#a'laria

[ronaestrider]

Reflections

Ruthar returned to the Farstrider Retreat with Farstrider Kelnim, a promising ranger that has been working in Ruthar’s encampment outside of Valdrakken. The Ranger Captain racks his bow and removes his armour, stretching his fingers after removing his gauntlets as his thoughts swirl around his head.

“That Tannis boy really is something else,” Kelnim offers. “The Stafrosts seem like a great family, Ranger Captain.”

Ruthar smiles at that, his mind returning to his time with Syrielle and Gattius. “It was quite nice to catch up with them both. I appreciate your willingness to show the boy around while we spoke.”

Kelnim nodded. “Anytime, Ranger Captain. He reminds me of myself at his age.”

Ruthar chuckled. “Likewise. It really does warm the spirit knowing that such young minds are still ready and interested in the Farstrider ways. I would think the allure of magic and power would be able to capture most these days.”

Kelnim scoffed playfully at that. “Not for us, not for them. We will hardly be the last of us.”

“I hope you’re right,” Ruthar offered softly. “If and when the young Tannis does continue his studies, I’ll be sure to make sure he continues with yourself, at least at first. You seem to have a way with the young recruits.”

Kelnim smiled at that and bowed his head. “I would appreciate that, sir.”

Ruthar nodded, planting a hand on Kelnim’s shoulder. “We’ve all got our place in all of this. Perhaps recruitment and trainee assessment are your next steps. In any case, that will be all this evening, Kelnim. Thank you for your assistance with Tannis and with the potential intruder. Get some rest.”

Kelnim snapped a salute that Ruthar returned, watching the younger Farstrider depart. Ruthar walked outside near the fire where he conversed with Syrielle and Gattius not a few hours earlier. It had been an unexpectedly eventful day catching up with the Starfrosts and then coming upon Raynell A’laria in the woods beyond the Retreat. While it was great to see his comrades once again after so long, Ruthar felt the guilt set in once more as he thought more about them and their struggles. He leaned upon a post next to the fire, looking out into the twilight-touched Eversong as his mind wandered.

Raynell had been a part of the Dragonscale Expedition, a unit that he himself had worked for. Should he not have widened his eyes and fostered a relationship there? She mentioned difficulties in the Fourth War and even hinted at work beyond the veil. Could he have been present to assist with whatever difficulties she may have faced? And then there were the Starfrosts, Syrielle working her way into the upper reaches of the Magistry while Gattius had started a clinic of his own. As owners of a beautiful manor and parents of a fine and promising young boy, Ruthar couldn’t help but think of how he could have helped. Perhaps they didn’t need anything, truly, but who doesn’t need a friend every once in a while. These were more than just his comrades in the Phoenix Guard - these were his friends, the closest people he really had outside of his fellow soldiers. Certainly they deserved more from him than the nothingness he provided over the past six or seven years.

As Ruthar looks into the darkening woods, his vision is replaced with a memory. Gentle winds toss his silver-white hair as the golds and yellows of Quel’Danas radiate all around him as he stands before his comrades of the Phoenix Guard.

Ruthar smiles, tapping a small pouch upon his hip. "Quel'Thalas is proud, indeed. We all are - Commander Dawnblade, myself, Captain and Lieutenant Starfrost. Your extensive work has paved the way for a brighter tomorrow." He waves a hand around and looks to the warm foliage surrounding the spire. "Just as this Isle before us, Azeroth is once again defended at the hands of you all."

Syrielle reaches over to take Gattius' hand, smiling happily at everyone present. Ruthar looks to Aquilon "Will" Blackmarrow, one of the Phoenix Guard’s reservists. "Doctor," he says firmly. "Front and center, if you will."

Blackmarrow moves in front of Ruthar and snaps to attention. Ruthar looks the Death Knight up and down. "The kingdom of Quel'Thalas recognizes your service, Doctor," Ruthar begins, his felfire eyes dancing in the sunlight. "As a Reservist of the Phoenix Guard and a key component to our continued victories both home and abroad, I present you with this."

Ruthar reaches into the pouch at his side to produce a glinting golden piece affixed to a dazzling red and gold ribbon. "The Commendation of Quel'Thalas is not an adornment to be taken lightly. Wear it well, Doctor." He offers the commendation in both hands. The members of the Guard present cheer and celebrate the Doctor’s accolade as Blackmarrow quietly accepts the award, staring at it with an inscrutable look in his eyes. "Thank you, sir."

Ruthar places his hand upon his chest to bow a soft salute. "Congratulations, Reservist. You do us all proud." He turns to Syrielle. "Lieutenant," he says softly, gesturing before him. "If you will."

Gattius speaks lowly. "--Ooooh... you're in trooooouble!" Syrielle elbows Gattius in the side, mumbling the word 'Dork' under her breath before making her way to stand in front of Ruthar.

Ruthar looks proudly upon Syrielle. "Lieutenant Starfrost," he begins. "To say that your life has been eventful is a particularly striking understatement. From your promotion into Phoenix Guard's leadership all the way to the birth of your young one, you have taken every task and challenge thrown your way and met them with relentless vigor. For this marked perseverance, it is my honour to present you the Commendation of Quel'Thalas."

The Guard once again roars in celebration as the very winds of Quel’Danas seem to reply in kind. Syrielle smiles at Ruthar's words, nodding her head as she accepts the medal. "Thank you, Lieutenant Commander."

Ruthar bows his head respectfully. "Wear it well, Lieutenant." He glances around. "Doctor Sunfall, please." Kalithos Sunfall shifts forward. “Yes, sir?”

Ruthar smiles. "The task of healing this unit is a task I will never, ever envy. It is the work of sin'dorei such as yourself that ensures that there will be a tomorrow for so many." Ruthar looks around. "There is not a person in this room that has left the battlefield unscathed, and we all owe you a great debt. For that, Shield Sunfall, I present your Commendation."

Kalithos blushes and offers his thanks as his comrades of the Guard celebrate his achievement. “Thank you,sir!” Ruthar shakes his head. "Thank -you-, Sunfall. Wear it well." He smiles. "And speaking of Sunfall..." Ruthar gestures to Kalithos’s husband, Rethandral, and speads when he steps forward. "To say that things have been difficult for you recently would be, dare I say, an underestimation. But you owned up to your mistakes and made a concerted effort to move forward, learning from your experiences and crafting a new path forward." Ruthar smiles warmly as he looks upon Rethandral. "It is this quality of perseverance of personal growth that I truly admire, along with your tried and true abilities at the front lines of every engagement. Rethandral Sunfall, I am proud to offer you the Commendation of Quel'Thalas."

