#lirelle dawnbrook

[jonathan-nevermore-smith]

//Run Memory Subroutine: What Pride Has Wrought

Author Foreword: The following is a piece that I wanted to write after the Sungard ended, as it wrestled with some things that were always at the peripheries of Siildore’s story but never came up in a way that I could meaningfully address without it feeling contrived.  I tried and failed a few times to make something I could be proud of, but it never quite came out right.  This recent campaign with Hollowlight gave me an opportunity to finally put it to paper and I’m pretty happy with the way it turned out.  Shout out to @retributionpriest for the very fun and meaningful writing we did leading up to this - I hope you’re doing well post-TSG.   CW: Suicide in mention, no descriptions.

Siildore,

I apologise but I cannot grant that request. With the war concluded, my purpose here is complete and I have no intentions to linger here longer than I need to. I have appreciated all you have done for me and the guidance you gave, and perhaps we will meet again on the other side.

Live well,

Lirelle Dawnbrook

The letter was neatly folded on it’s creases, placed back in it’s envelope, and tucked away into her current notebook.  

“Well? What did she say? Is our merry partnership about to become a merry band?” Gloomweaver’s deadpan grin was audible.

The blue-haired Ebon did not answer as she closed the notebook, turning to face the crackling fire.  

Neither of them ever moved when camped like this; there was no need to.  No living to appease or comfort with errant movements - a shift of the foot, moving her weight from one side to the other, blinking, breathing, things that living did and comforted them to see in other living things.  To be alive was to move; to be dead was to be still.  

Why then did Siildore’s thumb worry the second digit of her index finger?

“The fire is running low.  I will fetch more wood.”

The blue-haired Ebon rose without a sound, fading into the no-moon night.

Gloomweaver, 

You asked me a question, many months ago, when we sat in front of a fire after my oath to Quel’thelas was ended.  I had received a letter earlier that day from Lirelle; you wished to know it’s contents, while I wanted to wait until night.  We had a long march that day to be clear of the city and I did not wish to have my thoughts clouded with her reply, good or bad.  When I did finally read it, I could not process the answer.  

She did not stay here with us.  She returned to oblivion.  She knew what awaited her, what awaits all who break that veil between life and death, and she deemed that worse than the quiet of the grave.  

As I said, I could not process her answer.  The hunger is real, but it is manageable.  We have unnatural, unsettling powers, but they can be turned to positive ends.  We are made to destroy the world, but we have the choice to save it instead.  You know this as well as I do; we are both students of the Broken Blade.  

I have never seen someone reject this change so thoroughly.  Others have chosen different paths from us, yes, but they have accepted what they are in some small sense.  They have chosen to find an unlife in the circumstances they find themselves in.  They did not choose annihilation.

I know it was not made from cowardice.  Dawnbrook is one of the bravest I have ever had the honor to fight alongside; her courage to face the challenges to come is not and would not have been in question.  She was not insane, nor was she foolhardy.  I may not have always agreed with her reasons, but she had them for why she did what she did in life.  So I must then confront that which I struggle to understand: That she chose to end her second life for a reason.  A reason that I cannot know, for she is no longer around to give it.  

I have found myself thinking of this as of late; during my wanderings I have made my way to Dawn’s Reach, a land that remained neutral in the Phoenix War and belongs to Alarinna Dawnwind, sister to one of our previous order.  She has been dealing with a problem: a witched bog that lives and breathes through a connection between two mystical trees.  To solve the problem, both will have to be destroyed - ending the threat of the bog, the Aldmarsh, while also destroying the source of the Reach’s prosperity.  I do not know what effects this will have on the long-term health of the land and its people, but I do know they will need help.  

This brings me to the purpose and reason of this letter, long-winded that it is (You always tell me to get to the point, but for once I need to ramble on at length to make my point).  I do not know the reason that Lirelle truly had for deciding what she did, but I know that I alone was not enough to prepare her for what she faced.  If she had brothers and sisters, a proper teacher and a place to learn and grow, perhaps she might have made a different decision.  Perhaps not.  What I do know, however, is that the Reach will need time to heal and rebuild, to decide its future and to make that future a reality.  

I have spoken to you before about finding a place for others like us; a place less isolated than Acherus or Undercity and closer to those we call allies and friends.  This could be that place.  There is a bog for those that prefer their privacy, and a cosmopolitan city and miles of farmland for those who wish to reintegrate.  The people here will have need of our unique talents and abilities as well - there are few who know the weaknesses of the undead better than the undead themselves.  And if some still choose oblivion… at least we will know that we made every effort possible to help them, and that they know we will see them on the other side.  

Attached is a map of the Reach and directions.  If you agree with my plan, I will see you when you arrive.

Your friend,

Siildore Frostlotus

[felthier]

Over the last several months, I had the awesome opportunity to begin a story line with @retributionpriest. She has been such a gracious RP partner along with @azriah and our small squad of necromancers. Lirelle been gracious in my desire to dive deep into fanon, allowing us to develop characters that only existed on a whim and now have blossomed into some of my favorite characters ever. 

Edaril says goodbye to his brother Vannon, who he helped kill along with Lirelle and a party of other heroes. Even though Vannon had betrayed his people, Edaril could not deny his sorrow. Even though Edaril had not right to request a funeral, Lirelle fought for the chance to pay final respects. 

Thank you so much for everything and this was an amazing end to a character arc.

music for the funeral: here

[sonofkhaz]

Rampage: Legacy

Previous I asked greatfather more about this legendary battle, and he seemed eager to tell me, as if the vigour of his youth was revitalizing his ancient bones.

Muroco and his retinue had arrived just in time to see the Alliance surround the blood elves’ war camp. Ranks upon ranks of night elven warriors filled the fields. Some carried bows and glaives, yet others were atop massive, muscular war sabers capable of leaping great distances. They had brought flying beasts to swoop down upon their enemies, and the earth trembled as furious treants lumbered towards the camp walls.

Yet the one thing they had in common were their black, pitless eyes, glaring out in fury from the artificial night they had created to conceal their movements.

Beyond their lines, more and more humans were coming to accompany their allies. The kingdoms of Stormwind and Kul Tiras had sent the might of their armies to crush the Sunguard in one final sweep.

“The blood elves,” greatfather said, “were vastly outnumbered. I could remember the looks on their faces as they viewed the enemy forces - they spanned as far as the eye could see. Everything had been staked on this battle…”

--

Muroco had taken command of the camp’s eastern defenses. Despite his penchant for simply doing whatever he was commanded of him, Muroco had developed an uncanny knack for leading groups into battle. Among his comprised forces, Lirelle Dawnbrook, Maaike Oureille, Jonathan McCallun, and Ashendrae Morrowmourn were there. Within the camp as a whole, Muroco heard mutterings of finality and last-moment embraces as defenders made their peace with their gods and said their final farewells, as if this would be the end.

