#dinthoqaf

[dinthoqaf]

"Come with me and you'll be In a world of pure imagination Take a look and you'll see Into your imagination"

-- Din sneaking into someones dream before a dramatic tone shift.

— Oscar Wilde

[dinthoqaf]

For those of you who haven't figured it out. I love trying to throw thought and feeling-provoking prompts at people and characters. I love seeing characters squirm, and tears bubble to the surface. I know it's awful, but there's such beauty in sadness and pain.

[vyvienne]

OOC Prompt

For someone who is new to your blog and character, what do you feel is important to know about them? What are some pivotal plot points you would like to share? Preferred RP hooks?

The most important thing one can know about Vyvienne is her desire for safety. Nearly all of her motivations come from the process of determining what will keep her safe. She began her young life in violence and carried that forward throughout her teen years and adulthood. She has had a lifelong nemesis, her father, who has tried to kill her more than once, seeing her as a ‘mistake’ on his legacy.

Vyv has been a thief, has murdered for hire, for necessity or for profit. She killed her aunt and cousin to obtain her noble title and estate that came with it and a killed a few prostitutes in an attempt to throw off people pursuing her and for ritual purposes. Vyvienne is ruthless to those who betray her, and has very little (some would say no) appreciation of sanctity of life. She has developed a very specific set of skills that allow her to invade others minds, is a very good thief and can kill quickly and silently.

Vyv has no loyalty to country or crown, her loyalty is always first to herself, second to those who come into her small circle of friendship. However, she has been known to save people when it makes no sense for her to do so, or warm up to someone that seems in all ways to be adverse to her idea of safety. Vyvienne learned over the years to develop friendships and even have love relationships. Vyv has been married once and had a child. They are now both deceased in the explosion of Dalaran.

Vyv is a true discipline priest, expanding skills in both Light and Shadow. Recently, Vyv has started hearing whispers and possibly spirits of the deceased. She is unsure if it’s both or neither and therefore she’s going insane as she’s seen other priests do. Vyv spent her young adult years searching for power to augment her own and with the death of her family has now started searching again to expand her magical repertoire.

Thanks @dinthoqaf for the prompt!

[kelzthalasbandtherion]

( You've had your walls stripped bare and defenses torn asunder emotionally. What's the deepest truth you refuse to tell a soul about them or yourself? - Meant to be an IC response of course! It's not something Din would much ask someone, but didn't wanna do it anonymously either. lol )

"Beware that, when fighting monsters, you yourself do not become a monster, for when you gaze long into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you." - Friedrich W. Nietzche

It had to be a dream. There was no way there was just an end to all the fighting.

Labored breaths and a survey of their surroundings however did not mince the details to the altercation. The battle had ended and in its wake was silence and stillness. This was always what she had strove for. This... semblance of foreign peace. It didn't appear real. And she again looked for movement or a questionable shadow. Her hand reflexively tightening on the glaive she held until the hand of her father settled on her shoulder.

A firm squeeze was given with a muted assurance that what she was seeing was not a mistake. He had the experience to understand it, but she didn't. He had fought in battles and won. But in her case, she never had a victory. This... This didn't feel true.

"There must be-"

"It is over." He reaffirmed with a tone of finality. His blade was put to rest at his side as she couldn't believe him. Her father never dropped his guard! THIS WAS WRONG!

She searched for the position of her brother, Allasticus. Even he, one that was driven by bloodlust, had sheathed his blade. Though, his head hung as he stood over the remains of their young brother. This had to be some ploy or red herring.

The rubble beneath her feet crumbled as she moved in the direction where the Sanguine Sorceress had last been seen. Though the red was not something anyone could miss. It was a focal point in the dark and she was still as a statue - pinned into a wall by a blade. Those black lips of hers now had become an open fountain. Blood that had since been taken from others ran down over the curve of her white skin.

She was the monster that did not stop.

This wasn't Malakortana.

This was...

"Not convinced are you," quipped the familiar tone of the Nethermancer, Nixalegos. "Neither am I."

Before an answer could be offered, the nethermancer ignited the corpse of Malakortana with a deft motion of his hand. The flames of fel hungrily devoured the corpse of the she-devil. But her presence still lingered in the air, it was heavy to them both. Soulless or not, there was an aura about her. Even the blade that was mounted in her chest melted from the heat, ensuring that nothing would remain in its wake.

The Nethermancer was still moving, busying himself with his things and investigating the area. Yet, she struggled to find purpose now as this was not her field of expertise. All she knew was that this had been an ongoing ordeal for far too long. The flame, even if it had been snuffed, could burn again if a spark fell in the right place.

"Kelz."

Kal'ren's voice drew her out from the labyrinth of her thoughts, forcing her to turn to address him. He towered over her but had her well-being on his thoughts always. Though he was wise enough to not speak of it around others, generally.