Ruthar salutes Rethandral as the Guard applauds once more. "Wear it well, Sunfall." He looks along the line again. "Doctor Dawncaster, please." Voka Dawncaster tries to walk as tall as he can, but he's strained, and it shows. He still hasn't fully acclimated to his robot leg. Ruthar looks at Voka for a long moment. "It lifts my spirit to see you standing before us, Spellweaver. You have given so much to your kingdom, to us all, and no amount of metallic adornment can truly repay you."

Voka rests his weight on the cane again, trying to be as respectful as he could manage. No standing at attention for this boy. "I would gladly give it again for our people."

Ruthar looks at Voka with pride. "In the coming weeks, I want you to work with the very best resources available to us on the Isle. I will make whatever arrangements that are necessary, but we will do everything we can to ensure your return to your former self." Ruthar stands straighter. "Spellweaver Dawncaster, for your amazing service to Quel'Thalas and a very promising future with the Phoenix Guard, I proudly present your Commendation." He offers the medal with both hands.

Voka accepts the commendation with one hand as the unit celebrates the achievement. "I shall strive to continue keeping everyone together."

Ruthar nods as Voka returns to the others. He searches the line for a familiar face, one who he served with for an extended period. "Ah, yes. Li-Mei, please step forward." Rositsa blinked but slowly stepped forward before halting in front of Ruthar.

Ruthar clears his throat, looking intently upon Rositsa. "One thousand, six hundred and seventy days." Ruthar counts upon his fingers as he speaks. "Four years, six months, and 27 days, if you include today as well." Ruthar looks around. "That, my friends, is how long Rositsa Li-Mei has been in service with the Phoenix Guard. Four and a half years is a true feat, Li-Mei, and it's truly hard to believe that it has been that long. You have truly become an integral part of this establishment and have learned so much from when we first met."

Rositsa flicked one ear forward and the other back, silently trying and failing to calucate Ruthar's math before offering a happy smile to Ina'thia, "I'm honored to serve under under all of you."

Ruthar clears his throat. "The pleasure is assuredly ours. For your outstanding service to both the Phoenix Guard and Azeroth herself, I present you the Commendation of Quel'Thalas." He offers the medal once more.

Rositsa gingerly took the medal before taking a small step back and dipping into a gracious bow, "Thank you, sir, I'm honored. I will do my best to make the Phoenix Guard and Quel'thalas proud."

Ruthar salutes Rosi proudly as the applause thunders once again. "You have already done that and more, Li-Mei. Wear it proudly." Rositsa smiled happily and quietly stepped back in line before pinning the medal to her tabard.

Ruthar taps the bag at his hip. "Not to worry - only a few more!" He looks to his left. "Captain, if you will.” Gattius falls in, front and center while Ruthar looks upon him. "The mantle of leadership is not one I ever truly wanted in my youth, to be quite honest. It takes a level head, firm ideals, and true selflessness, not to mention the tactical necessities." Ruthar clears his throat. "However, I am very, very glad to say that Captain Starfrost is all of those things and more. He has led our own to the gates of hell and back, time and time again, with poise and clarity every step of the way." Ruthar smiles. "For your continued efforts as an effective leader, an expert Blood Knight, and a master of fatherhood, I present you the Commendation of Quel'Thalas."

Gattius grins. "Well, I had a pair of excellent mentors... thank you, Lieutenant-Commander. Commander." He nods to them both as he accepts the Commendation.

Ruthar returns the salute fully. "Wear it well, Starfrost. You do us all proud." He glances to his right. "That only leaves one more," he says with a smile. "Commander Dawnblade, if you would please step forth." Ina’thia raises a brow at Ruthar, and steps around in front of him.

Ruthar looks proudly upon Ina'thia, felfire eyes aglow. "Commander Dawnblade. From the wilds of Pandaria, to the timeless shores of Draenor. Through the depths of the churning Maelstrom into the seat of the Legion itself. We have all gloriously followed in your very footsteps to every corner of our world and others, all in the name of Quel'Thalas. It is due to your expert guidance and keen leadership that the Phoenix Guard finds itself at the hands of victory."

Ruthar smiles. "Time and time again, we fight down terrors that rain upon our shores and beyond, defend all that we hold dear each and every day of our lives." His voice raises with pride and Ruthar stands tall. "Your years of service and dedication go far beyond that which can be said by the gift of this medal, and we are all humbly grateful for what you have done and accomplished. It is with the greatest amount of pride that I can muster that I present to you, Commander Dawnblade, the Commendation of Quel'Thalas." He holds the medal in two hands, offering it to Ina'thia.

The Phoenix Guard erupts in applause as the every-stalwart Ina’thia is pushed to the precipice of emotion. She fights back tears with her legendary resolve. She accepts the medal, pins it to her tabard, and offers Ruthar a crisp salute.

Ruthar bows fully, the soft glint of prideful tears in his eyes. He returns her salute proudly and takes a step back to gift Ina'thia the floor.

“Thank you, Lieutenant Commander. It is an honor to serve Quel'Thalas with its finest soldiers. Blood Knights, Farstriders, Magisters, Medics... Phoenix Guard's greatness is not by my design, and I don't deserve all of the credit. We all deserve the credit. We give all that we can give; regularly putting ourselves in harm's way, for the good and the glory of our people. Thank you, everyone, for all that you have done and continue to do for the Phoenix Guard. For Quel'Thalas!” Inathia stands at attention and salutes.

Ruthar hoists a proud fist into the air. "For Quel'Thalas!" The salute is echoed by the present members at the ceremony, the sunlight of Quel’Danas fading, replaced by the current twilight in the Eversong Woods.

Ruthar finds his fist closed as he looks down to the fire, the memory feeling so very real as it came over him once more. The pride he felt in that moment on Quel’Danas was one of the highlights of his career. These were not just the best soldiers in Quel’Thalas - these were his best and closest friends, his family. He had the privilege to lead them, to walk with them in defense of all they held dear, to celebrate and mourn with them, to lift everyone up and celebrate them. When he was ripped through the Dark Portal to Draenor and left to die, it was the Phoenix Guard that rescued him. They risked everything for him time and time again, and how did he repay them for the last six years?