He didn’t share their sentiment, for he knew that a true warrior always has their pride and must be brave until the very end.

From the base of the hill, Muroco could see hundreds of pairs of pitch black eyes staring back at him. The night elves were furious; enraged by the loss of their families, their friends, their homes, their precious giant tree. For a species that, apparently, controlled the entirety of Azeroth at one point, they had become a shadow of that former glory. They had become cornered animals in the bloody hedge maze of Azeroth’s history, and that made them all the more dangerous and all the more reckless.

It gave him an idea.

“Lirelle will man the ballistae,” Muroco stated in a matter-of-fact tone. “I will lure the enemy in. Maaike will shoot down any oversized birds the night elves try to send over the wall. Jon and Ashendrae, wait for the enemy to focus on me, then flank them.”

Everyone got into position. He could hear the unified shouts of the night elves as they advanced up the hill. Muroco stood before the gate, his axe in one hand, Mammoth in the other. “If anyone rests while Muroco Rockhoof still fights,” he bellowed, “then they may consider themselves dead.”

The night elves began their assault. Muroco raised his shield, blocking several arrows from piercing his face. Their battle cries became mixed with screams of agony as Lirelle fired the ballista upon them, her face a look of cold, calculated precision as ranks of night elves were slaughtered by the explosive shots. Hippogryphs and their riders dropped to the earth like flies as Maaike shot them clean from the sky. The sentinels that survived the onslaught made contact with Muroco. Jon appeared behind one and plunged his daggers into her back, her screams turning into gurgles as her glaive clattered to the ground. Ashendrae leaped into battle and beheaded another sentinel with her greatsword.

--

The battle dragged on for hours. The Alliance had taken so many casualties on all sides but were only slowed. The well-ordered camp had descended into controlled chaos as each defending side did all they could to prevent the camp from being overrun. The eastern gate had been closed as reinforcements from Stormwind had arrived. Muroco bounded towards the gate and used his might to hold it shut as the masses of soldiers outside attempted to break through. The tauren’s black-furred muscles bulged as the gate groaned and creaked, its iron bearings stretching and groaning from the pressure.

They eventually broke through, and a sea of night elves and human footmen rushed towards him. Muroco unsheathed his flail and bashed one footman in the head, the latter crumpling to the ground in agony. He gored another upon his horns. Raising his shield high, he battered through their advancing ranks, only to meet a half-dozen lances…

--

The old tauren hung his head. His elbows rested on the arms of his wicker chair as he held his hands up, searching for words, and I could tell what he was going to relate stirred mixed emotions. The battle,” he finally spoke, “was catastrophic, child. It was perhaps the greatest I had ever seen, and I would daresay that it was one of the greatest this world has ever known. The verdant grass had run red with the blood of the armies. Thousands upon thousands of soldiers lay dead upon the plains. Truly, the bodies were countless.” ”But...you were victorious in the end, right?” I asked. He nodded his head. “Perhaps it was not so much of a victory for us but a crippling upset for the Alliance. They had to mobilize great, slow-moving ranks of soldiers up a steep hill. Every step inflicted casualties. They had to march over the mangled corpses of their friends to meet our blades. They would have beaten us out, had it not been for reinforcements from Silvermoon. An army is at its most vulnerable when it is besieging, after all.”

“And what of Muroco?” I asked.

“When I found him on the battlefield, he had fallen near the gate, a great ring of dead humans and night elves around him. I approached him to help deliver his soul unto the Earth Mother.”

“And that is why you know so much of him,” I offered. “You vowed to carry on his legacy.”

Greatfather looked at me and snorted again. “What? Of course not! You haven’t been paying attention to your lessons again, I see.” The edges of his mouth curled into something of a smile. “I thought him dead, but he simply recovered consciousness, got up, complained about a pain in his axe arm and walked away to be treated. I think that enchanted shield of his made him difficult to defeat.” He sighed. “He fought again and helped defeat the Alliance for good, but events from then on would be far more complicated.”

Greatfather got up from his seat and went into his lodge. He returned with the helmet in his hand, sat down, and looked at it, remaining silent for a long time.

“A human trophy,” he finally said. He took his free hand, lifted up the visor, and slammed it down with an audible clank. For such old armor, he kept it in surprisingly good condition. “I think the man was from Stormwind. I’ve kept the armor since then to remind me…”

“Remind you of what?” I inquired. He gestured for me to come closer.

“The sounds of battle. The scents of fire, the ozone of magical spells being discharged, and death. The way the other dreadnaughts and I would charge into battle alongside Muroco. The looks of fear upon our enemies as we crashed into them with our axes and maces. The way it felt to stand triumphant over seemingly impossible odds. I keep it to remind me that sometimes…”

He looked at me dead in the face. I could see the echoes of long-lost bloodlust returning in the corners of his eyes.

“...I miss it.” @thesunguardmg

[theislesunfamily]

The Glass is Probably Half Full

“Remember this time last year, Ithanar?”

“When I was sitting in the bath and you were chastising me about… something?”

“About everything, yes…”

“As you damn well do, Hylaen.”

“No, I was reminiscing about you… not having anyone to send gifts to for Winter’s Veil this time-”

“Reminiscing? Really?”

“What?”

“It’s good that you have friends, Ithanar.”

“... You’re not wrong.”

Around the holidays, a series of gifts are sent to various individuals; some are affiliated with the Sunguard while a few aren’t. Each gift is wrapped meticulously in brown paper and no bow, simple and unremarkable, while containing a small letter. 

They are all signed by none other than Ithanar Islesun...

For Faervell Bael’nar ( @pyrar ) … 

A box of Winter’s Veil-themed chocolates, each one a different flavor (milk chocolate with caramel for example).

Faervell,

I am glad we have the friendship, the relationship, we have. It has meant a lot to me, more than I think I have let on. Sure, we have had our jokes here and there but to have a friend like you after being alone for so long? After keeping to myself for the most part for a decade? For someone who will laugh with me, joke with me, have a beer with me? It means the damn world.

P.S. This letter became very you know. But I mean every word. 

For Esme Sunshard ( @esmesunshard ) … 

A dozen bottles of the cheapest wine imaginable. The woman has her tastes.

Esme,

Sorry. About that one time. You know what I mean.

