#ladywindrunner

[shxwmaster]

@ladywindrunner​ liked for a starter !

     One thing Mathias firmly believed was that you could never be too cautious.

     It does not matter what sort of master you are, what skills you have or what advantages are in your favor; you remain cautious, skeptical, and always have a backup plan.

     So there’s, of course, at least a spy or two within his general vicinity when he’s out, especially when potentially vulnerable as he finds himself now.

     He keeps his face carefully neutral, and dares to leave the safety of the shadows.

     “ Dark Lady. There are many who would demand an audience with you — but I propose a different idea to entertain. ” He would incline his head to her. “ I will not waste time, as others would. Simply, I offer an exchange in... knowledge, if you are willing. We all have something to... gain from one another. ”

[shadowsblades]

❝ you mumble in your sleep. ❞

THE LAST OF US STARTER SENTENCES ↳ @ladywindrunner    ‹ accepting ›

          Sylvanas’ voice, perversely bemused, almost affectionately so, as if Valeera speaking in her sleep is somehow cute and not just auspiciously useful, jolts through her, the rogue waking to that first, vaguely otherworldly syllable as she had not the silent footfalls presaging the Banshee Queen’s arrival. Muscles clench as the shock spasms through limbs impulsively drawn in, Valeera’s head jerking from the cold, faintly wet stones she lays upon as her legs leverage her upright and hands scrabble for daggers that would ordinarily be within reach, her mind not yet comprehending the near certainty of their removal even as her body seizes upon the danger the abruptness of her wakening portends. That they are not there, that she has not even been left with a knife, that she sits in an icy, stale cell with Sylvanas leering expectantly down at her......

          The reality of her situation crystalises instantaneously, realisation burning through the bewilderment clouding her thoughts like sun through fog, widening her vision beyond the grimness of her immediate surrounds to recall the pandemonium that had led here. The ambush; fire, smoke, shouting, death stalkers everywhere...... How she had gotten here, in a cage she guesses to be somewhere within the Undercity is less clear. Is she the only prisoner, or are there others?

          Is Anduin all right?

          Sylvanas’ expression reveals nothing and attacking her with her bare hands will hardly uncover what she wants to know.

          Slowly, her heart thumping erratically in her chest and within her lower lip she judges split, Valeera sinks resignedly down the wall she had guarded her back against, feeling bruises unnoticed in her panic as she forces her breathing to slow, determinedly clawing back what composure she can before she finally grumbles her answer, “Lucky you. Maybe now you can let me go.”

          She extends her legs before her to cross one ankle over the other in a pose of nonchalance she is sure fools no one, green eyes taking in the empty hands of her jailer. “What, no breakfast?” she asks, sounding ( at least to her own ears ) more self-assured than a person staring down their likely torture and death should, “The Alliance’s prisoners get porridge.” Well, maybe not porridge, but they likely got something. Water, at least; her mouth is so dry she can practically count her tastebuds Then again, does Valeera really want what the Forsaken would serve? She’s not hungry enough yet, has lasted a while without food before, but depending on how long this takes......

[earthbinder-a]

𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐅𝐘 𝐖𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐃 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟎 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 ↪ @ladywindrunner​ my eyes ― the lumineers.

❝ what did you sing to that lonely child ?? ❞

[jaina-bimoore]

Drunk Jaina is gonna do something dumb or bisexual, or both if this keeps going!! (pls keep it up) love the rp session going on!!

"dumb or bisexual" why not both

[redeeming-sun]

ladywindrunner

feeling really unappreciated :c went through all that effort to get you that armor set and you dont even wanna wear it anymore.

//He appreciates her and the thought but would prefer to wear the armor only once his father is done using it and not through murder plz But he really, really does appreciate the thought how a hug instead? Hugs are nice and involve 100% less murder.

[cloakoflame]

'Anyone catch your eye tonight?'

