#coldwall collective

[kyuusei-shadowleaf]

A Time Capsule

A stroll down memory lane took me back to @enigmatic-elegance's Mas’ Must Follow MASterpost, a list of what that player (the very active at the time GM of Coldwall Collective) considered must-follow accounts in Oct. 2019. Back in those heady days before COVID and at least a year before the wholesale migration of Alliance RP from Wyrmrest Accord to Moonguard (though some cracks were starting to appear, even then). Back then, WoW tumblr was still in full swing - if a bit diminished after the porn ban of late 2018 - and Mas' list caused a small flurry of drama from people who weren't listed, or who thought that any such list by a well-followed account was inherently elitist. I didn't agree with everything on the list, but it was Mas' list and anyone could make their own list (with blackjack and hookers if they wanted!)

But it's fun to look back at that post as a snapshot of the community at the time - and bittersweet to see how many of those accounts have been fallow for years, or much less active, and those that are active are either on Epsilon or MG-A (and more than a handful have transitioned to FFXIV).

Take a look and see who - if anyone - you still know today.

[reystories]

Cathrin Crow

Facial Reference: Lynn Gunn Race: Afflicted Human, Gilnean Worgen Gender: Female (She/her) Age: 34 years old Occupation: Force Captain of The Lost, Silencer of the Coldwall Collective

[brian-wellson]

Wellson dropped the folder on their dining table:

“You are not the only one having been preoccupied with research lately,” he said. He pointed toward the folder. Quai glanced toward it. “Go on,” he encouraged her.

Wellson walked toward the window, spreading his hands out wide, breathing the late summer air. He loved the Northlands this time of year.

“If it’s more spelunking planning, I am going to seriously question your sanity,” said Quai. She sounded skeptical. Rightfully so. Who would want to break into the Manor?

Wellson listened to the scratch of paper as Quai dragged the folder across the table. He heard her gasp.

“...it’s tangentially related,” he conceded, setting his jaw.

The room fell into silence; Quai formulated her question, starting it several times before finally settling on a statement. “You have a sister,” she sputtered.

“Apparently,” he said without turning. He listened to Quai flip through the thin dossier developed by SI:7’s Unit 8.

“How is this related to the Manor?”

“Have you read it?”

“She’s guttertrash —”

He turned. “And I am not?” he scoffed, eyes watery. “If I judged you by your flunky of a brother...”

Quai bit her lip. “Why do you think — what could the Manor possibly want to have to do with her? She’s a whore,” she said before leading back to the first page. “...and a terrible soldier at that.”

“The best spies are those who lie on their backs —”

“— and keep their ears as open as their business... Yeah, I know,” said Quai. “Why does this matter?”

“She is my family!” he replied.

“Presumably.”

“...help me find her.”

“Why.”

They locked eyes for a moment; his flashed black, hers remained nonplussed. She read the faint worry lines on his face, examined his immaculately maintained leathers.

Quai inhaled sharply. “You can’t help everyone,” she said.

“My worry,” he said drawing her close, “is that I will not have to.”

Quai remained silent. She knew what he meant. After a time, she said, “You’d better have a bulletproof plan to get in and out.”

“I do...” he said. “But we need one last piece of tech first.”

“Tech?” she said.

“...from the old Tower,” he said slowly. He grimaced.

“I...” She pushed back. “You can’t be serious.” She studied him. “...and yet, here we are.”

(( @quai-mason @kat-hawke ))

(( special thanks for @kat-hawke for helping me develop this character ))

[the-elf-mahat]

October Positivity

Supposed to be an ask meme but I’m doing ‘em all and you can’t stop meeeeeee!

Under the cut though because things got long and effusive.

Vampire: Tag someone of whom you've been a longtime fan. @zaderick! We haven’t interacted much but I think you’re a phenomenal writer and your ship with @leywalker-starsworn gives me so much life and inspiration. Also PIRATES. Mahat would absolutely be poking around the Black Maw looking for work if Coldwall wasn’t a thing. Zaderick’s a fantastic character; keep on doin’ you, pls.

Shoutout to @spencerdarthellin, who DOESN’T POST ENOUGH but when he does holy hell is it good. I want to read a novel you write someday, man.

Werewolf: Tag someone who is one-in-a-million and comes through when you need them. @addie-the-pirate WHY ARE YOU SO WONDERFUL OMG. It’s weird. Stahp. (only don’t stahp I love it and I love you frand).

Fairy: Tag someone who you see as an asset to the community at large. @clothespanda! You were throwing yourself into making good stuff happen for the guild even before you were an officer and you’ve only doubled down since. I really respect and admire your ability to bring people together and make neat stuff happen.

@thegreatnyehehe is a server treasure and we don’t deserve them.