"Let's take a look over here."

It was an invitation for salvation, one that she should have eagerly accepted. But the machinations of disappointment would fracture her reliance on others and her willingness to cope.

"I'm fine," she stated and sought to move away from him. But a clawed hand reached to take hold of her arm and stop her from moving away.

"You're not." He countered and his grip tightened like a vice. His inflection was seeking to appeal to her at the base of her own needs, and yet... she didn't want to believe the truth.

An ill-timed cough and sight of blackened blood left her lips. She could feel something. It stirred in response to her anger and reveled in it. Again, the coughing would continue as Kal'ren shifted to be closer in an effort to support her. He turned her to look at him, but she couldn't see him. A veil of shadows fell over her eyes, making them black to those who looked at her face.

Spurred by that of a holy mission, Naralinthe Emberdawn was running towards them.

"GET AWAY FROM HER!" Her voice cried out to Kal'ren, forcing all that had come to do battle to now converge at this place of potential contention.

Like a fire that had been housed in Kelz's chest, black smoke billowed up and out of her mouth as her arm roughly pulled from Kal'ren's grip. Hands sought to cover her own eyes as she strained to breathe against the miasma of her now tainted soul. The shadows would writhe in an effort to overtake her entirely, but her father did not stand idle as his hands pulled on hers so that she could be afforded a chance to see again.

But what he revealed was far more sinister. The color of his light, which manifested hope into strength now was seen as a blight in itself.

"YOU ARE THE MONSTER! YOU LET HER DIE! YOU KILLED HIM! YOU... ARE NO FATHER OF MINE! YOU TOOK EVERYTHING! MY MEMORIES, MY LIFE, AND MY HAPPINESS!"

Her head then turned towards Kal'ren now. "AND YOU! YOU HAD NEVER CARED! I WAS JUST A MEANS TO AN END. AND WHEN IT DIDNT WORK OUT, YOU BARTERED YOUR SOUL WITH A DEMON! LOVE WAS NEVER REAL, IT WAS FICTION! I'M JUST AN OBSESSION FOR YOUR FLAWS!"

Adonis's hands sought purchase on her shoulders, to roughly rattle her as the glow in his hands continued to ward of the influence of evil that encompassed her frame.

"This isn't you, my daughter!" He said, seeking to reason with her. He didn't want to lose her, not after everything else.

But fate had another answer to this disturbance as Naralinthe's blade found a place between Adonis and pierced through the surface of Kelz's armored chest. The decisive blow forced Kelz to fall to the ground as the shadows faded from the ethereal plane in which they had come.

Bereft with grief, Adonis tried to pull Kelz into his arms and placed his hand over the place of her fatal wound. But it did nothing to rouse her. And Kal'ren was forced to stay his claw as the Nethermancer shouted at him to stand down. Even Allasticus was prepared to stop his father, if the grief would turn into aggression towards Naralinthe. It was chaos within this party of allies, and only one knew the truth. Tears raced down her face as she looked to the younger ward, her friend, and potential family.

Like memories, her body would be confined beneath the earth next to her mother.

Years would pass as her eternal slumber had received all the preventative care and love the living could give her. But the evil that had taken hold of her that day would someday bring her back... You can either die a hero, or you live long enough to see yourself become the villain.

( @dinthoqaf - thanks so very much for this ask. Was fun to explore this.

Tagging: (Family first) @grumpyoldfker - sorry dad @allasticus - sorry bruh @lazraelbandtherion - you asked for this >:(

@kalren-daelish - :( I feel bad for you.

@sanguinesorceress (Youuuu) @themadamelioness :< BUT WHY MADAMEEEE - THE WHEEL OF TIME IS SO MEAN XD @nixalegos - I dont think I quite did your character justice, but ... I TRIED. You are so dang methodical, and I suspect he would have done more than this. XD )

[sanguinesorceress]

Your character receives an anonymous package. Within it is a seems to be a bag of extremely fine black and gold sand. A small handwritten card within reads: "Pour me out but don't worry, I'll always return to the bag when you're done." (The sand will magically create the image of a person's face or the entirety of their person as a perfect replica of how you remember them. This person though has to be deceased for it to work. Who does your character think of? Why them? Sending this to a bunch of folks for the holidays so they have a surprise IC gift that might also hit them in the feels! Happy Holidays!)

[ Music ]

Somewhere in the Ghostlands, where restless undead shamble tirelessly among the ruins of Quel’thalas, a derelict building hosts one of her many ‘lairs.’  On this particular Winter’s Veil evening, the Sorceress sat in a black-leather, wingback chair, thumbing through a hefty tome in search of a particular incantation—if for no reason other than to refresh her memory prior to its use.