“At the Royal Ball” Meme

“No,” Kael’thas said, turning his head ever so slightly to acknowledge her. The Ranger-General was truly a sight for sore eyes. Hailing from a prominent noble family was one thing, and of course she dressed for the occasion, but to answer the summons of Anasterian was another. He managed a wry smile just as he felt the watchful eyes of his father, who turned from conversations with Grand Magister Bello’vir and High Priest Vandellor to glance in his son’s direction. Clearly the old elf had been of late exercising interest in the possibility of courtship, as was the purpose of getting the ever studious Kael’thas to attend the royal ball. If the Sunstrider lineage was to continue, Kael’thas would need to first choose a mate, and Anasterian, stripped of all youth but those deep cerulean blue eyes characteristic of of their distinguished family, certainly was not getting any younger.

Indeed, Sylvanas’s question reminded Kael’thas of his father’s first attempts at lighthearted jokes and suggestions of that lady over there seems rather fond of you. Now, as the High King’s age became more apparent, the jokes slowly turned into the inevitability of serious discussions.

The Magisters and Farstriders hardly complemented one another, save for temporary teamwork when the need arose. He could not deny the rangers’ endless vigil to secure the lives of the people, but the two divisions held vastly different practices and beliefs. As much as he knew about them, and he knew plenty given his background, Kael’thas assumed that Sylvanas would much rather have gone hunting deep in the forests surrounding Tranquillien. If she was as every bit the workaholic as the court mused over, she would have instead gone off the beaten path, scouting endlessly for threats around the kingdom.

That much he knew about her. Somehow he couldn’t find his father’s request for her to be here too surprising, all things considering. Of course he was in no mood for dalliances of any kind and certainly wasn’t here to entertain the hopes of those three elders.

“Your presence, on the other hand, is awfully striking, Windrunner,” he quipped, peering down from the white balcony railing to watch the evening’s dances commence below on the ballroom floor. The first number, folksy and steady in beat, roused man and woman from their seats. Nothing remained of the white marble floor save for the swirls of red and gold. Glitter doused ladies’ elegant tresses and, and jeweled circlets on the heads of several a nobleman. Observant as ever, Kael’thas simply added, “Surely you’ve garnered a bit of attention yourself.“

[korvas-blxxdthorn]

"Are you talking to me?"

Introduction Starters 3

“I...” 

She felt like a prey, caught by a predator. Her instincts, trained for many years, told her to run, to flee, to hide from the scarlet gaze of the banshee. Her heart that remained calm even throughout the bloodiest of battles, was in her throat. 

Kor’vas forced herself to stop and take a breath. Nothing would come from a shaky voice and trembling limbs. A moment later, she could once more trust the strength of her own voice.

“I did. You are Lady Windrunner, no?” 

@ladywindrunner

[diguerra-moved]

try + Nathanos ( >:D )

SEND  TRY + A CHARACTER  YOU’D LIKE TO SEE ME ( ATTEMPT ) TO WRITE !  // accepting.

They were fools to stand against the Dark Lady.

Anger, perpetual state of his undeath, old companion in this existence, arose renewed within his chest, interwoven in contempt as crimson gaze looked down on the combined forces of enemies and traitors standing at the gates of Orgrimmar. The unrelenting sun and arid land of Durotar had never been to his tastes (would not be to most of the Forsaken, he wagered, used to the dark coldness of the Undercity as they had been). Not without reason, either; to those whose bodies continued to decay, dead flesh left exposed to sunlight was only a means to decompose faster. Yet they stood, unfaltering in their loyalty to their Queen, as it should be.

Few of the other Horde races showed similar loyalty to the Warchief. Some more than others. Repugnant goblins stood on both sides, trolls as well. The tauren had all departed alongside Baine.Most of the orcs other than the Mag’har had followed Saurfang, mindless beasts that they all were, barking about senseless things such as honor (Nathanos had known honor, once; it meant nothing when he faced the scourge). A considerable number of the elves, however, had remembered their loyalties to one who had sacrificed everything to save them, even when their esteemed leader did not; they, perhaps second only to the Forsaken, ought to acknowledge her for her leadership.