I count you as a friend, even if it does not always seem that way, someone I can trust with things even I do not mean to say them at first.

For Esheyn Flamethorn ( @kinari ) … 

A potted plant of many beautiful red blooms. Closer inspection or a knack for knowing flowers reveals these are geraniums.

Esheyn,

Thank you for letting my drunk ass sleep on your couch, and always showing me kindness even if there were times I may have not deserved it.

For Thanidiel Highdawn ( @thanidiel ) … 

An ornate dagger crafted by one of Silvermoon’s many forges; the handgrip is wrapped in hardy red cloth and gold lettering has been carved into the flat of the blade. 

If one knows Thalassian, it reads: ALL OR NONE

Thanidiel,

I had plans to write something lengthy, but we both know that’s not our style exactly. Know that I trust you to the fullest extent as a friend, a comrade, a fellow soldier and I appreciate the trust you have put in me. That, and you have given me more cigars than I can count. Here’s to another year.

For Bricini Lightwing ( @jessipalooza ) … 

A rather nice coffee mug with the words “PROPERTY OF BRICINI LIGHTWING” emblazoned on one side and “AZEROTH’S GREATEST MENDER” on the other side in red-and-gold lettering.

Bricini,

I know you will probably never use this because your flask is ingenious. Therefore maybe you should use it as a mantlepiece? Or maybe something to store your quills in on your desk at the Dawnspire? I am sure you will figure out something.

For each member of the Sunspear Battalion ( @thesunguardmg ) , including Knight-Commander Emberstar and the Sentinel Zalin Shadowsunder… 

An ornate wooden box which contains twelve cigars and a lighter with the Sunguard’s emblem emblazoned upon the surface.

Fellow Sunspear,

It has been a pleasure and honor getting to know most of you over the past year. Here is to many more battles, more training sessions, and defending Quel’thalas to the best of our ability.

And in a small note left for Aurelian Indaris ( @korkrunchcereal ) … 

  We do need to duel soon, don’t we?

For Sakialyn Emberstar ( @sakialyn ) … 

A small golden coin. Simple, but meaningful in a way.

Knight-Commander,

In case you ever decide to take up that bet you respectfully and understandably declined when I joined the Sunguard a year ago. You took a chance on me, so thank you. Old knights die hard but I plan to not to. Hope I have lived up to what I promised, what I took an oath to do.

For Zalin Shadowsunder ( @curiouslich )… 

A simple letter and a pouch containing Ithanar’s Winter Veil bonus.

Sentinel,

I appreciate and accept your invitation. Let us share a drink soon, whether that be in Voidheart or at the Isle. I am returning my holiday bonus not out of disrespect, but would rather see it put toward a better cause: improving our facilities. Use it in any fashion you choose for such an effort.

For Caeliri Dawnsworn ( @caeliri ) …

A pair of rose quartz and gold earrings. They are simple, but still rather pretty. 

Caeliri,

Glad we have spoken here and there, even if it has not exactly been often. I did not know what to think of you at first given our initial interaction was while you had your head split open courtesy of a certain fiery Illidari, but know that your work as a Dawnmender is appreciated.

For Iiloridan Sunshard ( @edaigoa ) … 

A box containing the same cookies Ithanar made for him months ago, shaped like little angelic wings. These seem a bit more professionally made.

Iiloridan,

I did not know you very well when we first met, and under rather ridiculous circumstances, but after a few months? I consider you a friend, someone I would trust with my life. That, and you are a Dawnmender so it is appropriate. Know that I can offer any assistance needed with hunting down the individual who took your eye. I have mentioned it before, but I do not mind giving a reminder here and there. Thank you. 

For Vaelrin Firestorm ( @vaelrin ) … 

A simple letter, a small bottle of damn fine whiskey, and a dozen cigars contained in an ornate wooden box.

Vaelrin,

Drinks and cigars soon? The elderly folk need to catch up. 

For Lirelle Dawnbrook and Arrenir Silversun ( @retributionpriest | @thepilgrimofwar ) … 

A full-color illustrated map of the Isle, a rather large island located off the northwestern coast of Quel’Thalas; both know this is where Ithanar hails from.

Lirelle and Arrenir,

It has been some time since we have spoken, so I hope the both of you are holding up alright. Let us do something soon? Once this whole war ends? If it does. I also owe you two a tour of the Isle, which we spoke about months ago over drinks.

For Avie Silverbrooke ( @thenaaru​ )  …

Jewelry in the form of a necklace of twisting gold marked by small rubies. It is an ornate design, something she would probably like, and appears to be something that would match well. Perhaps Ithanar has some taste.

Avie,

Trying to use words to describe our relationship is a difficult thing, but I am going to give it a try. You have proven to be someone whom I trust in battle and in other places.  I don’t need to go into detail for this, but I do hope you like the gift. At the end of the day, Avie, all I can say is thank you for being a damn good friend.

See you tomorrow night? Maybe? I am sure we’ll chat.

For Qeren Bloodmantle ( @entropytea ) … 

A seemingly ordinary shawl of dark green, perfect for wearing in cold winter weather. However, upon closer look, the shawl carries a small symbol near the bottom: a falcon trapped with a circle, the sigil of House Islesun.

Qeren,

Just as you gave me a way to speak with you at any time, this shawl will give you a way you to travel to the Isle if you want to. Otherwise, it’s rather warm and cozy. Miss you and hope you are doing- I had a word here, but I do not know which to use. Just keep safe for me. Please.

For Emirenne Sunspite ( @snarksonomy | @sunspite ) …  

A brooch of gold surrounding a mulberry red jewel, something that could be pinned on something like… a Winter’s Veil sweater?  

Emirenne,

Thank you for the noodles, the Winter’s Veil sweater (everyone loved it), and your general kindness which came out of an unlikely scenario. I hope we get to see each other more in the new year and if you do want to go adventuring some time soon? There are definitely a few jobs and places in mind. Let me know and hope your children are well. 

For Sare’wen ( @airiannagrace ) ...

A shawl of periwinkle blue, perfect for cold weather, along with a simple letter. 

Sare’wen,

I owe you a picnic since you provided last time, so consider that my Winter’s Veil gift. I also need to give you back the thing you gave me, entrusted me with, for it is safer in your hands now that this fight may be coming to a close. I trust in your control, in your not losing yourself. 

Thank you for your friendship.

Finally, one last gift; it is for Elleynah Stormsummer ( @stormandozone ) … 

A framed picture, taken by a Goblin-crafted camera. The picture is of Ithanar and Elleynah relaxing against a bench, his arm around her shoulder, smiles on both of their faces as the sun shines brightly overhead.

