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skylarstark4826 · 6 months ago

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Shuri gives birth by the water.

Well, not exactly by the water, but in a hut that’s built next to the river that borders Wakanda.

The very same river where she first met the man who changed her life a few years back.

Ku’ Kul Khan.

Namor.

Her love.

He waits outside, with M’Baku, little Toussaint, Attuma, and Namora who float in the river while women from the border tribe flutter around the place, coming in and out of the hut where she is lying in pain, holding onto Aneka and Ayo while Okoye soothes and cleans her forehead from the sweat and Nakia stands between her legs encouraging her to push.

Her screams scare the birds around and they fly away as soon as their wings flap and their legs lift them.

Outside, his expression changes between nervous and worried, and when he tries to get up and go to her M’Baku just drags him back down and pats him on the back of the shoulder blades.

It's a testament to see the great Ku’Kul Khan allow the king of Wakanda to drag him back down to the sand. Nobody who knew him two years before would have thought that he would be so calm by the human’s touch.

Minutes pass that feel like an eternity for the god, and he finds himself truly scared for the first time in his long life. Shuri, the love of his life, is hidden away from him and he feels helpless for not being able to be in there with her, helping her as he should. Around him, the men look ahead at the clear surface of the water where little waves rippled every once in a while and try to ignore the shouts inside the hut.

Then, all of a sudden the screaming stops, and a baby’s cry is heard.

Namor stands.

The men behind him follow and his Generals in the water come out from the river.

Drums start to beat, and music can be heard almost immediately while the women start to come out from the hut. Namor can make out Okoye in the center of the group holding onto a small bundle and dancing along with her sisters. He doesn’t understand their language or what they are chanting and singing, but it sounds...happy and he cannot help but smile.

The women continue to dance around Okoye and his child, because he is certain now that the bundle holds his baby, and he in turn starts to move. To his right, little Toussaint jumps down from where he is nestled in M’Baku’s arms and runs to the Dora Milaje who welcome him with huge smiles on their faces and allow him to pass to where Okoye is still dancing.

When they turn and realize that he is making his way to them, they allow him to go through, not making a single move to attack. The joy of having a new baby for their royal family amongst them makes them soften towards him and they give him congratulatory smiles and cheers as he walks. Okoye lifts her eyes from where she is focused on watching over the baby and stops singing. The former General of the Dora Milaje greets him with a nod and passes him the bundle of white cotton in her arms.

He grabs the baby with one hand by its little head and the other by the little feet that peak through the blanket and immediately he starts counting little toes and fingers.

Five little fingers in each hand, and five little toes in each foot.

The baby is already perfect and he hasn’t seen the face yet. Though he is a little disappointed when he checks the ankles and finds that the baby didn’t inherit his wings, nonetheless, he is happy.

The baby lets out a yawn and Namor finally looks up.

A baby girl.

He is the father of a little girl and his heart swells with pride.

She grabs his finger with her two little hands and stares at it with curiosity. He lets her explore for as long as she wants and doesn’t move, not wanting to scare her with a sudden movement while he in turn explores her beautiful face.

She exudes calm, and, it’s a little strange because moments before she was crying so hard that she spooked what was left of the doves around the place.

Ku’ Kul Khan takes a moment to memorize her expression and he smiles at her. His daughter’s eyes were dark, almost black, and her little face round and chubby, though her hair felt soft to the touch and straight, he couldn’t help but chuckle when he realized that it was spiked and all over the place. Her skin is neither dark nor tan, she is rather mixed, and if someone were to ask him he would only be able to describe the color as a chestnut-type of color.

She seemed to be a perfect blend between his love and himself.

Drops of water fell on the blanket and the baby’s little belly and she made a noise that Namor figured out was to show her discomfort at the new sensation. Then he realized that the drops of water had come from his eyes and that he was crying.

That was another new feeling. Crying of joy.

Tears of joy were something that he had never experienced in his five hundred years alive, they were something that he didn’t even feel when his mother was alive and he remembered how much she loved to tease him for that.

“Ku’ Kul Khan, you will meet a woman one day that will make you cry tears of joy for all the happiness she will give you and when that day comes, you’ll think of me, and wherever I am, be sure child, that I will be laughing...” She used to say to him whenever he came back to her complaining about the sappy couples around their city and how they interrupted his games with his friends.

And by Chaak, his mother was right, because here he was now holding his firstborn child with a heart full of joy and feeling the greatest love he could feel for her and her mother.

He didn’t know when, but he had stopped feeling like “el niño sin amor” a long time ago and it was all thanks to Shuri and everything she had shown and taught him about what it was to love someone. He owed his wife so much and he didn’t even know where or how to begin repaying her.

But he had a good start now, with their baby.

He would love and protect her and Shuri until his dying days and Chaak help him, he would try his best to be the best father he could ever hope to be for his little girl and the best husband Shuri could need and want. They would not know hunger or pain. His girls would only feel happiness and love and protection.

Around him, the people were still quiet, allowing him his privacy with the baby. He felt movement a few moments later and found that Nakia, Aneka, and Ayo had left the hut and were standing next to the door.

Nakia motioned him to enter the place and he cleaned his eyes, wrapped the baby better in her blanket again, and walked inside. The door was large enough for him to pass comfortably but he had to lower his head a little bit when he was already inside. The hut had only two rooms, a bathroom, and the room where he was standing. In front of him, lying on a bed was Shuri with a small smile on her tired face.

“Did I do good my Ku’ Kul Khan?” She teased him.

He could only give her a loving smile as he passed her the baby.

“So good my love, I’m so proud of you,” He said as he leaned down to kiss her forehead.

Shuri hummed pleased and placed the baby closer to her naked chest.

“Have you thought what we’ll call her?” He asked as he laid down next to her carefully.

Shuri hummed again and grabbed his left arm to lean into.

“I know that our customs dictate that we give her a name according to our own cultures, but I was thinking that we should do something different...” She said before kissing his bicep.

Namor looked down at her with interest then. “What do you propose?” He asked her.

“I was thinking of a Greek name. Melinoa. We can call her Meli for short.” She replied.

“And what does Melinoa mean?” He asked again.

“I looked it up, it means propitiation-minded. And it’s a good meaning Ku’ Kul Khan, with it, she can be the one who can fully bring peace between our kingdoms when her time comes to reign Talokan.” Shuri explained to him before looking down at their baby who continued to look at them with curiosity.

Namor seemed to think about it.

“So, the one who placates and brings peace?”

Shuri nodded.

“I...like it.” Namor smiled and kissed her.

“Gurgh...” the baby nestled between interrupted making her parents split and laugh out loud.

“Yes, Meli, we know, we like your name too...” Shuri whispered before leaning down and placing a kiss on her little forehead.

At that very moment, the rest of their family decided to enter the small hut, and Toussaint all but ran from M’Baku’s side to the bed.

“Can I see the baby, Auntie Shuri?” He asked jumping up and down with a huge smile.

“T’Challa! Let your auntie rest!” Scolded Nakia from the window on the other side of the room.

Namora rolled her eyes but a small smile could be seen underneath her breathing mask.

“It’s okay Nakia” Shuri lifted herself on the bed as her husband made sure that the blanket covered her naked chest. “Here, seat him down love,” She asked Namor to lift her nephew so that he could crawl to her.

The young boy was immediately enthralled by the newborn in front of him and took great care to hold her as gently as possible when Shuri and Namor sat him down between them and gave him the baby.

“This is your cousin T’Challa, can you promise me that you will take care of her and protect her as she grows?” Shuri looked into her nephew’s eyes as she asked him this.

Toussaint nodded as solemnly as an eight-year-old could and then looked down to trace his baby cousin’s face with the pads of his fingers. Then, all of a sudden, the baby let out her first proper giggle and Toussaint looked up at his mom with a huge smile on his face.

“You heard that mommy? She laughed with me!” He told her excitedly.

“Yes baby, she must like you very much already!” Nakia encouraged her son and next to her Ayo shook her head with a smile.

“So, have you thought of a name?” Aneka asked from where she was standing next to Ayo.

“Yes”

Shuri and Namor shared a look and a smile.

“We decided not to give her a name from one of our cultures and go with a different route.”

“What do you mean?” Okoye asked confused and Attuma who was close to her by the door narrowed his eyes. Around them, the rest of their family was as confused as the former general of the Dora Milaje.

“Shuri and I had been talking ever since we found out that she was pregnant that we didn’t want names that could tie them to our cultures. We felt that it would be binding to the baby to have such a heavy burden, with her being wakandan and talokian seemed enough, and we also didn’t want to give her names that already had a past in our cultures...we wanted something new and entirely hers, so Shuri decided to investigate and looked for names of different cultures around the world and we just agreed on one.” Namor explained.

The Wakandans still looked confused. But the Talokians were even more so.

“We decided to name her Melinoa, and she’ll be known as Meli from now on.” Shuri proudly said.

Everybody went silent.

“Isn’t that the name of Hades and Persephone’s daughter? You know, the one from the myth?” Nakia asked breaking the silence.

“Yep,” Shuri looked happy at the fact that Nakia had managed to make the connection.

“Interesting choice Shuri” M’Baku said from the door.

“Well, I like it, auntie,” Toussaint said expressing his support for his aunt and Namor shuffled his hair playfully.

“Thank you ‘Challa” Shuri looked at her nephew with a smile.

“Reina Melinoa of Talokan” Namora tried the feeling in her native tongue and when she found that she liked it, she nodded at Attuma who followed doing the same.

“She would be the first of our kind to reign with a foreign name, but I must say that I support the decision cousin, even if it's a little unorthodox...” Namora spoke again looking at her king and queen in the bed.

“Thank you child” Namor expressed his gratitude to the younger woman. Namora nodded before heading back out of the hut. She had promised to tell their people when the heir was born and she was now returning to the water after having seen her new cousin.

Attuma turned to follow her but not before grabbing Okoye’s hand and turning her around to put their foreheads together and whisper something to her. When the two talokians left the small hut, M’Baku was finally able to enter, but just like Namor, he had to lower his head a little bit so that it wouldn’t go through the roof of the place.

He then leaned down again and kissed Shuri on the cheek before going to stand next to Aneka. Shuri then decided it was time for them to hold the baby for the first time and ordered her husband to pass the baby to Ayo who looked slightly lost at the art of holding a baby but soon with Aneka’s help she got a hold and was whispering sweet nothings to her little ears.

After the couple held Meli, it was M’Baku’s turn and Shuri laughed at how tiny her baby looked nestled in his big arms. He stuck his tongue out at her in a playful manner and she laughed even harder. Okoye, of course, passed as she had already held onto the baby and was content to keep hugging Toussaint.

By the time the baby made its way to Nakia, Meli was already fast asleep and more than happy to stay in her aunt’s arms.

“She reminds me a little bit of the queen Shuri...” Nakia whispered.

Shuri's throat constricted and the hormones took over for a moment, making tears fill her eyes and fall onto the bed.

“She does, doesn’t she?” She asked after finding the strength to speak.

Nakia and Okoye nodded.

Namor hugged her from the side and kissed her on the side of her head before leaning down and cleaning her tears away.

“She looks down on you both and I’m sure she’s proud Shuri” Okoye comforted her.

“Thank you Okoye,” Shuri said turning to look at her.

Okoye only nodded, cleaning her tears away.

And for a moment everybody was solemnly quiet, enjoying the happy moment and thinking about the royal family who they were sure, were looking down at Shuri with pride.

Then M’Baku spoke breaking the silence.

“So...when will you be having the next one?”

Shuri just threw a pillow at him while the rest of the people in the room laughed.

#nashuri #namor x shuri #shuri x namor #namor and shuri #namor of talokan #shuri of wakanda #king namor #princess shuri #nashuri fanart #namor x shuri fanart #black panther #black panter wakanda forever #namor mcu #namuri

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giant-oc-ballpit · 3 years ago

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Ciel led her mother by the hand through the halls of Karazhan. Kelyth stared around at the familiar walls that she hadn't passed in years, noticing the repairs from the last time she was here.

Ciel walked up to one door in particular, and Kelyth recognized it as Medivh's study. She had many fond memories of coming here and talking for hours.

Her daughter knocked on the door, and a thrill of fear ran through her. It had been nearly two decades since she had.... well. Kelyth had seen them, but they couldn't see her. What if they didn't want to see her? What if Khadgar and Medivh had only been with her because she was there?

And Kelyth had changed so much, she reflected, looking down at her deep purple skin and her large black wings. Being Kul Tiran, she had always been on the tall side, now even more so.

Ciel opened the door, and Kelyth nearly wrenched her hand away. The young woman looked in, then turned back to her mother. "They're sitting down, and facing away."

Kelyth nodded nervously. She took a deep breath, then folded her wings back and ducked into the room.

Medivh's study looked exactly the same as it did when she was alive, and before she had died. Books lining the walls, and even a few sitting on the mantle over the fireplace. His desk all cluttered and disorganized, but Kelyth had no doubt he would be able to find anything on there in an instant.

There were three chairs on the rug, all of them facing the wall. The two that were further away from the door had men sitting in them.

A man dressed in a blue robe, with small bags attached to the belt, and his hair was short and white. He was on the left. On the right was another man, slightly taller than the other, with brown hair that reached just past his shoulders, resting on the raven feathers on his red cloak.

Kelyth took a hesitant step forward. Then another.

"I can't do this, I'm sorry-" Kelyth turned and tried to run back out the door.

Only to see Ciel shut it quickly, hear the click of a lock, and the heavy drag of something being moved in front of the door.

Her breathing sped up, and even knowing it wouldn't succeed she tried to open the door, shaking the door and the handle before giving up and standing there frozen.

A moment of silence. Kelyth stared at the door.

A hand touched her wing, and she started. The hand jerked away when she did, then came back and slowly stroked the dark feathers.

Another hand came to her other side, and reached for her hand. The sleeve was red.

"You're shaking." Came Medivh's voice. Kelyth kept staring at the door in silence.