He knew it was expected. And he trusted her, faithfully (blindly); Sylvanas had never failed him, in life or in undeath. It had been by her will that he had joined the Farstriders, becoming something more than his simple life in Marris Stead would have allowed for. Most importantly, it had been by her will that his had been made his own again, freed from the Lich King’s grasp when she called him to her service once more. The Dark Lady had gone to great lengths to give him his current former, spared from decay, stronger (worthy of her). There was no path too dark, no task too horrific that she could command him and he would not obey. 

And if his queen (his love) found damnation, then he follow her into it and be satisfied, so long he was allowed staying by her side. 

Trusting her plan did not prevent him of resenting those who would oppose her, who failed to see her for what she was: worthier a leader than any of them. The Alliance he could understand, despicable little beings clinging to righteousness as they shunned those who had sacrificed most for them to keep their perfectly polished castles and other such petty things; they were enemies, after all. The Horde, however... instead of valuing their Warchief as they ought to, they scurried to hide behind that old fool’s skirts and pretended to be friends of those who would have had them killed. They were undeserving of her. But the living, much like life itself, were a thankless sort.

And then all train of thought is interrupted by the resounding challenge Saurfang cries outside the gates.

Momentarily, anger subdues. Nathanos would have preferred to be beside her than atop the walls of Orgrimmar, even if he knew well she needed not his protection. The old orc was nothing; at last he would find the death he so longed for, and they would all be better for it. The Champion of the Banshee Queen doubted not her capacity to win, worried not so much for her immediate safety as he did for what this meant. 

Sylvanas had planned for several outcomes, this included. Less than ideal that they would end the war so soon (pity that he would not get the chance to slay the traitors in her name, nor even to watch her defeat the old orc), regardless of how well prepared they were to put in motion next steps. No matter; this would be inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. Their work was not yet done. If anything, this was but the beginning of its most crucial step.

One last glance (she wields the pair of daggers, as confident as if she held her trusted bow) and he turns his back to the scene, silent looks exchanged with Dark Ranger Lenara before Nathanos takes his leave --- simple enough to read that she knows what to do, as well. His own mission awaits not here but a world away, in dreadful Quel’thalas; and he would see to preparations before the orc’s dead body hit the barren ground of Durotar and his queen set foot in her ancestral home once more (she would, as they had planned, for no ill would befall her here; there was no need for goodbyes if they would see each other again).

I shall meet you there, my lady. 

[lorekeepxr]

x

A bright smile formed on the child’s lips. Like the sun dispelling mist. A giggle escaped her as her hands tried to silence her laughter in excitement. But it could not be bottled as her arms went around the elf woman’s neck. “Pretty! very pretty!” The pain from her injures seemed not to bother her refused to let the woman go, yet being surprisingly gentle. Sunshine hair tickling her nose as her smile reminded. The trauma almost forgotten as dirt stained tears dried in the heat, the dull ache of her ankle bothersome if not a little distracting.

A child her age would cry and whine, even as she warmed up to the woman rather and uncharacteristically quick, was hesitate to say anything. Fearing in a way of the annoyed sighs her mother would make and ignore her when she became to tired to deal with her daughter and her million questions. Aurora knew her mother will yell at her for her mud caked shoes and stained dress. Maybe the pretty elf lady will let her see more of the pretty forest? Maybe even put more flowers in her hair as it made her happy.

“More flowers!” Aurora cheered, fingers now woven in the sunny locks that were very soft. “Flowers to ward meanie trolls away!”

@ladywindrunner   

[lady-proudmoore]

🍷

@ladywindrunner

Send 🍷 For The Lord Admiral’s Intoxicated But Honest Opinion(No longer accepting bc Jaina’s had enough to drink^^)

*hic “Shit,” Jaina whispered softly and with feeling.

She tensed in her chair and simply stared at Sylvanas, trying to think through her leaden insobriety. She sighed, resigned to her situation. When you’re going to die at least die brave. It pisses your enemies off. Jaina smirked and leaned forward to grip the long neck of the wine bottle, refilling her glass to the brim.