Where a side table once housed a glass of Nightrose wine, a small box manifested seemingly out of nowhere.  Absently, Malakortana reached for the crystal glass, only to discover the small gift box in its place.  Long, spidery fingers brushed against the black bow, triggering the box to open.  Apathetic to the holidays, it came as an astonishing surprise to receive anything at all, for who in their right mind would send a gift to a creature of her nature?  Surely this was some sort of mistake, or a translocative accident at best.

Just how the parcel made its way into the Sorceress’ possession was a mystery— one that piqued her curiosity and raised her hackles at the same time.  How did the sender manage to circumvent her magical wards?  She would make a point of inspecting her perimeter later.

Sable lips twisted into a display of annoyance as she peered over at the now opened package.  If the act of accidentally touching it did not unleash any malevolent curse, what harm could come from inspecting it further?  Setting the tome on her lap, Malakortana hooked a single, ashen digit into the ties and lifted the hefty bag out of the box.

Eyes as black as a moonless midnight sky passed over the bag, and upon discovering the attached handwritten note, she read it. 

"Pour me out but don't worry, I'll always return to the bag when you're done."

An adept arcanist, Malakortana could sense its magical properties, despite not knowing the nature of its design—yet.  She poured the bag’s contents onto the floor… and waited.

The moment the sand touched the ground, it coalesced into a vortex of black and gold that swiftly took the shape of a masculine silhouette she would know anywhere…

Sable lips parted in astonishment, though no gasp departed from her open mouth.  A timeless creature, the Sorceress discarded the unnecessary need to breathe long ago. …Seldrin?!

She rose abruptly from her chair and the tome came crashing to the ground with a hollow ‘thud!’ as the scarlet wraith drifted across the room with a hand outstretched to touch him.

How!?  I searched every corner of the Shadowlands and could not find you… where are you?!

The instant her claws grasped at his silhouette, the sand magically returned to the bag— just as the instructions explained it would.

Long she stood there in the dark… a silent statue among the rows of leather-bound books.  And like the holy relics in stories of unexplained miracles, this one also cried tears of blood.

@dinthoqaf

[duraxxor]

All these questions are from people trying to make us feel bad or insulted for what we are or what we do. I find it funny that their labels are so common, but what has someone called you that was an insult? Anything unexpected?

" Contrary to the beliefs of many, I have been called many things. Some as common as the opening that is the asshole. Others were more creative like a more recent one such as the lamprey shark. " The Lord would give a brief shrug on that one. But in that moment, he would bow his head, cascading ghostly tresses to veil his eyes. Calloused claws looped over one another with one being a subtracted exception. " But there has always been one word that I hold all ill intent towards. I word that I shall not utter even for an audience. "

Oh yes. A singular word that had always caused his blood to churn like an oily fryer. Centipedes skittering and crawling in his stomach that were ravenously attacking one another for supremacy. A word that held contempt not for the word's translation, but those that wore it on their sleeve and black hearts. Beings that shared a similarity to his origin and other elves of undeath. And there was one amongst them that had set that crude example of that would lay the foundation for this hatred. For not only was her indulgence insatiable, but her shame knew no bounds when it came to her possessiveness. And that word is...

S̸͚̦͈͉̠̭̫͉̋̉̆̅͋̈͠ͅ a̷̻̮̫̘̭̫͇̒̕͝ ṇ̷̺͔̟̪̦̺̓͜ '̶̨̛̘̥͈͎̜̣͕̪̍͊́̕l̵͎͎̋̈́̍̿͒͗ a̶̧̢̧͍̟̜̝̥̘̟̐̎͌̊́͌͘ y̴̨̠̱̭̼̗̪̥̎ n̸̨̮͖̜̗̯͚̤̦̖̅͊̂̑̄̊̚͝

[ @dinthoqaf hope it didn't suck all the fun out of it ;) He gets a bit touchy about this one word ]

[allasticus]

Your character receives an anonymous package. Within it is a seems to be a bag of extremely fine black and gold sand. A small handwritten card within reads: "Pour me out but don't worry, I'll always return to the bag when you're done." (The sand will magically create the image of a person's face or the entirety of their person as a perfect replica of how you remember them. This person though has to be deceased for it to work. Who does your character think of? Why them? Sending this to a bunch of folks for the holidays so they have a surprise IC gift that might also hit them in the feels! Happy Holidays!)

“It is not just your duty—it is your responsibility.”

The Patriarch’s biting words reverberated in Allasticus’s mind like the echo of a hammer striking iron. Father and son locked eyes, one radiating unyielding resolve, the other simmering with defiance. Yet, as always, Allasticus felt himself shrinking beneath his father’s piercing gaze, his defiance faltering in the shadow of that iron will.

“I understand…” he muttered, his voice barely audible as he averted his eyes.