“I failed them.”

The reality of his failure had not felt as real as it did this evening. Ina’thia, his Commander, his closest confidant, had departed with no word. Relationships with Gattius and Bey’ron caused a great rift between his former Commander and his former Captain, instances that he knew nothing about. Would that rift have happened if he gave them the attention they deserved? Could he have helped to assuage the bitterness?

Then there was Rositsa Li-Mei. Ruthar sighed as he looked into the fire, thinking hard about the Farstrider. She had so dutifully served the Phoenix Guard for an extended period. Ruthar himself had offered her training and promoted her within the Farstriders for her excellent marksmanship and tracking abilities. Defected. That’s the word that continued to haunt him deeply, the word Magister Everblaze had used. He still couldn’t truly believe it, but then she confirmed it herself when Bey’ron brought Rositsa to the Starfrost manor. Would her fall from grace have taken place if Ruthar would have extended his hand? If he were the leader she needed, perhaps she would have never found herself needing to escape, needing to toss off the mantle of responsibility that Ruthar himself had blanketed her with.

He reached into a pouch at his waist to produce a glowing red gem, the arcane communicator that the Phoenix Guard used to use. He let it sit there in his palm, the firelight dancing upon the inactive deep red stone as his mind could still hear the voices that would come through it. He closed his palm around the stone, taking a deep breath as he closed his eyes.

“You have a chance to make things right,” he said to himself. He slipped the stone back into his pouch before heading into the Retreat to put his recognizable Farstrider armour back on. He shifted outside where his white hawkstrider Arturian awaited, urging the beast toward the pavilion that the Phoenix Guard once used as its headquarters.

“Time to be the leader that you should have always been.”

@inathia @syrielle @gattius-starfrost @raynellalaria @arosesrambles

[raynellalaria]

"I've been forced to remember...

so much more than today.

I've no choice but to take to the grave...

everything I've wanted to say."

[creepypurpleelves]

A'laria Sera by Zynthex

[raynellalaria]

A Reunion.

House Desparius, Revendreth, approximately five years after the end of the Shadowlands Operation...

Her arrival came unannounced, a sudden shimmer of the blood mirror and a soft, reverberant hum the only indication of an unwelcome guest. The Gravewing guarding the foyer stirred and snarled, slamming into the ground as the armored figure approached, black scarf drawn across the lower half of her face as golden eyes stared straight at the beast's vibrant reds, long ears poking up from her short, black hair. The Gravewing's impressive wingspan billowed across the hall, the hawklike beak of the stoneborn snorting as it sniffed out the woman. A plated hand greeted the beast's cheek, which it nuzzled, and with her other, she drew away her scarf, smiling softly.

"It's just me, Corvallis. It's just Raynell."

Her ears perked to the approach of footsteps, a tall, gaunt looking Venthyr woman striding through the foyer. Greyed, messily combed tresses frame her sunken features, and a near skeletal hand raises a finger to point at the Blood Knight.

"Your presence has been expected...if not unwelcomed. You still have a chance to leave well enough alone what burdens you've come to collect."

"You know as well as I, Confessor, that I don't intend to leave without them," Raynell retorted, stepping astride the Gravewing to confront the Venthyr. "Their power is needed...and I need to put these nightmares to rest."

"...Very well," the Venthyr rasped, letting out a heavy sigh as she stepped aside and motioned ahead to a tall set of double doors. "They are waiting for you."

Raynell nodded and stepped around the Confessor. As she approached the doors, she took a look over her shoulders. No longer did the Venthyr stand there, but in her place, an older elven woman in worn regalia, a look of sorrow on her face.

"I tried what I could to separate and recover their essences...to no avail. I am sorry, Raynell."

"...I am too," Raynell whispered, turning away to bow her head and close her eyes for a moment. With a firm push, the doors open, and into the pitch black, she strode, the doors slamming behind her as she stood in darkness.

The flicker of flame echoed in the chamber, the wall sconces brimming with warm light. At the center of a stone chamber was an altar built like a large stone sword, the lifeless stone suddenly brimming with sinewy red anima. Embedded in its center, surrounded by the blood red wisps of energy emanating from the altar, was a sword of blackened steel, a ruby gem embedded in the hilt and a gold chain with a large amethyst wrapped across the guard. A soft, ethereal, discordant hum softly emanated from the altar itself just above the soft scrape of metal boots echoing through the chamber as Raynell A'laria, Blood Knight Captain, approached the altar. She stopped short as the discordant noise suddenly rose and the brimming red energies began to coalesce. The knight winced, holding the bridge of her nose as pangs of discomfort assaulted her forehead. Her eyes opened again as the pangs subsided, a narrowed glare set upon a ghostly red figure that seemed to hover just above the greatsword.

"Vin'sarin."

The figure remained motionless, not even as much as a glance over the shoulder as it stared out ahead at the altar.

"Tch, not so much as a broody little sigh and wave? Have the years of imprisonment been so unki-"

The figure suddenly turned around, a booming, bass-heavy roar of indistinct sound shaking the stone chamber as Raynell stumbled backward, nearly toppling over. She hissed at the ghostly figure, now looking upon the skull-like visage under the hood, ears twitching as a haunting echo filled her ears, no louder than a murmur and yet beating against her eardrums like war drums.

"You returned for me..."

In the din of the echoing voice, Raynell could distinctly hear three presences melded into one. The first - the dark, deep rasp of her old comrade, Nalithas Vin'sarin, whose namesake now adorned the blade - and the phantom - before her. An upstart knight with a cruel streak, having slaughtered combatants and innocents alike before he fell only mere days into the Northrend campaign, his place taken by hers when the call finally came.

"Even after leaving me to fester in penance, to reflect upon my sin in these shadowed halls, while you walked in the light and followed the courageous hero's path...you still returned for me."

The second she was not as familiar with, but it was one revealed to her by the Lord of House Desparius, Rivan, as the former and sole occupying soul of the greatblade, Carmylla. A noble, lilting feminine voice, almost sickeningly sweet to the ears considering what cruelties the blade had carved out of would-be usurpers to Revendreth's order before she, herself, was usurped by Remornia in Denathrius's attempted purge of the House.