"Kelyth?" The hand came away from her wing. "Please, look at me?" Khadgar asked.

She turned to look at him, throat tight. Her pale eyes met his brilliant blue. His eyes wandered then, taking in her appearance. Her hair was black now, not the blonde of when she was alive or the blue of when she was a ordinary Kyrian.

And he was magnificent. Khadgar was strong, he still looked older than he should but he wasn't wizened and bent anymore. Kelyth had seen him while judging souls, and while guiding Ciel, but this was different. His hand on her arm was steady and warm. She could feel just how much she was shaking while he touched her.

"Will you come sit down?" He asked softly.

She let him guide her to the third chair. Her wings hung off the sides, and she stared at her folded hands in her lap while her... husbands, turned the chairs around to face her. Tidemother, she wanted to call them that. She longed to call Medivh her husband too, just as she had Khadgar before she died. They were both the fathers of her child, after all.

A moment of silence, shorter than before. Then a sigh from Medivh, then he was lifting her chin. "Kelyth, why are you so scared of us? Have we hurt you so that our very presence is terrifying?" He asked.

She shook her head.

"Words, love. Where is the chatterbox I loved to listen to, where you shared your opinion on everything?" Medivh's own words were so gentle, but Kelyth couldn't help but wince when he called her 'love'.

Khadgar took both her hands in his. They were sitting closer than she had realized.

"I-I would understand if. If neither of you wanted me anymore. Or had ever wanted me. I should have stayed away, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have bothered-"

Medivh cut her off with a finger to her lips. He looked very sad. "Kelyth. Why would we not want you anymore? Because you are dead? Technically I am too, and Khadgar still wants me. And if we had never wanted you, we never would have laid with you. Rest assured, we have always wanted you."

Khadgar was rubbing the back of her hands with his thumbs. Kelyth's throat closed up. She glanced between the two men. Khadgar was smiling softly, while Medivh looked at her so gently and tenderly it almost hurt.

"You're sure?" She asked them, voice shaking.

Medivh learned even closer, and kissed her, hand still on her chin. Then Khadgar came forward, hands on either side of her face and holding her, kissing her too. "We're sure."

Kelyth wiped away tears, realizing after the blur was gone that they were both crying too.

"We missed you so much." Medivh said. "I didn't even know you had died until Khadgar and I reunited, and I am so sorry."

They were on the ground now, kneeling on either side of her chair, each holding a hand. Khadgar was rubbing her back while Medivh had a hand on her shoulder.

Kelyth shook her head. "I'm sorry for leaving you. I didn't think there was any other way. I didn't think of a way I could have survived until several years after, in Bastion. But I could have, which makes it so much worse."

"You are here now. You are with us now. We weren't lost to each other forever, we are together now." Khadgar said, emotion bleeding into his voice until he choked.

Kelyth slid off the chair and clutched the other two close, holding them tight and wrapping her raven-dark wings around them as she cried.

She was here. She was home, in Karazhan, with her husbands.

Maybe the three of them finally got their happy ending.

#world of warcraft oc #world of warcraft fanfiction #world of warcraft #oc x raventrust #raventrust x oc #Medivh #Khadgar #raventrust

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youngster-monster · 4 years ago

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fools rush in

Quel’thalas may sit on the coast of Lordaeron, but it has never been a naval nation. Kael’thas has never been quite so acutely aware of his people’s lack of seafaring abilities as he is now, bent over the side of a ship and fighting a losing battle against seasickness.

“Hold on. We’re nearly there.”

He sends a venomous glare Rommath’s way. His friend seems perfectly at ease on deck, only moving to shift his weight so he doesn’t stumble with the sway of the ship. Looking at him, Kael’thas could almost believe his motion sickness is a personal weakness rather than a quel’dorei trait.

Fortunately he’s seen Lor’themar looking a little green for the whole journey. Rommath is the real outlier here. Probably out of spite. He wouldn’t be caught dead displaying any kind of vulnerability, let alone something as small as seasickness.

“You’ve been saying that for hours,” he grits out in response.

Rommath shrugs, unconcerned by Kael’thas’ plight. “Nearly is an imprecise unit of measurement, I’ll admit it.”

“Although this time he’s right,” another voice intervenes. “We will be in view of Theramore’s harbor in under two hours.”

Kael’thas blissfully closes his eyes as Jaina lays a hand between his shoulder blades. Her magic sinks under his skin and the chill of it soothes his nausea to a point he no longer feels like he might throw up at any moment.

“Remind me why I’m subjecting myself to this again?”

Jaina chuckles warmly. “Because you are my dear friend and you wish to support me during an important change in my life?”

“I should have taken a portal with my father…”

“And miss watching me dissolve into a ball of nerves in the next few days?”

It’s true that the diplomatic delegation from Quel’thalas wouldn’t be privy to Jaina’s slow descent into panic during the preparations for her coronation. That’s a privilege reserved for Kael’thas only — and the two friends he was made to bring along as bodyguards, technically.

Of the world leaders who are coming to witness the event, few will be lucky enough to enjoy Theramore outside of official functions. Kael’thas is willing to suffer countless journeys by sea for the joy of watching Jaina get drunk in a sailor’s pub for the last time before she has to act like a proper monarch.

Affecting a greater misery than what he already feels, he says, “Still. For all that trouble, I better be here for your dress fitting.”

Jaina shudders at the thought. She may be a princess, but she clearly hasn’t gotten used to all the annoying little details of royalty. Or she forgot after too many years in Dalaran. Kael’thas grins. It’ll be years, if not decades, before he has to be in her place. He intends to enjoy the spectacle while he can.

Schooling his features into something more serious, he turns gingerly to face her. The deck rolls beneath his feet and he has to hold on to the banister or fall flat on his face.

“How are you holding up?”

She quirks up a small smile that struggles to reach her eyes. “I’m alright. A little scared, but…”

It stands to reason she would be, even though this coronation has been in preparation for years. She’s been spending more and more time away from her magical studies, learning how to rule a country, ever since she turned twenty-three. Still one can never be entirely ready to lead.

The fact that the date had to be moved forward because of an attempt on her father’s life must not be helping her anxiety any.

“Have you received news from your father?” He asks, knowing the subject a little easier to deal with. Daelin Proudmoore has recovered quickly from the botched assassination, and has been more preoccupied with rooting out the conspirators than with healing from his wounds.

She nods, gazing at the horizon. Kael’thas can just start to make out Theramore from the grey sky, though it’s more creative interpretation of a vaguely rocky shape in the distance; to her, it must look like home. “Yes. He’s fine. Healing nicely, for all that he refuses to rest. But they still haven’t found his attacker. He’s afraid they’ll go for me, too.”

Kael’thas waves that concern aside. “Of course they will; the day of the coronation is the perfect occasion to get rid of both you and your father, if that’s what they seek.” He winks at her, smiling slightly at her dismay. “That’s what you have me for. Oh, and that great hunk of a fiancé you have as well, I suppose. We’ll keep you safe.”

His exaggerated scorn when he mentions Arthas gets a giggle out of her. He doesn’t despise the man like he used to, back when Kael’thas was infatuated with Jaina and saw him as a threat. But that doesn’t mean he has to like him. Rival or not, he’s still an annoying, bruttish paladin, although he looks exceedingly pretty doing it.

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” Rommath sighs from the side. He sounds like he has little hope about the matter. He’s used to Kael’thas and Jaina’s antics: if there’s trouble to be found, they’ll find it alright. “Go get your bags, Kael.”

“Why? We’ve hardly arrived yet.”

“By the time you stumble your way below deck and up again, we’ll be there.”

Kael’thas flips him off. But he does go get his bags; not that Rommath has a point, he just likes to take his time. And if he holds onto the railing the whole way down, well. That’s between him and the ship.

It wasn't an empty threat, when Kael’thas mentioned that any assassin would probably turn up during the coronation. Every major political player of Azeroth came to pay respect to the new Lord Admiral of Kul Tiras. If someone wanted to commit some kind of political murder, now would be the time.

It also leaves the cathedral the coronation takes place in a somewhat crowded place.

Kael’thas shifts on the uncomfortable pew while the priest drones on and twists around to look at the back of the room. He may have joked about it back on the ship with Jaina, but after three days shadowing her everywhere the reality of assassins has become much more worrying. His friend is about to leave herself open to all kinds of attacks while an old man shoves some metal on her head; it leaves a little on edge.

A cursory glance reveals no shady character hiding in the wings. If someone intends to hurt Jaina, they’re doing a decent job at hiding it.

“Stop fidgeting,” his father hisses.

Kael’thas rolls his eyes but lets himself be prodded into sitting straight again. He spares a brief glance for Arthas. The Lordaeronian king is entirely ignoring the people trying to engage him in conversation, and watches over the room like a hound during a thunderstorm, jumping at every odd sound.

It helps settle Kael’thas’ nerves somewhat that Lordaeron’s most sword-happy paladin is on the look-out. He won’t let anything happen to Jaina, Kael’thas reasons, even if he must burn the cathedral down to keep her safe. Though it hopes he’ll let them get out first.

Fingers ghost over the back of his hand and he all but jumps out of his skin before it registers that it is only his father trying to capture his attention.

“Be at ease,” Anasterian whispers, a touch of humor softening his sern voice. “You’ll do lady Proudmoore no favor by feeding into her anxiety.”

Smoothing the nascent scowl off his face, Kael’thas calls on the years of teaching in the art of decorum to affect an air of nonchalance. He can’t quite help the stubborn frown born from his worry though. “She has reasons a-plenty to be stressed: someone wants her dead.”

“This event is as safe as it can be. There is little more you can do but pretend everything will be fine, for her sake.”

Kael’thas adjusts the folds of his dress robes in his lap and says nothing. It’s easy for his father to say: it’s not his friend who’s out there risking her life.

Human lives are so fragile. Of course he worries. And what good are the guards, if Daelin was hurt on their watch?

He only lasts about five minutes before risking a glance behind again. Nothing has changed; but he feels a prickle over the back of his neck, as if he’s being watched, and it compulses him to look.

“Kael’thas,” his father sighs.

Kael’thas cuts him off before he can work himself into a proper lecture. “Are those the kaldorei delegates?”

Anasterian pokes him mercifully in the ribs until he sits properly, and only then does he offer a response.

“Yes. With the efforts made by the kaldorei to open to other kingdoms, Lord Proudmoore thought it polite to invite them. Something you’d know if you had bothered to pay attention while I talked about this event,” his father adds, long-suffering.

“I do listen,” Kael’thas says absently. He wants to get a proper look at the elusive night elves, but he thinks his father might actually hold his head in place if he tries it. Their whole whispered conversation is already stretching the bounds of propriety and trying Anasterian’s patience enough as it is.

“Do pay attention, Kael. The priest is nearly done; Jaina will be here soon.”

A coronation is a tremendously boring affair, Kael’thas finds, even once Jaina has stepped up to the altar. The priest drones on and on about her duties as Lord Admiral, the honor, the weight of name and duty, blah blah blah—

Boring. At this point even an attempt on her life would be a welcome distraction.

Jaina kneels and her father stands before her, taking the crown off his head and holding it high above hers. He looks good, Kael’thas notes, for a man who so nearly died mere weeks before.

“Do you swear to live by your people, for your people, and to serve and protect them as your duty demands?” He intones.

“Yes, I do.”

The oath goes on for some time. Jaina answers each demand with unflinching certitude. Looking at her, one might never guess her nerves.

But just as Daelin lowers the circlet, abou to set it on her head, Kael’thas feels a prickle of unease not unlike what he felt earlier. He turns on his seat, heedless of his father’s disapproving hiss. There, in the shadows of the cathedral’s upper level; a flash of—

Spellwork.

The warning gets stuck in his throat, a half-choked yell swallowed by the roar of a ray of fire shooting across the nave. He reaches out without a thought, draws up a barrier that manages to catch the spell at the last possible moment before impact. It shatters across the translucent surface of his shield and scatters in a burst of embers and arcane. The guests underneath cry out as sparks rain down on them.

What his spell doesn’t stop is the crossbow bolt that flies in the wake of the spell. It misses Jaina’s by a hair’s breadth and ricochets off the tiled floor before embing itself in the wooden altar. If she had not moved at the sound of the spell being deflected, it would have gotten her in the throat.

The room explodes in motions as guests and their guards scramble out of the pews. Kael’thas is already on his feet. He catches a glimpse of Arthas’ fair head in the commotion as the paladin ushers Jaina and her father away from the scene. He backs out of the room with his sword raised high, eyes wild as he looks around. Satisfied that his friend is safe, Kael’thas turns on his heels and run for the doors.

Rommath, who watched the ceremony from the back, calls his name as they nearly run into each other on the way out. Kael’thas stops with a hand on his friend’s shoulder.

“Get my father to safety!”

“Where are you going?” Rommath yells above the din, but Kael’thas is already running again.

“After them!”

Rommath’s answering invective is lost in the noise. His hand grabs Kael’thas’ robes to try and pull him back; Kael’thas unclasps them from his shoulders and leaves the heavy fabric in Rommath’s grasp as he books it.

Bursting through the doors, Kael’thas draws a gulp of fresh air before he sees, out of the corner of his eye, two figures scaling down the cathedral’s wall. He takes off after them without a second thought.

Without his cumbersome robes weighing him down he manages to keep up with the fleeing attackers — but only just. His feet pounding the pavement, he nonetheless fails to gain on the faster runners. They make a sharp turn left; by the time he reaches the corner they’re nowhere to be found.

Snapping a hand forward, Kael’thas gathers magic in his palm. This isn’t a spell he’s casting, though; it’s a summon.

And, bursting forth in a shower of fire and ashes, Al’ar answers.

He’s already climbing up his beloved familiar’s back before the phoenix has fully materialized into this plane. Kael’thas smoothes a hand over the soft feathers of his neck, smiling slightly at the pleased sound Al’ar makes, before he urges the phoenix into flight again.

