#arrydhalia

[duraxxor]

Good Morning

This is a story designed to catch all of you up on recent events. And is told from the perspective of the duality that is Duraxxor. Please enjoy!

A phrase that I have not known for some time. There was always this bittersweetness in basking in the rising of the day star. The myriads of hot colors that are often shown through in the atmospheric reflection that is our skies. It’s like… an ozone autumn one may say. It always reminded me of the Sin’dorei homelands. Wait, why does it also remind me of… someone?

“A dragon. It reminds us of that dragon of Azeroth’s blood. Delicious blood as it is, Azalora is a fresh slate. Much like we were. Or should I say… I was. Fate has dealt her a chance, unlike I. “

Hmmmm. A fresh dawn, one might say that one is. That’s right, meeting her was an interesting turn of events to start off with returning to Azeroth. Life always seems to find a way, in the strangest of places. That includes unlife. As logical as her mind is, she still has a lot to learn in her experiences.

“And that isn’t just about how she likes her cut of meat and flavor? Everyone knows there is only one way to eat a steak. Hahahaha… “

Ha! I do hope that we meet again soon. It was a most pleasant experience to have a new face to look at you as helpful and not entirely a threat. Although, that may come back to bite one in the tail. Wait… Why am I talking to myself?

“Really? We have fought against aberrations and had voices in your head so many times and you are surprised to be speaking to yourself of all people? Oh Alphus, you really haven’t been yourself for some time, have you? I suppose that comes with the fact that we haven’t been whole for so long. It reminds me of the current conflict between the Gravekeeper and the Courier. Oh, that was a most painful night, one I won’t soon forget. “

Ah. I take it you are the part of me that is Duraxxor, the name we have gone by for the past what? Decade?

“It’s been a little over fifteen years, old friend. “ 

Old friend? Look, we aren’t exactly separate entities like the two involved. You aren’t a leftover of my past; you are every bit as part of me as much as I may dislike the notion of me being a blood sucking monster. Why do you think you chose to meet with the Courier and hear her story out if she so wishes to share it?

“On the contrary, I have my pessimistic opinions that she won’t fully share. Remember, while Annaliese Handhour is a death knight, she was also a warlock in life. And with warlocks come complicated stories. Complications that they wish to not share. That is how we wound up absolutely getting our shit rocked when we tried to bargain with the Gravekeeper. We overstepped a boundary line, one might say. “

As if you really hoped to care about overstepping boundaries. That’s always been your specialty in these desolate years of conflict. Let us hope she at least forgives us for doing so in the future. Then again, you already plan to tread in waters that could already place her on our bad side by meeting with the Courier.

“Now see here, I have betrayed no one’s trust. If anything, there have already been a few betrayals already. When one doesn’t quite share their details, it is already a sign of bad faith and trust. And after we worked so hard to bring her back from her second death. “

Didn’t we also have a second death? . . . 

“That is highly exaggerated. That was merely a setback, and we are fortunate enough to have had the Lady in Red as a dear friend. An ally who understands the raw potentials of what it is we have tried to accomplish! An evolution that will secure our birthright to no longer be a curse! A monster fraternizing with another monster. “

Is that really what you tell yourself? You and I both know if she had to choose between herself and us, it would always be herself. Even so, I can’t help but feel like I know her from the past. A deep, forgotten memory that goes all the way back to my childhood? Why do you think that is? 

“That is precisely the point I wish to make about your confusion in speaking amongst yourself. Though the name Duraxxor may have come from the Scourge itself, I have always lived within you, Alphus. I am as much Alphus as you are. And yet, I am your shadow within your soul. “ 

. . . The darkest thoughts that were born from our curse. The beast of rage and the chaos that swirls within our heart. You mean to tell me you are exactly what was learned within the Shadowlands? You are that fragment of my soul that is foul and destructive? 

“I suppose if you wish to look at it that way? Yes. Except I am the beast, as you put it, that has kept us ongoing ever since you crumbled into tiny, little shards of a mirror that were once your core memories. Memories that have only returned because we finally. . . “ 

You are trailing off. You realize it too, don’t you? The woman before us at this moment. She was the key, and she has always been that key even before I died. I wish I had known sooner who I originally was in life. I wouldn’t be sitting here, holding her hand with a severed ring finger. My beloved wife. . .

“It’s not entirely your fault, Alphus. What could you do? If anything, it was my fault. It was I who chose to believe in the bitter rumors that were plastered into the minds of even our blood children. Ravlynn and Aiden couldn’t know. The legacy of that foul man was nothing more than a children’s bedtime story in their hearts. Instead of investigating that claim all those years ago, I bitterly snarled and refused to acknowledge the emotion that is love born of understanding and kindness. That is why I made the mistake of trying to wed one of my own kind. A lie in a lie. All this time, I had been chasing pieces of your wife because of old emotions I didn’t quite understand. Because as much as it pains me to admit, I am quite the malevolent thing when it comes to what makes Duraxxor. “ 

We both have our sins, Duraxxor. I have over five hundred years' worth of questionable morality. It’s not about the wrong and right we do. It’s about how we choose to live. To fight. People live and they also die. For what purpose, that is up to them even if another force chooses to intervene. And this lady. This woman. She chose to continue to live even in the worst possible conditions because she chose to hold onto hope. Hope that WE will come for her. 

“Hmph. You mean YOU come for her. This isn’t some fairy tale that w- “

Cutting yourself off again, I see. You know that was always a nasty habit. Tell me, how did the story go again? The one she told the kids. You heard it once from them, right? 

“. . .Once upon a time there was a monster, most feared by all in the land. It was a terribly angry thing, all teeth and claws. Where it walked, death followed close behind. There was also a very sad princess, who lived in the land. They say she cried so much that she put the rains to shame. The king and queen wanted the princess to marry a grand duke, but he was ugly and wicked. Rotten straight to the core. The princess cried all day and all night, because she didn’t love the duke. She could never love a man like him.”