Adonis flared his nostrils, his tone sharpened to a cutting edge. “Spare the fire, boy. Save it for the battlefield—whether it’s the dirt or the ballroom. This is the path you must walk as my heir. Do you hear me?”

A flicker of irritation crossed Allasticus’s face, but it was fleeting, swallowed by the weight of the moment. “I hear you,” he said quietly, his words clipped but obedient.

Adonis gave a curt nod and turned on his heel, his stride steady and deliberate as he exited the room. Just as he crossed the threshold, Haldir stepped into his place, his presence measured and deferential.

“Package for you, my Lord,” the Majordomo announced, presenting an ornate box adorned in intricate patterns of silver and gold. “There is no name… other than yours.”

Allasticus barely acknowledged him, his gaze distant, his mind still heavy with the lingering weight of his father’s words. Haldir, accustomed to the young lord’s moods, placed the package on a nearby table and excused himself with a quiet bow, leaving Allasticus to his solitude.

The silence that followed was a reprieve, though it carried a subtle hum of tension. Allasticus approached the box, his hands hesitating briefly before settling on either side of it. His curiosity, tinged with a faint gratitude for the distraction, compelled him to lift the package and turn it over in his hands.

With careful deliberation, he opened the box and extracted a small, unassuming bag. His brow furrowed at the sight of it, confusion deepening as he read the accompanying card. Lowering the card, he returned his attention to the bag.

A voice in the back of his mind urged caution, but curiosity won out. He turned the bag upside down, watching as fine grains of sand spilled onto the floor in a quiet cascade.

At first, there was nothing—just an inert pile of sand and the faintest pang of guilt for the mess someone else would inevitably have to clean.

But then the sand stirred.

It seemed to awaken, shifting and coiling, rising into the air as ethereal strands twisted and wove together. Slowly, impossibly, the sand began to take form, and Allasticus’s breath caught in his throat.

The figure that emerged stole the air from his lungs.

His mother’s visage materialized before him, her features delicate and unmistakable, her expression serene. The calm in her eyes and the gentle curve of her smile shattered the stoic façade he had so carefully maintained. Memories surged forward, vivid and bittersweet, flooding his senses with emotions he had buried deep.

“I am so proud of you,” her voice sounded in his mind like a whisper carried on the wind.

Allasticus’s knees weakened, his head bowing as the bag slipped from his trembling fingers. His shoulders shook as he wept, raw and unguarded, the dam of his composure breaking at last.

@dinthoqaf

[susan-gampre]

♬ - DIRGE - a habit, hobby, or obsession they can’t seem to shake

Keisong, a particularly perky and perfectly gracious draenei, had found herself in discussion with a patron, one with such vested interest in the mother of sin herself. It had been a recurring trend, in Keisong's experience, this unwitting interest and wonderment people had for what Kei knew to be a brash but brilliant young lady; And she, one eager to sate the curiosity of those marveling the unknowing and unreachable Madam, would indulge those questions with honest answers. Answers they would never get out of the Madam herself, not being the most willing subject to chit chat.

With great consideration she would answer fully, "Perhaps it's among the more calm and collected activities of the Madam's interests, but she has confided into me that her time as a business owner showed her just how much she adores the art of penmanship. In her spare time, and with her earned coined, she invests in creating decorative letters or even hand designing the flyers for events hosted by the Brothel."

"She has quite the collection of ink pots, all sorts of necessary color theory sets or other rare inks, with varying sized and medium-requirement pens and interchangeable pen heads to mix with her endless beautiful feather plume handles. She has collected, in her near ten years as owner of the Sisters, stacks of different styles and textures of papers, some even scrolled, of all varying shades. There are numbers of graphite pencils stored in a collection cup and tracing formats for page filigree tucked away. She has even dedicated some space to collect different wax colors for her infamous rose seal-- Her more favorite place within the Brothel is her office for the sole reason that her calligraphy and writing supplies are all organized for indulging in her spare time."

Keisong has taken the moment now to recount just exactly what she has shared as though to ensure herself she hadn't overstepped before she acknowledges the inquirer with a bright smile, "Now, that's not too much information I imagine!"

@dinthoqaf Thank you for the query! Sorry it took a minute, hobbys and habits or obsessions, I found, was quite difficult to write for Sue... I've never really put too much thought of her mundane activities, the little things that bring her joy. It's added a layer to Sue I never would of thought of before!

[nixalegos]

🍁 - Probably had this several times over, but where did you get the inspiration for your character? How did they get their start?