They need no words to communicate. It’s for the best, as Kael’thas doesn’t think he could muster speech with his heart beating wildly in his throat. He’s not much of a runner and there was no course at the Kirin Tor for chasing after assassins. This is all very new to him; the excitement has him nearly shaking.

It’s easier to follow the assassins from the sky — and to gain on them as well.

Al’ar dives as soon as he is above them. Kael’thas holds on to a handful of feathers as the wind howls past his ears, confident that al’ar won’t let him come to any harm. The fugitives aren’t that lucky. Al’ar’s piercing cry is the only warning they get before he swoops down on them. His wings unfold to catch his fall with a sound like a forest fire; his talons glint in the light of his own burning as he extends them towards his unfortunate preys.

One is quick enough to dodge his grasp. The other gets bowled over by the force of the blow, and can only weakly struggle as Al’ar lifts them off the ground. Kael’thas jumps off the phoenix’s back before he can gain altitude again, stumbling slightly on the landing.

He’s unarmed, but mages need no weapons beside their magic, though he’s decent with a sword. He can deal with one measly little assassin without a blade.

At a glance, the assassin seems to be a human woman; and from the arcane energy crackling in her palm, the mage of the two as well. Kael’thas grins. He’s one of the best duelists of the Kirin Tor. This will be a walk in the park.

The mage casts a blue-tinted spell, too quick for him to tell what it does. He catches it in front of his face, turns, throws it back, and she has to jump aside to avoid it. Good. His smile grows, all bared teeth, as his own magic bubbles up to the surface. A tongue of fire whips towards her and hits her in the chest, sending her flying back into a wall.

Dazed and more than a little singed, she cannot get up quickly enough to block his next attack, and the concussive blast knocks her out. She slides down the wall and falls to the ground, unconscious. Shame they must be interrogated still. He’d gladly have burned her to a crisp.

But at least that’s one good thing down. He tilts his head up, trying to catch sight of Al’ar. He can feel their bond stretching as the phoenix flies away — he must be bringing the other assassin back to the cathedral, to be dealt with. Good.

Behind him, he hears hurried footsteps, and a voice shouting,

“Watch out!”

Kael’thas turns just in time to see the mage he thought he had downed take a knife out of her sleeve and throw it with unexpected accuracy. It whistles past him, close enough to leave a line of fire along the side of his neck. Kael’thas snaps his hand out and flames roar around his opponent before she can try another attack. They burn brighter and hotter than any natural fire, and her cry is cut short as she collapses into a pile of ashes and charred bones.

Here’s hoping the one Al’ar carried away survived the initial mauling.

“Are you alright?”

Turning to the new voice, Kael’thas blinks owlishly at the chest that greets him before it occurs to him to lift his eyes. It’s a kaldorei, he notes somewhat distantly; his thoughts feel sluggish all of a sudden. He’ll readily blame it on the fact that this is one of the most attractive men he’s ever seen — and he’s seen his fair share of beautiful men. His

He shakes himself, blinking some more to clear the haze that has settled over him. “I— yes, I am fine.”

“You’re bleeding.”

Kael’thas lifts a hand to his neck, still pulsing with painful heat, and his fingers come away slick with blood. “Oh. So I am.” The blood has an oily sheen to it, and it takes a moment of rubbing it between his fingers to realize it might actually be some kind of poison, unless his blood has all of a sudden gained some mysterious new material property.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” The kaldorei asks again, bemused. “You seem... shaken.”

Waving his hand impatiently, Kael’thas steps away from the man. “A bit of poison, nothing more.” The ground sways under his feet nearly as much as the ship he took to Theramore; it takes all of his concentration to keep himself upright.

Real alarm crosses the kaldorei’s face. “I’m going to get a healer.”

“Ah, no need. My magic will burn it away before it can deal any real damage.” He breathes in and out slowly, trying to manage the nausea. “I just have to… wait it out.”

The kaldorei seems unconvinced, though something about Kael’thas assurance must be enough to convince him to settle back for now.

He leans against the nearest wall. It still bears a black, slightly-greasy mark where the other mage once stood before he took care of her. His head spins, and black spots have started to appear in his field of view. It’s a good thing he’s been poisoned before, else he might not know this particular quirk of his biology and panic a lot more about the situation. As it is he’s quite used to the feverish feeling of his inner fire flaring to fight off the infection — it’s why he’s so rarely sick, as well.

The kaldorei looks at him and then, lower, at the remains of what once was an assassin. His mouth twists in a sardonic smile.

“I followed expecting a fight,” he says with a kind of rueful disappointment, “But it seems there’s little for me to do here.”

Closing his eyes, Kael’thas exhales softly. It’s a shame he always meets attractive people when he himself is at his worst possible state. The first time he saw Jaina, he was going on three days without sleep, and looked more undead than like a dashing elven prince. “Do not worry. I might pass out yet, which would leave you free to heroically carry me back to my father.”

He means it as a joke but in truth, he’s not sure he’ll manage to get back otherwise. Even if the dash after the assassins hadn’t exhausted him, the poison is quickly sapping his strength.

Tugging on his connection with Al’ar in the hope that his familiar will simply fly him home, he scowls when his summoning meets unexpected resistance. The phoenix must still be in this plane, then. Perhaps he found trouble with the other assassin. Wouldn’t be the first time they struggle to pry a prey out of his talons. This bird has a grip like a bear trap.

He can already feel himself sliding down the brick wall as his legs slowly but inexorably bow under his own weight. He’s ready to cut his losses and sit down in the pile of ashes when they suddenly give out from under him for good. Thankfully, before his ego and backside can be anymore bruised by the fall, strong arms catch him around the middle and heave him back to his feet.

“You weren’t joking about passing out,” the kaldorei chuckles.

Dazed, Kael’thas tries to look up at him to decipher if he’s being laughed at, but all he manages is to weakly tilt back his head until it hits the man’s chest. “Fighting off poison is no joking matter,” he tries to say, but his lips don’t quite manage the movement required for proper pronunciation, he thinks.

The chest he’s pressed against vibrates slightly as the man hums low in his throat. After some kind of deliberation Kael’thas is not privy to, the kaldorei ducks down and, passing an arm under Kael’thas’ knees, scoop him up as if he weighs nothing.

“Wha—”

“I’ll take you on that offer of a heroic entrance,” he says lightly. He shifts so that Kael’thas’ head rests against his shoulder and, with no effort apparent, starts walking in the direction of the cathedral.

“That was a joke,” he protests weakly.

“Didn’t you say poison is no joking matter? Don’t worry. I won’t drop you.”

“That’s very pretty of you,” he mumbles. It doesn’t sound quite right, and he frowns in confusion before making another attempt. His thoughts are starting to feel more jumbled as his magic responds to the poison with a purifying fever. “That’s…nicely pretty of you.”

There. Perfect.

The last conscious thought that crosses his mind before darkness swallows him is that the kaldorei has a very nice laugh, and then that Rommath is going to have a stroke, if he sees Kael’thas in this state; but he is too comfortable to care about that now.

Rommath is indeed apoplectic at seeing his friend and crown prince brought back unconscious and bleeding. Kael’thas, of course, only hears of it second-hand. By the time he comes to, he’s lying on a fainting couch in the wing of Theramore’s castle offered to house the sin’dorei delegation, and Rommath has calmed down somewhat.

Still, when he notices his charge has come awake, he doesn’t wait a second before railing on him.

“You’re an idiot.”

Still dazed and developing a headache suspiciously reminiscent of a hangover, Kael’thas squints up at his best friend. “I’m a genius,” he says for the sake of argument, though as brilliant as he is it is hardly applicable now. It’s a known fact that between the two of them Rommath is the one in charge of being street smart.

“Running on foot after two assassins, and not even dispatching them correctly — that’s what you call genius?” Rommath shakes his head and his shoulders drop slightly as he heaves a sigh. “What little of the city hasn’t seen your idiocy first-hand will know of it by tomorrow morning. That’ll do wonders to your reputation.”

Kael’thas pushes himself to a sitting position and rubs his head with a scowl. “I’m sure the attempt of the new queen’s life will be more interesting news than my dashing attempt at revenge.”

“Perhaps. But the nine foot tall moon guard carrying your bloody body through the streets is certainly an image that’ll stick.”

“It wasn’t that dramatic,” he says, though it might very well have been, for all that he remembers of the trip back.

“They’ll make it that dramatic. Also, you bled a lot, for such a small wound. You’ll have to properly thank the high priestess, by the way: I’m told it’s a great honor to be healed by the envoy of Elune herself.”

Rommath’s dry tone nearly distracts Kael’thas from his actual words, and it takes a second for his mind to connect the dots.

“Tyrande Whisperwind healed me?” He asks, taken aback.

“Well, her brother-in-laws did ask her directly, yes.”

“Her brother-in-law—” Like lightning, he realizes: few kaldorei leave their land, despite the latest efforts of the leading triumvirate to open to other kingdoms. Only the most powerful would have come all the way to Jaina’s coronation. Most likely the triumvirate in person. One of which healed him, at the demand of the other one, who must be the one who carried him after he passed out from a flesh wound. He hides his face in his hands and lets out a sound halfway between a sob and a scream. “I can’t believe I fainted on Illidan Stormrage.”

“You made an impression, apparently,” Rommath notes wryly. “He told your father your aid was invaluable in apprehending the assassin. Singular. I could have sworn there were two,” he adds airily.

“I set the other one on fire,” Kael’thas mumbles in his hands.

“Yes, I expected that much.”

Kael’thas rubs his face with a low groan and drops back on the fainting couch. Maybe he could just… fall unconscious again. Stay that way until they’re back in Silvermoon. He’s sure he could put himself into a magical coma, if it came down to it.

“I met Illidan Stormrage.”

“Yes.”

“The most brilliant sorcerer of his time. And ours, probably.”

“Huh-huh.”

“And I passed out on him. Did I drool? Light, tell me I didn’t drool.”

“You did,” Rommath says, merciless.

“I told him he was pretty.” With feelings, mostly of mortification, he adds, “I want to die.”

“You had your chance already. Now you’ll have to learn to flirt through the awkwardness like the rest of us mortals.”

Kael’thas is always flirting through the awkwardness. He’s never flirted in a way that’s not awkward. Doesn’t matter how attractive and smart Illidan is; he’ll never be able to look the man in the eyes again. His beautiful, golden eyes. Who saw Kael’thas drool probably all over his fancy moon guard armor.

A magical coma sounds more appealing by the minute.

#writing #world of warcraft #kael'thas sunstrider #illidan stormrage #grand magister rommath #jaina proudmoore #long post #this is a little silly but i just Had A Thought okay #anyway this takes place in a world with No Legion™#yes the sundering and chism of elves still happened. why? who knows #civil war probably

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sharpen-jadescythe · 4 years ago

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Operation Kitten, 1

Part One: The real story of what happened after Sharpen punched Mathias Shaw in the face. Continuation of the other SI:7 Seal story LOL

Jiroki, I’m sorry you had to find out this way. That the problem with Lux’ana Queenwing, a member of your guild posing as someone else? Yes, that can be traced back to me. But one upshot of this situation is, I finally get to be honest with you about something I was holding back. Not because I started things with us in a lie—no I would never do that unless lives depended on it. And they did, actually. I was protecting a lot of people so that’s why I didn’t tell you or anyone the full story, about me. Maybe that sounds like a lie a lover would tell you when he just happens to um, secretly be SI:7. Every time there’s a problem in your romance, he goes ‘Look baby, I had to lie to you in order to save lives.’ And I do know some agents like that. Those guys who use their jobs as an excuse, they’re filth. I guess if you think I’m filth too, I wouldn’t blame you. However, this is the truth. Alessandre and I were both trying to save Lux’ana’s life and the lives of her flock when she walked up to you that day and asked to join the Greyshields like it was nothing. Like Alessandre was just her friend and I had nothing to do with it. But it was part of a much bigger operation, love. Like you wouldn’t believe...

Al instructed me to pretend like I didn’t know Lux’ana, never met her. Al was going to serve as her reference. But now that cover of ours has unraveled some, and so much time has passed? I am going to tell you the truth. The real truth. Okay so, I’ll start at the beginning.

It's dangerous to talk about my work, so usually they give you a story to tell other people instead—not that this is it. I’m telling you everything, even my part in it. I’ve been called a himbo before, that sometimes I make dangerous or stupid decisions. But I see no point in lying to a woman I care so deeply for. I made some promises to you that I intend to keep. Just know that SI:7 gave me another version of my recruitment story, that I failed the swim test. That they threw me in a carriage for punching Mathias Shaw on the beach and sent me home. I embellished a little and said I got to keep the swim trunks. Because I look so damned fetching in that little blue and gold speedo, I guess my vanity sold me out a bit. It was a poor excuse for still having them anyway—as if SI:7, as powerful as that organization is, would let some recruit walk away with their standard issue uniform, even a… choice part of it, just to wear at pool parties. No, you can get picked up and arrested for that, seriously.

There’s a scene I was instructed to leave out, because my situation with them stayed tenuous even after my first mission. Yes, I did punch Mathias actually. That’s still true. But they didn’t give me a free ticket home with no muss nor fuss. That’s the part they asked me to tell my friends. What actually happened is they hogtied me, shipped me all the way out to Boralus which was the center of things at the time, then put me in a holding cell. After leaving me to cool down for a few days, they brought me before the man himself.

They brought me more standard issue stuff to wear, some loose cloth pants and a shirt. I was mad, and wanted some way to mess with them, so I ripped the shirt sleeves off. Which was a bit foolish, I guess. It does get pretty cold in Boralus. Shaw and the others had a barracks set up on the east side of town, close to the damp docks. Close to the Alliance ship docked there and all the cough-cough, handsome fair winds flowing in from the sea, if you know what I’m saying. (Fairshaw’s totally a thing, but you didn’t need an SI:7 Seal to reveal that secret to you. All I’m sayin’.)