And with good reason. Ostidal Tindervale always was quite the pisspot of a noble.

“Now that I have had the luxury of meeting that excrement, quite so. Anyhow, she told the man that she didn’t want to marry the duke, that her parents were leaving her no choice. The man took her hand, stared deep into her eyes, and told her she -always- had a choice. “

Oh, that sounds vaguely familiar. It almost sounds like something you have said once before. That WE have said before. There is always a freedom of choice.

“Are you going to keep interrupting me? The man told the princess that she could run away. He took her far away… and even though her family sent many men to retrieve her, the man killed them without mercy to protect her. that he would protect her, help her get far away from there so that she could finally be free. He was so brutal in his efforts, that it was only a matter of time before the princess realized that the man who saved her was also the monster that everyone else feared. It didn’t matter to the princess though, because by then she’d realized that she’d fallen for the monstrous man… and he was with her. “

Here comes my favorite part of the whole thing. . .  

 “They ran away together, married, KISSED… and lived happily ever after! ~ Mwah Mwah Mwah Mwah!~ “

It’s a wonder you and I haven’t died more than twice with how insufferable you can be, you know that? Do you understand now what I am getting at?

“Of course I do! Duke the puke was a horrid pisspot that never let things go. History has a tendency to repeat itself and the monster in the story was always. . . Me. “ 

It was you and I both, wasn’t it? That numb feeling even before death where one after another, we killed people that threatened our livelihood. Her livelihood. It didn’t matter who they were, what their status quo was, or even if they were the Regent Lord himself, we fought for what we felt was the right choice to make. We didn’t let others dictate it. The shadow that turned monster because the world labeled us the moment we came out of the womb. 

“And speaking of Arrydhalia, I believe it’s time I let you have the floor completely. I have… certain, internal affairs to take care of. I’m sure you will intermingle really soon. “ 

The timing was always impeccable for us both. But, as usual, he wasn’t a dishonest creature by any means. I looked upon the face of the storyteller that had passed my legacy onto our children through story. Sunken eyes with discolored skin begin to crinkle and stir as the light of the daystar bled through the window. The grasp onto the hand that lacked a wedding finger tightened. Where said finger would interlock like, the tips of chew nubs pressed against one another like some sort of a pact. No other would have this finger, just as she promised in her own, darkest hour. And yet, as the light caressed her dark curls and brought those azure eyes to creep open, I felt this desire to sing an unfamiliar song about the day.

So Good mornin’ Good mornin’ Sunbeams will soon smile through. Good mornin’ Good mornin’ to you and you and you and you.

[ Tagging for direct mentions: @azalora-the-azerite-dragoness , @gravekeeper-anna , @safrona-shadowsun , @sanguinesorceress , and a special thank you to @nyyght not only for Arrydhalia's character but the fairy tale story that started it all. ]

[ Art credits also go to the following: @frrrozi for Azalora, @handhourgalleries for Gravekeeper and Safrona, and @caladhel-iarian for Malakortana and me for the shot of Arrydhalia sound asleep. ]

[duraxxor]

Nestled in the safety of a homestead, the Batlord had chosen to go into a stasis of calm. Settled in the comfort of a king-sized bedroom where the only noise within the dimly lit room was the pitter patter of a heartbeat that followed in breathing. A peaceful rhythm to one such as him who was damned. That heartbeat came from within the bosom of none other than his recently beloved wife. Arrydhalia’s black tangles encompassed the entirety of his chest cavity which was exposed to the elements. Elements that he no longer felt the same as the living. And speaking of elements, it seemed the Gravekeeper had finally decided to use the kinetic link that was never fully bonded to communicate with Duraxxor. “I’ll leave the Gravekeeping to you, my toothy friend.” The darkness of his right eye suddenly flared to life, a singular ember of crimson growing widely as the inanimate body remained perfectly still. The ocular lantern shifted to the right, turning to a peripheral as if seeing through what little the connection could offer. The lips of Annaliese Handhour continuing her declaration. “Come and claim my Dirge. Just for a little while. “The ember quickly grew into a sanguine flame. His lips curled into a sadistic smile as he awaited her final words as her will. “And we’ll have that cup of tea again when I return, I do think. “He could feel it within her, her irritations and wrath that had been bubbling. Someone had truly agitated her more so than even he potentially had. And the fact that she had called upon him for aid held promise. 

Within a few moments, he would carefully lift his right hand pointing into the air with a singular finger upward. His lips delicately uttered an incantation that followed with a flow of dark aura, causing his red eye to sizzle when he brought said hand to create a single snap that echoed through his home. And with it, his words rippled across their link with a joyous reply. “As you Desire, it shall be done. Do return safely wherever you may be heading on your path. “ Arrydhalia stirred just as the flow of magic died down, movement of unrest followed as she faintly reached to find his hand. A hand that would find her own, looping his sharpened talons that nearly encompassed her own. He shushed gently, reaching with his four fingered digit to caress the top of her head as a means to soothe her discomfort. 

But what was unseen was within the distance something that occurred with his machinations. The Dirge. The tool of the Gravekeeper would not be left in solitude for long. Within minutes of her departure, a pool of black ichor would suddenly start to form beneath the trademark shovel. Its radius is growing, puddling with thickness. A trail began to flow to the wayward side as another object floated to its surface. An estrange, faceless masquerade that was missing an eye panel emerged, stained with residue from this substance.