Elleynah,

I have been meaning to give you this for a while, a picture we took some months ago. I had it framed and then let it sit on my desk here at home for a while, but it’s in better hands with you. It has been a long year, but you have made it worth it. You welcomed and accepted me moreso than really a lot have over the past decade.

I know there seems to be no end in sight to any of this, to the war, but keep hope? That would not be the word I might use, but keep faith. Something to that degree. I love you like a daughter and will always be there for you through thick and thin.

Just as you have been for me.

[ryther-writes]

(Asked from @retributionpriest! For her character Lirelle for Kyranyx (I assume). Thanks for the ask!)

VISUAL ATTRACTIVENESS: 💗💗💗💗 (purely aesthetic appreciation of looks)

Kyranyx thinks Lirelle is pretty for an elf, and she seems to be neat enough which is satisfactory for her.

FRIENDSHIP LEVEL: 💗💗 (how close a friend they consider them)

Kyranyx considers Lirelle to be on friendly enough terms with her, although she still has her doubts in some regards and she doesn’t agree with some of Lirelle’s philosophies but she doesn’t hate her for them either.

SEXUAL DESIRE: 💗 (wanting to have sex with them)

As stated above, Kyranyx does find her pretty, but she isn’t really into Lirelle as she barely knows her, so...yeah.

ROMANTIC INTENT: somewhere between  💔  and 💗

(hoping for a romantic relationship)

Same reasons as above, the combination of barely knowing her + some of her philosophies = she doesn’t have much interest in her.

[thepilgrimofwar]

Liminal

[Follow up to: The Door for Him Backstory for Context: The Curious Case of Apartment 547 Musical Embellishment: Go Tomorrow]

1.

Two and a half years. Two and a half, long, bloody years. Through war, famine, and the chaos that proceeded in their aftermath, Zharia had looked for her father. The Sunguard had said that he was deserter--that the final lead they had of his whereabouts was the ship that had smuggled him out of Quel’thalas at the very height of the Phoenix Wars.

But she knew Arrenir better than that. Her father did not run. When backed into a corner with nothing to lose, he’d have thrown himself into the fire over and over again until he or his enemies were dead. He must have taken that ship for a good reason, she just needed to figure out why.

For two and a half years, she had searched. Now, at last, her leads had finally brought her to Apartment 547.

Technically no one owned it anymore. All three co-owners were dead or presumed dead. Even so, getting the keys from the City Council of Dalaran was no issue, seeing that she was a blood relative to one of them. But when she slotted the key into the front door, she realized that it had not been locked.

Zharia swallowed hard, both excited and afraid of what she might find here. She prayed, Light upon Light, she prayed that she would not find her father’s corpse upstairs. Not after everything they had been through together, not after she had brought him back, and not after almost losing him to misery during The Fall. 

But Apartment 547 seemed normal. A layer of dust had taken residence upon the sheet covered furniture. The pots that Lirelle had left in their conservatory had become soil beds for new life. The kitchen and dining table, where there had been so much laughter and joy in the past, stood still with a contented silence. There was no death to be found here. No blackened stains of old blood, no smells of rot.

Zharia made her way up the stairs as rays of sunlight pierced the frosted windows of the apartment. It highlighted the dust that she was disturbing, coiling and floating upwards as she slid her palms over the guard rails. She had never visited personally but from the way Arrenir used to laugh at the time, she knew that the best years of his life were spent here. The rooms on the second floor were empty, save for the smell of sunbaked linen. Excitement had begun to fade as the fear that this was yet another pointless lead filled her heart.

But her fear quickly turned to dread when she made it to the top floor and saw the door at the end of the hallway. It was ajar.

No you fool. No, no, no.

Arrenir had told her about the doors long ago. He had wanted to get her opinion on their nature, seeing that she was a woman of logic and reason. Zharia had told him that they were the workings of a man who could not let go of a past--much like he used to be. She had warned him to be careful with them, lest they tempt him with their empty promises.

She was immune to the alluring claims that they could take you back in time, because unlike many others--often the ones who were time obsessed--she was not as naive. Zharia knew that in order to get where she was today, many things needed to have fallen in place exactly as they did. 

Even so, she could not deny that the thought of going back and fixing past mistakes was attractive, but the idea also opened up the possibility of so many other things going wrong. So in the end, she was glad to leave the past behind. It meant that the mistakes she could have made could no longer touch her. It was as Arrenir had told her, once upon a time, ‘that to fix one’s mistakes, it needed to be done in the present, not within the reach of the past.’

The man who had left the door ajar, the door at the end of the hallway, was not the man who she thought her father was. The Arrenir she knew would have never run--not from war--never from life. In a way, this revelation was so much worse than finding his body. It was suicide, only of a different kind.

Zharia stormed towards the door and pushed it wide open. The walls of the hallway seemed to narrow around her, but she ignored it. Dead, alive or something in between, she was not going to let the apartment stop her from tracking down her father.

As if sensing her intent and picking up on her desires, the hallway beyond the door warped and changed. Space seemed to compress until there was but a singular door for her. One that looked exactly as the one that had been left ajar.

“Much obliged,” she muttered as she opened it up to a hallway that led back into Apartment 547. Another Apartment 547.

2.

Everything was wrong. Because everything was right.

She could tell by hopeful chatter in Silvermoon’s streets, and by the way that eternal spring clung to the air of Eversong woods. It was as if the winter, born from the Phoenix Wars, had been nothing more fleeting nuisance instead of the catastrophe her people had suffered. Heading to the Dawnspire, Zharia passed Goldsea where its fields remained unblemished by the ravages of war, and through Autumnvale whose residents had raised a monument to the heroes who had so courageously given their lives for it.

As she gazed upon the alabaster towers of the Dawnspire Citadel, it was clear that the years had been kind to the Sunguard, this Sunguard. Here, following the war, they seemed to have the gratitude of the entire Thalassian nation in their debt. Here, they had been the Honor Guard of a new era of peace. But as abundant as it had been for the guild, the talk of passersby made it clear that it wasn’t nearly as bountiful as it had been for its leader, who apparently was expecting his third child in two years.

The old Guard had retired. Zharia gathered that from the bored receptionist who had been staring at the gates that were never breached, in the courtyard that had never seen blood. According to the girl that manned her uneventful station, the officers had all stepped away for a new generation of leaders. Officers Shadowsunder and Stormsummer had married and now looked to mend the House of Sunders of Shimmervale. The Sunfires had turned their duties to their children once more. Sunshard received a lordly commission of her own: a fleet from the crown itself. And as for Firestorm, the old man had finally settled to administer his realm of Shallowbrook. 