I made Nix somewhere around the early release of Ulduar back in 2009? And his original 'take' was a much different character then he's since become. He was to be a Machiavellian schemer, a political creature, a mostly non combatant who used coercion and leverage to get anything accomplished. I'd just gotten done reading 'The Prince' and 'The 48 Laws of Power', and thought what fun it would be to make a less direct and in your face slimeball for roleplay. This, did not last. Nix has worn alot of hats since his indulgent would be dark confidant origin. Been alot of things. I could not write the version of Nix he is now without those terrible fumbles and mis-firing character arcs. It'll be interesting to see what he's like 15 years from now. Thanks @dinthoqaf

[serenas-dawnsinger]

🍁 - I saw in your profile that your character was promised for an arranged marriage. As someone newer to your OC, how did that come to be? It's not something I see very often in the RP community as a whole. Was there a particular reason for it?

Send 🍁 + Any question you’ve been curious to know about my muse!

Let me first preface all this by saying that Serenas and her brother @quelios-dawnsinger and the House Dawnsinger lore has been baking for some years as a large consequence for their mother @safrona-shadowsun to deal with, and I have finally opened the oven door to it all to see how it weaves together. And I've been thankful to see some interest spark, including this question!

It is purely a less than ideal situation formulated by my own idea of a very traditional old House of Quel'thalas who's most controlling members are meddling to assure the youngest generation is being of use according to their own agenda of relevance. House Dawnsinger sets itself on some prideful prestige entwined with the blessings of particular power, and it also feeds into an ugly inflated sense of destiny and worth in the older generations.

Serenas is seen as a burden that refused to walk down the traditional path as a Dawnsinger Priestess, learning to heal and incinerate through the purity of the Dawn's flames, as those before her were meant to be. It is a 'break' in standard form impacted by the loss of Serra's mother and discovered turn to the Void, which is seen as a heinous betrayal to the Dawnsinger name in particular, as the Void kills the ability of innate fire techniques that the Red Dragonflight taught their ancestral line.

In the council's eyes, Serenas has become an aimless girl that is draining on their own resources and giving nothing back, so her worth has been pooled into finding her a good match in another reputable House, while also keeping her potential as a Priestess to perhaps blossom later, or pass to the next generation.

And Serenas, of course, like anyone unhappy with their life being planned for them, has decided to rebel! The Rp aspect has only really came after this point in her introduction, and I've been very pleased to see a few interact and engage with this newer character, and I'm fully welcoming more!

Thank you, @dinthoqaf!

[nahisummerhold]

Your Childhood enemy shows up on your doorstep, begging for help, what do you do?

"You’re a unique woman," he said simply.

*****

“Your beauty is unique,” a young courtier in a group of many said to Nahilvi.

With a smile she went to reply to him, when Xavanthye spoke up, “Nahilvi, sweetheart, you do know that is not a compliment right? He just can’t find anything nice to say.” 

Nahi and Xavan had not gotten along since Nahi had thrown an egg at the Firefold’s heir at a party twenty years back. The snarky comment did not bother her much; she was used to his attitude, but the young man that had said it to her was colored almost as red as his hair. The smile on her face did not drop and she tucked her hand into his elbow, and looked at Xavanthye with a sugar wouldn’t melt on her tongue expression, “I like being different Xavan, so you just continue on seducing your fair skinned and fair haired ladies while I keep company with those that appreciate me.” 

The whole night Xavan mocked her, teased her about her curly hair, her skin tone, telling her she looked just like her mother who would not even be in court if she wasn’t the Diva. When he said that she would never be as good as those from noble breeding Nahi had thrown her head back with a cruel laugh and said, “Noble inbreeding you mean? Have you ever thought that if your mother hadn’t married her third cousin you might have something more than just your pretty looks to attract a woman to you with?” It might have not been true, the cousin marrying part, but now that she had said it people would at least wonder. 

It was hard to rattle Nahilvi’s confidence, even in her twenties, nothing they could say to her would make her feel worse than she did most days at home, a fact none of her circle other than her cousin Hamdil knew and he schooled his face because he did not want to get yelled at by her the next day for interfering in her defending herself. Court could be a cutthroat place and she had to fight for her place in it, just because her mother was treasured for her voice did not mean her daughter was. 

The looks Xavanthye had thrown at her all night said he would rather be stabbing her in the back over watching her at his parents spring soirée and Nahi didn’t mind a bit, he had started it after all. A childish reasoning for being so pleased at winning, but they were close to being children still.

When she left the party to go home she just made it to the entrance to the ‘children’s’ wing before she heard a voice behind her. “I shouldn’t let you get away with that.” 

Turning to put her back to the door she looked into Xavan’s eyes, “Not taking your date home tonight?”

“How could I take her home, even look at her all night with you looking so good across the room?” He asked with a low growl.

Nahi reached out and pulled him to her, “One of these days you are going to have to settle between if you hate me or want me.”

He pressed down on her door latch and pushed her body against the door to open it. “Why would I do that when we end up like this either way?”