Jackalope: Tag someone who picked you up when you were down. @jebweaver NEVER CHECKS HIS TUMBLR NOTIFICATIONS but w/e. When I joined Coldwall a year ago I hadn’t roleplayed as Mahat in forever, and she and I were both kinda hesitant and nervous about being around new people. You took the time to get to know ‘Hat, which helped me get to know her again, and I appreciate that enormously. Marc and ‘Hat are a couple of sassmouth shady cinnamon rolls and I love their friendship. Thanks for all the crime, nerd.

Phoenix: Tag someone who is a bright light on your dash. @rask-the-rogue is a beautiful human being and scary-talented like woah. I get excited honestly whenever I see you post something, but especially for your stories and art. You are such a lovely, genuine, warm presence, and Rask is such a delightful character in any medium. I know we both get pretty busy with real life, but I hope we get to keep writing together for a long time to come!

Banshee: Tag someone who has looked out for you. @oil-and-firebrand, thank you so much for checking in on me, and for engaging with me and ‘Hat even when we vanish off the face of Azeroth for a while. It means a lot to me. Also you’re an awesome RPer and I wanna do more stuff with you!

@addressroleplays I got your back boo, and I know you got mine. <3 Thanks for being my friend!

Griffin: Tag someone whose friendship for you is priceless. @eldricceverton, I’m really glad ‘Hat threatened Wolf with a knife that one time! It was the beginning of a beautiful friendship, IC and OOC. You’ve been so great and encouraging to talk to when I needed it. I’m a huge fan of the way you write Wolf and I have fuuun plotting with you. Probably almost as much fun as ‘Hat and Wolf have kicking each other’s teeth in at the fighting pit! Almost.

Minotaur: Tag someone who you see as a leader in some way. @enigmatic-elegance! The best guild leader money can buy (btw I bought you in a bitcoin auction a while back sooooo expecting you at my house later, wear the fireman hat). No but seriously you’re straight up amazing and I have no idea how you do half the stuff you do (friend stuff! guild stuff! fire stuff! EMT stuff! writing stuff! website stuff! RP stuff!) but I suspect witchcraft and the Inquisition has been notified.

Hellhound: Tag someone who you see as a guardian or protector in some way. @grannyshanny she attac she protec she stronk. You take care of your friends and I love it. Whether via copious salt directed at the enemies or just being a digital shoulder to cry on, you’re my favorite mama bear (in a gay way). I’m so glad our characters get to be family.

Unicorn: Tag someone who is So Good, So Pure™ @soapiewhitacre PLS ACCEPT MY LOVE for you it is both eternal and constant. You are the human personification of a hug and I feel lucky to get to spend time with you, IC or OOC.

@xerxes-jasper, I love how you play your characters and how willing you are to roll with the punches to make a good story, even when it gets Xerxes thrown in a lake. :D Xerxes is a Precious Baboo and a Good Spoop Son, and ‘Hat rolls her eye at his antics sometimes but trust me behind the keyboard I am giggling like a fiend. 

Mermaid: Tag someone who is a positive influence on you. @thebattlesheep is best sheep. You make the world brighter and happier wherever you appear. It’s a scientific fact about sheeps. Thank you for being your gorgeous self and letting me, a hat, sit on your head all the time. It’s comfy!

Bigfoot: Tag someone who seems bigger than life. @percy-dewdancer! I really hope I get to RP with you someday in game, I enjoy your writing and Percy as a character vastly. I don’t know if it’ll ever happen since as far as I can tell there’s plenty of other folks ahead of me in line, and ‘Hat doesn’t exactly go out of her way to chat up law enforcement (though since he’s not City Guard anymore WHO KNOWS, she’s less spooked by military types than cops). Either way I’ll be over here gently stalking your posts and admiring your writing skill, tenacity, leadership, and cursing vocabulary; don’t mind me.

Dragon: Tag someone who you see as really dedicated to their muse. @caterinaprimrose! HI WE’VE NEVER MET INGAME but I’m super into your aesthetic posts and in awe of your dedication and respect for a type of character that usually gets neither. Caterina is a deeply human, fleshed-out character with a shallow sparkly surface and you portray all her facets so, so well. I hope she finds happiness again, I’m rooting for her!

@high-inquisitor, you and Archelaos are pretty much the definition of dedication to my mind; he goes through a lot of changes, but you always somehow manage to keep him himself. He’s a great character who fills a lot of roles to a lot of different people, and you play him with a determination and creativity that I really admire. We don’t RP much (I might be low-key intimidated by you shhhh), but I always enjoy reading your writing when it shows up on my feed, and think your aesthetic is killer. 

That’s enough positivity for one day NOW OFF TO BURN DOWN AN ORPHANAGE.

[addie-the-pirate]

Come on down to the Rat Bastard tonight in Stormwind Harbor!

The crew is getting in the Hallow’s End spirit for tonight’s bar crawl so come on in for silly costumes and themed drinks!