When it finally came to the topic of her father, after much gossipping, the receptionist was all too happy to inform her that he had too settled away from the Guard. Marrying one Lirelle Dawnbrook.

3.

Zharia paused at a lovingly crafted door to a cottage by the sea. A part of her didn’t want to knock. It would be so easy to turn around now, head back through the door at the end of the hallway and consider her father dead. But she needed to know if it was him. Really him. The man she had sought for so long.

Is where you went, you old fool?

The door swung open, revealing a war-scarred man with tied crimson hair. “Oh, Zharia? I didn’t realize you were visiting your father today,” he said with a smile.

“Sederis?” Zharia cocked her head involuntarily.

“We’re having a little reunion dinner tonight, but I suppose it wouldn’t be too much trouble if you joined us,” Sederis said, looking back into the cottage where a woman toiled away in the kitchen. “Right dear?”

“We’ll have more than enough food for her if you just leave her some!” she replied with a laugh before joining Sederis at the door. The woman wrapped an arm around her husband’s growing waistline and extended the other to shake Zharia’s hand. “I don’t believe we’ve met dear,” she said. “Ny Dawnbrook, Lirelle’s sister.”

Zharia stood still for a moment, stunned by the sight of the man who had long been dead. She hadn’t known him personally but Arrenir had spoken fondly of him, once upon a time. “Zharia,” she croaked, before shaking the offered hand. “Arrenir’s daughter.”

“Well come in,” Sederis said, welcoming her inside her father’s cottage. “He’s at the beach with Lirelle, probably catching crabs or some other nonsense!” The crimson haired man chuckled. Zharia had never seen him so happy. The times she had seen him in her own time, Sederis had always seemed to carry a weight about him. A burden that he no longer carried in either world.

She made her way inside as the couple returned to the kitchen, aiming to fill the house with the aromatic smells of roast meat and baked garlic before the sun set. It was a quaint place, with exotic plants around every corner, each of them flanked by display cases filled with beetles and bugs. 

You never put anything you loved on display. You never wore anything on your sleeve. Why now? Why here?

Her thoughts were cut short when she reached the back door to the cottage, one that opened up to a pristine beach. There, amongst white sands and gentle waves, she saw him. Arrenir Silversun, treading lightly upon rocky tidepools and pointing things out for Lirelle who followed in his wake.

He waved at her.

She waved back.

4.

“Your father will be along shortly,” said Lirelle as she arrived back at the cottage, thrusting her thumb behind her. “He got caught up wrestling a mudskipper for an aquatic crustacean he wanted.”

“Hasn’t changed a bit,” Zharia replied. “How are things?”

“Things are good, The Crows are having a well deserved break after putting down a rebellion against Lord Dumbass’ vassals over there.” Lirelle gestured in Sederis’ general direction before adding, “I told you so!”

“Yeah, yeah I know,” Sederis waved her off like a bad smell as he continued grilling dinner.

Zharia shook her head. “Sorry, I’ve...I’ve been away. Expedition overseas. A rebellion?”

Lirelle sighed as she leaned against the doorway. “You met my sister? I assume she failed to mention that she’s next in line to Dawnveil after my father eventually croaks it. Anyway, the only way she’d marry was matrilineally, and Sederis decided that he wanted to marry her.”

Sederis cleared his throat, carrying two skewers of meat in each hand. “Long story short. A few nobles got uppity because the Emberglades could end up with the Dawnbrooks in a generation. So we crushed them. End of story.” The Lord of the Emberglades leaned in to kiss his wife who batted him away, already preoccupied with a pan of paella. Seeing that he wasn’t wanted, he shifted over to Lirelle offering a peace kebab. “Thanks by the way.”

“Your gold was most welcome,” Lirelle replied with a smirk. She took a bite of her peace offering as she joined her sister in the kitchen when Arrenir finally appeared at the doorway to the cottage.

“Zharia, I didn’t know you were coming!” Arrenir bellowed as he wiped his boots on the welcome mat before taking them off.

“Neither did I,” Zharia responded.

A long silence followed, filled only by the chatter of the other guests in the kitchen as it slowly dawned upon Arrenir that something there was something amiss. She watched as the realization spread across him like fire.

“Zharia?” he said at last.

“Hello father,” she couldn’t bring herself to smile. A storm of emotions circled within her as she tried her best to speak.

“Dinner is served!” Sederis called out to them, interrupting the moment as he set a spread of food on the table.

“We’ll talk later?” Arrenir asked, as if to confirm that she would be staying long enough for them to speak.

Zharia nodded.

5.

“We visited Thandiel’s grave,” Sederis said somberly as the evening began to wind down, and drinks became uncorked. “Esheyn came with a bouquet of flowers. Biggest and brightest she’s ever grown. Personally I think the old Bloodknight would’ve much preferred a good bourbon, but I’m sure she’d appreciate the gesture nonetheless.”

“We’ll be sure to leave her some the next time we go,” Lirelle replied. “Have something decent in one of your stashes we could borrow?”

“Stashes?” Ny raised an eyebrow at her husband who merely shrugged.

“Look, I committed to drink less, not banish every hidden cache of alcohol I have,” he said.

Lirelle snorted. “He probably doesn’t even remember where half of them are. And I can tell you where the other half is hidden.” She started ticking locations off on her fingers, “Way behind in the back of the cabinet in your bathroom, under the huge pot in the kitchen that Elan never uses, in the corner of my shed…the usual.”

“Well,” Arrenir interjected. “Highdawn’s death anniversary is coming up, so that’d be the best time for us to visit. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind a second visit from the two of you,” he said with a smile.

“Will do,” Sederis said with a nod, and as the dinner drew to a close, the mellowed out Lord of the Emberglades rose to his feet and insisted on doing the dishes despite Arrenir’s protests. “Guest, or not guest, seeing that my brother is buried in paperwork and is not here...I’m the only one without more catching up to do.” The Pilgrim of War donned an apron, rolled up his sleeves, and with a weightless smile began to clean up.

“I’ll leave you two to it then,” said Ny, standing with her husband. “I’ve got to scold my sister here for not visiting home often enough.”

Lirelle stood up. “I visit plenty!”

“Ever since you two built your cottage, you’ve been coming back here between leading your campaigns with the Crows...” Ny trailed off as she left for the living room with Lirelle who chased after her elder sister with an incredulous look on her face.

