona, the one called Courier... I've lon' offered this ta' ya', only ta' 'ear ya' words echo tha' ya' could not an' would not brin' down unseen wrat' upon those closest ta' ya'. But 'ere ya' are, beckonin' the Da'k Phoenix ta' call ta' the First; wha' 'as changed?"

The Courier had little time to reflect on Aranya's words or to let that encouragement settle the restlessness of her soul. Now came the First with his questions on a voice she knew too well. She held to that crimson gaze a while, a gaze evoked in the shadow of flame as they'd spoken through the Dark many nights before. A gaze she'd broken from too many times before the demonic would take too much notice of such attachment. It was the same now within the Perished refuge, her absinthe sights chased away. She’d given Aranya’s hand a small squeeze of appreciation before stepping away, pacing the chamber slowly between both Perished. “I think we all know the threat to us all is very much clear,” Safrona remarked grimly. “And these demons are not so subtle about their intent, exactly. Azeroth is a world to be conquered, razed, set to zero in their eyes. All souls given to the Great Dark to strengthen what has lived long before our world blinked to life. And I feel the Calling to serve more now than ever… especially in the madness of knowing I will always lose all that I… that I try to… make mine.“ Safrona shook her head slowly, opening and closing her hands, as if assuring herself these were even her actions. “But there is a different calling. One that promises more than the doom of demons, the imprisonment of the corrupt. A bond long set in motion in you that calls me here now.” Eyes took their moment to pass from the First of the Perished, to his Phoenix, then back to the First. “...I don’t know if coming here is the true answer, and the word ‘freedom’ has a myriad of meanings. But you promise you will help, and I mean to destroy this Eye, and I know I cannot do this on my own. And there are no others I trust more to help me than who is in this room.”

" Txoj kev ywj pheej yog tsis zoo li cas kuv muaj ... kuv muab tsuas xaiv” {..."Freedom is not what I offer... I offer only a choice...}

His eyes stared at her through the darkness, the quiet steps of his feet gently sounding against stone as they carried his form around akin a predator sizing up another. Perhaps it was his tribal nature or perhaps it was just that over "dramatic" sense for making an entrance, the First sniffed the Courier's hair before slinking toward's Aranya; brow raising slightly at the Phoenix. " Trust.. A fickle thin' an' one tha's earned amon' the livin'; suppose tha's why our trust 'as always been implicit..."; the words slowly trickled from his lips like a dark, rich wine.

A soft, slight smile curled the corners of the Phoenix's lips, in her slightly lopsided way. A flex of her hand sent a warm ribbon of white-gold smoke curling closely around the First's fingers, as easily as if she had grasped and held them herself. A fond gesture by way of communicating that she concurred.

As the First would slip back to his Phoenix's side, Safrona moved the long length of plaited hair he had pulled the scented note of Bloodwine from, his voice the sound as much as she was the scent, the visual. And yet there was too that lingering scent that that came with the Warlock's fel bonds, the burning of leaves that no bottled sin could hide from an acute sense, or one that knew her well enough. It still made her terribly aware in that moment, self-conscious of what she was by comparison to the Courier she tried to wear, her struggle with normalcy. Quiet a moment as she watched the ribbon of near ethereal smoke flow from Aranya's fingers in reaching for the First, a faint smile tugged at her own lips as she let her own eyes drift away again. "I have died, changed too many times to know that trust in another heart is fickle. Hearts are fickle, they change, they wither, they die. The living give themselves to the flesh easily, but rarely to the soul. And so should trust be for it to bear meaning. I think you know everything bears more weight on us as death-touched, whether we are alive or... elsewise. Outside the cycle, we are drawn to others that are the same-- that know we are more than our flesh. " "...is it wrong then, do you think, to want a life so much to be yours, again? To feel real and consistent when you have for so very long, have not...? Maybe... that is why I am here too. This calling feels more vital than most I have felt, to be here. And for once it feels like the right choice." Her verdant eyes flicked back again to the Soul Effigy, voice soft with knowing. "But in the Dark, yours, or mine, everything begins with death, doesn't it? A prelude to change. "

"Mmm," hummed the Phoenix in agreement. "To choose any kind of different life, first must come the choice to be dead to this one, yes." She stepped forward, laying a hand on the Courier's shoulder.