"Your comrade. Your friend. Your -wrath- made manifest."

The last presence made her stomach churn, the taste of bile at her throat as she struggled to keep steady in the presence of the blade. She faltered to her knees, grasping at her head. She felt her mouth open to scream but could hear nothing beyond the rapid, racing pulse of her heart and the discordant hum, now a wailing chorale. The nightmares from before rose to her mind's eye again. Pristine elven halls scattered in gore and viscera. Bloodied skulls trampled under gold-plated heels. Hands soaked in blood as they clutched to the pommel of the greatsword before her. Her gaze lifted from the blade and straight ahead as she stared at a bloodstained visage through the mirror.

The visage was hers. The last voice was hers. The visage grinned and spoke with pristine clarity in her own voice.

"What a fool."

The glass shattered, a sea of red blood flooding her vision before a distinct figure broke through: that of the phantom, the presence haunting the chamber, the altar, the very blade itself. The phantom of Vin'sarin, Sin's Severance. This time, however, there was no altar, no blade...only the disorienting swirl of red and black miasma as they occupied a space indistinct, a liminal representation of the Hell they shared.

"Now what drove you to return -here-, of all places, of all times?"

The droning echoes of the presence bombarded her ears once more, and a solid gulp clutched at her throat as she mustered a response.

"Spare me the theatrics, Vin'sarin! I have need of your power. Shadowflame threatens to engulf the work of the Emerald Dream, and my power alone is not-"

"ENOUGH," shouted Vin'sarin, the woman recoiling as the voice boomed in her ears. "You'd dare return to drag me along for your dalliances and daring-dos? We both know no penance is enough for the trails of Kaldorei blood we've spilt in the name of Silvermoon, of -your- Horde. You think protecting the dragonflight's precious little sapling will EVER make up for the ASHES you've left in your wake!?"

"And you would have me do -nothing-," the knight spat back, "and you content to DO nothing but wallow in this chamber, never to see the light of day!?"

The visage of Vin'sarin remained unmoving, but she could swear past the mask she could feel them snarl at her, feel the piercing glare behind the spiked blindfold. She glared right back, defiant, teeth grit and stance firm. A low chuckle echoed from the phantom, a hand outstretched.

"What a fool. You left here a hero unburdened. You now intend to return to your world with -our sins- crawling upon your back."

Raynell flinched at the statement. Our sins. Her mind raced with thoughts of regret, of bridges never mended and hatreds that still roiled beneath the surface. She reached out with her own plated hand, firmly grasping Vin'sarin's.

"I know what I am doing," she replied. "I won't let it end like last time."

The black and red miasma pulsed and rippled, suddenly closing in around them like waves crashing upon the shore. Raynell's vision drowned in the discombobulation, a heavy sinking feeling dragging her deeper into darkness...

She awoke with a jolt, a gasp escaping her lips as she sat up atop the altar. When had she collapsed? How did she even get to the altar in the first place? When did the sword -

The sword.

There, clasped in her gauntlets now, was Vin'sarin, Sin's Severance, the newly reborn Greatblade of Desparius. She could feel the weight, the burden, in her tensed hands. Wisps of crimson anima brimmed upon the surface of the red ruby embedded in the hilt. She carefully shuffled off of the altar and down the steps, blade slung over her shoulder. As footsteps echoed through the chamber, a voice murmured to her, an echoing phantom from the blade itself...

"Be it your will, however, then unleash me upon your foes, that they may know why I am Sin's Severance…"

(( OH WE ARE SO BACK. Had to get this out in the open because this had been sitting in the back of my mind for a good while now and I know Shadowlands stuff is kinda old/stale and the expansion itself was a giant wet fart but man I just could not get enough of the Venthyr stuff and want it to be central to Raynell's character going forward. Expect moar.

Also, just for funsies, a handy listening guide for each picture, which represents a segment of the story:

Ewige Wiederkunft - Cicada Sirens/1000 Eyes

Liminality - Cicada Sirens/1000 Eyes

Coal Ash Slurry - Cicada Sirens/1000 Eyes

Die Toteninsel (Emptiness) - Cicada Sirens/1000 Eyes

...Yes, they're all from the Signalis soundtrack. No, I refuse to elaborate. PLAY SIGNALIS. ))

[raynellalaria]

"You don't understand...I slaughtered them all. The people I hated. The people I loved. All to try and sate that which is insatiable, to purge Quel'thalas of a rot that -still- festers beneath the surface. I have spilt the blood of thousands to ascend to the throne. What's one more pitiful miscreant from a timeline of pitiful miscreants in need of a good BLOODLETTING!?"

-Raynell A'laria, Blood Queen of Silvermoon (Bronze Timeway 707 - The Blood Queen's Reign)

[raynellalaria]

“Hatred is what drove him in life. Hatred is what consumed him in death. Hatred consumes his soul now, and with his soul essence bound to Carmylla and your anima, -their- hatred combined is now yours to wield. Be wary, Raynell, for if you let your guard down, it is that hatred that will consume you in the end...”

-Confessor Alende, bestowing Vin’Sarin, Sin’s Severance and Greatblade of Desparius, to Raynell.

[raynellalaria]

“Remember that the burden of sin is yours, and yours alone, to bear. Let its burden strengthen you without crushing you, and let the chains be your liberation, lest they tangle and choke you..”   - Confessor Alende of House Desparius, Revendreth.

[ronaestrider]

Good afternoon, all!

Every Monday and Friday, new videos will be making their way to my YouTube channel. Today’s work for solo piano, “Raynell’s Resilience,” was written a number of years back for the fabulous @raynellalaria. Here’s what I wrote about the piece at the time, though that was quite some time ago now!

Here's a piece for the character Raynell A'laria. Another stalwart protector of the Phoenix Guard, Raynell has seen her fair share of difficulty and strife. Despite it all, she remains proud and strong, ready to do what it takes to keep her people safe and her future prosperous.

Hope you’re all well! Thanks for listening, and feel free to subscribe to the channel to keep your feed fresh with new updates! :)

[raynellalaria]

Addressed to the Defectors

I have read and taken some thought to the grievances filed by members of the Horde who are unwilling to follow the direction of Warchief Sylvanas Windrunner. After the sudden shift in our battle strategy, I am beginning to see why many of you have chosen to step away.