Arrenir laughed at first, waving the both of them off until he was left at the dining table with Zharia. His Zharia.

She sat as she had throughout dinner, in a daze. Surrounded by the living dead, she wondered how differently their counterparts would’ve been if only they had lived.

“We should talk outside.”

6.

They sat upon the deck that overlooked the seaside. Stars dotted the skyline, reflecting off a dark and undulating sea below. Zharia couldn’t bring herself to speak at first, unsure if doing so would lead to catharsis or a gaping wound that would never close. But she needed to.

Arrenir broke the silence first, staring at the night sky as he did. “I--I never thought I’d see you again. It’s good to see you Zharia.”

“Is it?” she spoke at last. “You ran. Away from it all. Away from reality. Away from me.”

“I did,” Arrenir replied, staring at the night sky. “I’m sorry.”

She scoffed. “Are you?”

“Yes,” Arrenir spoke quietly as he turned towards her to look her in the eyes. “I’m sorry for abandoning you without a word. I’m sorry I left you without a body to bury and with questions, millions of questions, left unanswered.”

Zharia saw that there was genuine pain in his eyes. Her father didn’t do what he did lightly, that much she could see. And as Arrenir reached over to embrace her, she flinched at first, but quickly leaned into his shoulder and descended into tears.

“Why?” Zharia sobbed, shedding tears of grief and anger. “I never mourned you because I knew you weren’t dead. But this, this, is so much worse than that! Do you understand what you’ve done? You chose to go to a place where I can’t follow. Do I mean that little to you!?”

Arrenir held her as she yelled into his shoulder. “You mean the world to me,” he said softly. “I thought by coming here, I could do better. Be a better father. Be a better soldier. Be a better man. It was only after everything--the war, the life I built here--did I realize that you wouldn’t be a part of it.”

“And yet you never came back,” Zharia sneered as she tore away from her father’s embrace. “I guess it’s because you found what you were looking for.”

Arrenir looked back at the cottage he had built. The life that he had earned for himself through fire and blood. From each plank of its construction and each display case filled with the collections he had gathered. “Yes,” he said quietly. “I did.”

“Good for you.” Zharia said as she wiped the tears from her eyes. “Because this, all of this, is wrong. It belongs in another life. To another Arrenir. A life you’ve stolen it from him by coming here.”

Arrenir shook his head. “He’d have made the same mistakes I made. Nothing would have changed.”

“Would it?” Zharia shook her head. “I’m going now, back to where you ought to have been. Where your friends are dead and where your daughter is missing a father.” She rose from the deck. “This will be the last you’ll see of me.”

Arrenir swallowed hard, trying his best to choke back his tears. “Goodbye Zharia,” he said. “It was nice seeing you again. I was hoping that you’d stay--”

“Save it,” Zharia spat and turned to leave her father behind. “You raised me well enough to know not to run from my mistakes.”

7.

After long moments spent in deep thought, Arrenir finally returned inside to find that it was quiet. The kitchen was spotless, plates and pans drying on their respective racks. The living room still bore the scent of tea, but it was clear that his guests had already gone.

“Lirelle?” he called out to his wife but received no response. After checking each room of the cottage he finally found her on the front porch that overlooked her garden.

“Who the fuck are you?” She asked.

“How much did you hear?”

“Hear? Do you think I’m blind? I figured something was up the moment she spoke to me,” Lirelle glared at him. “She came through the apartment, didn’t she?”

“She did,” Arrenir said, knowing better than to mince words with her. “And so did I.”

“I always wondered why you became less insufferable to be around all of a sudden,” Lirelle said. “I thought it was because you finally understood who I was.”

“You aren’t wrong, though the only difference is that the realization happened elsewhere.”

“So I married a dupe,” Lirelle rested her face in her hands. “You’re not even my Arrenir.”

“I am your Arrenir,” he said, folding his arms. “Your Arrenir would’ve continued to be insufferable. Trying too hard to be something he thought you wanted him to be. And failing.” “Speaking from experience?” his wife got to her feet and folded her arms. “Fail with one Lirelle, but wait, don’t worry, there’s an infinite more to choose from! All you need to do is keep crossing fucking dimensions until you succeed in pinning me down. God I’ve got to be the worst Lirelle of the lot,” Lirelle spat as rage welled up inside her. “So is that it? Is that why you came here!?”

Arrenir looked her in the eyes and held her ire-filled gaze. “No,” he said. “I came here because you died.”

“What?”

“Sunstrider Isle, fighting Dame Everleigh’s forces. But instead of crushing them together, we had parted on poor terms. You died there, with Sederis.”

Lirelle’s demeanour changed and she sat back down. “And the Crows?”

“Died with you, save for a few. Garris sent me your death letter.”

She ran her fingers through her hair and shook her head, trying to wrap her head around how differently it could have all played out. “So you came here, because your Lirelle died.”

“You’re my Lirelle,” he responded without hesitation. “The Lirelle where I came from was never mine. Neither were you until you gave yourself to me.” 

“Really?” she said skeptically. “I bet if I had died on that field, like she did, you’d just have jumped ship again. Gone to another door. Tried again. Again and again until I lived.” 

“No.”

“No?”

Arrenir shook his head. “I didn’t come here because I wanted you to live. That wasn’t my regret. My regret was that I didn’t ride out with you. I came here, to this world, because I wasn’t there with my friends when everything came to an end. I should have been. I would have been, if I wasn’t so damned selfish.” He brought his hand to her cheek, brushing her hair back behind her ear. “I came here to die with you. If you had fallen, I’d have fallen with you. Because I love you. You.”

Epilogue

“Take me home,” said Zharia as she climbed the final steps to the top floor of Apartment 547. The door at the end of the hallway waited for her, already open. She took one final look at the world she was leaving behind. A better, brighter world, but not her’s. For better or for worse, this one belonged to her father now. She had hoped for catharsis--to bring her father back--but it was clear he was no longer the man she remembered. But even so, Zharia was content with closure.

I’m glad you found what you were looking for. I’m glad you finally found yourself. I just wish I could’ve been a part of that.

Goodbye, father.

She stepped through and the door to this world closed behind her, never to be opened again.

-fin-

I’ve been meaning to write this for a long long time. First, I told myself I’d do it after the Phoenix Wars. Then I told myself I’d do it after the Guild’s last day. Again, when I told myself I’d do it after The Emberglades Civil War.

I guess it took so long because I’ve always meant for this story to be a symbolic goodbye. As the last story I’ll ever write for WoW and it suppose it was hard saying goodbye to characters that I’ve role-played as for 5 years. Some even more than that. It isn’t the end of course, I’m still game to keep role-playing them from time to time. But as for the arcs that I’ve been doing since the Emberglades Saga go, this will be the last one.