To my surprise, they sent me in to see the head man without shackles on my wrists. I had a tight escort—this big Kul Tiran named Big Mack who took up almost the entire hallway, but I did also note that it was just one man and they’d fed me this whole time, treated me well, let me go out into the practice yard for exercise. They just didn’t let me mix with any of the other recruits. And another thing I noticed, all the people I’d trained with were gone. Even that annoying Dwarf guy Hael who couldn’t save himself in the water, let alone from being an obnoxious Dwarf stereotype, being loud and trying to get me drunk the night before the swim test and all that. (In fact, I think I remember telling him that, that he was playing up the Dwarf thing so much I was starting to wonder what he was trying to prove?) So anyway they dropped us all off the coast of Northrend, near Honor Hold, gave us the swim test and they all graduated, even that fool who tried to hang on my back like I was a Night Elf-sized wading board, and drown me in shark-infested waters? Geesh, what a world.

I teased Big Mack, said he looked like he wanted a sandwich. I mean, come on, how big did this guy really need to be?

“Hrmph. Need a third man for that, if it’s a real offer you’re making.”

I blinked. I… was Big Mack coming on to me? He laughed, and yes he did a good job of scaring the pants off me. Let’s not think about me, Big Mack and my pants off. Anyway…

Mostly, I was sullen. I hadn’t shaved in days. My green beard was scruffy and I knew my long dark green hair was kinda bedhead, too. If I didn’t get released right away, I was fully prepared to do something I promised myself I would never ever do, wherever I worked, no matter how tough things got—but damned if I was going to let them lock me up for no real reason, even if it was in the recruit’s barracks. If things were truly rough, then I was going to name drop my sister Wisthera Bane. They knew about her, of course, she was a master rogue in a leading Kaldorei spy organization. But they needed to understand that I was at the point of leveraging my sister and all her connections. Alessandre’s too, if I needed. He was a top assassin as I understood it. He helped run the Kaldorei Rogue Network with her, and they only really reported to High Priestess Tyrande and the Shando, Malfurion himself. Not the Alliance. Well, the Alliance wasn’t their first stop anyways. The Kaldorei people came first.

Big Mack rather roughly pulled out a metal chair for me and pointed with a meaty finger for me to sit. I had a little shock at first, seeing the important man I had punched waiting for me on the other side of the table. Arms crossed, that certain smirk on his face beneath that clipped brunette moustache, but this time, Mathias Shaw had a black eye. Well, it was more of a gray eye by now. The medics had it healing up nicely.

“You don’t just punch a man like Mathias Shaw in the face and get away with it.”

“Well.” I was stunned to be facing him. But I knew from our training that you never showed you were intimidated. However, I’d learned that from before in life anyway. “How do you punch a man like Mathias Shaw? Maybe next time I’ll stand my ground, should’ve stayed standing over you on the beach while you were flat out like a light.”

Mathias uncrossed his arms, sat up right in his chair. “Alright, Seal. You’ve had your word in. I’m letting you have your personality because it’s useful to us. Your freedom of speech in this situation is in my gift—you do get that, right?”

“I’m not an SI:7 Seal. I failed my test.”

“Did you, though?” Mathias cocked his head at me, smirking anew. So this was his revenge, the hitch. Why he was able to smile at me even with that black eye. Mathias was giving me the one thing that I hated most of all.

“I did so fail that swim test.”

“I’m not sure that’s how tests work? Right? I mean… doesn’t the teacher grade you? And if the teacher isn’t sure, then doesn’t the pass-fail decision fall to the headmaster? How exactly do those Kaldorei schools work, that you still don’t know?”

“Interesting line of inquiry, sir. But I’m immune to insults coming out of the mouth of a man that I punched.”

“Hold on now—we’re going in circles. Relax.”

I guess I did have my hackles all the way up already. I let my big shoulders sink down, took easier breaths. I glanced back over to see Big Mack still standing in the room by the door. I gave Mathias a look, that after everything, he wanted a bodyguard in my presence.

Shaw folded his hands on the table. “Yes, SI:7 has a reputation for letting some big arseholes in. Arseholes who bungle missions because they’re really in it for the gold, the chance to retire early after body-breaking work and then start up their own businesses. Security agencies and the like.”

“Yes! After only one year of service! Maybe two? But how does that serve the Alliance?”

Mathias nodded at me, that it was all true. But he also looked weary. That wasn’t a part of his organization, they way it was run, that he condoned. “If men get tired, we have to let them go. We can’t force them. And there’s this pipeline of ex-pats helping their buddies and the sons and daughters of their buddies to join up, just to make even more money. We’re trying to break that down from the inside. No offense, but Kaldorei don’t tend to rub each other’s backs like that. So, we’re aggressively recruiting your people. And before you think of threatening me with intervention from your sister in the Kaldorei Rogue Network, we know all about them. In fact, I made them, Wisthera and Alessandre. And the third triumvir rogue, Mistress Myrielle Fadeleaf? I trained her as well.”

I pointed his way, “Not how my sister tells it.”

He rolled his eyes, “Anyway. You’re young, you’re new to spywork. And seems it runs in your family. We recruited you because of your sister, Sharpen. You’re not going to catch us out with that, it was one of the main reasons. SI:7 didn’t go into it blindly.”

“But you just said!” I floundered for a moment, realizing my parachute was gone. “Corruption, back-scratching is rife in SI:7! That whole recruitment experience—nightmare—is not something I want to repeat in the field. I won’t serve!”

Mathias stayed calm, sucked his teeth and looked up thoughtfully before he spoke. Like he was indulging me. “Now. I don’t want to call you a himbo. I don’t wanna hurt your feelings. But let’s say that, unlike your sister, you are a man who would take orders. You would do it for the greater good, you would be incorruptible in that way. Sharpen, didn’t I just explain to you that I’m sick of the bad guys inside our organization? I want a real man. You.” He pointed at me with both hands, thumbs up like he was attempting to sell me a horse, fast. “You are a real man, Sharpen Jadescythe. A man we can depend on.”

#si7-seal #stories #operation-kitten

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bastard-blackstone · 4 years ago

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An Easy Admission

The office was dimly lit, Kevin was sitting at the table, a stack of paperwork to one side of him, an untouched drink to the other. With a sigh, the Kul Tiran ran both hands down his face, visibly tired, his movements slow. “Fuckin’ hells, I hate paperwork.” Kevin muttered to himself, taking up the quill he was using and signing the last few papers he needed to in order to catch up on what he needed to. The quill was placed into a case, the ink capped and put back on the shelf at the back of the room. Something caught the man’s ear outside, the scraping of the loose brick of the office causing him to turn and face the front of the office. He narrowed his gaze, waving his left hand, knowing he was safe enough as only his closest knew of the loose brick, a key hidden behind it. At the motion of his hand, the door began to open, allowing Kevin to catch a glimpse of a familiar, red coat and black pants, the vision causing him to smirk and shake his head. “Ya gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me.” he muttered, crossing his arms over his chest. On the other side of the door, holding the day’s take for the Alchemy shop, Slade grunted, stepping forward and into the office, shutting the door behind himself before turning to face the Kul Tiran once more, cold blue eyes traveling the man’s form before he looked into his friend’s eyes. “Th’ Bastard o’ Boralus ‘imself, eh?” The Gilnean said, glancing around the office, taking a deep breath as he tossed the day’s take on the table. Slade wrinkled his nose, familiar scents dancing in his nose before he stepped toward Kevin once more, sizing him up as he did, shoulders squared as he looked across to the man he’d taught so much. “How is she?” He asked, fingers twitching idly at his side.

“The Ghost a Keel Harbor himself.” Kevin returned, unwavering as Slade sized him up, keeping the man’s gaze even as the satchel of gold was tossed on the table. “How the fuck should I know how she is, Slade?” He asked, but the smirk that tugged at his lips was telling. “She’s fine, I assure ya, Mate.” he told the man, nodding and turning to grab the glass of rum, handing it to the Gilnean. “A lil’ stressed, she might be workin’ on someone, more tired and hungry than she’ll admit, but well overall.” He told the Harvest Witch, a bit more easily than he should have. “Not that I would know, yeah?” He said, nodding. “Wha’ do ya mean she’s stressed, tired an’ hungry? Ya seen her today? Ya had t’ have, her scent is on ya.” The Gilnean told Kevin, waving away the glass which the dark haired man set back on the table. “How d’ y’ know all a tha’, Kev?” Slade asked, his jaw set, fists closing at his sides now. “There’s only one way tha’ kinda information can come round, I know she said ya two did somethin’, I know ya remember tha’ beatin’. Tell me ya didn’t do somethin’ stupid.” Kevin went wide eyed as Slade spoke, another tell given to the Gilnean without notice. “Fuck.” He muttered, shaking his head. “Ya can’t do what ya think ya wanna do, Ghost, ya know she’s gonna hurt too.” He said, heaving a sigh. “I did somethin’ stupid, but ya know what? I don’t fuckin’ regret it, not for a damned second, I’m sorry, I am, but if I’m honest, I’d do it all over again, I’ll explain one day, I swear it, but drop it for now, brother.” Kevin said, rolling his shoulders.

Slade processed what he had said after a moment of those cold blue eyes piercing the man before him, his words dancing in Slade’s mind. Not only was it true, but Kevin’s admission, as easily as it came, coupled with the feeling of betrayal made Slade angry, angrier than he had been in quite some time. “So tha’s i’ then? I’s tha’ easy for ya? Ya jus’ stand here an’ give up all the information I ask ya for?!” He roared out. “Ya thin’ I’m stupid, Blackstone?!” he hissed, taking a deep breath and turning away. “Fuck you, fuck ya for what y’ done!” He bit, memories of months past flooding his mind, his anger rising. After a moment, a quick elbow was thrown at Kevin’s jaw, a sickening crack echoing through the office as it connected. As the hit landed, Slade spun, driving a shoulder into Kevin’s middle, driving him hard into the wall of the office, the familiar sound of air leaving lungs satisfying enough for Slade to let the man crumble against the wall before walking away. “I hate ya, I never wanna see ya again, fuck you, fuck this office and fuck everythin’ else!” The Kul Tiran’s head snapped to the side as he was hit, his back colliding with the wall in mere seconds, the air quickly leaving his lungs. He pushed to his feet slowly, his own rage filling him. “Come get some then, ya fuckin’ cunt!” Kevin snapped, turning to the side as Slade faced him, and with a quick hop forward, his left leg was brought out toward the Gilnean’s face, the flat of his foot glancing along his jaw. “No, fuck you, Slade, if you wanted it, ya shoulda fuckin’ fought! Ya gone bloody -soft-, what happened ta ya!” He yelled, body shaking. “Ya fuckin’ -scared-, that’s what ya problem is. Can ya even shift anymore, big bad wolf?” Slade barely dodged the kick, the hit scraping along his jaw. He rushed Kevin once more, jaw set, the blue of his eyes fading slowly, shifting to a blood red color, iris’ turning to slits as he looked to the Kul Tiran. “Tha’s wha’ ya thin’? Are ya fuckin’ daft, cunt?!” He spat, the beast beginning to show through. “Ya wan’ the old me back, Kevin? Ya really wan’ tha’? Ya bloody well go’ i’, yeah? An’ trust me when I say, ya fuckin’ come near me one more time, I’ll fuckin’ bury ya where ya stand.” He growled, dropping the man and turning to leave, slamming the dorm behind him. Kevin was hoisted easily as the kick missed, not taking his eyes off the Gilnean, even as he was set back on his feet, he fixed his coat, burning a hole in Slade’s back with his eyes, speaking to him as he exited the building. “There’s nothin’ I wouldn’t do for the Doc, Slade, I swear to ya, ya should know that, I’ll do right by her, no matter what I gotta do, for what that’s worth.” He said, shaking his head as the door was slammed, waiting a few minutes before he left as well, heading across the city to start his search.

@ocean-eyed-medic @the-lost-quartermaster For mentions!))

#story #IC #roleplay #moon guard #alliance #the bastard

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mycoronervinny · 5 years ago

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re: Quai, Part 3

Vincent sat in his office alone. The blinds behind his desk were drawn, but thin lines of afternoon sunlight still seeped in that highlighted bits of letters that were open and scattered about his desk. It was past noon, or so he thought, and he had done little except for make a pot of coffee (which he then didn’t drink) and let his face stubble get a little longer.

He checked his pocket watch. 1:20 in the afternoon. There were no meetings scheduled, and no colleagues stopping by. His day was completely open, yet he felt like doing nothing.

“Am I depressed or something?” he muttered. He pushed himself off his chair and went to the side door that led to the alley. The view wasn’t anything to rave about, in fact it no longer *had* a view (except for a stone wall, thanks to the business that went up behind his office a couple of years ago, cutting off his back access to the park), but to Vincent, even when the alley was fraction of what it used to be, it was a sanctuary.

He stepped out into the alley, closing the door behind him. There were a couple of stools out here, including a small garden (though it was nothing but cold hardened dirt this time of year) against the wall. He lit a cigarette, took a quick drag, then leaned back on the brick wall and let out a long, smokey sigh. “Alright.” he said. The next words were about to be “One quick smoke, then it’s time to get work done.” but before he could say that he noticed (and would later internally smack himself for not noticing earlier) that he wasn’t alone.

There was a person, about eight meters to his left, standing over his (now dormant) garden and open trash containers, and appeared to be rummaging around.

Vincent cleared his throat. “Excuse me.” he said, but the person either didn’t hear or ignored the greeting. Vincent was now used to seeing vagrants in Stormwind, it was a large city after all, and the marathon of Wars left a lot of veterans and civilians displaced from their home or outside of the care of the Crown for some reason or another. He assumed this was another person scavenging, or maybe they were looking for a spare key for his house.

Something was off about this one though, and Vincent realized that there was no physical way for this person to have been able to enter the alley. The wall in the back that went up with the Florist or Jeweler or, whatever it was, went up so high that no normal person should have been able to scale it. And the other entrance was a tall, magically secured gate. Vincent wondered if they perhaps dropped down from one of the rooftops of the buildings that shared his offices. Maybe a third floor window that they climbed out of after fleeing someplace?