And then, it bubbled. Fingers appeared from within, stretching a set of hands to grasp upon the handle. The puddle slowly took a shape, growing in height and starting to form curves. A feminine frame that adjourned the mask. Lengthy, dark hair attempted to curl on one side while the other was a complete, silver mess. A pale complexion now begins to form around the exposed eye socket that suddenly opened widely. A bichromatic gaze of cyan blue was embedded into a bloodshot eye which stared at the clutched shovel possessively. So possessively, that she began hugging the object like a child had found its long-lost teddy bear. The eye closed as wrinkles formed beneath them, hinting at what was hoped to be a joyful smile before this mysterious entity immediately sunk back into its puddle of goop. A goop that would slink away as if it were never even there. 

[ In response to @gravekeeper-anna! That was a very good read, dear! And also @arrydhalia for the softest mentions ]

A Gravekeeper's Respite

{Mood Music}

The lady phantom exited the flesh that she regularly inhabited with ease, and faced it. A thoughtful ‘hmm’ left her, studying like some spectral mortician might have reflected on the work of the prepared dead before its final presentation. In the bowels of the Gravekeeper’s mausoleum, coming into view of a ghost staring closely at itself in the flesh was not the strangest sight to be seen, but it was a memorable one.

{ Writing below the line for length. }

The transmutation of the new layer of skin had spread surprisingly quickly, a ripple effect that had stretched from the left side of the body and completed the chest trunk. The skin had already molded to completion through the face, throat and right shoulder. Pale of pallor, yet with the slightest hue of blue, like a corpse that had been denied breath for too long as it sunk beneath the water. Strange that it seemed smooth like real skin, even given an elasticity. Strange that it began to resemble her ghostly core, the amphora threads that went into the skin’s modification molding it further to her own spectral identity. The Korthic-touched threads had blended well with the necrotic magic that had remade her, adjusting with a hauntingly beautiful synchronicity.

Anna ached to hear the keys of creation when they were first slipped into her broken body by her benefactor; they had long been muffled as they melded into her, helping to tether the sinew and dead fiber to her new skin. She turned, floated to the small urn where she had kept her remaining gift - the four threads of creation itself. At her paranormal urging, the threads floated from their vessel, precious glowing strands that slowly drifted in the air, giving their soft light to the darkness of her lair. She touched them with little hesitance; unlike the Light they did not burn her deathly countenance, only gave her the tentative keys of query in response, like the musical chimes of a piano in gentle, questioning refrain.

The painfully rare building threads were contained in their matrix for every existing entity in Azeroth, perhaps even the unknown universe itself. Endless, precious potential in such delicate little threads. And they were hers, a token of pure possibility, given to a Handmaiden of Death. Gently, she willed the threads down around her body’s throat, like the all too delicate chains of a necklace. She would have to secure them on her person.

Lady Handhour knew she could never be without them again.

Sensation had already been less of a numb affair. A night breeze whisking across her skin was in itself an uncomfortable surprise: she had been dead to sensation for so long. It had created an uncertainty enough to drag herself down to the stillness of her mausoleum, and part from the body. To feel again – she was not sure she liked that. It was horridly distracting.

Still, she re-entered the flesh, letting her spirit fold into the form and merge. A fluid re-possession, perhaps more fluid than ever before. She lifted her arms, her hands, curling her fingers upward to touch the glowing threads now around her neck with an errant smile. Concentrating, she willed her skin to harden with a floe of ice and was instead answered with the skittering feeling of itching, beneath her skin, and over it. Like ants, crawling in and atop her damned new skin. A huff of dismay expelled from her lips. The urge to peel and scratch it all off was too tempting.

Of course after the Nethermancer’s hard work, she would do nothing but earn a quick anger for ruining it, she assumed. He had promised as much. She could do less with his presence, she decided, thankful as she was. He reminded her too deeply of old days, and left her somewhere between cautious fascination and querulous thought. More layers of her funerary garments and chain armor were slipped on to muffle and blanket the sensitive skin. She calmed the shadowy flow of her hair with her black veil, and felt better prepared in her physicality. 

The demon would be interested in him, Anna considered. Then again, the demon’s eventual curiosity could have ruined his willingness to help when she had needed it, perhaps. And it was likely she would still need the Nethermancer’s assistance in the future, the way plans had been made. It was far too soon to let such skeins be followed, let alone potentially entangle, though she herself was darkly curious to see where the consequences the demon left in her wake could lead.

Or perhaps he did not need to be a target of the succubus’ little games. Infuriatingly egotistical as the Warlock could be, he did know how to bat around a good joke with her without missing a beat. And that was something. It was a situation that required ruminating, perhaps for a good month in some icy tundra until her skin acclimated fully and stopped with the incessant itching. Even her icy aura was losing effect now, as he said it would.

The Storm Peaks did sound very nice around this time of year.

“Little Dove?” 

The Gravekeeper's attention was drawn away from her thoughts and to the familiarity of the voice and measured footfalls, echoing down into the dark chamber of her catacombs. A beat of footsteps that clearly had permission to enter before. An uninvited guest would have met with a great deal of resistance, many groping hands and all the unpleasantness of Maldraxxian traps.

The Doctor’s shadow stretched across her walls by torchlight as he paraded down the final flight to her, and already she felt her delight in his familiarity. But it was not the skeletal form that she had given him that took his final steps to the lowest floor of her lair. Standing now like a lurking omen was a plague doctor in traditional fashion, staring at her through the eye holes of a mask shaped into a beak. 

“Dr. VanDall?” she replied in something of a gasp. Her chuckle now echoed across the chamber, a humor born of both a natural and otherworldly design. “Quite the theatrical look now. Did you tire of looking at your skeleton?” she teased. The Gravekeeper drew close to inspect her ward, more fluid in movement than she was before. She had expected to feel the mark of her haunt on him, a mark that allowed her to keep all of her ghostly wards in check, until she knew they were ready to be released from her Watch. 

The mark was nonexistent, and it drew her to a stillness.