*****

“Thank you. I hope you continue to think so.” Nahi replied as she looked up into his eyes.

(Thank you @dinthoqaf for the ask.)

(Thank you @allasticus for the compliment that fit so perfectly into this snippet)

[dinthoqaf]

(Not so) Dearly Departed

Journal Entry - 5471; Ammaelin's Arrival

The Operation had started off well enough. Skormosh, Nepenth, Varethuun, Ryo, Nezzok, and Runeva. Squad didn't fit given their strengths and abilities. These people stood up and over the common rank and file, not just by a head's height either. Each of them was a mountain amongst molehills, capable of downing dozens of people on their own if not far more. So the decimation of my Brothers forces was meant to be a cake walk, putting it into simplistic terms. What we expected and what we got was anything but. A trap, the best I can put it. I had assumed we were the one setting the ambush, but looking back at the accounts, I can only assume Ammaelin knew we would move and put his forces out as bait. He sacrificed them and it paid off. The Sanctum showed up and began to summarily dispose of those who'd gathered and amongst the fighting, a priest managed to send off a signal and in his usual gallant fashion, came riding in on his proto-drake, and slammed into my people like some sort of holy meteor, immediately putting their actions to rest.

I watched them through the Sanguine, curious to see if they could handle his machismo only to discover that every effort, aside from the few lucky strikes that managed to get past his defenses, did absolutely nothing. Magical in nature, surely. I need to find out -why- his fortitude has grown so strong over the years. When he interfered on behest of that god damned goblin and his half-breed wife, he didn't boast this sort of strength... Something has changed. I grow distracted though with my thoughts, as this entry is meant to be one to categorize events over hypothesization. When it became apparent those within the Sanctum weren't going to be able to handle them, I decided to insert myself into the ordeal, only to be summarily removed from play before I could even properly assimilate from my transference. Ammaelin's hammer, a relic similar to my Scythe I feel, was crafted with Holy Blessings during its creation and imbued with magical crystals containing the Light. A fearsome tool made to take people like me and mine off the board and it did its job well. As the goblins like to put it, he 'knocked me into next week'. Before I could hit another surface a portal opened behind him, taking me off to some remote part of the Arathi Highlands.

A trap within a trap and we'd all walked right into it. Another failure on my part, starting to mount and it grows so very tiring, especially when the Sanctum looks to me for answers. Still, this was unexpected as my Father waited for me on the other side and it became all the clearer. He had orchestrated all of this. Ammaelin's rise to and of power, the ambush of my people, and inevitably the bait I took that put me to stand before him. The old man was near as I remembered him. Well, save for the parlor of his grey, undead skin, and the crimson color of his eyes. He was no longer living, that much I could divine, and before words could be set, he was upon me. He moved with a speed I could scarcely reconcile. I'd never seen Undead move in such a fashion, especially magical ones. It was as if he'd taken on teachings of Pandaren Monks and Demon Hunters to mix with his own magical acquirements over the years. If this did not worry me, I would be eager with curiosity, ravenous with it like Varethuun, if I did not know what it could spell for me. It took everything I had to keep him back and worse still, as I felt Nezzok's connection across the Sanguine fade as he was captured, I faltered, distracted. Krownos made his move, set upon me in a grapple, declaring how easy it'd be for him to take Ammaelin once I had been consumed. I could see it in his eyes. We were all but tools to fuel his fire, a hunger I could relate to well, but... fate has a way of taking things into control when one least expects it. By all accounts, I should not be here to write this, I should have been absorbed but Krownos' arm burst into fel flame and moved of its own accord. It turned on him, grabbed at his face and neck, throttling him to the point it burned his undead flesh. His body revolted and it's in this instant I could feel Sanelastus within him. His spirit, soul, whatever remained, was fighting to keep him from obtaining me, condemning me to the same fate he had suffered.

Sanelastus saved me, but to what end, I do not know for the conflict was enough that Krownos howled with an unkempt rage and retreated, feuding with himself. Sanelastus bought me time...

I will not, cannot, let it go to waste. Ammaelin's boost in power must be discovered and finding out what happened with my Father and why may prove critical to my and my Sanctum's very survival. Nezzok has been captured, held prisoner at my brother's estate, kept under lock, key, and holy power to contain his undead form. Ryo gathers a scouting party to discern more information and soon Zalilirah and I will put to task a two-pronged effort to at least try to handicap my Brother, to bring him to a more manageable level. I feel that if we can navigate properly and remove him from the board before my father decides to simply absorb him instead of using him like a pawn, we may find a way to actually take Krownos down as well.

( The above events are an IC recollection, a journal entry by Dinthoqaf, to help relate a portion of what occurred when he'd been removed from the event to keep him from aiding his own people. )

[vyvienne]

How Did I Get Here?