“There’s nothing in there but a few dead Peaceblooms,.” Vincent said. “Maybe a walnut that the squirrels left. This is private property, by the way.”

The trespasser didn’t react at first, but they did slow down gradually, eventually coming to a stop. They turned around, showing a disheveled face that was half covered in greasy black hair - a man. He stood straight up as he turned, and Vincent noticed he was quite large, even compared to him. A Kul Tiran, possibly. His eyes were sunken, but not unfocused. This was not some addle-brained wandering homeless, and now Vincent perceived that despite the deep sunken circles around his eyes (which appeared at first glance to be the eyes of your average slum drunk), there was some sinister lucidity behind them.

“The whispers.” the man said. “The whispers brought me...here.” he pointed down at the ground where there was nothing but a cracked stone in the walkway.

“I don’t recall putting out that type of advertisement.” Vincent said, flicking his cigarette down to the ground. “But why don’t you come by another time, you can even use the front door.” he said, pointing over his shoulder. Behind him, the magic-secured gate unlocked by itself, allowing access to the outer Trade District.

“He showed me, now my eyes are open. Soon, all eyes will be open.” the stranger said as he took another step. Vincent took a step back as well, but kept facing the man.

“It’s time you saw, too.”

“No thanks.” Vincent said, then hurled a fireball right towards the man’s chest. It soared through the alley, lighting up the stone walls as it traveled. It hit him dead on, and he flew back into the garden bed, smashing it and spilling black dirt all over the ground. Vincent sighed, then started walking towards the body. A small trail of smoke, like that of a burned out bonfire, was twirling off of his singed shirt. He stood over him, then noticed something around his neck. He crouched down, then removed a necklace from him. It was a trinket common amongst Tide Sages. Was this person at one point a colleague of Merrick, his old Tide Sage contact?

Vincent felt a cold hand grip his wrist. He looked down and saw that the man’s eyes had opened. An intense energy enveloped the two of them that filled Vincent with deep terror, and for a moment he thought he was teleported somewhere else entirely, to a place that looked like his home but...not quite. Before he could contemplate this further, Vincent saw that the man’s eyes were lit with that same intense blue glow from before.

“Now you know the truth.” he said, his breath staggered. “You’ve carried this burden long enough-” he looked down, and his expression turned from deranged and serious to one that was more...deranged and confused. He felt his grip on Vincent loosen, but when he tried to grip tighter he felt no response.

“And you’ve kept me from work too long.” Vincent said.

The trespasser’s hand had turned into a hoof, a sheep’s hoof to be exact. And as the man’s eyes followed his arm down toward his elbow, he noticed more and more of his body becoming sheep-like as Vincent’s Polymorph spell enveloped him.

“N’Zoth rises! N’Zoth...behhhhh.” bleated the sheep.

“Another victim of the Old God.” Vincent muttered. “Maybe that’s why I’ve been feeling so…”

“Off lately?” a whisper from inside his head rang. Vincent wondered if that was his conscious or not. He shook his head, then tied up the sheep.

“You can snack on the crushed Peaceblooms if you get hungry.” he told the sheep. It looked at him, eyes pointing in two directions, then lowered its head and started munching on a partly ruined green stem. Vincent turned around and walked back inside. He would call a guard in a few minutes, but first he would do something he’d been putting off.

He sat down at his desk and pulled out a sheet of blank parchment and a pen.

“Quai,

I received the payment from the job and have deposited it, thank you. I will pass along your regards to Lee as well. As for the next assignment,”

He paused for a moment, twirling the pen with his fingers a couple of times.

“, if there is a next assignment, I hope you would consider bringing me along. I hope you don’t believe I was scared off after last time.”

He considered ending it there, and if he was being honest with himself he wasn’t entirely sure what else he would say anyway. “Sorry I gave you a hard time about the dangerous mission?” The fact was that every mission he’d been on with Blackbay since he joined up had been risky. Something had bothered him about the last mission though, and he wasn’t certain if this letter was the right time to explore that. Perhaps in time the answer would come to him, or if Quai was ever in town again he could talk to her personally. In the meantime though he needed to finish at least one task today, so he ended the letter with:

“Let’s talk soon. Hope you are doing well.

-Vincent”

Outside there was another muffled “Behhhh”.

@quai-mason

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imma-sucker-for-a-beard · 5 years ago

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Evans or Spears. Did I ask this? I can't remember. Oh well. You can't pick both

I don't think you asked that one.

I absolutely love both of them no doubt about it but since I can't pick both I have to make a decision.

Pros and cons.

Age and zodiac:

•Spears: is from Nov 29th 1982 making him a ♐Sagittarius. Making him a 🔥 sign.

•Evans: is from June 13th 1981 making him a ♊Gemini. Making him an 🌬 sign like me.

●Both are supposedly good with my Zodiac sign being an ♒Aquarius. Spears and I Contrast each other well (fun fact: my mom is ♒ and my dad was ♐) all of us needs our space and will feel suffocated if we don't have that. The difference between Gemini and Sagittarius is that ♐ can go days on end without making any kind of contact. (Mom's problem with dad) where as a ♊ will at least show sign of being alive with a simple text or short phone call.

Mood:

• Spears: has a more serious way about him, of course his a happy man but he is rarely seen smiling. And keeps his emotions close to heart most of the time.

• Evans: shows a more carefree side to him at the same time he's utterly and completely honest about his over active mind and makes him prone to anxiety, but he's aware of this and knows far along the way what helps him with this

Both are very romantic and both are better at showing it rather than saying it.

● Me: I have a carefree nature where I have made a conscious choice on being carefree, and then stern, serious when need be. I won't let that consume me. I am also better at showing someone that I love/care for someone than saying it. The three big words put together scares the bejesus out of me.

Family:

• Spears: has a very large family being second youngest. He has 6 siblings (only one sister) + two older that past away years ago. His parents got divorced, like mine did. He like myself lost his father to cancer and now has only on parent left our moms.

• Evans: has a good size family. Were he is the second oldest. He has 3 siblings (two sisters and a brother) his parents are also divorced. And he has a very close relationship with his mom.

● like both I know its like to have parents that are divorced. And like Spears I lost my dad to cancer I have two siblings a (brother and sister) where I'm the youngest. I have a very close relationship with my mom with whom I can share anything and everything.

View on life:

Spears: is Native American more specifically a member of Kul Wicasa Oyate Lakota tribe in SD. He is a storyteller in the purest and most literal form. (Like his oldest brother is going to be the shaman) storyteller is his path. He is if I remember correctly Jewish but lives and breathes the native way. He's a big activist for mother earth. In a relationship he is dedicated to his partner and family forgetting everything else except for when he needs his space then he's out. He's a big animal lover.

• Evans: was raised Catholic, but he has expressed pantheistic views. He has a great interest in Buddhism and the philosophies behind it. And even has a quote tattooed on his chest. He is actively showing his political views and encourages everyone to vote to let their voices be heard no matter how small. He is a down to earth man with both feet firmly planted on the ground quirks and all and proud to show it. He's a nature guy, loves to go camping getting away from the busy everyday life. He too is a big animal lover though he think cat just generally doesn't like him.

● Conclusion: I have many things in common with both of these men and I absolutely love both of them. But!

Looking over the different aspects of them I'm going to go with Evans. One of the major factors is that like Evans, I need my own time and space just as he needs his, and then we have our time. It will give us a chance to miss each other. His views on philosophies and political views are much like mine and with his curious mind and mine I feel that we could talk hour on end and still have more to talk about.... plus come on!!! He loves ink!!!

So Chris you're my man.

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wilddriud · 5 years ago

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The things we sacrifice

((Warning: Graphic violence, gore ))

There had been a string of violence as of late against the Kaldorei. Getting rather annoyed with hearing and seeing it through her vines, Tasca needed to step in, felt the need to see what she could do about addressing this violence. This seemed to be a growing pattern, particularly with humans. A group would be without and the humans would cast them out, aid in small ways, or start insinuating that these beings are a problem and begin to retaliate against them. They had done this with the Orcs, the Undead, the Sin'dorei, the worgan, the people of Westfall. A chuckle from her throat came as she thought upon how they had even done so to their own kind. Right now, however, it was to the people she was portraying herself as. A sigh as she waited her mind drifting on. Of course, knowing very well others have done hate unto others thus why there is Horde and Alliance, she can't say they have all been kind unto each other. The Kaldorei themselves have faults and have had issues with others. This was just...more apparent. Plus kicking a horse when it's down is just uncalled for. Besides, these were Kul Tirans, if they wanted to be part of the Alliance they need to learn their place. That being as a people that work with others and this island seemed to be the worse of the lot. For now, something was to be done. Following through the net work of roots and greenery on the island it'd take her a couple days or so to track down a small group. Her timing seemed to have been blessed as she learned this group was going to hold a rally. With the pull over Bel'sharia she had, Tasca sent the Ilidari off to crash the party so to speak. Telling her to do as she wished so long as the leader was brought to herself. Knowing full well the Ilidari would likely be lenient, giving only a couple broken bones here and there, cuts and mostly bruises she knew she'd have to step up the game. Tasca would also know that Bel'sharia was almost as good as a rogue when it came to infiltration, covering her scent and using various tools, such as the tear gas Tasca provided to cover the womans trail more so. The moon hung in over head, its light bright in the clear sky. A soft touch of starlight stretched out over the world on a blanket of darkness. It would do. Tasca's only thought lingering on the hope that Elune, nor her beloved Ysera, was to see what was to come. Save to perhaps to forgive her of the crime she would commit. Bel'sharia had done her work well, as expected of the demon huntress. Her tracking and sight were most helpful at such times. Holding things over the others head made things easier. This night she was not in her usual state, dressed for such a special occasion, her gown was a deep forest green. A high collar came in to her neck to hide the scales she couldnt hide as she was still weak. Antler like horns branching out from her forehead arching up and around seeming to create a crown. The sleeves long enough to cover half of her hands. The long, wide skirt covering her tail. Deep emerald eyes watching on as one of the men she was targeting was dragged down along the grassland. Bel'sharia had done a good job beating the human to near death. Racist carved onto his forehead. His body managed and beaten. Blood seeming to cover him well as it faded on and matched the arrange of bruising upon his form. This wouldn't be enough however. She had been slighted. What she guarded and protected had been insulted enough and had gone through enough without having one more insect bite into it's crumbling life. Her head turned upwards towards the sky, looking to the moon for a single moment before her ears flicked as the illidari spoke, "Brought the leader, I think the others know better now." She seemed smug over her work, which granted was earned. However the druidess wasn’t satisfied. "Release him and step away." Tascas tone was sharp and hot. Not something the illidari would ignore and so she stepped away, leaving the man on the spot. "Pl-please. No more. We-we wont do it again." Of course the man would sputter such, begging for any mercy. Tasca would take a step forward. "Did my friend scare you? Illidari are quite mean and scary aren’t they?" She would give him a soft smile, "but you know druids aren’t like that, right?" The man would look back, almost seeming confused before trying for a smile. "Uh right...yes..i-i see that now. Your people are good." He'd give a nervous laugh. "You have me mistaken. But that is fine. Your thoughts aren’t going to matter anymore. Your breath wont matter. Your life doesn’t matter. You...are just food for my babies now." As she spoke, vines and roots of the various plant life would begin to sprout and worm their way through the soil towards the man. Wrapping in around his body, pulling him in down to the dirt as sharp points would pierce his flesh. Threading under his skin as thistle needles dragged along flesh and scraping into muscle fiber. Twisting in through his being, shredding through flesh, muscle, and bone. Slowly seeming to rip small pieces of his being away into the soils below. Blood seeping out, overflowing as the dirt seemed to grow drunk off the amount, spilling it over grass and stone. The males screams were cut short as one vine shoved in through his mouth, digging on down through his throat, his intestines, down and down until finally it reached an exit point. Tears ran down his cheeks, body jerking, twitching and the pain burned heavily through his being. Finally, it would come to an end for him. A single vine would curl through his form, reaching around his heart. Wrapping in around and around as it would begin to squeeze. Pressing in harder and harder, till finally...POP! What remained of his body would go limp and soon the grass around him would be seen eating at his flesh, muscle and bone as the earth would reclaim him to be nothing more than a stain of blood. Bel'sharia had turned her back, even to her sigh such a thing was too much for her to endure as she gagged. The scent forcing her to cover her mouth as the air reeked of fecal matter, blood and the rot of death. "You could have just told him to fuck off. That...that was..." she couldn't even think of the words. "Cat got your tongue, dog? People like him don’t deserve the air trees create. They deserve nothing more then to be the fertilizer for them. If I had my way, that whole lot would be dead like this but I trust you did enough to remind them elves don’t take things lightly." She didn't have an answer. What could she possibly say to a woman who had just done....this. "I'm going home...to cleanse myself of...of this." The illidari would leave and Tasca would remain under the pale moonlight.

The smell of hot burning sand would soon fill the air as her sister would begin to appear out of a portal.

"You say i don't do enough and when i do something you come knocking on my door to complain, what do you want now, Nor?" Tasca would call to her in a dry tone, not turning to face her sibling behind her.

Nortanus was a taller kaldorei, a little too tall for females. Her body was thin, almost wiry. Her features slightly sharp and pointed. The very image of a librarian. A small pair of monocles rested on her nose, a slim silver chain hanging down on side before going up over her shoulder and around her neck in a loose necklace, adding to the other larger chained necklace she wore with a Magus symbol. Her robes were of silk, the finest clothing one could buy would be the first off the shelf every time for this woman. Four rings showing her schools of magic have mastered, many more rings of various schools would be at home, choosing four different rings at random each day. Her shoulder length purple hair was pulled back into a small bun, seeming to copy a style by the Pandarian people today.