She could not feel the Doctor’s haunting presence, which meant he had slipped past the barrier of bone and soul, and into…flesh. Without her guidance. Her delight dwindled to cautious surprise. “You have possessed a body on your own?” The soft surprise quickly turned into an indignant offense. “You have shed the skeleton I made for you? Like trash, didn’t you? Picked up this slab of meat from the gutter?” Her arms crossed over each other, none too thrilled as she distanced herself. 

Ever the gentleman, he stood with his hands clasped behind his back and waited for her to finish speaking.  He could sense her ire, and he watched with a dose of patience as she spiralled out of her carefully held reservations and into a vortex of anger. This was an interesting scenario to participate in, and he desired to know its outcome.

“Well. It seems you are not in need of a Keeper anymore, are you? Why ever would you return to me?” Her lilting tone darkened as she became more incensed with assumptions, a mutter captured by the many layered baleful echoes of her own phrasing. “Or what, Doctor? Have you got yourself in some trouble? Thought you’d bring your bloody little mess now to me?” The thought made the Keeper volatile, little pebbles on the catacomb floor beginning to shudder under the power of the nascent supernatural influence she held of the grounds. “I will tell you now, I do not have time for the problems you have made for yourself!” Small objects would rattle around his feet, skulls rolling, a pebble or two violently pinging off of the Doctor’s helm. 

“Need?" he answered. "No, no I am not in need of a Keeper, but that does not lessen my desire to be near a lady whom I… [owe my life to]... am so greatly fond of.”  Warrick’s voice was a rich rumble, muffed slightly by the heft of his mask, but no less provoking.  The low cadence rolled off of his tongue with the practiced inflection of an educated man.

Thumb and forefinger rubbed together in his gloved hand, the soft leather whispering at his back, as he considered the implications behind her annoyance.  “Trash, you say?  The gutter?”  The Doctor tilted his head curiously to one side, studying her further.  [I wonder if she knows she appears more beautiful when she is angry.]  His eyes traced the shape of her face, the wisps of her hair, and he found himself lost within the haunting ebony strands as they danced about, defying gravity. 

“I placed a great deal of consideration into which body I would possess, and admittedly I did it to surprise you.”  He stroked the chin of his mask, lost in contemplation.  He never fully considered his ‘initiative’ would have the potential outcome of evoking her wrath.  [I should have weighed the potential effect this might have had on her emotional state more carefully.]

“I would never rid myself of such a thoughtful gift.  It is a lasting reminder of my time with you, dear Anna and it resides in a place of honor in my study.  I tend to it the way I know you would have me do… with great care and attention.  I hope you do not mind the little spider making a maze of webbing inside the skull?  She seems quite content to stay where you placed her, and I could never separate her from her home.”  There was no trouble to be had, only burgeoning ambition on his part.

“Speaking of homes, I would very much love to show you my humble abode, but it appears you are already preparing for travel.”  His masked visage dipped toward her belongings.  “Going somewhere, little Dove?”  The sudden shift in the Doctor’s voice hinted toward his disappointment.

Skull, bone and stone seemed to drop from the vortex of her ghostly influence gradually as the Gravekeeper’s rage began to abate, though torchlight still flickered with their unholy blue influence. Something like shattering glass sounded, nearly deafening the lower floor as she surrounded herself in a veil of hoarfrost, her yellow eyes shifting to the icy blue of the torchlight. 

Courteous and pleasing as his words attempted to be, there was no full way to earn her grace in this moment. There was only the pervading, pensive sense that she had been somehow betrayed, and the wrong action or the wrong words could start the unholy tempest of her rage again in a matter of seconds. Her ire was a chilling sting – such passionate and volatile emotion did not abate so easily for a banshee. At least the Doctor was not thrown from his feet.

“The skeleton is no longer yours to keep, and I am not your “Little Dove”, she replied with a quieter, creeping tone, each word a virulent fall of sound. As she grasped the hilt of her runed spade, a dozen more phantom hands manifested from the necrotic core of her being, some aiding her to grasp the hilt, another finding a particular skull to fill its fingers with. 

He studied her, unmoving, even as pebbles plinked off his mask. The changes in her demeanor were something he considered more fascinating than alarming.  It brought about more questions than there were likely answers for, but he kept these inquiries to himself for the time being.  The Doctor’s was a brand of calm that had been cultivated by ages of professionalism and patience.

“I am leaving, Doctor, but that is not your concern,” she explained as she moved toward him with deceptively delicate steps, the head of the spade hitting the stone floor as she walked. Her black hair flowed all around her like the billowing shadow it was, the lichfire glow of her eyes fixed to the eyeholes of his avian mask. “All you need to be quite concerned with is making sure you bring that skeleton out of ‘your study’ and to my catacombs, where it bloody belongs. And all you need to understand is that if you go galavanting in your new flesh and cause full issues for our kind, or betray the Forsaken? I will hunt you down by the threads of your sad little soul, and tear you apart piece by piece myself as recompense.”

“As you wish, my Lady.  I shall have it returned to you immediately… glassweb spider and all.”  He bowed low, keeping one hand behind his back while the other outwardly expressed his apology.  Warrick would not grasp her hand, for he understood hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.  He was no stranger to the tempestuousness of a woman, and he knew no amount of effort on his part would soothe her.  This was an ailment that needed to simply run its course and the Doctor was content to prescribe a time of rest and self care.  Experience had also taught him that inflammation was a symptom… and its cause required treatment if it were to improve.  [Something has changed.  This is not the behavior one would expect from a Dove.]

The Gravekeeper shoved past the Doctor, buffering with her many ghostly hands, and continued to the top of her mausoleum’s stairs to the outer yard of her small cemetery yard.

Warrick stepped aside, righting his posture as she stormed past him in a flurry of unbridled emotion.  Gloved fingers pinched the brim of his hat and he tipped it toward her in polite farewell.  If she was to be a hurricane, he would be the eye of her storm– placid and resolute.