“Warchief,” her voice was mild enough, but there was an undertone of something unpleasant. “What an unexpected *hic surprise.” Jaina tilted her head to the side and took a long swig of the dark red port, making a mental note to, should she survive, have a strongly worded conversation with Master Shaw regarding the competence of the guards he’d assigned her.

“According to the many reports I’ve received over the last week proclaiming your *hic very fond affections toward me, I assume you’re here to ask me to marry you?”

“While I had always hoped to be ‘whisked away’ before I turned forty, I’m afraid I must respectfully decline. I’m sorry to disappoint you.” She said it all with a lazy smile and a warm glow in her eyes.

Jaina sipped her wine, wrinkling her nose. “Pesky business with the burning down of inhabited world trees and such rubbish. I find that one must share certain ethics with their *hic lover in order for a relationship to be successful - wouldn’t you agree?”

“Though I have always respected your competence, both in battle and in your resolve to endure, despite your *hic suffering.” Her expression turned sympathetic and she grimaced, taking a long sip of wine. “You were a true hero, for a time.”

“And I am sorry for Arthas….” she whispered. 

She sat lost in thought for a moment before shaking her head gently. Surprised she was still alive, Jaina took another sip of wine and waited for Sylvanas to say something, but the silence stretched into eternity. She decided to keep filling it.  

“Were you aware of the meaning of the term ‘ship’? I had *hic no idea…”

[zharvossi]

[ denial ] 

nsfw prompt meme | @ladywindrunner | accepting!

She’s going mad. She’s on fire. Burning up like a candle - too bright and too hot. Her legs are tense, the muscles in her thighs visibly moving, and sweat clings to her brow as a dragon clings to its meal. She feels as if she’s the prey, now, and great vile hooks dig into her hipbones, urging her to stay still - or to writhe and thrash against her captor. Sylvanas Windrunner is the strangest woman Daenerys has ever met. Yet she likes it. Strange is… good. Very good. And considering strange has their mouth on her, tasting, taking - Daenerys considers it exceptional to be strange.

Her hand flies down, curling itself into bright yellow locks, soft and silky and tickling the inside of her thighs - and her neck pulls taut as her lower back lifts off the feather mattress. “Sylvanas,” she whispers, desperate and pitched on a breath. She’s so close she can taste it on the tip of her tongue. Fire dances behind her teeth. Her eyes flutter and roll, and her free hand slams against the headboard - yet she pulls back with a hum.

Daenerys braces her torso on her elbow, chest heaving, violet eyes glowing as she looks down - she’s staring back up at her with a devilish look. “But why?” Daenerys asks breathlessly. “Why’d you stop?”

“Because,”‌ Sylvanas says. Daenerys swallows and tosses her head back, a sound of frustration pouring from her lips. Sylv’s voice is like silk, venomous silk - crawling into her ears and caressing her aural nerve. Like an instrument. “I can.” Nimble fingers dig into the meat of her legs, and Daenerys’s jaw locks open when her mouth descends upon her again.

Her fingers curl into the sheets. Her chest raises, falls, and every breath feels as if she’s hollowing herself out, until nothing remains but the cadence between her legs. “Oh -” Daenerys holds her breath, toes flexing - the coil in her lower belly is wound tight, white-hot and ready to spring, to make ripples course all over her skin. She arches and reaches down to aid in finishing, but Sylvanas snatches her wrist and pulls away.

The dragon queen is reduced to a shivering mass of skin, mind narrowed down to the line she walks. All she needs is a little push. A breath to her sex would send her toppling over headfirst into her orgasm. “Sylvanas,” she whines. “Stop toying with me.”

Sylvanas gives a kitten lick to her. She jumps. A sort of laugh bubbles out of Sylvanas, and Daenerys throws an arm over her eyes, distressed - but loving every moment of it. Daenerys moves away from her, pink legs closing, and even the friction of that makes her oversensitive body scream with disdain. Sylvanas watches her closely as Daenerys guides her onto her back, taking her hand - her body settles over the width of Sylv’s hips and she guides her fingers south.