A wince took Safrona's features at the Phoenix's words, drawing away from the resting hand. "Dead... to this life?" A soft, uncertain chuckle slipped those lips as she passed her sights between both Perished. "I have only begun to start to live this one, you know. Only now have I begun to start to think of it as mine. I have lost so much already before this." She closed her eyes, before opening them again hard, on the Eye. "I lose everything, but HIM. The demons stay, even when all else dies, leaves. That is want I wish to change, that evil consistence, curse that follows me. Are you telling me I must give up this life to to have that...?" Doubt creased her temple, the whirring of the Effigy filling the temporary silence of the chamber as she awaited an answer.

" Nws hais tias nws yeej tso siab rau kuv, tiam sis cov lus nug ..."

{She says she trusts me but questions... } Blaque crouched low to the floor, almost walking on all fours, watching the two women speak." You must not give up anything... You need to choose that which is more imortant to you; freedom from a curse that will steal you away or remaining bound to a world that only sees you as the Red Courier." His words and tone were hollow as sconces upon the walls softly flared with purple flame; smoke rose from candles upon the shadow shrouded altar, moving of its own accord as it coiled around the First's figure. Crimson hues scanned the breadth of Safrona's form as he rose up from his crouch, leveling his gaze upon the one bound to his spirit." Death.. is only the beginning, my Cherished one. Do you fear what is beyond the door more than your desire to escape that which seeks to consume you? Does that fear overshadow your trust in that whom I am and what I offer you?"

"There will be those that will only see the Red Courier, no matter who she really is." Safrona stilled herself, taking in the First's words, his leveling gaze making her close her own to only feel the supernatural resonation of their bond. "Death is...only change, I know," she spoke softly, both without and within their souls, the bond already solidifying itself with Aranya as well, "I fear loss, if anything. And a history of making the wrong decisions weighs on me, tugs at the soul as it always has. I am a lifetime of wrongs, it seems...at times." Slowly, she opened her eyes, nodding. "But I am here, I bring myself here. I choose to be. ...do not leave me on this road of change, wherever it brings me when I open that door, I beg you. Even if I push you away myself. If I am Cherished among the Perished, let this be one of the few constants I have in my existance, yes?"

" Ya' speak as if ya' be the only one 'ere tha' hasn't lead a life of wron' decisions... Speak as if those 'ere don' know the misery ya' allow ta' pull at ya' 'eart an' soul, just as it pulls at they own." The candles began to flare with life, flecks of it's purple glow were cast off into the darkness surrounding them. Figments of memory began to form from the flecks, turning into spirits both old and new, familiar and unfamiliar. " All 'oo are 'ere 'ave chosen ta' be 'ere, ones bot' Perished an' dead. Ya' will ne'er be alone, as I've ne'er let ya' be alone since we met. I am ya's, just as ya' will be mine; as is the same wit' all 'ere." A bowl of obsidian, emblazoned with runes and glpyhs both of the living and of the Shadow realm. The ebony liquid within moved slowly as if it were made from ink, though the red Orchid resting upon it's surface remained unblemished. " Ya' 'ave conquered the offer of Deat', wit' this? Ya' conquer the fear of ya' own Deat'..." Crimson eyes turned to stare at his Dark Phoenix, any emotion hidden behind shadows unrelenting; " Deat' is the only constant we know or will eva' know, it comes fa' us all."