[Though I do wish to keep the hat.]  He thought to himself.  He had grown quite fond of the gift she had given him.  It reminded him of her bubbling excitement, and he wanted to treasure that part of her.  “A safe journey to you, Anna.  Wherever you may choose to wander.”  A small part of him wondered if she planned to return, but the logical half understood she would not abandon her ‘haunt.’

“I shall remain here, eagerly awaiting your return.”  He was not so easily discouraged.  This might be a setback, but it was nothing he could not remedy.

Annaliese sighed irritably at what amounted to be promises that one would never keep, in her own mind. Once one had a form of flesh, their aims often became their own, she found. History had shown her that even the dead could speak many words and promises, but it was their own ambitions that became the driving force of their will. She could guide, she could befriend, and she could help her kind find their rest or start on their new life, but the Keeper was only a stepping stone that none required a return to when they had learned, or taken what they wanted. Perhaps it was why her ghostlings had grown to be such precious companions. They, in the interim, would always need her guidance.

The living were always less impressive with their promises, she thought, cementing her eternal grudge. It was a grudge that also included those undead that fully betrayed their own kind, convincing themselves they could be somehow ‘saved’ if they lived, ate and worshipped like the living. She silently credited the Doctor with finding a new corpse to inhabit - she had sensed no heartbeat in the masked form, and his eerie, calculating calm was intact. He had done one thing right, at least.

Beyond that, the Gravekeeper had a particular way for those Lost that sought her help, a series of steps to assure they were ready that were in place for logical reasons. And the Doctor simply fled ahead without any regard to her own system! He had seemed a logical soul. The least the man could have done was consult her before such a body hop! Unbelievable! Still she fumed as she latched the rest of her few belongings to the Undercity Plaguebat that made its lair in the deeper part of her haunted thicket. The creature towered over her, nearly as tall as her mausoleum itself. 

And of course, she was terribly, terribly itchy, and it made her as volatile as a Maldraxxian Flayedwing in some paradoxical heat. In time, she hoped, her new skin would not be in such a vexing condition.

The mutated Greatbat lowered one of its clawed hands to gently clutch her and help the Forsaken rider into the candlelit seat of its harnessed saddle. From her vantage point, she let herself be distracted by the foggy view of Tirasfal, spotting the transient glowing forms of Lost curving down the dense path to her resting place. She had marked each that did not directly follow her train with her own presence, assuring that she would have eyes in the Forsaken’s lands in her absence. It was possible that new lives would be lost in the place and new unbound phantoms made, but the others would keep them in check as far as they could.

The Keeper’s eye was drawn to the flickering crimson in her periphery, a single crimson phantom hand that did not dissipate with the others that had manifested. It seemed the stark reminder that she had one single thread of unfinished business before she could be away. Up in the air, she urged the monstrous bat, until it neared the Ruins of Lordaeron, and urged it to carefully land outside of its gates, far from the still rolling plague that occupied the city’s space. 

The Batlord was still one entity that she did not fully trust herself to anymore - a lengthy talk was needed to attempt to repair the rift that had formed. But she did trust him to wield her Dirge effectively, and bring unholy retribution down among those that would wrong the Forsaken, if need be. He had proven such things before with her return.  Gently, she placed her signature piece as a Gravekeeper at the gates where he once found it before, when he had claimed it in a rage with her fall.

“I’ll leave the Gravekeeping to you, my toothy friend. Come and claim my Dirge. Just for the little while,” Anna spoke to the red phantom hand, knowing the one linked by the blood-mist appendage could hear her. “And we’ll have that cup of tea again when I return, I do think.”

And with that, Gravekeeper took once more to the air, and left Tirasfal behind. The Storm Peaks, and hopefully a certain cold peace, awaited her.

{ Special thanks to @the-plagued-d0ctor for their part in collaboration. Soft mentions of @nixalegos and @duraxxor }

[ravlynn]

SoSS:

What dessert are you tempted by most often?

" Inquiring minds must know, aye? " A soft coo followed with honeyed mirth. A smile gave away beneath her lips, bearing a hint of playfulness in her. " I could always go for a slice of cake. That would be too easy, wouldn't it? " Pale brows wiggled in that regard as she began to take the question in more seriously. He sucked in her bottom lip, biding onto it as her thoughts began to dwell back to a time before.

" There was a time where I once tasted of the most delicious mana buns I that had ever graced my tongue. They were the only thing to ever come close to mothers. Something about the consistency of the drizzle and the correct amount of cinnamon. Of course, I could never duplicate such a recipe as I am not as infinite in magical potential as either my mother or the mage in question... " Raven's mind seemed to trail off in thought, her lips curling. Her cheeks now taking in a contrast of rose. " ... Damn it. Now I am hungry. I just got finished with my exercise session too. I'm all sticky... like mana buns! "

[[ Quite the sticky situation @nahisummerhold and thank you for her first ask! mentions: @arrydhalia]]

[duraxxor]

How did he and Arrydahlia meet? What is most memorable about her for him?

(Sketches of Alphus (Lil' Dura) and Lil' Arry)

" It all starts with the children. "

- Alphus speaking to Commander B'andtherion

As some of you know, I did not have the easiest childhood. Well, at least the ones that have bothered to ask. " The Lord's voice flowed at a narratively serious octave, resounding as much bitterness as he often had. " I often went to the academy with little more than the resolve to get through to the final bell toll. All of the children didn't want anything to do with me. And those that did, they either were chastised or removed from the academy to a more pristine establishment. In the eyes of the adults, I was stain on a perfect record. A scar, such as the one that I've had on my face since I was of that age. Numbers. I may have excelled in mathematics, but numbers are what always crushed me beneath their heel. Every day, I felt as though no matter what I said, I was in a chokehold. I was alone. And the only comfort I had was going home every day to my mother in one piece.

And then, she fell into my life.