[jebweaver]

Starvation.

 Sleep never came easy for Marcis-- not anymore.  His experiences with the bodily need in the past months could be described as ‘fitful’ at best, often awoken by his own thrashing and murmuring, blankets disheveled atop him and wrapped around his appendages. His skin, slicked with sweat. His breathing uneven, and ragged, set to match the fluttering of his heart. Most would be concerned with the developments, but Marcis-- Marcis was a stubborn, short-sighted man. It was an easy thing to do for someone like him, writing it off as nothing more than his past decisions catching up with a guilty mind, and gave his difficulty in slumbering as little weight as possible. 

One night, he awoke like he had for many days beforehand-- with an overwhelming swiftness and fright. This time his cabin’s roof was not what met with his eye-- instead, midnight darkness. Stars. The sudden realization that he was standing on his feet almost made him lose the balance he’d apparently held effortlessly up until his awakening.

Shock and confusion churned inside him as he attempted to shake slumber from his consciousness. To Marcis, it was an impossibility that he wasn’t still dreaming. A nightmare, that he’d wake from in the moment after something terrible visited him. He waited. That moment never came, and he was left with nothing. Quiet streets, a passing guard on horseback, who eyed the half-nude captain oddly as he meandered past. If this was a nightmare, it was a horribly mundane one, and the big-bad that would pop out to scare him awake seemed to be operating off of a different schedule than the one Marcis was held to. Five minutes had passed before he’d turned on heel and began the trek back to his ship, still not entirely sure of the angle of this experience. Perhaps it wasn’t a nightmare, after all -- a simple lucid dream, most likely. He instinctively lifted his hands to count his extended fingers when something crunched beneath his foot, and a jolt of pain caused him to rise off his aching appendage. An audible hiss echoed out as crimson dribbled down from the sole of his foot, lifted in examination and easy to eye by lamp-light. Glass on the stones below, shards lodged in calloused flesh.  It wasn’t a dream.

He’d heard of and seen people sleepwalking before, but he’d never been one to suffer. Not that he had any wherewithal to confirm it, but-- no-one had ever told him... 

                                                          _____

 Over the days following that first, terrifying experience he’d succumbed to three more bouts of sleepwalking. Succumbed. Efforts had been made to put a stop to his ‘problems’-- herbal sleep aids, locking of his cabin door... he’d even asked his right hand man and token navigator, a young man by the name of ‘Reacher’, to watch the door to make sure he didn’t wander off at some point in the night. Reacher nearly fell from his chair when Marcis sauntered back through the galley, and grew just as pale as his captain when they’d found the door to his cabin locked just as tight as it was when he’d put himself down just a few hours earlier. It was clear after that night that sleeping could no longer be a source of comfort for the man. His bed became an omen; silky sheets and plush, well-crafted pillows a reminder of something strange and unknown, rather than the safety and comfort it previously provided. The very idea of slumber stirred something terrible in his heart and mind. If his best efforts were for naught-- if his best, most trusted man couldn’t keep tabs on him while he slumbered... As far as Marcis was aware, he’d only aimlessly wandered in his sleep. The thought of his body doing something-- anything more than just that terrified him to his core.

It had gotten so discomforting and dreaded that he eventually made the conscious decision to go without. An attempt to leave himself so exhausted that his body simply wouldn’t have the fuel to explore and act without his knowing. A last ditch effort to put a stop to what plagued his mind during the waking hours, and a hopeful solution to his dilemma.

Going one day without sleep wasn’t unfamiliar, as he’d found the need to do so numerous times in his life up until then and it passed without any difficulty. Discomfort came with the second, however, and only mounted as the third swung around... and then the fourth. The fifth, sixth and seventh... Days became weeks. Weeks became months, and then his time spent awake simply became... irrelevant. 

Fatigue was there. It was always there. It made his mind fuzzy; things hard to recall in that familiar sort of way that most everyone experienced at some point or another. Trivial information he’d stretch to recall, lingering on the tip of his tongue but eluding the awareness to sound. His muscles ached with it-- made his arms and legs heavy, along with his eyelid. His casual movements became sluggish and sloth-like in the wake of such an overwhelming feeling of enervation. Even so, regardless of how tired he felt, how much his mind wandered and frayed at the ends... he refused to relent until his body would shut down on it’s own accord. He’d resigned himself to passing out wherever he stood, whenever the fateful moment would arrive. Much like that moment where he expected to awaken from his ‘lucid dream’ within the harbor, it never came.

Counting his waking hours became a fruitless endeavor, and days were becoming hard to distinguish one from another save for the events that occurred during them. Everyday life became one long day that slipped into one long night, only for the cycle to repeat itself without any real definite end or beginning. The thoughts that came with this bitter realization pushed him just a bit further into the spiral of despair he’d set into motion an indeterminable amount of time ago.