 I know nothing will dissuade you from your actions, and I am not here to insult or berate, for I know you have already endured such things a thousand times over in the wake of this new war, and perhaps in past conflicts as well. You and I were likely kindred spirits in opposition to Garrosh Hellscream, and that will not be forgotten. You will always be my brothers and sisters in arms, a family united even in our vast and sometimes irreconcilable differences.

 Let it be known, for the record, that this was not something that was agreed upon in previous strategy meetings, and yet I cannot help but feel there was a silent, implicit agreement that the burning of Teldrassil was going to be inevitable. Even with a sizable naval force, laying siege to the home of the Kaldorei would have meant devoting massive amounts of resources to what would have been a costly battle of attrition. At the very least, we were not treated as a token diversionary force as Hellscream did in his destruction of Theramore.

 This was the endgame all along, and I accept my part in it. I imagine I will not rest well because of it. I did not rest well knowing that Kaldorei innocents were caught in the crossfire of our sudden advance. Memories of our sham of a siege in Theramore still haunt me, as well.

 I also continue to be haunted by what happened in the Purge of Dalaran, and reminded that even if leaders - past, present, and future - continue to make unreasonable wars, that does not mean there is no reason to stand and fight. In the days to come, I will be called upon to defend my people from our enemies, and whether deservedly or not, the Alliance remains our enemy. This reminder is only reinforced by the defection of the Ren'dorei, that my people still need to be wary of treachery, even among their own. Ignoring it led to the likes of Dar'khan Drathir, and even our own Prince Kael'thas turning on us.

 For those who believed in a peace beyond the end of the Legion, know that I, too, thought as you did. The idea of being able to rest my blade and shrug off the burden of armor was, indeed, a warm and appealing idea. To be able to return home, embrace friends and loved ones, and begin rebuilding and restoring Quel'thalas in an era of peace has always been my dream.

 The reality, however, is that no measure of peace will be earned so long as animosity remains between the Alliance and the Horde. The Alliance continue to blame us for the death of King Varian Wrynn, even though the first invasion of the Broken Shore was a lost cause to begin with. While his son, Anduin, may seem like a more forgiving figure, do not forget those whom he is surrounded and counseled by, who are far less forgiving.

 I do not blame you for leaving. In fact, I envy many of you. You who are unburdened by duty that is expected to be unfaltering, who know of peace and are more willing to embrace it. All my life I have known far less peace, whether it was from having to be wary of the Amani encroachments near my home, the dangerous advance of the Old Horde in the Second War, or the near fatal advance of the Scourge in the Third. I suppose this is why I am not nearly as devastated by these acts as some say I ought to be. This is the reality of war, a reality I have lived with for the better part of a century, and one that many of my fellow Sin'dorei have endured as well.

 It is not a matter of my choosing of whether or not to fight. I have to fight. I must. I have done so for my people, for Regent Lord Theron, for Lady Liadrin, for Warchiefs Thrall, Vol'jin, and even Hellscream before his treachery became well known. I fight now for Warchief Sylvanas, and what that means in the future is uncertain, but I know the Alliance will seek revenge for Teldrassil. They would be fools not to, and I would expect nothing less. I have to protect my own home, after all, and Lordaeron seems the most likely target of retribution. If it comes to that, then I, too, will do what I can to secure the battlements and weather the coming storm.

 My only request is that you keep fighting, as well, in whatever capacity you see fit. Protect your homes. Protect your people. Protect them from all enemies, whether they be from without or within. If Alliance footmen come to raze your homes, fight them. If the Warchief's agents come to enact retribution for your alleged treachery, fight them. Fight them, for nothing on Azeroth was ever earned without a fight, and perhaps nothing ever will.

 Fight, for I shall never stop fighting, and nor should you.

The letter is unsigned, but a stamp is left at the bottom with the Blood Knight crest.

[raynellalaria]

When They Speak of This Day - Part Three

(( Part three of Raynell’s experience of the battle for Teldrassil in the War of Thorns! ))

.Part 1.  .Part 2.

They followed, trudging through upturned dirt, fallen tree trunks, and the general chaos wrought upon Darkshore through their advance. The trek took them most of the day, and as the sun began to sink into the late afternoon above Darkshore, they reached the normally peaceful, idyllic port of Lor’danel...only to find that peace to be, indeed, broken. Scores of orcish grunts clashed blades with those of the elven sentinels, while around them, scores of civilians cowered and fled from the bloodshed, clutching their belongings, their loved ones, anything they could carry away from the violent clash. Raynell hesitated to send her own unit forward, hearing the harried screams of those without sword or bow. They shook her being in that moment, shades of the panic brought upon by old memories of the Scourge harrowing her thoughts before she shook her head and drew her blade, an outstretched arm pointing the billowing flame sword forward.

“Soldiers of the Horde, press forward and bolster Saurfang's forces! Usher as many noncombatants out as you can, as well! Our blades are only for the Sentinels!”

The band of soldiers charged forth to join the grunts in overwhelming the defending Kaldorei sentinels. Many of the more bloodthirsty chose to engage solely in combat, while those of more peaceable nature ushered the panicked throngs of civilians and refugees. At times, Raynell saw what she normally expected from the Horde races, but others seemed far more strange to her. A mighty tauren bringing his war totem crashing down upon a Kaldorei body, with no sign of gentleness in his expression. An older looking Forsaken man trying to gently hand off a crying child to a panicked Gilnean mother as she attempted to swat him away. Scores of her own kin slashing throats. Orcs shielding fleeing refugees from stray arrows, even at the cost of their own well-being.

As Raynell took in the chaos around her, she suddenly felt an arrow whiz past her cheek, leaving a shallow cut. She turned to catch the blades of a rushing sentinel against the large, ornately designed cross guard of her fiery greatsword. All at once, she found herself surrounded by a host of sentinels, having to duck arrow fire and parry away strikes at all sides. She began to feel the toll of having expended her initial energy to clear a path forward, and as blades bit at her knees and an arrow dug into her shoulder, the knight felt a tinge of vulnerability.

That's when she heard it. The bellowing roar above her.

“LOK'TAR OGAR!”