A recent transfer from another noble house arrived that day. I remember choosing to even acknowledge it. " The flow of Duraxxor's voice continued to hold a solemnness to it, picking up in volume as the story begin to transition into a pivotal point in the life of Alphus. " Arrydhalia Bloodsinger. " Something about that name tickled my senses as a child. Perhaps it was the dark humor that resided in my little mind. How there were times I wanted to do more than defend myself. The children began to whisper amongst themselves. Speaking of things that reminded me of how they treated me.

" Beaver tooth. Rabbit face. Four eyes. Toothpick. " These names were describing her physical form. And it had earned her my attention as I growled in irritation behind a book. But I saw wasn't any of those things. I see a nervous girl trembling in her introduction. Frizzy, dark tresses that were like entangling vines. Spectacles in the shape of circles that caused her gaze to appear bigger than it truly was. And yes, her form was quite lithe. I honestly don't know how when I came to find out that girl could eat snacks like a horse. " The Lord couldn't contain the laughter in the recollection of his tale.

For a brief, we had exchanged glances after she had been seated at her desk during the same subject of mathematics. I remember her having her nose in that book like it was her life. Even when we had been dismissed to recess, she carried a book with her. And rather than try to play with the other children, chose to settle under a tree in the schoolyard and just... read. And it just so happened that day, I was in that tree from my daily climb to avoid the others. But it seemed today those other children had something in mind.

" Oh look, it's Arrydorkia! Hahaha! " One of the boys stated like a bullfrog.

" Bloodsinger. More like, Mudsinger, am I right fellows? " Another one stated flatly.

Try as she might, she was crumbling under their words no matter how much she stuck her head in that book. Wilting like a flower that wouldn't make it to bloom. The third of the party started to grin mischievously.

" Hey, look at us when we are talking to you. How about I see what you are re-Huh? " The third lad began to reach for her book, but it was quickly stopped by a tight grasp of the hand of another. My younger self had chosen to jump out of the tree between Arrydhalia and the group of boys. I still remember the look of horror on their faces when I gave them a scowl that hinted that death may be knocking at their doorstep.

" Leave. Her. Alone. " Three words never stated as unsettling from my youth's lips as those that day. And they knew that I meant business.

" It's that Daevara freak... Veralt, we should go. Last week he beat the boulders off of that Big Therim. " One of the other boys promoted an issue to their third, party member.

Veralt jerking his hand away before rolling his eyes. " Tch. Daevara and Bloodsinger? Oh, how I cannot wait to tell the others about this... you will regret this protecting her, Alphus... " The boys immediately took off, giggling like a bunch of ninnies now that they had a new rumor to play with. Such is the way of children of nobility.

And when I turned to ask if she was alright. Instead of seeing the face of a girl who was crying or trembling in fear. I saw the eyes of wonder, admiration. Her blue eyes sparkled as she looked to be overwhelmed with joy. And rather than speaking, I decided to settle my own bottom next to her.

" Hey, your name's Arry, right? " I asked, carefully and cautiously. My voice seemed even a little more hopeful. " Whacha' readin' there? "

She had given a bit of a chirp in her voice. Her cheeks turning a rosy pigment as she turned back to her book. That was the first time she had smiled since she arrived. I could never forget those big teeth. How precious they looked in my eyes. At the time I didn't know it, but she was already appreciative of me and the fact I took a genuine interest in her books. And then, she went on to tell me what the book was about.

" It's a story, about a man that became a hero of justice in the streets. And he wore a red scarf. . . "

To be continued?

[[ Tagging for soft mentions of @kelzthalassunwhisper and @arrydhalia ]]

[duraxxor]

Where is the Lord of Bats in terms of his love life? It would seem he has a main lady in his life now! How close have they grown?

There was hoarse cackle that seemed to wheeze for a moment in regard to the nature that was his love life. It wasn't really meant to be of insult or arrogance, but... well. There was a bit of a sad joke to that. " I suppose you are referring to more on the lines of love itself rather than the bedroom antics. " There was a hint of sultry pleasure in the thought of it, however. " I would do well not to speak much as a means of protection but yes, my wife has been found after all this time. " His left hand now perching his chin, missing that ring finger that was always a hint. Little did many know that the loss of that finger as actually a testament to a sacrifice that was made in honor of lover's past. " You wish to know the best way to describe it? Because there is quite a bit of information to consider here but... I will spare you the trivialities and get to the point. "

He tilted his head, bringing his hand to settle more on his cheek. His gaze now fixating off to the side in the distance. " It's one of the most bizarre experiences. You have been chasing the idea of who you were, and you continue to gain this paradoxical piece of a bigger puzzle. I had always had trails but never in this state of existence did I ever think that finding her would actually restore everything lost... " He paused, taking a moment to reassess what sort of emotions he could feel on the matter, having been so numb for so long.

" There's a powerful familiarity that dictates as closeness, but everything came in like a flood, busting the dam in the process. I would relish the thought that we are still as close as we were. But we both know there's more it than the past. " His hand began to settle, revealing the hand more clearly as rubbed his pointed finger just below the nub was for that digitus annularis. " The Lady has been through literal hell, as have I. I suppose you may even say we have bonded even through that. Heh... " And then, he was reminded again. " ... A running theme, that one. Every time we were apart, it felt like hell when the days turned to years. I only hope that she will accept my hell when she has recovered from hers. . . "

[[ Thank you for the loving ask @handhourgalleries ]]

[duraxxor]

@nyyght Look at what she did ;) it's the Life Wife

Arrydahlia

Full color portrait for @duraxxor for a lovely elven lady perhaps close to his heart. Part of Favored Tier rewards on Ko-fi.

