#heartsbane coven

[tillyashton]

Scenes from the Past

Rain lashed against the warped wood of the cabin, a relentless drumbeat that mirrored Tilly’s hammering heart. Outside, the wind howled like a banshee, tearing at the loose shutters. Inside, the flickering firelight cast grotesque shadows that danced on the log walls.

Tilly clutched a steaming mug of chamomile tea, its herbal bitterness a poor substitute for comfort. The rumors had been swirling in Drustvar for weeks – whispers about the Ashton homestead on the outskirts, about the shrunken hogs and the unnatural silence that clung to the place like a shroud. Some folks even dared to say "witch."

A sudden thump on the roof made Tilly jump. Her gaze darted nervously towards the small window overlooking the pig sty. There was nothing but a tangle of skeletal branches clawing at the night sky. But the memory of her earlier visit to the sty lingered – the vacant eyes of the shrunken pigs, their skin stretched taut over bony frames.

Taking a deep breath, Tilly tried to rationalize it away. Maybe it was just a disease. A particularly nasty one that stunted growth. But the whispers spoke of more. Of strange lights dancing in the night, of unnatural wails echoing across the fields.

A twig snapped outside, sending a fresh jolt of fear through Tilly. She strained to hear, her senses on high alert. Was it an animal? Or something… else?

Suddenly, a rasping came from her window frame. Tilly gasped, her grip tightening on the mug until her knuckles turned white. It creaked open a sliver, revealing the darkness beyond.

A singsong voice cooed from outside. "Miss Tilly? It's Evelyn."

Relief washed over her, so sudden and intense it almost made her dizzy. It was just Evelyn, her Evey, from down the road. She'd offered to check in on her after the rumors started swirling.

Tilly scrambled to the window, throwing it open. Evelyn stood there, her blush smeared from the weather. The lantern she carried swung like a pendulum from the crook in her elbow and cast a golden glow on her worried features. Rain dripped from her oilskin coat, soaking the ground below. 

"Evey! Thank goodness it's you. I thought…" Her voice trailed off. The weight of the night was catching up to her.

"Thought it was a banshee come for a visit, hm?" came another singsong chuckle, the sound surprisingly warm. "Heard all those silly rumors about your place. Nonsense, I say. Just a nasty case of hog flu going around."

She climbed inside, wiping her boots on the windowsill.  Even with her reassurance, the words felt hollow. But Evelyn's presence was a comfort, a shield against the encroaching darkness.

"Let’s light a candle and read by the firelight," she said, her voice warm and kind. "Seems like we both could use a bit of calming down tonight."

As Tilly set the lantern on her desk, she glanced back at the window. The wind still howled, but somehow, it sounded less menacing now. Maybe with Evelyn by her side, maybe with a glowing lantern, she could brave the storm – both the one outside and the one brewing within her own heart.

[eldridgecandell]

“Don’t listen to it! Keep your mind clear!” Eld roared as he dragged the torch about the pair of them. The many eyes and voices clawing from out in the dark as they prepared to descend upon the hunter and his charge.

[aidan-hartwood]

About Aidan Hartwood

The basics ––– –

NAME: Aidan Hartwood

AGE: 26

BIRTHDAY: November 13th

RACE: Human

GENDER: Male

SEXUALITY: Straight

RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Single

Physical appearance ––– –

HAIR: Brown

EYES: Bright Green

HEIGHT: 6′0

BUILD: Lean Muscle

DISTINGUISHING MARKS: None that are visible

COMMON ACCESSORIES: Aidan carries a scythe fashioned with the bones and parts of a Wicker Construct he killed in Drustvar. A belt with a few potions. And an amulet with a wicker fetish tied to the end that he never takes off.

FACE CLAIM: None

Personal ––– –

PROFESSION: None specifically. Aidan travels around doing his master's bidding or searching for the lost tomes of Jedelan. On occasion he will take an odd job here or there to make some money on the side.

HOBBIES: Gambling, Aidan loves dice games. Occasional drinking. Reading as he tries to learn more about fel magic and demons.

LANGUAGES: Common

RESIDENCE: Varies, Aidan travels all over and stays where he can.

BIRTHPLACE: Fallhaven, Drustvar

RELIGION: The Light, he doesn't really worship, but believes in it.