"You act too much like one of them and strain yourself for them. You don't pace yourself." Nortaunus would say in a rather friendly soft voice as she approached, reaching to take the elder siblings hand to push back the sleeve to reveal the green scales, before Tasca would pull her hand away and shake her arm down so the fabric fell over once more.

"Ysera did it, why can't i?

That seemed to gain a chuckle from the Bronze, "Oh please. Don't pretend you do things to follow in her footstep, we both know out of the three of us you are the most foul minded. You'll come up with any excuse to have people forgive you for the things you pull."

Tasca shook her head, "I still think it's annoying how you think you know me, how you think you can read me like one of your books and understand me so well. You don't. And i'll say that for the rest of my life."

The younger of the two would shake her head and sigh, before pulling out a vial and pass it over. "Here, this will help you recover faster. I'm...just tired of seeing you either be a drunk on the side of the road or being the one who almost kills herself while saving a couple other people, not to mention how much to stretch yourself to watch over the areas you are in. How much of the plant life here hasn't been used or blessed by you?"

Tasca accepts the vial and drinks its contents without question, "Mm...i'd still say about thirty percent, maybe even forty. It's hard to tell with some of the reaches between the islands, plus...the forest of Drusvar is still...sick, it's hard tapping into there properly. I keep having to reclaim pieces of it."

"That's too much and no where near where you need to watch. Honestly." A sigh came from Nortanus, her hands folding in before her lap as she stood. "Thank you for having those commissions done by Liza, i think she really needed something different to tackle. I don't know how to help her. I feel like...maybe i'm getting through to her and then...we take three steps back. The kids are doing well though, Elruna is keeping them busy, she loves kids so it works out well."

"I think she'll break through." A chuckle came from Tasca before she went on, "I think it's funny. You'll bend over backwards for the people that have proven to be worth your time and i...just make people feel like they owe me their lives to win their adoration."

"Now whose being the cynical one?" Nortanus would say almost amused before placing a hand to her siblings shoulder and giving it a firm squeeze. "You are loved Tasca, and if you open up to people they'll get to know you for who you are."

Tasca wouldn't reply, silent would pass over them and soon the younger of the pair would make her leave, stepping through another portal to return to her garrison. The green dragon would look up to the sky once more before making her leave back to the brothel.

#random story #wra #original characters #kaldorei #ilidari #druid #mage #bronze dragon #green dragon #ic

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private95 · 6 years ago

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A Day In Dalaran

(On Ao3)

It had been an exhausting few weeks that followed the events of the battle Jaina took part in. Reports were requested, written, delivered, requested again and so on. Rhonin was a great help through all of this. Doing everything he could and making sure that Jaina ate and got to her room at the end of the day.

Another day. Another bunch of papers to fill in and classes to attend.

With her hands full of scrolls, Jaina was navigating the halls to her next class when, upon turning a corner, she collided with someone, everything she was holding tumbling onto the floor.

“Oh, Tides! I’m so sorry!”

“No, I should be the one apolo-”

Two pairs of eyes met and smiles bloomed.

“Ah! Lady Proudmoore! What a pleasant surprise!”

“Jaina is just fine, Lieutenant Windrunner.”

“Vereesa then, I insist.”

They both picked the dropped scrolls and Vereesa handed them to Jaina.

“What brings you to Dalaran, Vereesa?”

“Playing the messenger, you see.” Was the reply, as Vereesa patted a lather bag on her side. “Not exactly complaining. This is sure better that worrying about skirmishes on our borders.”

Jaina nodded with a smile.

“Can’t agree more.”

“Speaking of. My squadron deemed you a hero and an honorable soldier to the Rangers.” Jaina couldn’t help but blush, shaking her head. “They are going to be so jealous when I tell them I’ve got a chance to talk to you.”

“I did nothing so spectacular to earn such a high praise.”

“You don’t give yourself enough credit, Jaina.” Vereesa said with a kind smile. “You alone saved a lot of our soldiers and without you, who knows, Sylvanas might not have been with us still.”

At that Jaina shuddered. She tried to push the memories of Lady Windrunner bleeding. There being more blood than Jaina would have liked. Her whizzing, ragged breathing. Her skin paling by the seconds. Jaina shook her head.

She still had that nightmare from time to time.

“How is Lady Windrunner fairing by the way?”

“Bah, still a pain in the ass.” Jaina really tried to hold back the giggle, but she was weak. “And refusing to let Lor’themar deal with all the reports and finally get on leave so we can rest from her.”

They both chuckled and Jaina was just about to ask Vereesa something else when she heard Rhonin’s voice. “Jaina! There you are!” Both her and Vereesa turned and Jaina smiled at him.

“I was just heading to class, Rhonin. You needed something?” That was when she noticed a stack of papers he was holding which made her groan. “Please tell me this is not what I think this is.”

“As much as I would like that, I can’t.” He smiled innocently. “You know me, Jaina. I’m an honest man.” With a deep frown Jaina grabbed the papers from him. “You know where you can shove that honesty of yours at this moment?” Rhonin laughed again and then Jaina watched him finally notice Vereesa. With a smug smile, Jaina noted the way his cheeks dusted with a light shade of pink. She was honestly surprised when she saw Vereesa looking back at Rhonin, her cheeks were just a tab bit brighter shade of red. Jaina just stood between the two, eyes darting from Rhonin to Vereesa and back. Rhonin was the first the gather himself, clearing his throat. “Forgive me my rudeness, my lady. Rhonin Redhair. At your service.” “Vereesa Windrunner. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Rhonin.” “The pleasure is all mine, my lady.” He gave Vereesa his most charming smile and Jaina rolled her eyes so hard she was surprised she didn't see the back of her skull. She quickly smiled when Vereesa turned to her. “I'm sorry, but I must leave you, Jaina. These documents won't deliver themselves.” “I wouldn't dare holding you back any longer. You know where to find me. I'd always be happy to see you whenever you find yourself in Dalaran. And gave Lady Windrunner my regards.” “The same sentiment goes to you as well, Jaina. You should visit every time you're in Silvermoon.” The smile she gave her next made Jaina worry. It was the smile full of mischief and of an unspoken secrets that Jaina wasn't in on but was linked to. “And I’m sure Sylvanas would appreciate it.” Jaina barely contained another eyeroll when Vereesa turned to Rhonin, giving him a small and somewhat shy smile. “Again. A pleasure meeting you, Rhonin.”

“And you as well, my lady.”

Only when Vereesa’s footsteps were a distant echo down the hallway, did he turned to Jaina.

“Well, you keep an interesting company, Jaina.”

“How so?”

“You just seem to surround yourself with powerful and well known people.” Jaina shrugged.

“It’s not like I’m doing it on purpose, Rhonin.”

There was a moment of silence between them. Jaina was already planning the rest of her day ahead now that she had another heap of reports and papers to write - on top of her lessons - when Rhonin nudged her lightly.

“Do you think I have a chance on talking to Lady Windrunner again?”

Groaning loudly, Jaina swiftly turned on her heels and continued on her way to her first class. She almost turned around and threw an ice lance an Rhonin when he called after her:

“Is that a ‘yes’?!”

Two weeks later and Jaina finally was left alone and the stream of questions about Quel’Thalas’ protection wards tapered off. She could finally get back to her books and her studies.

She was heading to her room after a long, but productive day of classes when she was called over but one of the older mages.

“There’s someone asking for you.” Jaina frowned.

“Asking for me? Where?”

“In the grand hall.”

Thanking her fellow mage, Jaina quickly went to her room, disposing of her bag and books before heading down to the entrance of the Violet Citadel.

Looking around, she saw a few mages, some soldiers and Paladins and common folk. Everyone was talking between each other and no one was alone or out of place. Was there actually someone looking for her? Or was it Rhonin again, trying to make her leave her room more often?

Jaina almost jumped out of her skin when someone tapped her on the shoulder. She spun around, ready to slap whoever it was… and came face to face with a laughing Ranger-General.

“Forgive me, Lady Jaina. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Lady Windrunner!” Jaina placed a hand over her heart, making sure it stayed inside her chest. “I’m starting to think that you enjoy scaring me way too much.” Lady Windrunner raised her hands up, still shaking with laughter.

“I’m truly, terribly sorry, Lady Jaina.”

Jaina took another deep breath, gathering herself together and looking up at Lady Windrunner again. “What brings you to Dalaran? Besides the fact that you wanted to scare my spirit out of my body?”

“Well, you see,” Lady Windrunner started, putting hands behind her back, a stance that was a second nature to her by then, Jaina guessed. “I’m on my leave, currently. And everyone around me insisted that I spend it somewhere away from them.”

Jaina couldn’t help but giggle. “I believe Vereesa mentioned something along those lines.”

“Or course she did.” Lady Windrunner grumbled. “My point is, I will be in Dalaran for the next four days and I was hoping that you’d show me around?”

“This isn’t your first time in Dalaran, is it?”

“It isn’t, but before that I’ve only been here because of important matters and didn’t get a chance to explore.” Sylvanas said, with a smile. “And I was hoping that you’d have some time to, perhaps, show me the city?”

“Oh.” Jaina was shocked, to say the least. “Oh, um… I’d be happy to, Lady Windrunner! I- I, um… I’m going to be free tomorrow, so i-if you’re so inclined, we could explore the city.”

Lady Windrunner chuckled, “I’d be most happy to. What time and where can I meet you?”

“P-perhaps here, by noon?”

With another charming smile, Lady Windrunner took her hand, leaning down and pressing a kiss to Jaina’s knuckles. “It is set then. I cannot wait for tomorrow, Lady Jaina.”

She left and Jaina was still standing there, face set ablaze and the feeling of soft lips and warm breath still on her skin.

Jaina was embarrassed how long she’d spent in front of her cupboard and mirror, choosing what to wear. She berated herself the whole time. You’re not heading out for a date, for Tides’ sake! She chose her favorite Kul Tiran green skirt and flowy white blouse and a pair of her warn in boots that she always wore when heading for a sail with her father. Brushing her hair and quickly washed her face and finally happy with what she saw in the mirror, she locked her room and headed out.

Jaina stood on the steps of the Violet Citadel, looking through the stream of people, trying to spot Lady Windrunner. It wasn’t that hard. Her impressive and rather intimidated height was easy to spot in the crowd of people who were mostly a head shorter. Jaina's heart hammered wildly in her chest when Lady Windrunner spotted her on the steps and headed right towards her with a bright smile.

How's Lady Windrunner even more beautiful in her common clothes?

Jaina immediately shook her head, her face blazing hotter. No, no, no. Those thoughts were not welcomed. But she did look somewhat dashing in her yellow, almost golden, silk tunic and leather breeches and boots.

She stopped a step below. “Forgive me, have you been waiting here for long?”

“N-no. I've been here for a couple of minutes only.”

Lady Windrunner offered her hand, “shall we?”

With a shy smile, Jaina took the offered hand and weaving through the crowd, led Lady Windrunner to the first destination she thought of.

Leading Lady Windrunner down the most decorated street, Jaina told her about the buildings and stores Ranger-General might be interested in. Lady Windrunner, on her end, commented on where she thought things and designs reminded her of Silvermoon.

Their first stop was a small inn that Jaina stumbled upon when she first came to Dalaran. It was tucked away between houses and was quieter than most, but what Jaina like about it was the diversity in the kitchen. They had dishes of almost every nation on their menu. But to Jaina, most important was their fisher’s pie that reminded her of home.

Her and Lady Windrunner found themselves a table at the back on the inn and ordered. The conversation continued and Jaina couldn’t help but wonder how easy it was talking to the other woman. She couldn’t help but think about when it all was gonna go down the hill. Everything was too good to be true.

“Would you be so kind as to stop giving my food that look?” Jaina asked, pointing her fork at Lady Windrunner, who was looking at her fisher’s pie with a look of pure disgust.

“You will have to forgive me, Lady Jaina, but that looks absolutely ghastly!”

Jaina gasped, with caricature look of hurt on her face. “How dare you! This is the famous dish from Kul Tiras!”

“I’ll admit that the crust looks good, but the stuffing looks like a vile grey blob!” Lady Windrunner shot back, scrunching up her nose even more.

“Preposterous! You haven’t even tried it!” Piling some crust and stuffing onto her fork, she pointed it towards Lady Windrunner again, who recoiled, leaning as far away as possible.

“Lady Jaina, I will do almost everything for you,” her face twisted in a queasy grimace and Jaina had to bite the inside of her cheek to stop herself from laughing. “But I draw the line at this.” She spat the last word.

“Oh, please, Lady Windrunner! I promise it’s delicious!”

They went into a stare down. Jaina was not backing up now. She would make Ranger-General submit to her will and it would be a glorious victory. Lady Windrunner was leveling her with an intense gaze of her own. Jaina knew that the stand-off would be long but she’d be damned if she backed off. She’s a Proudmoore. And Proudmoores were nothing if not persistent and stubborn.

She expected another scoff and a flinch as Lady Windrunner pulls away and returns to her own meal and only then Jaina would relent, because it would be a small victory all on itself (because she even had courage in the first place to go that far with the whole thing without her face going ablaze). What she didn’t expect was a deep breath in from Lady Windrunner and her leaning forward and taking the forkful into her mouth and pulling back.

Jaina sat, holding her breath, watching her chew. She couldn’t help but break out laughing as Lady Windrunner's face morphed into the look of pure abhorrence that made Jaina almost fall out of the chair with the force of her laughter.

“Why is it so salty?” Lady Windrunner mumbled over a mouthful, not daring to swallow.

“Because it’s supposed to be!” Jaina said through her, at that point, hysterical laughter.

“And the texture!” She made a show of gulping down the pie and quickly grabbing her tankard and almost draining it. “It’s appalling!” But Jaina just kept on laughing, swearing to always remember this moment.