Drawn to the obsidian bowl Safrona was, staring upon the shadowy altar of the Perished until her fingers came to touch the red orchid offered at its center, seeming unstained by the dark liquid it lay in. It seemed a delicate ritual in that moment, though she knew the beginning steps were deceptively so. "This is it, then? Death should not start so beautifully, should it?" She chuckled quietly to herself, shaking her head. Her gaze slipped to Tichondrius’ Eye in its chest, anticipating its severing from her soul, to the whirring soul conduit that had been in place, then to the ones who watched her. "How am I to begin?"

" Ya' begin as they all 'ave begun befa' ya'... Drin'.. Drin' in the Shadows tha' stem from the Orchid an' allow ya'self ta' slip inta' the awaitin' arms of a sleep-like Deat'... Allow ya'self ta' slip from the coil ya' know now, allow ya'self ta' breat' in tha' which will free ya' from ya' chains an' show ya' wha' it means ta' be free, ta' serve somethin' greata' than owa' selves.." The First’s eyes narrowed as he crouched on the top of the altar, head tilting to the side as he stared down at her. " Ya' must start... Wit' tha' wha' ya' fear most; trustin' in anotha.."

"And here I am without a proper wine glass," Safrona spoke with a soft chortle laced with anxiousness, taking the bowl from the altar and into her hands.

"Your Courier isn't as prepared as she thought... "Words that held their little ironies were quieted as she closed her mind to dark memory that groped for her attention, calming herself against lessons learned, against faces of the past. All that mattered was the now, and as she brought the bowl to her lips it was Aranya and Orchid that stood in the now, with her in body, in soul.

Before them, she supped upon her own sleeping death, knowing she overcame the first challenge of trust. And as her vision darkened and she felt herself collapse to the stone floor, she knew it would be only the beginning...

#the first perished #the dark phoenix #the Courier #Initiation #Rp #safwriting #canon

13 notes · View notes

safrona-shadowsun · 8 years ago

Text

A Courier’s Needs

"The eye?" Rittsyn Flamescowl echoed with a gruff, gravelly snicker, snapping the lid of the heavy chest that contained one oversized, fleshy eye down, articulated locks fastening. "The eye is not yours to have, Elf. " The spoils of Tichondrius the Darkener, Lord of the Nathrezim, had been divvied up among the underground exchange between covens, as most demons were. And the Circle of Harvesters lay claim to the most powerful reagents from the most powerful demons, extending their power over their demonic army, the very world they had stolen for themselves. Standing now before half the Inner Circle, the Red Courier was only outside looking in on those most powerful--she was only the ‘help’ in their eyes. And now she bartered for what could be a start to her freedom from old tithes, a contract bound by soul, if not blood. A barter she was not strongly winning.

“Have I not provided enough as your Courier?” she lilted on with her disarming smile, charming as the Ethereal she kept in her company. Saraj might have had an easier time winning over the spoils, but less respect would be hers for sending him to vouch for what she wanted. “It is only the eye I would desire, for as many times as I delivered on what was needed, yes?” It had already been a disappointment not having seen the Darkener fall with the help of her own hand, a struggle altogether now to be the patient professional. The Circle had never invested much interest in her beyond business, and she in turn felt wrong in investing more of her story, her reason for the desire for the infamous Dreadlord’s eye. Every warlock must have their secrets.

Shinfel Blightsworn’s smile curled like a vine. “Oh, no doubt, darling,” she chuckled with the usual sultriness laced with poison. “You’ve been so good at bringing us our wine. But that hardly constitutes trading out the Lord of the Nathrezim’s eye.”

Safrona tried to not let her smile curdle under being patronized. Wine was all anyone remembered the Courier for, but she brought so much more to the Order, including the ears of those that had lost their taste for gatherings, as she did. Zinnin Smythe was silent as he always was - most wondered if he was truly mute or simply chose not to waste words. The Worgen watched her askance, seeing the disappointment gather at the depths of her absinthe sights.

“The heart was already ruined,” Rittsyn half-growled, “most likely by some Lightbringer that deemed it to be too much power for any to have.”