PATRON DEITY:  None

FEARS: Losing himself to fel magic, Undead

Relationships ––– -

Mother - Diana Hartwood (Alive)

Father - Brent Hartwood (Alive)

Uncle - Adrian Hartwood (Deceased - killed by the Heartsbane)

Ex-lover - Kendra Thorncroft (Alive - Aidan is unaware of her whereabouts after the events that took place in Drustvar)

Backstory and Other Info––– -

The Beginning

Born in the town of Fallhaven Aidan had a simple life growing up, his family owning a farm they would provide for the town, though his father worked the silver mines instead leaving the farm to Aidan and his uncle. He helped as much as he could growing up as a kid, and officially began helping run the farmstead once he was a teenager. Though he longed to be more, wanting to become a Tidesage.

Life was good. That is until Drustvar fell to the Heartsbane coven…

Perhaps one of the lucky ones, though Aidan would disagree, he was spared the fate of Fallhaven when his girlfriend ran away with him to "avoid a fate worse than death" according to her. Aidan would soon find out she had been recruited into the Heartsbane Coven…

Though he escaped Fallhaven he would soon find himself temporarily a prisoner of the Heartsbane coven as his girlfriend put him under the spell of the coven to keep him from being killed or turned into a wicker construct. Aidan does not remember his time under the thrall of the Heartsbane, only that he awoke near a dock where he would soon be found by some ferryman. On his person was a strange wicker fetish amulet and a note telling to never take it off as it would protect him.

Though he survived his brief encounter with the Heartsbane Coven Aidan was not the same, he was not aware of the side effects of the spell that was placed on him and then removed by his girlfriend. Since having the spell lifted Aidan began to have a run of bad luck and random times. Simple things like tripping, or spilling a drink, or a bad roll of dice.

Surviving the Heartsbane

After escaping the fate of his fellow villagers in Fallhaven Aidan found himself within the city of Boralus. He was lost and angry. It was during this time that he was approached by a powerful warlock. Perhaps sensing his hunger for power and desire to seek justice against the coven he offered Aidan a pact, and ice cream. It was an offer Aidan couldn't refuse, nor did he think twice about the ramifications of making a deal with a warlock for part of his power.

The warlock Percy gifted Aidan the power of a warlock and taught him how to harness fel magic, in exchange Aidan had to offer his soul by having it tied to a soul stone in Percy's possession.

With his new powers Aidan initially returned to Drustvar, taking the fight to the witches and doing what he could to help drive them out of Drustvar. And since then Aidan has served and done the bidding of his new master; going out and hunting people, demons, and all manner of creatures to collect souls for his master's schemes.

Vilthea the Watcher

One of Percy's demons, and the one he tasked with specifically watching over Aidan to make sure he does as he's told. She spends most of her time around him, fighting beside him, and watching from the shadows when it calls for such the occasion. Percy uses their connection to have her steer Aidan in the direction he wants to collect souls when asked.

Vilthea, however, has an agenda of her own. Having been summoned to Azeroth before by a warlock named, Jedelan, she seeks his grimoire that was lost after his death, and uses her charms to get Aidan to help her in her quest. Promising him the knowledge and power within the book.

Secrets of Jedelan

Jedelan the Seeker was a powerful warlock, and Vilthea's former master. Though he was powerful, he was more well known amongst his peers for his passion of acquiring more knowledge. All that he learned, all the knowledge he acquired over the years, was stored in several books he kept in his private study, though none held mre promise of power and knowledge of Fel and Demons than his personal Grimoire.

Sometime during the war against the Lich King Jedelan disappeared, his whereabouts? Unknown. His fate? Uncertain. Many speculate he perished in the cold wastelands of Northrend. Some say he disappeared into the Twisting Nether to further his knowledge. No one truly knows, not even Vilthea, much to her dismay. Vilthea seeks her old master's collection of books, particularly his Grimoire, wanting that knowledge and power for herself.

This, however, proved to be a problem. Upon Jedelan's unknown disappearance his personal belongings were all taken; some by fellow warlocks and some by looters just looking to sell anything for gold. This lead to his many books being scattered across the realm. So now Vilthea passionately searches for any clues or whispers that could lead to finding the lost tomes of Jedelan. To help in this quest she has enlisted Aidan, giving him information she gets so that they can follow any leads and try to hunt down Jedelan's tomes.

[bite-of-witchcraft]

The Hexblade

Fallen leaves crunched beneath the soles of Amelia's boots as she moved through the dense forest of Drustvar, her eyes diligently scanning her surroundings. Miles away from any road or settlement, at the foot of the mountains that divided the providence. Trees loomed tall overhead, casting a dappled shade on the forest floor. She could hear the sound of a babbling brook nearby, and the rustle of leaves as small animals scurried about.