They’d left the inn after they’d finished their food. After the short argument about who should pay and after Lady Windrunner quickly tossed the coins in barmaid’s hand they headed for Runeweaver Square. They mingled through the stalls and people. Jaina hanged back by the flower stall, thinking that maybe her room could use some color. She could enchant them perhaps so they stay alive? Otherwise they’d weather for sure. She mover on to the next stall, glancing over the wares. Glancing back Jaina smiled when Lady Windrunner navigated the crowd towards her. Jaina just opened her mouth to suggest heading to the park, when Lady Windrunner reaches her hand and tucked hair behind Jaina's ear and then placed a flower in her hair.

Jaina just stood there, flabbergasted, already feeling the heat creeping into her face. Lady Windrunner smiled down at her and said softly.

“Forgive me, Lady Jaina, I couldn’t help myself.”

Sputtering and mumbling under her breath, Jaina turned around and headed to the park, trying to ignore the low chuckle behind her.

And again, Jaina became hyperaware of Lady Windrunner's presence by her side. The warmth radiating from her body, the smooth baritone of her voice. Jaina could barely remember what they were talking about for the rest of their walk. All her thoughts were focused on Lady Windrunner. The warmth, the cadence of her accented voice, the light pressure of her hand on the small of her back.

With the sun slowly lowering behind the buildings and the sky taking on the warm orange hue, Lady Windrunner walked Jaina back to the Violet Citadel.

“I thank you for sacrificing your day to show me around Dalaran.” Lady Windrunner said as Jaina stopped before the stairs of the Citadel. “I’ve had a wonderful time.”

“I’m glad to hear that, Lady Windrunner.” Jaina said with a smile, hoping her cheeks weren’t as bright red as they felt.

“I hope I can find and still you away for one more day before I leave back for Silvermoon.”

“That would be most wonderful, Lady Windrunner.”

Jaina's smile turned shy when Ranger-General took her hand, bringing it to her lips and pressing a soft kiss to the back of Jaina's hand. Then, she leaned down even further and pressing another kiss to Jaina's cheek.

“Then I cannot wait. Have a good night, Lady Jaina.”

Her head up in the clouds and her lips stretched in a dreamy smile, Jaina was on her way to her room. She was warm and fuzzy, in her little world of possibilities and sweet fantasies of just as sweet kisses and touches, when she was cruelly brought back by the voice of her friend.

“Jaina! There you are! Where have you be-” Rhonin stopped before her, looking her up and down. “Would you look at that! You were outside! On you own volition!”

“Yes, I was Rhonin.” She smiled, hoping he wouldn’t question everything too much.

“Good-good. I’m glad I didn’t have to drag you out of your room again.”

“Was that why you were looking for me?”

“Indeed.” Rhonin smiled, before turning around and being on his way. “I won’t hold you back any more. Enjoy the rest of your evening.” He was half way down the ha;;, when he added over his shoulder. “I like the flower, by the by. Brings out the blue of your eyes.”

Jaina frowned before remembering the flower Lady Windrunner had put behind her ear. She carefully took the blossom from her hair and looked at it. Big wide bright blue petals with white middle and tips on petals. With a smile, Jaina brought the flower to her nose and inhaled. The scent was faint but sweet.

Jaina couldn’t remember when was the last time that she slept so soundly. With her dreams so pleasant.

And the flower, enchanted to never whither, rested in a thin glass vase on her desk.

1. A Faithful Meeting

2. A Day in Silvermoon

3. The Angel On The Battlefield

#My writing #sylvaina #Jaina Proudmoore #Sylvanas Windrunner #i'm addicted to wow now #help

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ironbloodccd · 6 years ago

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“ you’ve gotten so used to being hurt that happiness scares you." ( also for Akefia )

some meme that I can’t find, lol

@adonaiis

Something about that statement had him bristling, and his teeth clenching in his jaw. Looking up from his food, Bakura fixed the former Pharaoh with a hard, icy stare. This wasn’t a discussion that he wanted to have, and yet Atem seemed to be insisting, though why, the thief couldn’t fathom.

“I’m not afraid of anything,” came his reply, which was laced with a growl, “it’s that I know that I don’t deserve to be happy - not with the shit that I’ve pulled.”

He still thought that this ‘second chance at life’ was some kind of sick joke. ‘Make his heart lighter’? How? It had turned to stone the moment he’d set eyes on the man responsible for his village’s slaughter alongside Atem’s father, and had refused to budge since. He’d been used by Zorc, and Bakura knew that now, having been little more than the dark god’s puppet after he’d returned to the ruins of Kul Elna so many years ago.

That didn’t excuse what he’d done, however, and nothing that he did in this lifetime could atone for the atrocities that he’d been responsible for. Perhaps the boy, Masuda, might have been worthy of happiness, but the man known as Bakura? The thief and murderer, who had been as terrible as that mockery of priesthood?

“I know better than to entertain that thought - there are leeches who are more deserving of peace than I am, Atem.”

#adonaiis #bakuraatemtag #☀ ●bakura verse; tipping the scales● ☀#☀ ●Bakura; ic● ☀#✉ ●letters; asks● ✉#He's got about as much faith in his own character as Atem does about himself xD;;;#quite the pair lol

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caterinaprimrose · 6 years ago

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Turning Tables

It was a late breakfast. The previous night Caterina and James Roman were in Ironforge so that the esteemed actress may share her knowledge in judging a talent show. They’d taken the tram to Stormwind that morning so that Caterina could attend a court hearing to settle some legal documents. The two stopped by the mage quarter, sitting outside to eat a light breakfast before taking a portal back to Boralus

The thoughts scattered her mind. The glamouring lady was reclined in her seat, arms claded in jewelry, they rest limp upon the cushions chair's arms. That's when the waitress appeared, setting James and her own's food down in front of them. Caterina was having a light meal, not wishing to go through a portal on a full stomach. A simple muffin and small bowl of diced fresh fruit - and maybe a mimosa to calm the nerves.

James received sausage, eggs and a side of toast. He dug in, though he looked up at her, pondering for a moment then placing his fork and knife down. “Excuse me, Miss Primrose. May I ask you a question?” Those dark brown eyes held curiosity in them, but as always they held that friendly warmth in them.

He'd taken her out of her head, a messy and dreamy place. Her eyes had looked clouded and confused for a moment before retouching base with the land of the living. It easily made her come off annoyed or cold. "What is it, Mister Roman?"

The small smile had come on his face remained there as he asked his question, his voice soft kept looking to her. “That man yesterday, Mister...Graham I believe...Who was he? I know he’s an actor, but I don’t know much other than that and you seem to see him as an idol. It was odd, I’ve never seen you so smitten. It’s usually you getting gushed over, Miss Primrose.”

It was a simple question, but the luscious actress let her head tilt in hesitation. "What interests you?" she almost accuses.

He looked down at his meal, almost debating to take another bite, then looked back up at her. “Before I met you I hadn’t even seen a show, much less heard of any famous actors or actresses. I’m interested because this is still very new to me and I’d like to learn.”

She lets her lips quirk to a mimicked smile, lips shut. "Very well." She said, sipping her mimosa. "Mister Graham Ellingham was a rather reputable actor and playwright in Boralus and surrounding Kul Tiras areas when I was a young girl. Oh, Mister Roman," The beauty shudders, nearly melting in her seat as her fingers graze over her diamond-decorated collarbone, grasping at her necklace to play with it.

"He was simply magnificent. He has these little 'isms' when he acts, the subtlety in his eyes, they're a killer's gaze. He could be as romantic and warm as summer and then with in an instant a cold and chilling villain. That, darling, that is acting. When you can propel your energies with so much truth and assault your audience with the air you tailored to your flavor. When your presence demands the room and rules the playing grounds. He was everything I've become and is currently what I wish to someday be. I'll not be this stunning forever, and I know that. When I'm out of my prime and my days as a successful actress are over, I'll spend my years directing, like Mister Ellingham. I already teach classes, but on rarity, you know my schedule.”

She lifts her drink, gesturing with it, moving it in circles by her face. “I'm in the rehearsal hall one minute, then at a table conducting business deals the other and by that night I've been transported to Dalaran for a modeling session, or interview. It's exhausting. I've no time." She dismisses the thought. The prongs of her fork sink into a ripe strawberry, placing it into her mouth, she chews alongside her cheek. "Nevertheless, it was one of the most exhilarating greetings I've ever had the pleasure of experiencing. He knows little of the affect he has had on me. He and his old troupe were what inspired me to become what I am today, and now I'm at the top of the game. -- And it's only the beginning, Mister Roman. I plan to write Mister Ellingham for further work. Perhaps he and I could do a scene together - oh, wouldn't that simply be lovely???" Her voice exclaims, feminine and dreamy as usual but most assuredly ecstatic. Her heart seeks to flutter out of the birdcage known as her ribs with great indignation to be trapped so.

He was no actor and likely never would be, but what she was describing truly did interest him. "Hm...I would've loved to see him perform. And I do know your schedule, which is one of the reasons why I doubt I could ever do what you are doing now, ma'am."

"It's not something everything can or -should- do, Mister Roman." She reassures, or so she thinks. It wasn't a very nice way to word that. Though, when did anyone ever mistake Caterina Primrose as nice? She takes another bite of her fruit, sipping her drink.

Blue eyes leak downward, examining the print of lipstick that rims the glass. "He's quite the gentleman, though, and it did surprise me. He would do well under Mister Hudson's employ. In fact, I'm sure he'd simply adore our men. Yourself, Mister Worthshire, Mister Summerland? They'd be the best of friends. Mister Ellingham will meet them shortly, he'll certainly feel on his proper social level, surrounded by successful peers who know good form, instead of being forced to watch rag tag improvisation troupes and country singers." She flicks some hair over her round shoulder. So critical. "I'd like to integrate him into our social group. Inch by inch, of course." She glances about, making sure no one was with in immediate ear shot as her voice lowered to a much more private level. "We wouldn't want him getting scared."

He smiled once more, as he shook his head. "He did seem like a good man during the talent show. I think I would enjoy getting to know him on a personal level." He lowers his own voice, then. “Though, to be quite frank, it's easy to get....uneasy, when Mister Worthshire is around. No offense to him."

Caterina smirks, her eyes rolling high. "I suppose so, but he knows where his loyalties lie. Before anything, I have to speak with him and see where his goals lie. From there we will see."

@thegreatgrahamellingham

@james-roman

@the-cleaner-wra

#Wyrmrest Accord #kul tiras #roleplay #caterina primrose #graham ellingham

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thefabulousfoxhunt · 3 years ago

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How long can you scream into a pillow before it teeters over the line from stress relief to mental insanity? Nora was determined to figure out the answer.

Thankfully, her pillow was thick and plush enough to act as a sound absorber for most of her hysterics. Even so, from time to time she would not quite secure her face all the way against it after taking in another heaving breath, and so some of her sobbing was able to escape into the nearly empty room. Empty except for Cheddar, who stared on in a mix of wonder and concern. He had been trained well enough to comfort her during these moments, but even his gentle pawing at her ankles had done little to calm her.

No, no...she needed to get this out.

It wasn't just her interaction with Layla that had pushed her into this state. It was everything from the past few months: her uncertainty of leaving Kul Tiras, her anxiety wrapped around how Dusk Glow was received, her writer's block while trying to write the sequel, her conflicted emotions about Worth, and now...the attack that Layla had endured.

Even just the thought of what had happened caused another choking sob to leave her, muffled pathetically as she dug her face deep into the pillow. She hated this!!! Hated the feeling of desperately wanting to help. Hated the feeling that still lingered of him telling her, "No", and the helplessness that followed. This man had quickly become like a little brother to her - a near mirror image of who she had been at his age - and to see him suffering alone, just trying to figure the whole thing out while caring for his mother?

Shit. It was just too much to bare.

And of course, there was the guilt again. Who was she to be in such throes of self-pity when he was the one actually suffering through all these things? She had a roof over her head, food to eat, and a steady income where she barely needed to lift a finger (let alone do any amount of physical labor). Who was she to be crying when he was the one out in the cold tonight?

No. No, not tonight. Tonight, he was safe and warm in an inn somewhere in the city - sleeping in a bed with a real pillow and a door that locked. And that was thanks to her. Despite her outburst, she had still done good by him - and as that line of thinking continued, her crying eased slowly into simple sniffles.

It scared her more than she'd admit, though, to know that he'd be back on the streets once those few nights were up. But then she thought about her own comment made earlier - about how it was luck and luck alone that had gotten him through the mess. Maybe it was only luck that had preserved him, but wasn't that enough? Wasn't that something? How many situations had she made it through by the skin of her teeth? How many nights did she feverently thank the Tidemother for Her mercy? Maybe luck wasn't the most reliable source of help...but if he had even an ounce of it, he was better off than most.

He'd be okay.

Those three words repeated in her mind, once and then again, before she found herself sitting up in bed, rubbing the tears from her flushed face.

It was going to be okay.

Cheddar met her stare as she looked down at him, immediately panting happily at seeing his partner released from her emotions. She couldn't help but smile, planting a still-damp hand onto his head and ruffling his fur.

"Okay," she croaked, voice hoarse and dry, but still swinging in an upward lilt to try and reassure her furry companion that she was fine. "Let's get ourselves to bed."

#goodness gracious last night's RP was a bundle of emotions #my poor baby #she just wants friends! and to help them when they're in trouble!#wrote this quick so it's not polished but I wanted to write something!#maybe I'll edit it some later #04/20/22

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daelainemoonwhisper · 6 years ago

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I have been angry. Angry at the loss of Teldrassil. I have felt as if everything I worked for, my whole life was for not. How could I have been such a good sentinel, a guard to the sleeping druids for so many years, only to feel the pain of so much loss? I serve Elune faithfully. I know I am not a priest, I don’t call to her as often as I should. Elune is in everything though, and when I gaze up at the moon a deep peace used to roll over me. Now… I had not felt at peace for a long time.