Daenerys meets her eyes, lips parting with a breath as three fingers ease into her like a hot knife in butter. She places her right hand next to Sylvanas’s golden head, hovering over her, and begins to ride‌ those sinuous fingers.

Sylvanas’s face is red, embarrassed to an extent - but she’s grown comfortable with it. Her expression eases into amusement. Daenerys takes what she wants. She leans down, pants into the seam of pink lips as they kiss, shaky and desperate, and her body begins to sing with it. Her hips roll, gyrate, flex, and her face dips down into the slim, lovely column of Sylv’s neck. She moans. Breathes hard. Her hand pulls on blonde hair and her movements grow desperate, juddering and jerking as she reaches her peak -

She holds onto Sylvanas like a lifeline as her orgasm rocks her to her core. She releases a muffled wail against the heat of her skin, tastes the salt of it on her tongue as she leaves little marks and kisses. Daenerys slumps, dead weight on top of the she-elf, and she can’t help but laugh. She pulls back, rumbling giggles in her chest, breathless and lovely, and kisses her sweetly. Once. Then twice. The third, she lingers, and Sylvanas purrs against her. “You should know by now not to take things from me,”‌ Daenerys chides gently, yet there’s no heat to it.

Sylvanas chuckles, hands on the curve of Dany’s slim waist, and the dark of her room is filled with pleasant sounds as Sylv rolls on top of her again.

[lightsblade]

Happy Birthday!

❬  UNSOLICITED ASKS.  ❭ACCEPTING  // @ladywindrunner.

thank  you !!!   💕

[shadowsblades]

@ladywindrunner :

          The rabbit is diseased. Sores cover its body, and as it twists and writhes desperately in her trap, more and more of its matted, mangled fur is revealed. For a moment, Valeera can only stare at it, too weary to move on and so hungry as to actually consider killing and eating the pitiful thing. But it is as skinny as she is, and her situation is not yet so dire to risk sickness for temporary relief from the ache in her belly. It is morning; she still has time to find a meal.

          She adjusts the nearly-empty sack slung over her shoulder and trudges on, using the sun overhead to guide her path southwest. She merely has to survive one more day. Then the next. Then the one after that ------ until she is able to secure passage to Kalimdor. There, there will be plenty of food and a wealth of trinkets to steal to exchange for mana crystals. Here, there is only the Scourge and plague. She has survived much already, and she will survive the next leg of her journey, too.

          Valeera’s green eyes scan the foliage as she walks, gaze searching for anything edible. Berries, mushrooms, nuts. But all the bushes have been picked clean, and there is nothing else to see.

          Except for the slightest indentation in the muddy ground. 

          The young blood elf stops, her pulse quickening at the prospect of meat. Her eyes dart wildly about her, but there are no beasts in sight. 

          Valeera crouches to examine the print more closely, finding that it is not animal after all. There is a heel of a boot, bigger than what her own foot would make, but distinctly humanoid. And there is not just one print, but a line of them.

           With a great deal of difficulty ------ because the person’s strides are long and their prints disappear and reappear unpredictably, sometimes lost in a patch of fallen leaves and other times vanishing for no discernable reason ------ Valeera follows them.

           The cottage they lead to is empty, and she wastes no time. She stuffs her mouth with a handful of ripe berries left on the table, chewing without tasting as she tears open drawers. The clothing she finds is too large to replace her own ripped trews and filthy tunic, but she pockets a slim, sharp silver dagger she finds amongst it and loops a fine sapphire locket around her neck. She’s hastily searching for more food when a sense of foreboding falls over her. 

          She straightens slowly, turning apprehensively to face the room.

          A figure stands in the doorway, their intimidatingly tall shadow cast upon the wall.

          Her heart pounds in her chest. It is too late to hide.