As she approached an old, dilapidated cabin, she couldn't help but feel a sense of foreboding. The roof was caved in, and the windows were boarded up. The wood of the cabin was rotting away, and vines had grown up the sides, wrapping around the structure like a snake.

The old, weather-worn structure looked like it had been abandoned for years. She carefully pushed open the creaky door and stepped inside, her free hand hoving just above the few potions strapped to her satchel. The interior was musty and dark, with cobwebs clinging to the corners. An eerie atmosphere that did little to sway Amelia from exploring what was left of the single-room cabin.

Her boot nudged a broken and charred wicker idol on the ground, one crafted not from Heartsbane but older, one Levana Addington. Amelia had chased rumors and folktales of this ancient woman, a practitioner of Drust witchcraft during the Order of Ember's absence and long before The Mother had formed the Heartsbane Coven. After three years of searching and countless wrong cabins and ruins, she had finally found what remained of the Grand Witches' hideaway.

Uncorking a vial no bigger than her pinky, Amelia drank the bright orange fluid. Her eyes burned for several minutes as she winced in pain, forcing them shut and pressing her palms into the sockets. She doubled over just as the pain subsided, and blinked rapidly as the pink hue of her eyes shifted into a feline-like shape. The cabin appeared blurry but things that were once hidden could now be seen. Despite the decades that passed there was still magic in the wards, weakened over time but still a threat to a trespasser's life if one carelessly walked upon the runes. A faded shimmer of an illusionary spell lingered beneath a window across the room, a spot in the floorboard where something had been hidden.

With utmost caution, Amelia proceeded towards her destination, ensuring that her every step was both calculated and precise. Her ultimate goal was to uncover a cache of ancient knowledge, a tome of spells and hexes believed to have been lost to the ravages of time. As she approached the location, she planted her boots firmly on either side of the illusioned floorboard and drew her wand, her long skirt pulled to one side. With a flick of her wrist and a muttered incantation in a language unknown to most, Amelia cast a simple but effective dispel. The fake board shattered and dispersed into nothingness, revealing a small wooden box that had been hidden away amidst the dirt and cobwebs.

As she confidently sheathed her wand, a smug smirk crept upon her face. She knelt down with an air of authority and claimed her prize. Gently blowing away the thick layer of dust that had collected on the wooden lid, she opened the box with trembling hands. Her heart pounded with anticipation as she peered inside, eager to see the treasure that awaited her. However, instead of a tome or a grimoire, she found a large, silver needle that had been transformed into a dagger. The blade was adorned with an ominous skull at the guard, sending chills down her spine. Disappointment washed over her as she inspected the blade, her lips flattening with frustration. She muttered under her breath as she continued to examine the weapon before finally noticing the folded parchment tucked away inside the box.

With gentle care, she delicately unfolded the note, wary not to damage the brittle and aged parchment. Her initial disappointment was quickly replaced by intrigue as she poured over the sketches of the dagger's intricate design and meticulously detailed notes regarding its forging process. Amelia scolded herself for hastily judging the Hexblade; it was evident that this weapon held more power than met the eye and could even prove to be a more valuable bounty than an old hag's grimoire. Despite the noticeable absence of the three bone-carved charms that typically adorned the pommel, the instructions for creating them appeared relatively straightforward and could be replicated using modern-day methods.

With a sense of satisfaction, Amelia firmly clasped the lid shut, ensuring that the precious artifact was securely stored within. She held it carefully under her arm, mindful of its age, and made her way methodically out of the crumbling cabin. After years of fruitless searches and chasing rumors and legends, it was a thrill to finally have something tangible to show for her efforts. The excitement within her grew as she pictured herself back in the comfort of her own home, delving into the intricacies of the ancient weapon she had just acquired. With a determination to unlock its secrets and harness its full potential, Amelia couldn't wait to get started.

(The Hexblade was designed by Magical Kaleidoscope on Twitter)

[lythelle-bennington]

The Basics ––– –

Name: Lythelle Bennington

Alias: None

Age: 45

Birthday: October 1st

Race: Kul Tiran

Gender: Female

Marital Status: Single

Physical Appearance ––– –

Hair: Black

Eyes: Jeweled Ivy

Height: 5′7"

Build: Slim

Distinguishing Marks: Her eyes, an enchanting shade of ivy, held depths as mysterious as the Drustvar pines.They seemed to shimmer with an inner light, a verdant glow that contrasted strikingly with the inky blackness of her hair. This raven-hued cascade framed her face, each strand a polished obsidian thread, reflecting the world in a myriad of dark, shimmering reflections.