The night elves harrowing the Captain suddenly scattered and fell around her as a pair of heavy footfalls crashed into the earth, upending the dirt beneath them. Raynell turned to see an old, weary, yet still fearsome and imposing orc, clad head to toe in spiked, battleworn plate. His snow white hair was tied in a pair of long ponytails at either side of his pale green, weathered face, sharp tusks rose from his lower lip, and a fierce red stare roiled in his eyes as he raised his gleaming battleaxe.

This was High Overlord Varok Saurfang.

“If you cannot honor my ally here with a fair fight, then let us see how you fare with the mighty Saurfang at her side!”

The sentinels around them hesitated, circling the pair with blades drawn and arrows nocked. Raynell used the reprieve to quickly heal herself, then raised her weapon as well. As the Kaldorei re-engaged, the pair struck out once more to meet them. Even with their numbers still greater, the Kaldorei were no match for the cleaving ferocity of Saurfang's axe, and the Captain's second wind proved their downfall as well. As the night elven defenses lay scattered, fallen, and all together dispersed from Lor'danel, a cheer sounded from the Horde soldiers as the battle began to die down. Raynell sheathed her blade, smiling as she looked on to the celebrants, then looking back at Saurfang.

“Thank you, High Overlord,” she said, a gleam in her eye, “I appreciate the save, although I was just about to turn the tide in my favor.”

The elder orc guffawed, shaking his head. “You elves are always so cocksure of your abilities, though I must admit that you proved much hardier than I thought!”

“Hardy, indeed!” Raynell flexed an arm and winked at the orc. “It seems we've secured Lor'danel for now. Won't be much longer until we prepare to besiege Teldrassil.”

“Not long, yes,” Saurfang responded, “although something about this troubles me...”

Before Raynell could respond, she heard a hoarse cough from behind. One of the sentinels stirred upon the ground, body caked in dirt and blood, with deep wounds scored across her body. The knight approached cautiously, stepping away from Saurfang as he gathered his thoughts, and as the sentinel raised her head, she stared back with the sort of malice that wished to shatter the Sin'dorei's bones outright, if they could.

“Y-you...” she rasped, blood trailing from her lips, “you will...never take...our home...”

Raynell frowned, kneeling at her side. “We will take it, and with it, the Alliance's holdings on Kalimdor,” she paused, then reached out a hand, her fingertips brimming with holy radiance. “But we have taken enough from Lor'danel. If you will lay down your weapon, I will let you return to your people to guide them to saf-”

The sentinel suddenly drew a dagger from her belt and cut quickly at Raynell's wrist. The knight cried out, holding said wrist as blood trickled from the opening between the glove and the wristguard, and the Kaldorei laughed before coughing up a trail of blood.

“Don't...don't humor me with your s-so called...mercy,” she heaved, breaths labored as she fought through immense pain to deliver her ultimatum. “Y-you...monsters...know nothing of mercy...of c-compassion. All you have done...is take...steal...you are...without honor...”

She defiantly lifted herself to her feet, knees wobbly as she held the dagger at her side. Raynell narrowed her eyes, reaching back for her blade with one hand while the other reaches out toward the sentinel, still glowing with holy energy. “Please, I have no desire to kill you. Let us end this so you may live another day.”

The sentinel growled, teeth bared as she, once again, stared daggers at the knight. “Another...day? For what, s-so that I may watch my people...s-suffer...imprisoned...enslaved...” She shook her head, beginning to raise the dagger. “No...I have lived for thousands of years...and will not live a single day under your b-boot...I will go into the comfort of Elune's light...and when my p-people speak of this day...they will curse you...ALL of you...for all the eons to come! TOR ILISAR'THERA'NAL!”

The sentinel's final act came far too quickly to intervene. The dagger at the Kaldorei's side was suddenly buried in her own throat, and the woman gagged a gout of blood, with more trailing from the mortal wound made by the blade, before collapsing into a lifeless heap. Raynell stood entirely still, eyes wide as she seemed unable to process what had just occurred before her. She covered her lips, choking back a sob as it seemed, in that moment, she would break.

It was in that moment that a firm, giant green hand rested on her shoulder. She suddenly snapped from her shock, looking back with a gasp.

“Not here, little one,” the old orc called softly. “Now is not the time for mourning.”

Raynell shuddered, drew in a deep breath, and nodded. She stepped away toward the inn to collect herself, sitting at the porch to remove her gloves and clean the wound on her wrist, soaking a clean, white linen cloth with a vial of antiseptic she kept in her belt pouch. As she did so, Saurfang approached, taking a moment to seat himself as well.

“A moment's respite! Rare on such a day as this...” His gaze turned to the nearby shores, seeing the sun close to dipping beneath the horizon before looking to Raynell.

“Why not humor me with a tale? Something to clear this foul air around us...”

[raynellalaria]

When They Speak of This Day - Part Two

(( The continuation of Raynell’s march through Darkshore in the War of Thorns! If you missed Part One, read it here. ))

An odd hush fell over the woods in that moment as the army stood in wait at the border of Ashenvale and Darkshore. Raynell’s eyes scanned the surrounding forests of Ashenvale for a moment. Part of her always felt a special connection to these woods, even calling them home some ten or so years back, carving out a space of her own and living peacefully with her Kaldorei neighbors until Deathwing upended the world for good. As she looked ahead to Darkshore through the translucent wisp wall, her ears honed in on the harmonious chimes and hum of the ethereal spirits preventing their advance. She could hear the distant roar of battle ahead as the forward front continued to hold the line at the middle of Darkshore. They would need reinforcement soon, she thought.

Tense moments went past like the swirling breeze through the forests. The restless shift of armor caught Raynell’s ear behind her. She craned her head back at the gathered soldiers of her unit and held up a fist, shaking her head. She looked forward, honing her listening once more on the wisps. The harmonious sounds continued to ring, then...a twang of dissonance. Raynell’s eyes shot open at the first break of serenity. Then, another discordant tone...then another...what was once a chorus of ethereal peace became that of shrill, discordant panic. The wisps were faltering, suddenly darting from place to place until, suddenly, the translucent wall began to melt away. The shimmering, bright blue barrier peeled apart by the wayward wisps until, at long last, nothing stood between them and the fiery chaos ahead.

“CHARGE!”