Each day made him jaded, and less hopeful that his plan was having any sort of affect on his condition.                                                          _____ Marcis didn’t understand. He wasn’t sure if that confusion could be attributed to his decaying faculties or if his state was just as much of a mystery to himself as it was to the few who he’d opened up to. How could a human being simply forgo the need for sleep? He’d become so enraptured in starving his body of needs and fuel that he’d even cut down on his meals. Each punctuation lacking day coming with less and less subsistence in form of caloric intake until he’d gone an uncountable amount of hours without food or water. He’d felt weaker, of course, and the constant hunger pains were there but still... his body wouldn’t give in upon itself. Everything he’d done to himself... everything he was subjecting himself to. He couldn’t wrap his head around it. How could this be happening? How could he be upright, and still drawing breath?

The fatigue that plagued him was growing to be less of an obstacle as time unraveled. Nothing more than a background condition that he was rapidly adapting to. When he needed to move, he could. The deftness and underlying strength of his actions surprised himself more than anyone else, save for maybe his crew who were explicitly aware of this strange, mysterious disease that tormented their captain. A mysterious disease that was rapidly changing their captain from the man that he used to be before. Before those lives he’d both willingly and unwillingly given. Before he’d lost his eye, and what shattered remains of humanity that he’d clung onto. Before his mistake, and before that terrible, godforsaken trade he’d agreed to.

[enigmatic-elegance]

Lyrics

We are not your kind of people You seem kind of phony Everything's a lie We are not your kind of people Something in your make-up Don't see eye to eye We are not your kind of people Don't want to be like you ever in our lives We are not your kind of people We fight when you start talking There's nothing but white noise Running around tryin' to fit in and wanting to be loved It doesn't take much For someone to shut you down When you built a shell, built an army in your mind You can't sit still and you don't like hanging around the crowd They don't understand You dropped by here as I was sleeping You came to see the whole commotion And when I woke I started laughing The joke's on me for not believing We are not your kind of people Speak a different language We see through your lies We are not your kind of people Won't be cast as demons Creatures you despise We are extraordinary people We are extraordinary people We are extraordinary people We are extraordinary people

[theunshackled]

Without a name

It was to be like any sort of mission. Get in and get out.

Diplomacy was the key to this operation, a desire to gain a strong hold-- a safe haven for the Collective. When they came to this town in Arathi, they thought it was going to be simple. Even with the grisly death scene right upon entering the outskirts of the town. However when the delved further into the town they found this to be far more difficult.

[ Warning! Below the cut will be some explicit content of death and mental instability. Note that some of these lines are actually taken from the event that happened! @clothespanda ]

Why Hayes had been given the voice to be the leader of this ragtag bunch in an attempt of diplomacy was far beyond her. However she was able to persuade the Priestess of the village they had tread into. Even after the crazy display of men and women putting rocks into their mouths and chewing down upon it as if it were candy. Leaving them with broken and bloody teeth. Courtney tried to ignore the intense and awful scene before her, but perhaps that was just their way of doing things. 

"They may starve, or they may make due with what they CAN eat now. Soup and the like is good, last I heard! But, their pain is on him still." She rolled her shoulders. "As I said, guilt motivates and dissuades, and it is the greatest form of punishment! So! Let's talk diplomacy." Her eyes looked to Courtney. "You were speaking of such to me, yes, Courtney?" The woman says it in such a way that it sounded as if Courtney was a dog rather than a human. She acted in such a way that almost deemed such.

Courtney was all to eager to step forward with her head bowed down like a dogs. However after a second she'd shake her head and laugh nervously. "Y-yes, shall we...ah' return inside?"

“Oh no! We must speak out here for all to here, after all we make decisions as a whole!”

Courtney hesitated for a minute before nodding and taking in a deep breath. "We wish to use this town as a safe haven between travels through the lands, seeing as it is in such a strategic place. Of coarse we would help you all with issues that arise and several other things if needed."

Despite all this Verry had intervened and questioned the woman upon her methods and the towns methods at that.

She shot a glance to Verry. "I need my teeth to discuss matters of diplomacy with you all, now don't I?" She slowly turns her head back to Courtney as she spoke. "Oh! I would absolutely love to aid you! I think we all would take a great deal of pride  in being able to help possible new neighbors!" She grinned at the crowd before looking back to Courtney. "I just want one thing."

“What is your one condition?”

“Your name.”

“My name?”

“Yes your name.”

Once more Verry spoke up. And once more it wasn’t good. Not to mention Marcis’s bitching behind them all. 

The woman snarled at Verry and snapped her fingers. One of the members of the crowd reached their hands up and twisted at their head, twisting and twisting until their neck snapped and they fell to the ground dead. "That is for interrupting." snarled to Marcis. "This is between me and Courtney Hayes." She looked to Courtney. "Your name." She said simply.