Tattoos: None.

Piercings: Ears.

Common Accessories: The necklace was a constant, a skeletal framework of ancient silver that clung to her collarbone like a shadow. Its allure lay not in the metal, however, but in the living jewels that adorned it. Each stone was a chameleon, shifting and changing with the whim of its wearer. With each change of dress, the void erupted into a dazzling display, mirroring the hues and textures of her ensemble.

Personal Information––– –

Profession: Investor

Hobbies: Reading, Traveling

Languages: Common

Residence: Stormwind

Birthplace: Drustvar

Religion: None

Patron Deity: None

Fears: Losing control

Relationships ––– -

Spouse: Single / None.

Children: None.

Parents: Lord Malachi Bennington & Lady Leandra Bennington.

Siblings: Morwen Bennington (Older Brother, alive).

Other Relatives: None.

Pets: None.

Romance ––– -

Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual

Preferred Emotional Role: submissive | dominant | switch

Love Language: Acts of Devotion

Relationship Tendencies: Prefers "pets", goveling, doting

Traits ––– -

* Bold your character’s answer.

Extroverted / In Between / Introverted

Disorganized / In Between / Organized

Close Minded / In Between / Open Minded

Calm / In Between / Anxious

Disagreeable / In Between / Agreeable

Cautious / In Between / Reckless

Patient / In Between /  Impatient

Outspoken / In Between / Reserved

Leader / In Between / Follower

Empathetic / In Between / Apathetic

Optimistic / In Between / Pessimistic

Traditional / In Between / Modern

Hard-working / In Between / Lazy

Cultured / In Between / Uncultured

Loyal / In Between / Disloyal

Faithful / In Between / Unfaithful

Additional information ––– –

Smoking Habit: Ocassionally.

Drugs: Never.

Alcohol: Frequently.

RP Hooks ––– –

Heartsbane Coven:

Lythelle was more than just a beautiful face. There was an aura of mystery that clung to her like a shroud. Rumors whispered of her wealth, a fortune amassed with a speed and ease that defied explanation. Some said she was a pirate queen, others a smuggler, and still others a ruthless businesswoman. But none of these theories could fully explain the extent of her riches.

As her wealth grew, so too did the whispers. Darker tales began to circulate, painting Lythelle as something more sinister. It was said that she was a witch, a member of the infamous Heartsbane Coven. Tales of dark rituals and forbidden magic were whispered in hushed tones, and Lythelle’s emerald eyes took on a sinister glow in the minds of the superstitious.

Perhaps there was merit to their claims. Perhaps there wasn't.

[wolf-of-stormwind]

i had i dream about a drust/kultiran druid, her mother was a witch of the heartsbane coven (I remember she tried to like stab me or something but i dont fully remember) and we like drank tea or something, then she asked me to help her with a ritual or something? but i woke up before we did and now i wanna make her in game

[maxparkhurst]

BLOOD. -What types of injuries has your muse sustained? What was the worst? 

Injuries are not an uncommon occurrence. Either sibling has sustained superficial hurts incurred by their alchemical hijinx. More often than not, they are peppered with cuts and burns. Alchemy, after all, is quite hazardous to an individual’s health. If a cross-section were to be taken of a Parkhurst's lung, you’d be forgiven in thinking it was charred. Years of inhaling caustic chemicals have turned their insides a tad softer and a pinch blacker than they should appear. All of this is to say that the Parkhursts value their health as a gambler values their life’s savings. And while some injuries are worse than others, such as Max’s missing eye or Augustine’s disfigured hand, none of them are deemed the worst. No. That title is saved for a chilled evening deep in Drustvar’s taiga. There, the eldest sibling danced intimately with death itself.

Augustine fumbled with the clasps, hands shaking and head buzzing. He couldn’t understand why anyone decided to wear a coat with marble-enameled buttons. Wooden ones were just as serviceable and far easier to undo with blood-slick fingers. After so many failed attempts, he spat out a curse and yanked the dagger from the man’s sheath. Damn all this courtesy to the dead. He sawed away at the fabric with amateur precision and wretched the dismantled coat aside, revealing a bandoleer that housed a variety of vials. Relief warmed his chilled veins as he plucked three unscathed.