I want to thank everyone who has made these last 5 years probably the best ones of my life. Guildies, raiding buddies, friends, and everyone who suffered with me through my Emberglades Civil War Campaign. Special shout out to Sean for not only for letting me use his Roll20 system to bring that story & campaign to life but for leading the Guild that has left so many fond memories for so many people over the years.

Photo Credit: Toast_91

[retributionpriest]

Eclipse

Music

In this place between lives, there was peace.

It was quiet, dim and stretching out forever, a mirror surface of what was, and could be. She was not alone here, he was here too, except now the only hint of crimson on his body was the shock of hair on his head, as things should be.

There was no need for words, their presence together was all they ever needed, in both life, and death. It had been an unspoken fact, a subtle thing that only needed the slightest of nods to be recognized between the two of them. Words that never had a chance to be spoken in life laid bare, finally free from concern and denial. In death, all things were made clear. Here, in a place that was no place at all, they waited to be unwound from the mortal coil.

Above them the moon hung low in the sky, bright white like the core of her had always been, softer, here. But now, it spoke.

“Daughter of Dawn, you are called.”

She looked up, her hand clutching empty air where he should have been, the stillness shattered in the space of a heartbeat.

“Who are you?”

“I come with an offer.”

Unbidden, words echoed in her mind, wisps and fragments of memories of a life long past, freely given yet oh so very costly.

You have it in you to save them, all of them, if you are willing to pay.

The moon almost seemed to slip closer, an eye now, watching, scrutinising.

“An offer of life.”

“And the terms?”

The air around seemed to shimmer, warping and bending, breathing. Along the edges of the moon, shadows began to unfurl, roiling and writhing, a great black lid to cover the heavy eye.

“Your life, and all that it was made of. Fire, fury... and fear.”

She stepped forward, opening her mouth to speak, but she felt hands holding her back, freckled, scarred hands, hands that were bloodied, that glowed green and gold, that flipped through books with her and held her as they laughed. More words whispered to her so long ago in a place like but unlike this were called to mind, spoken softly, sadly. She stopped.

Do not let them fool you, and they will try. You need to look harder, Lirelle, when something seems wrong. It will be wrong. You are the only one who can see it. You need to look.

“And if I give you that, what then? What am I?”

“Something new. Better even. A being that is you, but unblemished by fear and mortality. A being that no longer fears the dark and cold. A being that is everything you could be.”

Lirelle looked up at the moon, at the shadows that slipped over its surface, a Cheshire grin hung in the sky by unseen strings.

You will know then, what the deal is for. You can make the choice, I know you can.

She stopped again then, a heartbeat, an eternity. Drinks and trashy books. Rum and salt. Petrichor. The ring of swords. Light and daggers. Crowns of roses. Rime breath. Gold mead. Phoenix down. Bastions. Khol and rubies. Stranglevine. Ivory sand. Carrion birds. Clawing shadows. Magazines. Gold dipped in blood.

Each had a name, each a pinprick of light in the dark, laced together to keep the shadows at bay.

“No. You offer me a chance to go back, to be better, but we both know what you bring back will not be me,” she took a breath, her hands balling into fists beside her. “I was afraid, for myself, for them, for what might happen to them. Fear guided my actions, it brought me down the path that led me here, and I do not regret it. My fears made me who I am. To take that away would be to lose myself. You want my spark? I will give it up. Fire and fury are part of who I am, but they do not make me. I am my choices, my experiences. I am Lirelle Dawnbrook, of Dawnveil, of the Crows, of the Sunguard, the Dawnmenders, of the Ardents, of Quel'thalas. I am Lirelle Dawnbrook, who took as many lives as I saved, who lived and killed and died for those I loved, even if I never told them.”

Her hands shook as she brought them up, but her voice was cool and steady. “I am Lirelle Dawnbrook, and you will not take that from me.”

The moon let out a laugh that shook the foundations of the world. “Are these terms yours for the making?”

“You will have me on my terms, or not at all.”

There was a humorless pause as it considered her demands. “Then so be it,” it said. “You will be given everything you are willing to sacrifice. Nothing more.”

“Fine. Let me see him.”

The air again twisted, and there he was as if he was never gone, next to her under the shining unmarred moon. Lirelle reached for him, lacing their fingers together, not wanting to let go.

“They need us.”

“No. They need you.”

“Aren’t you coming with me?”

“I’m all warred out.” His eyes were tired. “I’ve been trying to get here for so long. I think I’ll stay.”

“I don’t want to go alone.” She gripped him tighter. “Don’t make me go alone.”

“Then keep me with you. In every battlecry, and every spell on your fingertips. But I can’t come.” He pulled her close, gazing at her with piercing eyes. “You fought so hard to keep me safe, and here I am. Beyond pain. Beyond misery. Now go protect the others.”

She could feel the distant tug, small but insistent, but she resisted for a moment longer, holding tighter to him.

Don’t let the little losses stop you from making the big choices. You always lose something. You have to choose what to keep and what to let go.

“If I go, will you be here when I return?”

He nodded, slow and certain. “Go save them. Burn. As fierce as you ever were. And when the fighting’s done and the war is over. I’ll be here. We die together. I’m not leaving without you.”

“Wait for me.”

Lirelle closed her eyes, slowly, reluctantly, wishing she could stay, but knowing she must not. With a final touch, she let her fingers fall away from his-

And then all at once the shadow swallowed the moon and she was in the dark, Alone.

And it was cold.

I’m so sorry.

I’m going to get a bit sappy here, so bear with me. Lirelle died just barely a few weeks before our third anniversary in the Sunguard, and I would not trade those three years for anything. I’ve had the opportunity to tell some incredible stories here, and meet even more amazing people. I am so incredibly thankful that I have so many people who I’ve had the pleasure of writing with and becoming friends with, who are my sounding boards for ideas, partners in crime, and people who I can hurt with my stories :) Thank you all for putting up with me and my incessant screaming, and my life is so much better for knowing you all. If I RPed with you and our characters were close, chances are if you think something in there was about your character, it was.

A huge thank you to all the officers of @thesunguardmg for running the guild and making sure it was a space where we could grow, especially to @felthier for being our long suffering cat herder. Thank you so much Sean for giving me the means to tell these stories and make those I love suffer, for allowing me to be in your sandbox, and for being a great friend.