Courtney paused as she questioned their reasoning for this strong hold, however she would pause and turn towards Tomo. Questioning the woman as she decided on her decision on what to do. When she returned she asked once more.

“My name? Well that has little of value for diplomacy, wouldn’t food, aid or water be better?”

She moved forward, as quick as she could to try and take hold of Hayes shoulders. "GIVE IT TO ME! GIVE IT! SHE WON'T TAKE NO FOR AN ANSWER!" She was sobbing now. The Town people were starting to panic, turning on each other, some taking their own lives, some taking each others.

Hayes began to panic internally, her breath rising as she watched the scene before her. “Fine! If it will stop this madness, Courtney Hayes.”

"SAY IT! SAY IT TO THEM!" She motioned to the crowd. "Tell them YOUR NAME!" She pants heavily. The prisoner the man moves to Marcis, he shakes his head. "Don't let her...PLEASE by the gods Don't let her!"

Courtney looked up and despite everything and everyone that was telling her not to, she did anyways. It was her oath to help and save others. 

“Courtney Hayes!” She called out to the crowed. However as she did so, the towns people’s faces turned blank. A flat piece of skin as hands reached up to claw at their face and throats, attempting to gain air as nails broke flesh, blood splattering across the ground against Courtney who was holding onto the priestess still. They attempted to cry but their cries couldn’t be heard as they continued to rip and tear at their flesh crudely. After minutes their bodies dropped as a darkness descended to the sky. All the mean while Courtney tried to pray as the others argued on what to do. The light she so hoped would come to her aid was dim and eventually vanished. It was gone, just like the lives of these people. 

While the group continued to argue, Tomo looked to Hayes. “Come see me tomorrow about this.”

Shakily and covered in sweat the paladin glanced tot he Pandaren. “On what grounds?”

“To purge this from you.”

“I am a paladin I can..cleanse myself..”

“When it fails, seek Hiro out to find me.” With that the world went dark, and there was a whispering in her head as the rattling and shaking of violence rolled through her. She stumbled off on her own. The world fading from sight as she listened to the buzzing in her head. She tried to call the light but it would not heed her, perhaps her unstable nature was causing her to not maintain her faith in the light. Yet she was a Paladin, how could this unravel her so easily? It didn’t matter at this point, her name it was gone..stolen by the darkness and the chattering of voices that laughed at her. One standing out rather specifically within her mind.

“You are mine...”

[alittlemoonsong]

Xiluma is preparing herself for @coldwall-collective‘s monthly Bloodsport Brawl. Are you?

I felt like doing a little photo for this, which took me forever to actually do because the shot I liked the most was being obstructed by people using the dummies around me. Also, come see, or try to beat, Xiluma Moonsong as she tries to go for the never done before, two consecutive wins of Bloodsport TONIGHT at 7PM PST/10PM EST at the turrets of the Stormwind Harbor on WRA!

[reystories]

Reydrin (Sunhallow) Anteburas

Facial Reference: Sonya Deville Race: Ren'dorei (Void Elf) Gender: Female (She/her) Age: Roughly 70 years old Occupation: Vice President of Anteburas Enterprises, Overseer of the Coldwall Collective

[brian-wellson]

I.

(two weeks prior)

“You don’t have a scratch on you,” said Quai. She pushed her water-slickened hair back, gathering it, squeezing it. She glanced in the mirror to see Wellson, watching her. 

“We fought demons on Drænor, we watched the grass melt. Remember that?”

Quai nodded. She turned to face him. “And you’re avoiding the issue.”

Wellson sighed. He supposed he was, or was — at the very least — engaging it in a terrifically oblique manner. The fact was, Quai was right. He had not taken a single knick of damage during the Collective’s encounter with the Naztherim. 

“The point being,” he said, “that demons only have so many tricks up —”

“Arrogance doesn’t suit you,” she said. 

She was right about that, too. 

He had not felt himself since leaving the Grand Alliance Navy – not since Darkshore. Indeed, he had felt something else entirely: some other presence in his mind, some other taking up space. It was subtle, but it was there. 

“You want to start over?” asked Quai. 

II.

(present)

Wellson tipped the mop bucket, dumping the dirty water into the work sink. He set it down, and wiped his brow. He watched as the water slosh about in the sink, settling into a whirlpool, before draining out completely. Sediment — an unknowable conglomeration of sweat and puke and dirt and beer — lined the drain. He did not touch it. 

He nodded to the dwarven bartender as he finished his shift for the day, stripping off his work gloves, and undoing one of the shoulder snaps on his coveralls. The door shut behind him. 