“You won’t be needing these,” he murmured, “Will you?”

The corpse once possessed a name- as all dead things do. In life, the man was callused and cold. His steel-sharp gaze haunted every corner and all of Augustine’s waking moments, plucking him from the shadows with predatory ease. Even with the light snuffed from them, that gaze still found him in his most guilty moment. Bulging and wide. Set in an unsettling amalgamation of horror, shock, and amusement. The man once named Abel Eloi died with a smile etched on his lips. Humored by the notion that prey had claimed predator; that this meek kit possessed fangs and claws of his own. Augustine rose to his feet and stumbled under a wave of vertigo. Whether the headiness was from disgust or elation, he had not decided. He wiped the blade clean on the shredded coat, shoved it between his belt and pant loop, and then kicked past the corpse and its revolver empty of the last bullet. Material items held no value to the dead, after all. Streaks of gold and maroon gorged the sky as dusk crept over the horizon. Night would fall soon. Pines and oaks, their leaves ethereally sanguine, scraped at the firmament of the Crimson Forest. Smaller plants like aspens and alders added a lush depth that filled the air with dense pockets of silence. In the distance, Augustine heard the yip and howl of hounds drunk on the hunt. He scanned the wilderness. There was no one besides them, the wind, the quiet brush, and the occasional spindle-limbed shade - remnant wraiths sewn by the hands of the Heartsbane Coven, unliving and forever burning- that shambled through the gloom. If there were men concealed in the boughs, they harbored no interest in showing themselves. His shadow, stretched long and dark, guided him to where his sister laid limp like a doll.

Augustine had read these kinds of scenes in novels. They described blood like it was a painting, idyllic in nature and otherworldly charming. Authors had the penchant for glossing over the fact that blood was messy. It so rarely pooled stagnant. Her blood had mixed with his blood, which had mixed with the dirt and mud and grass and whatever the hell else until he wasn’t even sure who or what was crusting under his finger nails. It all made his stomach churn with unrest. He swallowed hard, stealing a glance at the venous red that stained the undergrowth, and clawed at his sister’s shoulders.

Max gasped, ragged and wet, as she was rolled onto her back. She pressed a hand firm against her stomach. Between her fingers seeped crimson threads. A futile attempt to keep herself from unraveling. She bristled, overtaken by a coughing spasm, before spitting up crimson gruel onto her chest. A dark needle pierced his heart as she grew still and quiet.

“Max…?” Augustine whispered as he gathered her in his arms. Her skin felt as cold as glass. He tried to shake a bit of warmth into her, and to place a bit of strength in his voice. Though to his ears, he only sounded lost and small. “Maxinora?”

There was a long beat of silence that made Augustine question if she’d heard him or not. Then came her gossamer soft reply, “Auggie…”

Max’s eye fluttered open, her gaze slow to find her brother. She peered through him with a vacancy that belied uncertainty. She was unsure. Unsteady.

“I’m here.” Augustine forced a thread-bare smile despite the heat collecting in his throat and the sting threading his eyes.

Clarity warmed her gaze a beat later than he’d have hoped. Max wheezed a tired laugh as she lifted her hand and revealed her wounds. Her blouse bloomed red from where she’d been unseamed at the stomach. She cupped his chin, directing his eyes away from the gray stuffing that fell out of his rag doll sister.

He could barely hear her speak those last words. Such dense words that ushered a silence thick enough to smother the taiga’s timberland.

Her smile turned his insides cold.

“I’m sorry…”

And for a moment, the world shattered beneath Augustine as his sister grew still and quiet in his arms.

Thank you for the ask @nixalegos!

[merelliahallewell]

A Step Back - Autumnhearth

Perched between the Shrouded Foothills and the Autumnvale, the Drustvari realm of Autumnhearth is full of sorrow and emptiness.

A hundred fifty years ago, the people there prospered and lived in peace. They proudly supported House Waycrest and guarded against the encroachment of elemental and trogg nuisances from the mountains and depths. Autumnhearth was a jewel of Drustvar until a series of misfortunes befell the ruling family and their realm, culminating in their mysterious deaths and the vanishing of an entire township.

The passage of time has obscured the details of these cataclysms, but the memory of the terror wrought upon Autumnhearth has never left the hearts of its inhabitants. What few brave souls still dwell within the region are as hardy as Drustvari come, scratching out a living on lands they are too stubborn to abandon to the monsters that still haunt the woods and vales.