Raynell and the other commanders at the helm sounded forth the charge, and the soldiers bellowed out in their own war cries as they charged through the forests with them. She rode some paces ahead with the other commanders, forming a line of cavalry made up of other horses, worgs, kodo, war scorpions, and other vicious beasts. A Kaldorei forward group was there to meet them, and Raynell set her eyes on the tall, ferocious band of elves. They were of a good number...but nowhere near their own, and as the army began to crest into their vision, Raynell could see a few Kaldorei begin to backtrack ever so slightly, that ferocity in their eyes fading into wide-eyed fear. 

She smirked. An opening.

Her gauntlet-clad hands tightly gripped the reins, whipping them forth as she urged her steed into a full-out gallop, riding far ahead of the line of riders. She drew her flaming blade as she was mere moments away from meeting the line. A volley of arrows flew forth, but the Captain rebuffed them with a wide swing of her blade, the flames turning most of them to cinders. Spears and glaives rose from the arms of the Kaldorei at the front, ready to stymie the charge. 

At that moment, Raynell leapt from her charging steed, the lightbound horse suddenly shimmering into nothingness. She held her blade high as fiery wings billowed at her back, her golden eyes burning nearly white in her fury, a fury long known to her kin as being the fury of her people. The bewildered line of Kaldorei raised their weapons as the Captain brought her fiery sword down upon them.

“ASHAL THORI’ANORE!”

The front ranks were met with immediate devastation. Spears melted under the white hot strike of flame against the earth. Kaldorei reduced to ash before they could even scream. Chain armor reduced to slag, and earth below charred by radiant fire. The all-out strike provided an opening for the rest of the riders to plow forward through the back line, and a mass of Horde soldiers rushed by her to engage the stragglers. She rushed forward with them, continuing to cut down their overwhelmed defenses until the line ahead was clear to take the beaches. The battle became utter chaos. Rockets rained from the gyrocopters above, tearing through the ballistae and the ancient protectors of the forest, bright blue and gold trails of flame following them as they wreaked devastation upon the Kaldorei defense. Raynell recognized the trails, knowing full well what powered the rockets above.

Azerite.

She took pause, watching the gyrocopters essentially lay waste to a woefully unprepared Kaldorei front. As thrilling as the battle was, she could not help but feel a tinge of disappointment. This feels too easy, she thought.

This feels...wrong.

The rumble of demolishers behind her broke her reverie, as well as the approach of screeching plague bats from the sky. She looked above and heard a stern, raspy voice call out to her from one of the riders. The sound was jarring to Raynell’s ears, all at once oily and smily like the rats that scampered about Murder Row, yet honeyed and strangely sinister, like looking upon the fields of Eversong only to see the Dead Scar in the distance... 

“Awful reckless of you, Captain Raynell of the Blood Knights,” he called. “I see why the Dark Lady was so eager to have you and the other knights at the front.”

Raynell grimaced, her eyes narrowed as the bat landed in front of her, letting out a guttural screech. The figure was a tall man with greyed skin, clad in leathers and a dark cloak draped over his shoulders. Piercing red eyes stared back at her, and in spite of his intimidating stature, the Captain stood tall to greet him.

“Nathanos,” she responded, lips curling into a little smirk. “I hope you did not come all this way to criticize my approach to battle. I thought we had left such pleasantries back in the war room.”

The undead ranger narrowed his eyes at the knight, his lips curling back into something of a forced grin. “Why of -course- not, -Captain-,” he hissed, trying his best to feign friendly banter in the most unfriendly way imaginable. “I am simply here to ensure that the demolishers make it to shore safely, and that we secure Darkshore’s beaches while the Dark Lady deals with Archdruid Stormrage.”

“If you would like,” the Captain chimed, “you could personally drive one of them right to the shore.” She strode over to a passing demolisher, giving it a firm pat on the side as she looked back with the sort of grin that follows an immediately obnoxious inside joke. “This baby can fit -so- many incendiary volleys!”

Nathanos’ forced humor quickly faded, his face contorting into a menacing scowl. “Were it not for the...high praise,” he snarled, “of your Regent Lord and Matriarch, I would have you reprimanded for your insolence!” He stomped back to his plague bat, climbing back into the saddle and giving the reins a harsh tug, the disheveled creature letting out a loud wail as it flew aloft with a few wing beats. “See to Lor’danel immediately, Captain, and help Saurfang secure the town.” Suddenly, his expression softened, and he raised his brow with a cocksure smirk. “Oh, and -do- try your best to spare the innocents, for Saurfang’s sake. When we speak of this day, I’d like it to be one that sates the nervous masses, and ensures that their trust in the Dark Lady is well deserved...” 

Raynell glared at the departing bat, watching his entourage of Forsaken follow suit, then turned back to see the group of soldiers she had lead earlier beginning to regroup on her position. She nodded once to them, then pointed forward.

“To Lor’danel, with me.”

[raynellalaria]

When They Speak of This Day - Part One

(( The following is written from Raynell’s perspective in the final advance through Darkshore in the War of Thorns, leading up to the burning of Teldrassil. ))

The horn of war rang clear as day broke, the low bellow rising over the rustle of the trees and the soft flow of the waves near the shore. All at once, Zoram’gar Outpost stirred, the roar of flying machines and the rumble of demolishers taking the horn’s place in drowning out the relative peace. Soldiers scrambled to and fro, commands shouted through the din as armor and weapons pass from the hands of quartermasters to those to be on the front lines that day.

Among them, already clad head to toe in gilded plate, adorned with red feathers that seem to burn brightly with rich red and oranges, and with a sword billowing with flame at her back, stood the Blood Knight Captain, Raynell A’laria. Stern, golden eyes scanned the masses of Horde soldiers preparing to march forth into Darkshore. She knew why the call went out on this particular day, and as she pondered what the rest of the day would bring, she brushed back a few golden blonde strands of hair as a host of soldiers approached.

“Ladies, gentlemen, soldiers of the Horde,” she shouted. “I have good news from the Darkshore front. Overlord Saurfang and his men have breached the mountain barrier from the Felwood into northern Darkshore. Today, the wisp wall comes down!”