Helping the Breach’s bartender had felt good, productive.  It did not matter his capacity, the humdrum life of maintenance has allowed him time to think, time to pray. Coldwall had been generous in hiring him. If someone with his level of projected arrogance had approached him and asked him for a job, he would have said No, stalked the offender, and then killed them in their sleep. Not Masnira. She was too smart for that; it was one of the draws, for him, to be quite honest. As quick as Quai, stubborn as Cliara, deadly as Justine, smart as Thalsian, observant as Kyara. She commanded his respect from the moment he had walked into the room those weeks ago. 

When he reached his bunk, he undid his maintenance coveralls, and slipped into his leathers. He stowed his crescent wrench and gloves and truesteel-toed safety boots. He picked up his razor and soap, and left the room.

III.

(two weeks prior)

“You want to start over?” Quai asked. She crossed her arms and frowned™. 

Wellson shifted uneasily. He approached her with a small towel, and helped wring the water from her bunched hair. He traced his finger along her shoulder. 

She recoiled from him. 

“What...?” she started. She shivered. “...what did you do?”

“I made it back to you,” he said. 

“Not what I meant,” she said. 

Wellson grimaced. He knew what she meant, of course, though he had no desire to discuss it. Again he reached toward her. Quai could feel his body; she could feel his presence radiating a cold shadow, like evil was seeping from his pores. She turned to face him:

“Are you using again? Did your ‘goddess’ give you something. What is wrong with you?”

IV.

(present)

Wellson lathered his hands, and spread it across his face and neck. He raised the straight razor to his throat, watching himself in the mirror — the same mirror in front of which he had assisted Quai two weeks ago. He stared into his reflection, eyes searching. He could see his neck throbbing, pulsating as blood ran through his carotid artery. The thought of her flashed through his mind; she deserved more than he had to offer. He ground his teeth, and pressed the razor to his flesh. 

N̶̡̧̖̮̣̠͛͆͒͒̔͌��o̵̦̻̦̮̊̏͊. 

Wellson started to cut, ignoring the voice. 

N̵͈͐͑͐̌͒̂̐͘ö̵̡̢̡̜̱̺́̈́͂̐͌!̶̯̦̹́͋̀̉͗̌͒̄ It screamed in his head. 

The razor was batted from his hands by something unseen. Even still, Wellson knew what it was. 

W̵̡͇̰̣̦̗̮͍͠è̸̢̥̟̰͉̖ ̷̘̞́̈́͜͝h̶̢̺͉̩̖̖͆͋͊́̅͝ͅả̴͚̟̙̭͖͇̲̘̀́̎͝v̶̢͕͕͓̰̫̠̰̈́̐͌̆e̸̼͓̟̝̘͗̑̈́̏̚͜͝͝ ̶̧̧̝̭͚̮͚̈́͂ͅḁ̷̢͍̻́̀̒̓̒́͂̕ ̴͍̰̱͊̓̔́d̸̮̻́̉̄͋e̶̡̝̦̭͂a̶̪͂̎l̸̪͍͎͇̮͑̐̀̑͒͂͋͝, It shouted, ả̸̢̞̅̏̿̀̚ ̷̘̭͉͙̦̝͗̈̊͛̌̕c̷̡̧̀̒̆̊̕ơ̶̻̍̈́n̵̰̰͒̃̃̈́̀t̶̜̠̞̄͜r̶̢̯͍͚̫̠̃̒͑̀̽̂̚̕͜ą̴̜̫͈͖̮͉̝͑̏̽̃͒͝ĉ̷̠̲̱̱̹̜̥́́̾̚̚͝t̵͕́̒̀̆͐.

“I upheld my end,” he murmured, eyes flickering down to the blade in the sink. “I did what you wanted.”

The strait razor erupted into a dark purple flame. It vanished. Wellson simply stared. A searing pain where he had been shot tore through his body. He felt like he was dying – again.

N̵̲̙̘̩̭̳̆o̵̯̭̠̼͉̓̈̌̓͋̚ţ̶̛̘͕̇̔͆̄́͝ͅ ̸̡̨̻̬͎̝̠͐͜y̸̛̜̔̈́͆͒̊͑͂ḙ̶̬͎̃͆͗͌̾̈́͘ť̵̜̦̟̞͐͐͝, It said. 

“Not yet,” repeated Wellson. He started to cry. He swiped at his eyes. The pain in his side dwindled to nothing, his razor reappeared, and the looming darkness receded. He picked up the blade, and finished shaving. Something had to change.

V.

(one week prior)

“I have to go,” said Quai. 

Wellson looked devastated. “For how long?”

“I don’t know. I just need to get things straight in my head.”

Wellson did not say anything. After a moment, he stood next to her and her open bag. He pulled something from his pack, and handed it to her. 

Quai accepted it, fingers wrapping around the cold metal cylinder. It took her a second, but once she realized what it was, she glanced over at him: 

“Justine’s spyglass?” 

He nodded once. “Maybe it will help you see things more clearly,” he suggested. 