Great potential lies in the once-prosperous mines and fields here despite the dark shroud that lies over them. Many caretakers have been appointed to oversee the territory by the Waycrests over the years in the hopes that Autumnhearth could be returned to its former glory. While some made valiant efforts, others refused to even dwell there for fear of the curses that surely lie upon it.

The Fourth War and horrific sorcery of the Heartsbane Coven left much of Drustvar ravaged, yet the heroes forged during the war offer a beacon of hope.

As reward for her service to the Order of Embers and Kul Tiras, Inquisitor Merellia Hallewell was granted stewardship over Autumnhearth. This reward, however, came with a mission: to cleanse the long-cursed land, and establish safety and security for the denizens long bereft of it.

[azerothexpanded]

Heartsbane Witches - History

While witchcraft has existed on the fringes of Kul Tiran society for a long time, the witches were disparate small groups, or single individuals. They wielded little power on the grand stage. A number were corrupted by Drust patrons who offered them power and knowledge in exchange for occasional servitude, but they were so few and far between that they could not truly weaken the nation enough for the Drust to return and rule over Kul Tiras again.

Gorak Tul recognized this, and eventually, the opportunity to change it came in the form of Meredith Waycrest. Her husband, Arthur, had become terribly sick- and no priest or doctor could seem to cure him, no matter the method used. She was stricken with grief over his impending death that she unintentionally made herself vulnerable to Gorak Tul. Just as he had so many times before, Gorak Tul appeared in her dreams, and he offered her a deal. She would never be parted from Arthur, and he would even be given lordship over Kul Tiras... all  in exchange for simple servitude, and help bringing him into this world. Meredith accepted in an instant... and thus was born the Heartsbane Coven that would devastate much of Drustvar.

It was not uncommon for Meredith to ask some of the noblewomen of Corlain over to her home- and so nobody batted an eye when they would come to Waycrest manor- some of the few people allowed inside. 

The people of Corlain believed they were helping her look after her husband- but in reality, Meredith was instructing her friends in the ways of wielding Gorak Tul’s gift of dark power. They would be the first to give themselves over to the magic after Lady Waycrest herself, forming the Heartsbane Coven. They were careful to keep their powers a secret, though- for the activities of the nobility would always attract curious eyes. 

Gorak Tul was not idle, either- and while Meredith was gathering new recruits in Corlain, the three most powerful witches under his command were instructed to travel by secret means to Waycrest Manor, where they would help train a new generation of witches. They would later be known as the Heartsbane Triad.

When the more experienced witches arrived in Corlain, they were guided into Waycrest Manor- and Gorak Tul promised Meredith their allegiance. It was here the Heartsbane Coven truly began their work- they needed powerful spellcasters to work the spells to bring forth Gorak Tul- and this was on top of the task of raising armies strong enough to take Kul Tiras.

They recruited women of all sorts from Corlain. In the manor and in the dark places of Corlain, the Coven began to flourish, teaching the women of Corlain how to tap into Tul’s magic, while the experienced witches devised complex rituals meant to raise strange and twisted armies. Wicker beasts, abominations of flesh, undead Drust... nothing would go unused.

Meredith went out on the steps of the manor, and made an announcement that her husband was on the mend- but that she would handle Drustvar’s business until he was better. This seemed to placate the anxious townsfolk, who had heard nothing of their lord for weeks and feared greatly for him. She had given herself command over the Waycrest Guard- and with this power, she began to work her spells over them- enslaving the entire guard population of Corlain to her will in a matter of days. 

More and more women joined the “sister circle,” which were thinly-veiled recruitment attempts that drew in more and more of Corlain’s women. They began wearing charms of wicker and preparing for the fall of the city and the conquest of the rest of Drustvar. Dissenters and people who saw too much began disappearing, and many townsfolk began to consider fleeing to other towns.

When the time was right, Meredith and many of her most devoted followers performed a powerful ritual- so powerful that it infused the very walls of the manor with Gorak Tul’s magic and opened up fissures in the ground outside. To complete the ritual, they slit their own throats- ascending to a horrific, more powerful form- they had become the Matrons of the Coven. The rest of the witches took to the streets and killed any who stood in their way- hunting them down with spells and often putting them under the same curse as the guards, binding them to the collective will of the Coven. 