Ko-Fi

[duraxxor]

----------------- 𝔅𝔩𝔬𝔤 ℜ𝔬𝔩𝔩 ------------------

For your information benefit, I have created this roll as a directory of current blogs. Altercations may occur over time, changing as things update! I would also like to say that all blogs and characters in this Roll are AU friendly unless stated otherwise! Thank you for your time and attention! - The Mun

D͓̽u͓̽r͓̽a͓̽x͓̽x͓̽o͓̽r͓̽- @duraxxor - Main blog Also known as Alphus Durand Daevara in life Father of the Daevara family Batdad

𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒮𝑜𝓁 𝒯𝓌𝒾𝓃𝓈

Fel'thamar Za'roth - @felthamar Master Demonologist Former Sunfury Mr. Grouch

Doctor Solexstras Sunflare - @solexstras Doctor, Scientist, and many other things Void enthusiast Sleepy Doctor

𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔇𝔞𝔢𝔳𝔞𝔯𝔞 𝔉𝔞𝔪𝔦𝔩𝔶

Ravlynn Daevara - @ravlynn Self Defense Specialist A Father's Daughter Raven Aiden Daevara - @aiden-daevara Spellblade Adventurer History enthusiast Soft boy

I would also like to shamelessly plug their mother @arrydhalia who is played by @nyyght right here!

𝓗𝓸𝓾𝓼𝓮 𝓢𝓾𝓷𝓼𝓬𝓸𝓻𝓷

Veronath Sunscorn - @veronath Knight of Silvermoon Son of Valanath Blaze

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𝗜𝗳 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗵𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝗮𝗻𝘆 𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀, 𝗳𝗲𝗲𝗹 𝗳𝗿𝗲𝗲 𝘁𝗼 𝗺𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗮𝗴𝗲 𝗺𝗲 𝗼𝗻 @𝗱𝘂𝗿𝗮𝘅𝘅𝗼𝗿! 𝗧𝗵𝗮𝗻𝗸 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗼𝗻𝗰𝗲 𝗮𝗴𝗮𝗶𝗻 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘁��𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘁𝗶𝗺𝗲 𝘁𝗼 𝘀𝗲𝗲 𝗺𝘆 𝗿𝗼𝗹𝗹! 𝗧𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝘀𝗵𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗯𝗲 𝗺𝗼𝗿𝗲 𝘁𝗼 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗳𝘂𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗲! Feel free to Reblog!

[duraxxor]

What does Dura remember of his family before death touched him?

" To tell you the truth, I didn't remember much when I first returned to Quel'thalas. " He spoke based off his own memories rather than the past one's he had reacquired over the years. He looked to his right wrist as if something was present. Instead, it was simply a representation of what was to come next.

" The first time I had acquired a familial memory was when fate happened to drop my daughter, Ravlynn, to me. I was running amuck and, on the hunt, to sate myself. Still quite ignorant to the world around me. Several had died for me to get to that point. Luckily, my trail was more so out of sight, out of mind. " His outstretched hand balled now, forming a fist. The veins filled with dark blood bulging from the pressure exhibited from muscle tension. " I've always had this... strange ability. When I partake of the drink, my mind hyper focuses on the emotions of the individual in question. And that night, my sweet child... rather than joining the party that sought to capture and likely imprison me again, she risked her life to try and break through to me. And the result well... " He trailed off, he couldn't help but chuckle darkly on the matter.

" I bit her. My legacy flowed into my gullet and... there it was. I could recall the admiration and love my daughter had growing up. And yet, for some reason, Arrydhalia's face always eluded my memories alongside her. And I never quite understood why that was. A phantom? A cursed manipulation? I may never know... but it was how I realized that maybe, just maybe, I had a chance. To try and walk amongst the living and barely function. " He bowed his head, ultimately conceding to living that pipe dream long ago.

" The important thing is... I have since regained what was lost and I am willing to see that such a thing never happens to my mind ever again. I owe my daughter so much... "

Art of Ravlynn Daevara ( Raven ), A WIP by yours truly!

[[ Thank you for the ask @handhourgalleries <3 brief mentions of @arrydhalia too! ]]

[duraxxor]

TMIT - How has the Batlord faired since his ill-fated encounter with the Gravekeeper?

The Lord of Bats as they say had chosen to segregate himself for some time after that encounter with Annaliese. And while there were some regrets on his parts that he didn't quite understand completely, it was clear that much like himself, she was a creature of suffering. Haunting memories were just that, haunts that plagued his body and soul. Black ichor continued to ooze from his wounds involuntarily as he occasionally sputtered a laugh. " Hrrrgh... Huehehe.. hahahaha! How cute. . . the artist did not quite enjoy me attempting to paint her with imagery. Ohhhhhh.. everyone is a critic until it is their art that is being critiqued! " For weeks, he had endured a hint of madness as death's curse had coiled around his core, binding it as he continued to absorb it's nature like a sponge. He sought to understand the malevolence of it and how it ticked from the Gravekeeper. Overtime, he would master it, allowing it to permeate into his magical essence to that point that it had brought enhancement in some of his own magical prowess. Fighting it was similar to how one would partake in a poison or medication bodies understand to fight it off in battle. However, the drawback would be that a part of the Gravekeeper would always be lurking within him, as is the blemish that he had left behind due to his miscalculations. A miscalculation that would not happen again. " Hue... Hue... Hueeeeeee... " A chuckle billowed in a black smog from his throat as he gave such things thought. He had no ill will to her. The bastard had always found a way to touch up the sensitive spots on others and some of his closest friends were no different. " ... I look forward to our next teatime, Anna-dearest. I hope your admiration has not changed in the passing hourglass. After all, time sure does fly! Hahahahaha! " And so, his cackle echoed through the caverns as he departed into the night. This event would take place take place just before the events of finding Arrydhalia's location where he implemented some of that raw, curse energy to create madness within her captor's domain.