A roar of cheers followed from the soldier, arms thrown up in exuberance. Cries of “Lok’tar!” and “For the Horde!” rang out among them. Others exalted the Warchief, the Banshee Queen and Dark Lady of the Forsaken, Sylvanas Windrunner. Others celebrated home, wherever they had come from in this time of war. Though every cry was different, their furor remained the same. Today was to be a day of victory. Victory over Teldrassil, over the stubborn Kaldorei in their high trees. 

A victory for the Horde.

“Soldiers of the Horde! Today, we bring the might of our unity, the might of those races disaffected and reviled by the Alliance, upon the hallowed ground of the Kaldorei, who in their hubris, thought their lands to be unassailable!” The captain hopped onto a medium sized crate to look over her unit as she stood above them. “Today, we give them a battle the likes they never thought imaginable in ten thousand years, and our cries will echo throughout the forests such that the laze-about dreamers will NEVER have another good night’s sleep for the NEXT ten thousand years!”

The soldiers roared in a furor. The Captain laughed heartily. The bond between soldiers never stronger, never more invigorated than in this moment. Blades clashed against shields in a driving rhythm to up the furor. Raynell raised her arms, shouting above the rabble to rein in some order. The furor died down, but the fire remained in their eyes. 

They were ready, as was she.

“We will march upon Darkshore, secure a foothold upon the shores of Kalimdor, and win glory for our people! When they speak of this day, they will speak of our might, our brilliance against a cunning enemy. That no amount of ancient magic could turn away the strong of will and the stout of heart! They will speak of this day as the day the Horde finally wrested Kalimdor from the Alliance, and brought the High Priestess of Elune and the great Archdruid to their knees!”

Raynell reached back for her blade, drawing it and raising it high above her head. The bright orange flames billowed from the hilt, embers flickering off of the curved end.

“Remember your honor, your duty to ensuring a clean victory, and the gods and elements will smile upon our advance! And if the arrows and blades of the Kaldorei fell you, remember that you fell in service to your brothers and sisters, and we will sing of your courage in Orgrimmar!”

She stepped down from the crate and strode to her awaiting steed, Darktreader. The shimmering, Light imbued horse reared back as Raynell tugged the reins, blade in outstretched hand pointing toward the fading wisp wall in the distance.

“FOR GLORY! FOR KALIMDOR! FOR THE HORDE!”

“FOR THE HORDE,” the soldiers cried in unison, marching forth with the Captain at the lead. Behind the gathering of soldiers, a demolisher lumbered at the rear, manned by a pair of orcs and with goblin engineers dutifully watching for any faulty mechanisms. Orcs, goblins, trolls, tauren, forsaken, blood elves, all walks of Horde life marched as one toward the barrier of wisps. As they approached the edge of the wall, they stood astride several more units of the same make up, all lining the border between themselves and Darkshore. 

[raynellalaria]

Even through the darkest days,

This fire burns...always.

[raynellalaria]

Captain Raynell A’laria

[Name]: Raynell A’laria

[Nickname(s)]: Ray, Cap, Nelly

[Age]: 102

[Species]: Sin’dorei

PERSONAL

[Religious beliefs]: Agnostic - Falls roughly within the Eternal Sun sect of Thalassian religion, but does not directly worship any deity or “The Light”.

[Sins]: Lust / Greed /  Gluttony / Sloth / Pride / Envy / Wrath

[Virtues]: Chastity / Charity / Diligence / Humility / Kindness / Patience / Justice

[Primary goals in life]: The preservation and defense of Quel’thalas. The restoration of Silvermoon City and the plague-stricken woodlands of Eversong and the Ghostlands. The promotion of the Sin’dorei within the Horde. 

[Languages known]: Thalassian, Common, Dwarvish, Orcish, some conversational Draenic, a little Darnassian, and currently learning the Suramarian dialect of Darnassian, or “Shalassian” for lack of a better term.

[Secrets]: Kept behind lock and key of one Agent Shadesworn.

[Quirks]: Habitual sigher and sometimes breaks out into random overhead stretches and shoulder rolls.

[Savvies]: Vineyard keeping, athletic training, horseback activities, surfing, and jewelcrafting.

PHYSICAL

[Height]: 5′7″

[Weight]: 140 lbs.

[Scars/ birthmarks]: Too many to mention, although most are very faded and virtually restored through healing magics. Most prominent one is a violet, varicose-looking mark across her left eye that stretches across her cheek and below the neckline, all the way down to the middle of her left oblique.

[Abilities/ Powers]: Combat prowess and abilities based upon the Light. A certain degree of elemental fire magic, and light use of Arcane cantrips.

[Restrictions]: Her right eye has been replaced by a magically enchanted false eye. She maintains full range of depth and vision, but not up to 20/20. Sight enhancing alchemical mixes are often used to make up for this, and at times, she’ll wear a pair of square framed black glasses out of combat.

FAVOURITES

[Drink]: Whiskey, straight.

[Pizza topping]: From her brief forays into Goblin cuisine? Her favorite toppings are fried calamari, tomato, and spinach. She also prefers pesto over red sauce.

[Color]: Black, Red, Gold

[Music genre]: Bardic tales of heroism, instrumental lute, and “Elite Tauren Chieftains”.

[Book genre]: Romance, ranging from soft harlequin to outright smut. Also will occasionally read historical tomes and books of wartime strategy and philosophy. Secretly enjoys Pandaren Illustrated Novellas.

[Movie genre]: “The goblins sure do know how to make action movies, -especially- ones with lots of explosions.”

[Season]: Summer

[Swear word]: “Bollocks!”

[Scent]: Steelbloom, whiskey, sea salt, but mostly sweat and dirt. Being a soldier’s dirty work, yeah?

[Quote]: “Ashal Thori’Anore!”

[Bottom or top]: “I suppose it all depends~.”

OTHER

[Sings in the shower]: Of course!

[Likes bad puns]: Only the most punishing

[Morality]: Lawful / Neutral / Chaotic / Good / Gray / Evil

[Build]: Lean / Scrawny / Bony / Fit / Athletic / Herculean / Babyfat / Pudgy / Obese / Other

[Favorite food]: Grilled Salmon or Swordfish

[Boss theme music]: King Katschei’s Infernal Dance

[Their opinion on the mun]: “If they stay motivated, there is nothing they cannot accomplish. Stay strong, friend.”

I just sorta borrowed this from @vcloudbreaker and was like “sure, why not”. If you haven’t done this yet, do eet.