“I’ll keep it safe,” she said, clipping it to her own belt.

“Use it?”

“...if I need to,” she said. She reached for his face, tipping his jaw toward her. She kissed him, long and passionate. She ran her hand down his chest, stopping at his beating heart. Neither of them said a word. 

VI.

(present)

“Mas,” said Ra from the door. “You have a visitor.”

Masnira did not look up. She continued writing in some log or another. She listened to the approaching footsteps, soft and unerring. “Mister Wellson,” she said.

“Miss Masnira,” he replied.

“Have you tired of serving as a barback? Scrubbing floors and mending armor not as glamorous as you had hoped?” She set her fountain pen down her desk, arranging it just so. “Or did you just come to talk in circles?” Her voice was tinged with annoyance.

Wellson cringed at the memory of his interview. “I know you desire information,” he said. “And I would like to offer my services.”

She sat back, gesturing. “Go on.”

“How much do you know about that semi-autonomous arm of SI:7? The one operated by Kat Hawke?”

“Oh, now you have my attention,” she said, folding her hands in her lap. 

“With your permission, I would like to … become acquainted with their current dealings. I would like to acquaint you with their current dealings.”

“Continue, Mister Wellson,” she said, listening to every word.

VII.

(post-scriptum)

A letter arrives at SI:7 headquarters. The letter is in a thick envelope, and its wax seal is stamped with a decorative ‘W’; it is otherwise unremarkable: block handwriting, no return address, no postage. It is sorted by the overworked gnome working the administrative desk. The gnome passes it to a man, who passes it to a woman, who passes it to a drænei. Within hours, it has been screened for all manner of harmful substances and magicks before it is delivered to Kat’s desk. She opens it:

Director Hawke.

It was an honor to meet you a few weeks ago, back in the Stormwind Memorial to the Fallen. You stuck in my memory as someone who genuinely cares about the Grand Alliance, and all those who serve. After much consideration, I would be interested in working with you, to act as eyes on the ground and relay intel to you. 

If you wish to reach out to me, you may send correspondence to the Au’llionian Estate House in Elwynn Forest, Eastvale Logging Camp. They know where to find me.

I do hope to hear from you.

I am, Sincerely yours, Doctor Brian Wellson, Lt. (Ret.)

( @quai-mason @seattlebourne @enigmatic-elegance @kat-hawke @killerkyara @thalsianiii ; @coldwall-collective )

[the-elf-mahat]

‘Hat and the spooky crime fam! Love all these nerds, esp. @petalpawfamily for commissioning this!

The Mistress and the Overseers of The Coldwall Collective.

Drawn by the very talented @how-do-u-art.

[the-elf-mahat]

TRUE END- Bittersweet ending. Some things go right, other things go wrong. Some sacrifices have to be made, but most people are happy in the end.

During the fight against the forces of the Old Gods, the leader of the Collective is lost to shadow. Eventually, the war is won, and Azeroth is as safe as it’s ever been. Mahat keeps working for the Collective, though without Masnira to lead them their vision and ambition shrink significantly. But they remain a tight-knit family of ne’er-do-wells, helping people who can’t help themselves, even when they need to get their hands dirty to do it.

Mahat’s half-human daughter, Saera, lives a long, healthy life, about twice as long as the average human, though unfortunately she can’t conceive children. By the time she dies (peacefully of old age, with her mother at her bedside singing to her), most of Mahat’s shorter-lived friends and colleagues have passed on as well. The Collective continues with a new generation of renegades and unlikely heroes.

Mahat passes the reins of leadership over and goes on one last world tour, revisiting old haunts and grave sites, saying goodbye to her elder sister Shanaris and the few others who remain. Then she and Jaoyn buy a ship that’s small enough for two to navigate, load it with supplies, and set out together to sail off the edge of the map. They never return.

(( @enigmatic-elegance & @grannyshanny mentions. ))

[addie-the-pirate]

Post Night Market hang out with the Coldwall Collective

@soapiewhitacre @the-elf-mahat @kingofthewolves @harveedeadweight @doranthedead

[the-elf-mahat]

I like it! CANON.

Guardian Demon

The trio moved into position, each setting up against walls of stone and blending their garb to the shadows of falling twilight’s gleam. The city street, one of so many, was leveled in the day to day foot traffic but as time passed so too did that business cease until it’s silence reasserted. And here in the moment the three men waited, silent, knowing that only time would need be paid until they would receive their dues.

And dues would come in full form. The apex of the street was graced with a form normally lithe with motion but now far less so. Her sway and offbeat step hinted to the deep intoxicants flooding the blood in her veins and rendering the world into a spin. The men turned to look upon each other, a single nod shared among them. This Kaldorei would be their mark.