[ Thank you @safrona-shadowsun, I am also tagging @gravekeeper-anna for mentions ]

[duraxxor]

@arrydhalia

cause the best parts of a vampire besides the fangs are the (tender) hands

[duraxxor]

ൠ - random headcanon

Did you know that there was actually a short story spoken by the lips of his wife that she enjoyed telling her children when they were younger. The origin of it was how it was about how Alphus (Dura in his living life's name) saved her from the clutches of the one who was obsessed with having her, the Duke.

It was spoken of like some fairy tale where instead of a man slaying a monster, the one that was deemed a monster chose to save her from a horrible man. Perhaps some time, @arrydhalia will tell that story the rest of the world. ;)

[ Thank you for the randomness @safrona-shadowsun ]

[duraxxor]

What is one moment in life that you would have liked captured to replay for you over and over again?

It seemed the Lord had captured himself in that infinity loop he had wished for in a previous hypothetical. A loop that was full of memories that he didn't quite fully understand. Memories of a former life that felt like it was a time ago. Too often did he forget that he was well over five hundred in his years. As dark as his sclera was, the light of an azure flame would slowly sizzle within them, taking the shape of an ocean pearl. While Duraxxor's mind already had a repetitive loop of chaos, Alphus always had memories he would gladly have kept on repeat to this day.

There were several, actually. Several that were connected to one he would call his wife, mother of his children, and beloved. Arrydhalia Bloodsinger-Daevara.

That day. The one where he had enlisted himself to become a part of the Silvermoon military as a deal for his reincorporation in society. When he found a woman who was sobbing due to her untimely fate that was thrusted onto her by her nobility. And though he was deathly afraid that was one to judge him for who he was, they both came to find out that they were long-lost friends in their youth before he went through one of the most traumatic experiences in his life. She didn't want to marry the man that her parents had forced upon her. No. She wanted to have her freedom.

" You do not have to bear it! You will not be his wife, and you will be finishing your school! Do you want to know why Arrydhalia Bloodsinger? Because you, Arrydhalia, are going to be MY wife! "

He laughed, remembering what a crazy, son of a bitch he was for even thinking of such a thing. To his surprise, she agreed to it whole heartedly as they went straight to a priest and eloped back to his homestead.

“It’s so like you, Alphus… to TELL me I’m to be your wife.”

The Lord looked to his four fingered hand where a wedding band once sat on the severed finger. He remembered placing the bands and making their vows. The feel of that metal along with the intertwining of fingers. Delicate, soft fingers that were as warm as the flames she could command. A flame that bloomed like a forge the following evening when they christened in the shelter of his labors. He was mad about that her. He wanted to give her everything in the world.

There was joy and then there was bittersweetness. Because for nearly two decades, the Lord as a whole could not grasp those feelings or memories. For they had been shattered, scattered to reaches he couldn't fathom. Alphus wished he had been able to recall himself back to the reality so that things could be different. Arrydhalia would have never had to deal with the longetivity of suffering she felt. His children would have had everything together aside from the calamity that was his vampirism. Things could have been much easier and simple if only that ONE memory could have looped in his rattled mind forevermore.

[ Tagging @nyyght for mentions of Arrydhalia ]

[duraxxor]

@arrydhalia

Duality. 🖤🥀

[duraxxor]

@arrydhalia

[duraxxor]

Two soldiers of a different era sat beside one another. And yet, they both seemed to understand one another on some degree. And while his own pain was pressed to the side as it always was, it couldn't steer his heart away from the things he had most recently learned. If she only knew the truth of the man, she was speaking with.

Frustration? That was putting it mildly what he felt about this city in its current state. There was quite a bit of tension within these walls between new movement and the souls of old. Some of which, were more criminal than noble. He could taste a bitterness on his tongue that was fouler than any venom that had been ever administered into his veins.

And then, the Commander seemed to point in the direction of a group of children which seemed to temper the storm that brewing deep inside of him. Slowly, the anger transitioned onto a decline. She wasn't wrong at all. He slowly remembered, a silent promise he made to himself long ago. In his own blissful youth alongside his beloved wife, that he wanted to make sure that children would never have to go through the same turmoil he did. His pensive eye faltered, shimmering with a threat of sorrowful tears.

And then, it hit him as she thanked him for all he had done. That painful guilt of what he had left behind when he was thought to have been deceased. He failed to protect what he held closest. A mother ripped away from her children. An eldest daughter forced to take care of her little brother. None of them were dead, but he felt himself wilting at the thought due to the fact that they were mistreated.

With those thoughts, he trembled, bowing his head in submission to the old emotions that overtook him. And with it, he took covered his face with the one hand he had and began sobbing into it.

[[ @kelzthalassunwhisper and @arrydhalia for soft mentions ]]

Continuation from RP

Within the eye of the assassin, magic seemed to ripple in currents around his pupils. A darkness that possessed flickers of crimson spittle. It was a glimpse, but almost like the Commander's words seemed to bring out something within him. As young as she was, she knew of the sacrifices that were placed the shoulders of many like him.

" You are a lot like me... I always tried to continue to try and everyday it always grew more difficult. It's only through having people in my life that I ever knew any sort of joy or happiness. To be shameless of my deeds. And yet, even now... " Alphus trailed off, growing half-lidded as he seemed to look off into a blank space in the distance. The memories he was being flooded with in that moment were not of his. But of another that he had duplicated through a secret. Those foul memories that would make a mortal stomach churn, heave with disgust as the itemization of an individual had been robbed. Alphus didn't even know it yet, but he was balling his fist tightly and the darkness within him was lightly flickered in an aura. This fact gave hint that his assassin nature went deeper into the shadows than was anticipated.

" ... I am finding that the difference between noble and criminal are nothing more than financial status. Just as I have learned that there isn't a difference between monster and man... it's all a matter of who has wronged who. Lynx devours lynx. Who is predator and who is prey? " His singular eye now looked back to her. " You have had people you care for taken from you too, haven't you? " And with that question, he offered her to sit down next to him on the bench.

[ @kelzthalassunwhisper <3 ]