I turned to bottles of wine after Teldrassil burned. My soul only found solace in being numbed by drinking copious amounts of human wine. Not the best wine in the world. The numbness brought a relief from the anger that still courses through my veins. How could my world turn to ash so quickly? In a moment. I still recall the day, the aftermath. I sat in Stormwind on a bench in front of their cathedral. A grand building of stone and glass. Even the humans reach their buildings towards the heavens in the hopes that their gods look down upon them. I sat there in front of that fountain for days, unclean, covered in ash, looking at my ash marred hands. How could they have done so much and had it mean so little? I did not rise from the ashes in that moment. I sunk into the depths of the darkness for a time.

I became robotic, following the orders of the 7th Legion, what was I to do now anyway? Our homeland gone and now we are refugees.I worked alone, as a scout, usually imbibing in the bottles of wine I carried with me. I felt as if I could nothing unless that sweet oblivion of numbness was not washing over me. I was sent to Ashenvale of all place, grab some plans were the orders. The last part shocked me, we are sending an operative to work with you. Work with me? I had been doing fine alone had I not?

I met him and the first thing that came to my mind was not this. He challenged my abilities, disbelieved I was who he was supposed to work with. I stood my ground, I held my own when he came at me.We argued, he pushed, disapproved of my wine. I don’t think he understood the need to function. The need to keep moving and how being numb was the only way I could. Then a moment came, another mission, something changed in us. We began to work together. I put down the wine bottle. I didn’t need it anymore. I was beginning to look forward to moments stolen with him between doing our duties. Part of me feels recently we are just being kept busy. I know helping the humans of Kul Tiras is important for the war effort, but then again we aren’t asked to think, we are told to follow orders.

I turn and look at the man in the Inn bed behind me, I was careful in slipping out from under his arm, and the warmth of him and his covers. These lands are cold and his body is warm, naked against his mine. I worry though. My whole life anything good has turned to dust, as if a sacrifice is always demanded from me. I worry that in this moment I am too happy. I worry that it will be snatched from me. A moment of happiness, I am too scared to hold onto. I’ll crawl back in bed and back against the warmth of his skin and hold this moment, probably leave before he wakes again. I don’t know. I don’t want to get too comfortable.

#RP #wra #world of warcraft #wow

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danddandd · 7 years ago

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‘Above the Waves, Before the War’ Part 2

(Part 1, here)

“Quit pulling at your collar. You look like you’ve got the fits.” Micah reluctantly dropped his hand from the snug collar and clasped it in his other hand in his lap, his blue eyes fixing Alwin Ryberg with a weary gaze. It was no match for the withering look Ryberg returned over his miniscule pince-nez. Really, Micah didn’t have a leg to stand on – the robes the vested Magi were made to wear to the graduation ceremonies of the Kirin Tor were by far more uncomfortable. Layered and more ornate than the robes of the graduates, Ryberg’s collar was high and arched enough to brush his ears. To say nothing of the ostentatious shoulders.

Still, the robe’s snug collar was one of the few manifestations of discomfort for the past three years in Dalaran that Micah could actually fuss with. Everything else had been circumstance and situation over which he had little power. In the first year of training, much of Micah’s work with Mr. Ryberg had been on The Ingénue. It was with his feet bare and the rolling deck beneath him that Micah made his first magical triumph under the tutelage of Mr. Ryberg – to this day he could close his eyes and see the small puff of icy frost he conjured in the hot southern seas off the coast of Stranglethorn; Ryberg wilting in his academic suit, Micah comfortable in his loose pantaloons and his tanned skin.

Even studying the dry arcane theory that seemed to pour endlessly from Ryberg’s library had been more pleasant on The Ingénue. It was one of Micah’s favorite pass-times to get a chunk of bread from the galley, clamber up to the rigging, and spend the afternoon listening to the creak of the sails and the boat, the whistle of the wind, and the sound of the surf as he read. Lyta would join him, too, and she would be so kind as to help him finish any crumbs of bread he shared. He missed Lyta.

“It’s itchy. And it’s stupid. Why are we going to this graduation, anyways?” Micah immediately regretted his words; here he was turning twenty-one in a month, and he was complaining like a child. By the look Ryberg gave Micah over his pince-nez, his tutor was equally displeased. Micah’s gaze dropped to his twining hands.

“Do you want me to elaborate on the answers I’ve already given you, Mr. Terwin?”

“No,” Micah intoned sullenly. While his training had gone excellently at sea, Ryberg had to eventually capitulate to the standards held by the Kirin Tor. Even if Micah had learned to dance circles around university magi, his talent wouldn’t hold weight without the backing of a “proper” education. “Proper” education, it turned out, had a lot to do with appearances and politics, which made Micah’s skin crawl worse than the wool around his neck. Appearing at the graduation was a must, as well.

“I don’t care if they don’t think of me as a real mage; I’m going to be working here, on The Ingénue! Why does it matter?”

“Micah,” Captain Hurston intoned, his voice taking on extra weight from the rarity with which he used Micah’s first name, “It’s important to me. I want you to have options, and a future. The Ingénue might not always be here. You’re young. She’s old. Hell, I’m old. Go; do your best,” he grinned broadly, laugh-lines spreading on his rugged features, “and knock those land-lubber university stiffs dead.”

As the carriage continued to bounce and jounce along the cobbles of Dalaran to the commencement hall, Micah touched a hand to his sternum where a bosun’s call hung on a leather thong about his neck. It had been Hurston’s when he had been a First Mate on a battleship in the Kul Tiras navy during the Second War. As Ryberg and Micah had prepared for the portal from The Ingénue to the mainland, Hurston had pressed it to Micah’s palm. Make me proud, he had said, and Micah had to fight back the urge to hug him there in front of the crew and Ryberg. Over the last three years stuck in the university, the tiny whistle had been a lifeline for Micah. Feeling the gentle curve of the gun and the weight of the buoy made him feel not so far from the sea and The Ingénue.

“There’s another reason we’re going to the commencement,” Ryberg said, lifting his gaze from where Micah’s hand was resting. He looked out the carriage windows, nonchalantly noting the vendors on the passing street, “…he’ll be there.”

“Captain Hurston?” Micah sat forward, blue eyes wide. “He can make it? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t think you’d find it at all that important,” Ryberg drawlingly teased, with musical, exaggerated dismissal in his tone, a smirk wryly blooming on his features.

The best part was not having to peel the potatoes. He still did, however; where before helping Ferrows in the galley was a unique form of torture, Micah now appreciated the simple act of doing some physical labor in between his continued studies and the minor exertions of the arcane that kept The Ingénue running ship-shape. Not having to peel potatoes, though? That was nice.

He plunked down the little peeler-knife on the rough cook-table, and saluted Ferrows with a grin as he slipped for the door. “Hey!” the fat cook barked, his voice wheezy and phlegmatic from too much smoke and shouting, “What are ya, daft? Yer not done, yet!”

Micah leaned against the door jamb with a challenging grin on his lips – he remembered a time when he could shoot from the kitchen like a cannonball. Now, he had to be careful to duck his blonde head to avoid scuffing his forehead on the frame, “What’s left to do, old man? Need help stirring the stew?” His voice lilted, touched with humor that lit up his features.

Ferrows pointed with his dripping wooden spoon at the barrel on one of the prep counters, “Ice, m’boy, or the crew’ll string ya up!” Micah laughed; ever since he’d figured out how to frost a bit of melon juice into a reasonable approximation of a sorbet, the crew had all but demanded it at every lunchtime since. He shocked the turn-crank barrel with a burst of cold, and gave it a few churns until it made the familiar hiss of smooth, frosty dessert.

“Aaaaand, there we are! Do tell our lordships that afternoon tea will be a subtle northern blend, and that the accompanying pastries will be an amusing mix of dark chocolate and fresh vanilla bean!” Micah ducked from the kitchen, and could hear Ferrows burbling like a dying boar, which meant he was laughing.

The Ingénue was smoothly gliding over the sapphire waters around the cape of Stranglethorn. She was running light and sitting high in the water, which meant the crew was more relaxed than normal; after all, it would be rare for pirates to try for a ship that wasn’t laden with loot. Micah glanced up the mainmast to where Karim, the ship’s sharp-eyed lookout from Tanaris, was perched in the crow’s nest. He was the personification of focus, peering out to the horizon and to the nearby islands where a ship might attempt an ambush. Karim was the sort not to be relaxed by relative safety. After all, an empty ship is still valuable to a raider.

Micah ambled to the bow, his favorite place to watch the water slide by and to feel the wind buffet his body. With the Stranglethorn heat, he’d gone shirtless except for the bosun’s pipe he kept perpetually about his neck. When he had returned to the ship after the graduation, the crew liked to poke fun at him for how much of his tan he’d lost while packed away in the towers of Dalaran. “White as a page, y’are!” and “Micah, boy, yer blindin’ me!” and “Don’ be so scared, Micah!” He tried not to let on how much it bothered him; losing his tan was like losing his identity in the cavernous studies of Dalaran. These days, he caught as much sun as he could, as if afraid his golden tone might just fly away if he didn’t tend to it.

Here at the bow, he could get an excellent feeling of the winds around the ship, as well. With a little concentration, he could coax the breezes to be a bit more favorable, and shave hours and sometimes whole days off the travel-time from port to port. He shut his eyes, his lips moving in the arcane phrases, his fingers urging small adjustments in the magic of the wind.

Without opening his eyes he grinned to himself, feeling the boat lurch forward with new-found speed as the sails filled near to bursting. He could hear Lyta give a perturbed cry up above. Curious if the helmsman noticed, Micah turned to flash a boastful smile and was surprised to find the Captain, himself, at the wheel. Hurston raised a hand in a wave. It was a reserved, simple gesture, but the white of his grin was visible even across the length of the ship to Micah. The only admission to the Stranglethorn heat was the few buttons the Captain had left open at his collar, but otherwise he was in his captain’s uniform, cutting a sharp silhouette against the endless blue that loomed behind him. Micah turned back to the bow to hide his thrilled smile; praise from Captain Hurston came like rare drops of rain in the desert, and just that one wave was enough to set Micah’s stomach fluttering.

He leaned over the rail to share his goofy smile with Lady Ingénue on the prow. When he was younger, he’d have inane conversations with the elegantly carved figurine, whispering her secrets and asking for advice that would slowly come forth in their one-sided discussions.

“Lovely day, Lady, isn’t it? Mm-hmm! Ahead of schedule for sure! Well, no – it wouldn’t do for me to take all the credit. The sails are trimmed perfectly and our helmsman has a keen sense of the currents! Who? Oh, well, it’s our Captain Hurston at the moment.” Micah glanced back over his shoulder to the Captain once more, unable to completely mute his smile.

“Mr. Terwin!” Captain Hurston’s deep voice was clarion clear across the length of the ship, “More of that, if you please!”

Micah nodded his acknowledgment of the request, and turned forward once more. “Well, Lady, back to work,” he breathed. Micah wet his lips, reigning in his nerves, “Oh, indeed; I’ll see you this afternoon. Good day!”

He was stalling, he knew, with his nonsense conversation. Micah knew the Captain’s key to success was to always press his crew just a little, to encourage more than the best from them. With Micah it would be no different. He just hoped he had the capability to match the high expectations; he had already exerted himself in just conjuring this mild, but constant breeze.

He shut his eyes against his doubts, took a deep breath, his fists clenched at his sides. In a sudden motion he swung his arms forward, his eyes shooting open, his lips rapidly moving around the arcane syllables as they rushed from his throat. He could feel the energy building within him, as water builds behind a dam. The wind did not yet change; he had to control the flow, and let it forth into the world with discipline and poise – or the dam would break.

The culmination of the spell came, and Micah held his tongue. If he completed it, the energy would be spent in a static effect that would serve its purpose and dissipate. He wanted more, knowing Hurston’s eyes were on him. He began to channel, holding the reigns of the energies he conjured and directed them to his ends manually. With delicate movements of his long fingers, he could feel the mana coursing through his body, down his arms and out – into the wind itself.

The boat surged. As if driven by one of those infernal goblin machines, the The Ingénue trebled its speed through the water. Distantly through his focus, Micah could hear Captain Hurston’s voice issuing staccato orders to the crew, whipping them into a frenzy of activity to trim the sails to catch the most benefit from Micah’s magic.

The water behind the dam – the energy Micah was guiding – was slowly ebbing. The control became easier, and Micah worked the flow of the arcane to sustain the effect as long as he could. He let the spell slip from his fingers and into the air where it joined the flow of the wind, coaxing it to press insistently into The Ingénue’s sails. He felt both empty and spent, but also elated and light. When he leaned forward again on the railing, he grinned down at Lady Ingénue, and listened. The wind was rushing steadily, blowing his long, wavy hair forward, the waters were hissing and rushing by, and in the back of the ship Captain Hurston continued to call out commands. With a grin that grew from his core, Micah noted the tone of song and laughter in the Captain’s proud voice.

“Well,” Captain Hurston daubed his mouth with the linen napkin, “With that sort of speed we’ll be well enough ahead of schedule to surprise Mr. Ryberg’s associate in Dalaran!”

Micah both tried to ask about this associate, wipe his mouth, chew, and swallow at the same time. For the display of arcane finesse earlier that day, Captain Hurston had invited Micah to share dinnertime with him. Micah managed to repay this honor by fumbling over every extra piece of silverware, glass, and dish of food that was set before him. Despite being apart from the Kul Tiras navy, the Captain ran The Ingénue as a proper vessel of Kul Tiras, with all the manners and standards one could expect. This included dinners with those damnable little forks Micah never knew what to do with. He managed to clear his throat of the bit of sauce he had inhaled with blessedly few coughs. “Mr. Ryberg’s associate?”

“Mmhm. A bit of business for us, and a chance to stretch the Lady Ingénue’s legs. Mr. Ryberg’s contact needs a delivery from a research group that’s stationed in Northrend; some arcane experiment, I’m sure – maybe you’ll understand it better than I.” Hurston’s thick brow arched and a smile curled the corner of his lips, “So get your sun while you can, Mr. Terwin. After we stop in Southshore, we’ll be speeding clear to Northrend as fast as you can get the wind to take us!”

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