I flip through pages of parchment filled with notes, sketches and plenty of things scratched out. How did I get here, I find myself wondering?

A note. One note with four words.

"I have found you."

I knew immediately it was from my father. No one else knows where I am, other than the Sanctum and while I'm slow to trust some, I doubt anyone is randomly speaking about the quiet woman in the corner observing everything. Though is is essentially pointless for me to wonder how he has found me, I still have scribbled hundreds of possible thoughts, only to scratch each one out as being unconvincing to me.

As to why he has been searching for me, it is always the same. His insane drive to eradicate the "stain on his legacy". A lowborn girl who couldn't possibly carry his name. Since being formally adopted and acknowledged by Auntie Z as a Damora, Father Dearest has occasionally tracked me, attempted to track me or otherwise be an annoyance but hasn't, to my knowledge, actually tried to harm me again.

Not out of any restraint on his part. I believe out of caution. As I've grown in power, Eramis has watched from afar but not actively pressed me. I am making an assumption that he knows nothing of the Sanctum and feels I am alone, in grief and an easier target now. Instead of waiting, I have made the attempt to track him. I am sitting in a rather run down inn near Deadwind Pass cursing my lack of success in finding my query. My skills have truly suffered from my foray into familial bliss. No more though. It is time to retrain.

I find myself concerned about the Sanctum though. Not that I fear for its safety. While I still may not trust the Defiler completely I certainly trust his power and ability to watch after his own. It is simply that I know how conniving my father can be. Perhaps I should pen a note? Yes, that will quell these feelings of concern.

Dinthoqaf,

Forgive my lack of presence lately. I have been called away tracking a minor threat sub rosa but should not be gone much longer. I have not felt a need to use our link, but rest assured should the threat be larger than I can handle, I will reach out. With luck, I should return by week's end.

Light and Shadow,

Vyvienne

I read over the short lines, wondering if I should say more before deciding against it. My father is my own issue, one I am not quite ready to share with the others. In truth, his death should come quietly with a personal touch only a daughter can provide. We shall see in the days to come if I can deliver.

I fold and seal the note before handing it to Thorne, my ever present shadow. She sighs, shaking her head as she shifts and carefully takes the note in her beak. I open the window and she's on the wind towards the Damp. I watch until I can no longer see her at the line of the horizon. I sigh then, feeling weary and suddenly wishing I already was sitting in front of the roaring fire with a bourbon in front of me.

Soon, I tell myself. If I find nothing, I will return soon.

@dinthoqaf

[kelzthalasbandtherion]

Your character receives an anonymous package. Within it is a seems to be a bag of extremely fine black and gold sand. A small handwritten card within reads: "Pour me out but don't worry, I'll always return to the bag when you're done." (The sand will magically create the image of a person's face or the entirety of their person as a perfect replica of how you remember them. This person though has to be deceased for it to work. Who does your character think of? Why them? Sending this to a bunch of folks for the holidays so they have a surprise IC gift that might also hit them in the feels! Happy Holidays!)

"Delivery!"

The voice carried through the door as Kelz made her way towards the apartment entrance. Upon unlocking the door and opening it, she was offered a small box from the courier. A few gold coins given in exchange as she took the package inside. Upon opening it, she revealed an ornately wrapped gift.

It was small and had some heft to it. And as she regarded the lack of tag, she felt immediate suspicion. For now, though, the present would be scooped up to rest beneath her arm as she made her way to her family's estate for Winter Veil.

With some coordination with the Majordomo, her gifts were already brought into the family room. A few hours of family bonding and gift exchanges were made, while the strange gift sat unopened beside her.

"Who's that from?" Her brother questioned as he peered around her.

"I don't know. It arrived on my doorstep this morning from the courier. Just... not sure if I'm ready to open it. They didn't leave a name."

Adonis's features darkened as he rose from his seat. A hand was outstretched pointedly. "Let me see that."

"W-What? No, it's a gift. It's..."

"Give it to me."

A disappointed sigh was heaved from her as she picked up the small parcel and offered it up in surrender to him. His hand held the gift balanced on a single palm, while his other hand began to glow with the light of the Eternal Sun. Beneath his illuminated hand the gift rattled with animation, causing both Allasticus and Kelz to shift in anticipation.

The paper that had concealed it burned away, allowing a simple silk black bag to take its place.

"Dad, wait what if it's-"

"Quiet." He said as the bag did not appear to be willed away so easily. It was not transparent from what they could tell, and magic would do little to reveal its contents now. A piece of parchment that had not burned floated towards the floor in response to the rough handling. But it didn't escape her brother's notice as he leaned forward to claim the written message and read it aloud for the Patriarch and his sister to hear.

"Let's pour it out, Dad." She suggested after hearing the instructions from her brother.