A click would be the only sound, a measured blade extending to the air as the three men lowered to ground in their respective coves. The streets of old town provided too much brilliant cover. The shadows were an ally, but a fickle one. They did not discriminate friend from foe.

The two men with eyes locked to the approaching elf were oblivious to the plight of their fellow thief. He stared with widened eyes out to a darkened sky as the blade he once held so firm in hand had been relinquished to unknown grip. That blade now was to his throat, threatening to spill his life’s blood before the one behind him spun off to impact his face into stone wall rendering him unconscious.

The sound roused his companions, who turned in time to see his bloodied face scar the wall with a smear as his form slumped into the alcove. They moved to draw blades, but only one would see his dagger come to open air. The other watched in horror as his companion stared at their downed friend, unaware that he had been claimed. Arm so slender yet so riddled with strength tightened around his neck, the world darkening until finally silence swallowed him.

The third man glanced back to assess his companion only to find him on the cobblestone, prone and rendered inert. Before a cry could be issued to challenge this unknown foe, a switchblade so familiar took flight, striking his cheek and splitting it an inch from mouth’s corner.

The man dropped to the stone, and with a sprawl turned to his back enough to see the small female figure appearing over him. A leather boot lifted, and with a driving force down his world went dark.

A few seconds more passed, and the elf staggered by, unaware of what had been her fate now averted. From the nearby alcove, two goggled lenses stared out, watching in full as she turned the corner at street end and ventured on into the evening’s wake.

@the-elf-mahat for mentions

[enigmatic-elegance]

Sickness

-There are some sicknesses that go deeper then skin, and even body itself. Some sicknesses are infections of the soul, of a whole person, a group, a society, a planet. A global pandemic. And what is the cure for such a sickness? After medicine and magic have failed at their task? Another sickness, re-purposed, eliminates it. All it needs is a bit of guidance.-

Gasping, the man's chest heaved as sudden flooding consciousness flushed through his body, accompanied by a chill. The body reacted quicker then the mind, instinct moving to stand yet binding keeping him to the wooden element. Adrenaline flowed, each heartbeat sending the energizing chemical throughout his bare form as wide eyes darted about the dim room. He was in some manner of cellar. A wine cellar perhaps, it was difficult to place as the room appeared empty save for his singular presence. Adrenaline was matched with no small degree of panic, stressed mind groaning under the weight of attempted logic. He was unable to recall where he had last been. He remembered a party, a gathering, some form of light laughter. He saw the fuzzy shapes, the laughter intensified, why did he not recall his last moments? Questions were snuffed by more in the way of fear as the single metal door before him drew open, in stepping a large robed woman. He could see so very little of her, save for the angular jaw illuminated by the lantern she carried. Two horns twisted up out of the hood, curving back over her head. With a draw of her hand the metal door closed behind her. "Do you know why so many hate criminals?" He blinked a few times as his mind attempted a jump start. Why was she asking such a casual question, one that by all accounts appeared obvious. Though he thought many words, his mouth spoke not a one of them. The Draenei woman proceeded, unhindered. "Is it our tenancy to oppose societal laws? Perhaps our cruelty, or disregard for others? Does this all sound familiar?" The man simply stared as the Draenei made her way forward, each hoof fall clicking the stone floor, resonating in the expanse of the room. She would cast eyes down upon him, beneath the shimmering armored brim of her hood he caught sight of those deep blue bio-luminescent eyes. "Criminals, thieves, killers, these people are the ones that society wants to forget. The people who were ignored and forgotten. Some chose this life, others had it chosen for them. And often people simply expect the Guard to keep hold and the criminals to just surrender to death in peace and quiet. Does that sound fair?" -A compass. Navigators tool. Explorer lifeline. A guiding factor that brings one in the proper direction. Why reform that which is already perfect? Why correct, or fix, or process a person who has a talent or skill? Must a compass be always a physical object?- The man marked the Draenei with a frozen silence. The way she spoke, so calm and cold, it would be as if a mother speaking to a child. Not speaking so much as scolding, scolding in such a level way as to drill the punishment deep. And deeper it ate into him, her words like sour notes to his ears. "I saw what becomes of these people, these hated masses. I have seen the way they are treated by each other, by the Guard, by the planet. I saw what they could become. I saw potential. I saw a gathering: A Collective." The swirling illumination of the lantern dimmed, drew to darkness, and plunged the two into black abyss. Eyes could not adjust, no light remained, and from the shadows an even deeper darkness etched out before him. As if not only light but warmth and sound were swallowed into it. That calm voice echoed in shadows. "You are sick, my friend. You are sick. And you are beyond what the Light can cure. The Collective will rise. And shadow consume all who would oppose us." ... -I go now to the city. To seek out those who would share my vision. I know not what my future holds. This sickness is not only of the flesh. This guiding compass not a physical object. I will be laid to rest in the shadow of what I have created. I will sleep in the wake of this vessel.-