With Corlain under their control, the witches spread rapidly over the western half of the region in the following weeks. Some towns fell quietly- with the witches infiltrating it and spreading their influence just as they had in Corlain. Others found themselves besieged by horrific monsters that the Coven had summoned- armies of twisted wicker creatures and twisted abominations of flesh knit together overwhelmed the local militia- when they weren’t enslaved by the Heartsbane curse already. 

Not all of the denizens of the towns were killed- in fact, the witches allowed a good number to escape, traveling in disguise among them. It was through these methods that they managed to infiltrate settlements even as far-flung as Boralus and Brennadam in preparation for when the Coven would wash over the rest of the kingdom. 

Eastern Drustvar was being prepared to fall just as quickly- Fletcher’s Hollow was nearly overrun by a witch-led army, while their invokers used souls to create more powerful wicker creatures in Barrowknoll. Fallhaven, Carver’s Harbor, and even Glenbrook were infiltrated by witches. Only Arom’s Stand seemed to be safe from the madness. 

On the cusp of their victory in Drustvar, the Coven found its advance halted. The efforts of a reborn Order of Embers and their stalwart allies in the Waycrest Guard, Drustvar Clerics, and Thornspeakers stopped- and then began to reverse the tide of dark magic washing over the region. The arrival of elite Alliance forces aligned with the 7th Legion also helped turn the tide, and eventually, the Order stormed Waycrest Manor itself to cut off the head of the snake. Meredith, an undead Arthur, and much of the Coven’s leadership was slain in one fell swoop. At the same time, attacks against their bases in the Crimson Forest had halted the Coven’s attempts to bring Gorak Tul back into the world- and he was forced back before he could arrive in Waycrest Manor. 

With much of their leadership gone and their patron defeated, the Coven began to break down. The rest of Corlain was still held by the Coven- but a few weeks after Meredith was slain, a group of Order-aligned forces infiltrated the city. They destroyed the magical anchors keeping the curse in place, freeing most of the townsfolk and militia from the curse placed over them.

A number of Heartsbane witches clung to the rest of their territories in Drustvar- digging into regions such as the Crimson Forest and daring the Order to come in after them. These regions would remain Heartsbane-controlled for many months to come despite the best efforts of Drustvar’s defenders. Some witches were wise enough to see the Coven’s end in the near future, and quickly hid themselves among the rest of Kul Tiras. They broke with the Coven,  but still retain every ounce of the power they’d gained in its service. A few witches even tried to escape Kul Tiras altogether, stowing away aboard merchant ships bound for the mainland. With Gorak Tul’s death in Thros, they are all no longer bound to his will, free to use their dark powers.

[azerothian-details]

[tillyashton]

What are her thoughts on the heartsbane coven?

"She was good! She was my friend. My poor, poor, Evy...They tricked her and turned her into a monster. Before she could slit her own throat, my people set her to the gallows. I shall never forgive them!"

(( Thanks, anon! ))

[eldridgecandell]

What would Eldridge do if the Heartsbane and any remnants of their magic was completely eradicated?

"A nice dream, I suppose," Eld would murmur as he sipped at his tea. "But you seem to believe that the Coven is the only group to haunt these shores."

"There are plenty of things that go bump in the night," the old witch hunter would say as he looked out the window for a few moments. "And no ones getting any younger."

~

OOC:

I don't think Eld is one to end up the retired quiet life, he tried that after the Second War and it only led to the end of his world. The idea to trust in peace after what happened with the Plague and the Scourge is impossible for him to fathom now.

The Coven would disappear or dig deep, but there's the San'lyn still out there in the dark. Or the K'thir in the depths of the sea biding their time by the Old Ones' command. There are so many more things to deal with and prepare for that the Order will never just be needed to be a group of witch hunters. Inquisitor is not exclusive to the Coven in my mind, they are protectors of humanity at it's lowest and highest.

Thanks for the ask @damien-ward

[aidan-hartwood]

★ - sad headcanon

Growing up Aidan became really close to his uncle as he helped out with the family farm a lot. His uncle worked the farm more than Aidan's father, who ended up taking a job working the silver mines to help support the family and so wasn't around as often.

When the Heartsbane coven took over Drustvar Aidan's uncle was among those lost. He was kidnapped and killed and had his soul taken to be used to make a wicker construct. It was one of the driving forces for Aidan seeking revenge against the coven.