"No." He said with cold indifference and sought to pull the small thing away to dispose of it. But before he could get far, he would feel the weight of his daughter on his arm and her brother on the other. A hand waved over the place where his fingers clutched her gift.

"Dad, please! It's Winter's Veil!!!"

Haldir, who had been a silent onlooker throughout this exchange cleared his throat gently. But eventually Adonis would surrender his efforts to keep the gift away. The bag was pulled free as Kelz scurried to settle on the floor. The drawstring to the bag was loosened as the contents of gold and black sand spilled onto the surface. Kelz took in a gentle breath as she set a hand over the particles in hopes to create the image of a memory lost.

But the sand did not form a shape. The magic of this gift required something she no longer had.

"...It doesn't work," she declared with her hand slowly receding from the spilled sand. Disbelief etched on her features as her thoughts spiraled into thinking the gift was some hoax or prank.

Allasticus and Adonis both knew exactly who she was trying to bring back in the shifting sands. But her brother knew the torment that often lived in their father and made no move to try to animate the sand with his own hand. His hand curled at his side as he fought against the turmoil of the Matriarch's absence as well.

Tears that had often been shed on numerous accounts by her family threatened to return. But the motion of the Patriarch taking a knee beside her stopped the tears from running down the course of her cheeks. His hand settled on the sand as it began to stir from his contact and his memories. And as it started to take form, he cast his gaze away in response to the magic unfolding beneath his hand.

A startled gasp left Kelz as her hand sought to cover her mouth. The inexplicable tightness in her chest confirming the image that had been lost to her for years. The first of many warm tears rushed down the surface of her face as Adonis couldn't ignore his daughter's sobs.

The authenticity of her likeness seemed like life was expelled into the room for the first time in a long while. And Adonis could not ignore what his eyes saw. He could remember every part of her and held that image so fiercely that the sand seemed to become hardened by his desire to bring her back. Allasticus took a spot near his sister as they looked at the spectacle that now warmed their home once more. All of which were silent in remembrance of her legacy as the Matriarch, a beloved wife, and their mother. ( @dinthoqaf - you kill me with your asks. BUT I LOVE THEM <3 Q_Q

Mentions: @grumpyoldfker - oops. Sorry Dad :x & @allasticus - SOMEONE GET ME A DAMN TISSUE! )

[sanguinesorceress]

Your Childhood enemy shows up on your doorstep, begging for help, what do you do?

She was always powerful… at least that was what she had been told.

Malakortana’s innate abilities quickly surpassed those of her peers and she was pulled from her studies to be privately tutored— honed, like a weapon.  A child pushed beyond her threshold until she broke… and was forced to do it over and over again until she didn’t. 

“You may bend, but you can never break,” he told her.

She was never permitted a normal childhood.  She didn’t know how to play.  It wasn’t until decades later she learned what a ‘prodigy’ was.  Was it real? Or was it all a carefully crafted lie used to manipulate the mind of a young girl into thinking she held a world of potential within the palm of her tiny hand?  Did it matter?  It had worked.

His obsession with legacy molded her into a lethal force to be reckoned with.  Her devotion to revenge carried her the rest of the way.  Even now, Malakortana would not stop until she achieved mastery in all things, no matter the cost.

In life… and especially in death, the Sorceress had no shortage of enemies.  Jealousy was a dagger hurled among rivals, and she was often a target for their scorn.  Any one of them could seek entry at her door and all would be met with the same outcome— a merciless end.

Death moves among us all... enacting her will without prejudice or remorse.  It is better to risk whatever danger lay ahead than to brush shoulders with the Scarlet Reaper.

Tread lightly unto chaos...

@dinthoqaf

[lilyofporcelain]

What is one thing Laeynna would like to change and how would she change it? This can be as simple as the color theme in a room all the way up to something major in their life or the world. For better or worse, their choice too. Dealers choice.

Oh, there are so many things Laeynna would change. So many.

The overall glaring one is reversing Ankalei's death and the circumstances surrounding that. Although picturing how things would be different by comparison is difficult to do as Ankalei died relatively young before she had a chance to really experience the world or life in general.

More recent days have brought forth other things that she'd do differently, however. Laeynna has never handled things that frighten her or make her nervous particularly well. If she hasn't resigned herself to something, she has usually actively, literally fled from it. Having spent a lot of time isolating herself from people, she struggles with the notion of upsetting and disappointing others and can, admittedly, get carried away with it. If she'd known things were as they are, after Zaihne brought her back from the City of Threads, she would have outright disappeared and vanished and said nothing to anyone.

That's still something she thinks about fairly regularly, but is too deep in things that she can't, in good faith, do that. Forced character growth? Forced character misery?

Thanks, @dinthoqaf!