“Imagine what we could be with the Nathrezim under our control!” Shinfel whispered with a hungry reverence, though gradually rooted out by sigh of longing. “What we could have been.”

The orc nodded, “We only have the eye, and we are lucky to have even this as a trophy. Turn your bartering to another treasure, Courier. The Eye is not for sale.”

Gritting her teeth, Safrona turned on her heel from the denying Council. Would telling them that she had once had the Darkener’s other dormant eye in her possession, or would it have been more reason to keep it for themselves, knowing she would mean to destroy this one too? There was nothing more than she wanted, than to blind herself from the pact so foolishly made with Tichondrius so many years ago, even if it meant her power would diminish with the release. No ‘legendary’ staff would save her from the hungry Dark when her body finally failed her, no amount of power could claim back the right not to be devoured by some hungry maw, or hollowed out and made to serve as the vessel of another demon. Demons may die, but the Dark that bred them was eternal, and so was the evil that awaited her.

However much the Courier tried to make her Path her own, she was a prisoner to her dark fate, and there was only so much slack her many chains could allow her to roam on. And after a night of harvesting demon souls in her pure resentment of what was denied her, Safrona settled in her Dalaran tower to drown the residual violence of a dozen demons still haunting her mind in a good portion of alcohol. The bourbon whiskey hit her stomach with a welcome heat, and by the third glass of amber her thoughts stretched to other souls she had reached for, trusted in, hoping if at all that they might make her feel less alone in her hell.

She let her thoughts haunt her Black Orchid as he sometimes sought her, suffused herself in the bitterer taste of his Highland Scotch, found a small refuge in the haunt of his forehead tilted against hers with the whispers of a promise. She reached for her Sweet Sister like the shadow dancing about the wick of a flame, wanting to unravel in that gentle wisdom of the Seer. Her near yearning for darker wisdoms was a spectral touch along the Alchemist’s soul, losing herself to his Voice, his philosophy on the Dark, wondering if her struggle lay in the fact she struggled at all against what seemed meant to be...

Conveniently, the chamber door to her tower resounded with a knock, and Safrona could not help but drunkenly chuckle, assuming that Master Araelson had felt his ears burning and came to keep her dark thoughts company. But opening the chamber door revealed another Gilnean, one she was not expecting at all: the quiet Zinnin Smythe, one of the Council of Six. Before the Courier could attempt to invite the Warlock inside or even make herself more presentable, the Worgen only for a moment held her eyes with a sympathetic gaze, before bowing deeply. A pairing of Harvester Acolytes brought the articulated chest she had sorrowed over, gently setting it just within the entrance of her office. A lengthy stare was given to the chest as her mind tried to pull away from the drunken haze to fully appreciate what gift was given. Yet, before the Courier could attempt to stutter over heartfelt gratitudes, Smythe brought a clawed finger to his snout to hush her with a knowing, toothy smile.

As the Acolytes opened the chest to reveal the treasured eye of the Darkener, Zinnin only stepped forward to put a small note in her lacy hands, before excusing himself. It would only read:

Lady Courier:

Your work does not go unappreciated. Think of this as a payment for all the Gilnean Brandy you will continue most hopefully to bring me?”

Yours in Darkness,

~ZS

As the chamber doors of her office were shut, Safrona placed the glass of bourbon down with a renewed hope, an exhale of relief and anticipation leaving her lips as she stared down at the priceless eye of Tichondrius.

There was much work to be done to see her freedom through.

{Mentions of @mrblaque, @lilthessa and @viktoraraelson! And thank you for reading to anyone else if you do!}

#Safwriting #IC #The Eye of Tichondrius #Plots #Canon #(Struggled with how to write this for a while!}#{Saf is not a Netherlord lol}#{Juuuust a Courier}

16 notes · View notes

safrona-shadowsun · 8 years ago

Note

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

7 notes · View notes