          Valeera whirls to face the cottage’s entrance, yanking her blunt sword from its ill-fitting scabbard, holding it before her in two slightly trembling hands.

          “Keep back!” she snarls at the high elf woman that looms there, her fine features indistinct in the shadows, “I know how to use this!”

[shadestriders]

“there’s a shortage of perfect breasts in this world. it would be a pity to damage yours.”

Princess Bride Sentence Starters 

Her eyes narrowed in hazy recognition of the words, glancing out of the corner of her eye back at the Dark Lady as her mind spins in an attempt to summon forth the memory when she had once heard those words in that voice before, albeit with less unholy reverberation. Raern stilled, as if movement stole precious brain power that must be diverted toward recollection to summon forth the past.

Ranger Raern Shadestrider’s eyes blew wide as saucers as her ears twitched, swearing she couldn’t have heard her captain’s words correctly. She stared disbelievingly at Sylvanas, catching the faint smirk on the older elf’s lips before it faded in a wince of pain as the healer tended to the Windrunner’s wounds. Raern couldn’t help but feel a little guilty that her... mishap had led to her captain being injured. She should have realized that branch was too high, too weak to support her weight, and would send her plummeting to the ground below.

If not for Sylvanas being right behind her, lunging out to catch her and redirect their momentum, if only slightly, Raern might have had worse injures to consider than just her breast tissue.

The young Farstrider had apologized profusely as they made their way to the healer’s tent at a nearby outpost, and while in the back of her mind, Raern figured Sylvanas had merely made the flirtatious remark to get her to stop her worrying, the majority of her thoughts were currently centered on a whirlwind of emotions surrounding the fact that Sylvanas Windrunner had just flirted with her.

It took every bit of training her father had given her to fully school her features behind a flippant smirk, even though she could feel the lingering heat across her face of the blush such a remark had instigated. Judging by her captain’s amused ear flick, Sylvanas had seen it, too. Raern coughed gently, wincing at the tinge it sent through her bruised ribs. “Well, I guess we can’t have that, can we?” she replied, with much less confidence than she intended. “I’ll try to be more careful in the future, just for your sake.” 

The corner of Raern’s mouth twitched upward in a smirk as she continued unravelling her bowstring, continuing the task of stringing her bow for the coming battle ahead. “I’ve much surer footing now, my Lady,” she replied. “As well as heartier breasts.” 

She looked up at Sylvanas as she slung her bow over her shoulder, meeting the Banshee Queen’s gaze with much more confidence that she had as a young ranger. Not only was Raern older now, more experienced with being the objects of others’ affections and firing back flirtatious barbs, she had a different understanding of Sylvanas. The banshee was no longer just a object of adolescent fascination, but someone she had grown to genuinely admire, trust and respect, both in life and undeath.

“Ashenvale is not so different than Quel’thalas, in reality, and while the Kaldorei will assuredly take to the trees, I have shadows on my side, as well.” She winked as she set off in the night as a part of the assassins dispatched to deal with Astranaar’s defenses before the true invasion that would begin the war to end all wars. “I’ll be sure to keep your eye candy safe this time around, Dark Lady.”

[terraforged]

‘ i seldom am well behaved . ’

some ask meme

So here she stood this monstrous harpy, queen of the damned, unholy harbinger who sought to soak Azeroth in rot until nothing else remained. Here she stood, and here he stood. What a folly that was he thought, face twitching as he battled frown which might have formed if given free reign, subduing it instead into twinge of a smile. Open grace as he regarded her, an ugly clawing within his chest which he might have defined as fear were he so inclined to give names to the complex array of emotions he at times found himself assaulted with.

He knew better though. Knew better than to offer a wolf fear, knew better than to let it smell that sickly reek lest it seek means to fill belly with it.

Or perhaps she had already seen. 