Thanks @captzexx

[lythelle-bennington]

"Thank you, Lady Bennington, for allowing me in your home. Your estate is lovely." The hooded man said with a genteel enough bow. "Curious markings you've in the doorframe, but I suppose that's a local custom?" He inquired lightly. "But not why I'm here. Word has it you're keen on seeing one of the nearby monelite mines reopened? Something of a labor issue? Proprietary rights?"

The estate was a monolithic structure, a Gothic behemoth carved from the heart of Drustvar's ancient stone. Its weathered grey facade bore the scars of countless winters, each crack and fissure a testament to its enduring presence. The manor stood on a slight elevation, Mistveil Hill, a name as evocative as the fog that often cloaked it.

The main entrance was a formidable oak door, its heavy iron hinges groaning in protest as it swung inward. The wood was dark, almost black in places, and bore the intricate carvings of what seemed to be childlike scribbles. Upon closer inspection, however, the patterns took on a sinister quality, hinting at a darker origin. The woman who answered, a striking figure of imposing height -- at least for a human woman, dismissed them with a casual wave of her hand.

"Just children's drawings," she said, her voice carrying a hint of dismissive arrogance. "Before the Fourth War, you know. The Heartsbane Coven was still around, and children are... imaginative." Her voice trailed off, as if she was reluctant to delve deeper into the subject.

The grand hall was a testament to Kul Tiran opulence. A soaring ceiling, supported by massive, intricately carved wooden beams, created an atmosphere of grandeur. A colossal stone fireplace dominated one wall, its hearth currently empty, though the remnants of ash suggested frequent use. Tapestries depicting Kul Tiran naval victories adorned the walls, their rich colors a stark contrast to the somber stone. The floor was a mosaic of intricate patterns, crafted from various types of stone and inlaid with gold leaf.

Beyond the hall, a grand staircase swept upwards, its wrought iron railings adorned with intricate floral designs. To the left, a heavy, ornately carved wooden door hinted at a library. To the right, double doors with stained glass panels depicting stormy seas opened into a formal dining room.

The woman led Nixalegos through a series of interconnected rooms. A sunroom, filled with an array of exotic plants, offered a breathtaking view of the Drustvar countryside. Beyond that, a music room, its walls lined with instruments from various cultures, invited a moment of tranquility. The final room, a sitting room, was bathed in the warm glow of a crackling fire. Plush velvet couches and armchairs were arranged in an inviting circle.

"Would you like anything to drink? To eat?" Her movements were graceful, but there was a subtle tension in her posture, as if she were constantly on guard. The room, despite its comfort, seemed to hold a secret, a whisper of something ancient and unsettling. Finally, as she settled into a chair across from him and crossed her legs, she sighed. "You'll have to forgive any tension. Drustvar is certainly different than Upton Borough. I've found it difficult to be settled here."

She pointed at him with perfectly manicured digits. "Which is exactly why I've called. There is, indeed, a labor issue. I've looked through countless dossiers and, well, I see no one better suited to deal with this particular issue than you. There seems to be a presence in one of the mines. Howling in the dead of night, the rattling of chains. things going 'bump' without explanation. I can't seem to keep enough miners to work before they leave the site. I was wondering if you could investigate and, eliminate the problem. Or, if it's nothing at all, perhaps you could publish a report on your findings?"

@nixalegos

[venise-of-the-woods]

Hey it’s been like 4 years, I ought to put art of Veni up here eventually! Homegirl finally grew her hair out and has Gorak Tul on speed dial these days . It’s for a good cause, promise

[damien-ward]

Okay, but imagine this. Revamped Gilneas where the Gilneans have reclaimed their land and with it we get stuff like this:

After the Lich King helmet was broken Scourge and Undead run rampant across the world, and with Gilneas being unoccupied the undead swarm through the area.

We have Harvest Witches, but what about dark witches like that of the Heartsbane Coven? Let’s get some dark coven magic in the forests of Gilneas after having fled Kul’Tiras.

With the undead and witches running rampant in their kingdom the Gilneans get the aid of the Order of Embers to use their expertise.

Then we get this dark, spooky, witch hunter vibe where the Gilneans use their curse to help fight those things that go bump in the night. The Gilneans become monsters to fight monsters. Having Worgen guards outside of every town keeping guard with the help of the Order of Embers.

Give us the dark, gothic, creepy vibes for the Worgen and Gilneas. I also would not mind if the Gilneans offer some part of their land for the Kaldorei, at least as a temporary place for their refugees until they can move back to Kalimdor.