She, as much as any dragon, was a creature at peak of her foodchain and she sought nothing more than gluttony. This feast was hers and one Wrathion wanted no part in, yet not so easy was it to escape the ensnaring clutches of a monster like she. Not so easy was it to to slip free before claws dug in, ripping in and deepening the more one struggled. Just as he knew better than to offer fear he knows better than to turn tail, undaunted before she who was using this world’s blood. She, this witch, who was killing her in the name of war. Of course, it was not lost on him that he had been the one to give her the means in the first place. Their guilt is not the same, but he no doubt shares something of it.

“Ah, but it’s hardly any fun at all to behave!” Easy slide of graceful words from silver tongue, honeyed in a way he knows she will not succumb to. He does not even try, instead affixing burning crimson upon the Banshee Queen. “You must hold a truly exhilarating existence with that in mind, I should think.”

[cloakoflame]

@ladywindrunner​ cont. from x

RESTRAINT comes easily to the young prince, for if he had lost all good graces of himself, he would address the situation in which he now found himself to Anasterian, his father--the king. Images of barging up the scarlet stairs of the Sunfury Spire and infiltrating the throne room while his father ate or somesuch replayed in his mind. A gesture, harmless in the mind, really...

A PLOY.

OF COURSE. King or no, Anasterian had committed a disrespect on his person, perhaps the utmost disrespect in some time now. The young prince knows they had not seen eye-to-eye regarding loyalties with the Alliance, as torn apart as the ancient pact the elves made with Arathor long ago. Still, Kael'thas Sunstrider felt those loyalties more strongly, more clearly, than most of his isolation-loving people. Often did he feel DISCONNECTED from them, a foreigner in his own land; hesitant to the tendencies of neutrality, however innocent a notion. Only in recent times did the king ease up on his son staying in Dalaran, expressing only fatherly concern.

Or did he? he wonders as he strolls through the gardens of the court, the Royal Guard at his side. En route to meeting his... bride-to-be, the future princess (and queen) of Quel'Thalas. What a mouthful. He cringed to his very bones.

How unexpected a match.

No doubt did he find Sylvanas Windrunner a talented elf. Attractive quite, with power in the nock of her bow, authority in her voice, the makings of a leader--and who could expect such from the Ranger-General herself? Their rangers were top-notch, the defenders of the kingdom. BUT he did not know much past the obvious status of her legendary profession, save for one other thing he did know, and despised, surely...

Her unpleasantries. By the Sun, he would rather be somewhere else. In truth, he found her to be rather uncough and disrespectful, and whatever happened to her self-appointed Ranger-Lord? And let us not waste away with such a conversation. His mind tires from the long journey. He gazes at the flowers in passing and already does he ache for the gardens of Dalaran, for everything he left behind in Dalaran.

Leaving all behind for an arranged marriage. To a woman he did NOT love. How foul a tradition, as one is unable to court by his own heart. Only to APPEASE his father, the king. For political power between nobles. Every past, current, and future king experienced it, even the more laid-back elves when duty called for it. If all at ONCE he could cast off these expectations. Too little did the citizenry know the burdens of royalty beyond the "pampering." 

How dare he...

Kael’thas works to relax, and sighs. Cerulean blue eyes remain focused on the dirt, cobble path ahead, and sharp jaw tightens. He stands tall and proud, slender body no longer adorned in the lavish robes of the Council of Six, but in an exquisite red and gold robe fitting for the Crown Prince of Quel'Thalas. Embellishments gather along his shoulders, down the tips of his robe, which seem to hover above the surface, untouched, unblemished. Absent-minded, he brushes a finger along a golden band laced around, of steel material for which he bears a grudge and marvels at the same time. If he could light it aflame, it would surely melt.  Restraint. Small birds circle along the edges of the band. An engraving marks the interior of the band for "he walks the day, shines hope in darkness."

Where the path meets a crossroad, he thinks to choose one way and, for the sake of the people, turns the other. He breathes deep, settling for a simple smile. "And to you, Ranger-General. Hardly a look I would have expected, if I must be frank." He looks her up and down, feigning his displeasure of such a meeting with natural precision. "But a fine look," he added. At least he still had some semblance of propriety.