@stormandozone thank you for that vision that I have referenced in just about every bit of writing since. You are THE BEST witch, and I love you so much.

@thepilgrimofwar thanks for being a wanker and fucking me up while I was writing this. I know where you sleep.

To the rest of my friends both old and new, you are all very very dear to me, and I am immensely looking forward to writing more stories with you all.

[thesunguardmg]

The Battle of the Beard was fought on 12/4 Year 33AP between the army of Three Hammers and the Royal Thalassian Army. It was a fierce and bloody affair but the elves were able to envelop the dwarven host from both sides of their column and draw the battle to a full route. The Battle of the Beard was fought in two stages:

Early in the morning, six battalions rode to the northern flank of the Dwarven Army and brought battle against them.

Commanders Azriah Thelryn, Lirelle Dawnbrook, Sederis Emberheart, Thanidiel Highdawn, Veleth Ashcaster, and Tassandria Dor’wynn engaged five battalions of alliance forces. Able to use superior mobility, the Sunguard was able to drive the dwarves into indefensible positions and destroy them. Even the famed Sir Erik Townsend left the field knowing the battle was lost. His knights later linked up with Alliance forces pressing into the Dawnspire. 

Later that afternoon, the Sunguard prepared its ambush against the Army of Three Hammers led by Thane Fergus Mountainbeard. Though the Dwarven army was impressive, it was not able to fully materialize its offensive capabilities with its artillery. Striking hard and true, the Sunguard was able to destroy the dwarven cannons and encircle their forces on the field. Hours of bloody fighting later, the Sunguard was able to isolate their commanders and kill them. Thane Fergus was taken captive after losing a duel with Siildore Frostlotus and soon after the dwarven lines began to route. 

Elsewhere, the Royal Thalassian Army did not fare better. On Sunstrider Isle, Stormwind forces led by Dame Everleigh took Falthrien Academy and pressed hard onto the Broken Bulwark. While the humans were able to breach the walls, the defenders fought bravely until the cost of battle was too high for the alliance to bare. 

Further south near Sunsail Anchorage, the defenders of the port managed to sink several Kul Tiran ships, but ultimately Admiral Alphonso Drake managed to capture the port. Tirassian marines brought siege against the Citadel of the Last Ember, the home of the famed Phoenix Guard. Sending wave after wave against the castle proved to be folly and the powerful warrior sect managed to hold onto the battlements and deal heavy damage to the Alliance forces. 

In the Dawnspire, the defenders of Quel’Thalas did not fare better. The village of Autumnvale was lost after a surprise strike by the chieftain of Worgen Alphas caught the defenders in the field. Sabotage by an agent known as the Faceless allowed the gilneans access into the village and the defenders were quickly ripped apart. 

Even worse, Sundial Anchorage, home of the Crimson Fleet was taken leaving the elves of Quel’Thalas only three remaining ports to set sail from. Though the defenders of the port city did all they could to defend, it was ultimately overrun. Combined Alliance troops from Arathor, Stormwind, and Lordaeron made landfall and the countryside of the Dawnspire is in despair. 

In the straights near Quel’Danas, the Crimson Fleet engaged with the Stormwind 3rd Fleet and suffered great losses at the hands of the humans. Even worse, Fleet Commander Esme Sunshard was taken captive and brought to safekeeping within Port Seahawk. The Crimson Fleet was sunk and all remaining ships lost. Even worse, from shore, the magisters under the leadership fo Commander Faervell Bael’nar watched as the fleet was set ablaze. Pressing onto the undead citadel known as Lich’s Landing, they attempted to storm the castle but was repulsed by a surprising garrison of skeleton warriors. 

In the province of Shallowbrook, the Kingdom of Quel’Thalas Reborn presses hard onto the castle known as Embertree. While the defenders did what the could, the estate fell to their assault. The remaining armies of High Elves and Void Elves look further west to take Port Havenblaze, seat of House Firestorm. 

Finally, in the Emberlight, a massive army of Amani trolls flung themselves at the fabled Blacksun Gate. Under the command of Idrya Blacksun, the thalassian garrison was able to defeat their enemies and drive the trolls from the field.

Lost: Autumnvale 

Lost: Crimson Fleet 

Lost: Sunsail Anchorage 

Lost: Sundial Anchorage 

Lost: Falthrien Academy 

Lost: Embertree (Militia Defeated) 

Diminished to Garrison: The Broken Bulwark 

Repelled: Blacksquall from Sir Royce 

Repelled: Faervell at Lich's Landing 

Hold: Phoenix Captain Sunstorm, Citadel of the Last Ember 

Hold: Idrya Blacksun, Blacksun Gate 

[thenaaru]

Anu'dorini Talah

[The following story takes place a few weeks back, after the rescue of The Spectre from Alliance hands.]

Breathe, Taeonthrial.

Her chest hurt. A deep, pressing weight closed in upon her; a fog so thick and dark she could not part it even with her brightest of memories. First, necessity alone had carried her through her grief. Akaela, bonded to her through living magic, snuffed out like failed kindling. She had not even been there to lessen his pain, her back to him as she fled and left him to his fate, Phidi cradled in her arms and clinging on to life.

Hope, a weak candle under the sail of the Alliance ship they had commandeered, stubbornly clung to her breast as their small party of seven escaped. Hope lived, that she might return to find him still alive when all of this was over. Hope had even dug in its fingernails, bleeding and raw, when a scant few moments later a vast emptiness opened up in her heart and the bond she shared with him shattered, and broke.

Far in the distance, upon the isle they fled growing smaller with each passing minute, light shot forth into the sky. She paused and watched and hoped.

She did not cry, not yet. Redmoor left upon the helm, she had work to do. The Spectre, grubby and starved and bruised as she was, was not in any immediate danger. Bael’nar was the best healing for her right now. Farmight, fallen and still unconscious but not so severely wounded that she required her most pressing attention - given to Emberfall to tend to her in the meantime. Ashelanar, though, was in a sorry state. It was through a lip bitten so hard that it almost bled that Taeonthrial worked, the void in her chest demanding that it be felt with each pass of magic from her fingers. Each mote deepened the wound that should not have been there, yet was. She had failed him, and he would remember it in his rebirth.

In the end, she hadn’t even been able to help Xelda. The wound was too grievous, Taeonthrial’s magic too weak. The failure sat heavy in her breast as she cleansed and bandaged the void where an eye had once been and she prepared herself to deliver the news herself upon the woman’s awakening.

Hope did not abandon her until the ship was docked and she was alone, left to mind its decks whilst the hustle of an army buzzed on below her in the freshly retaken port. She didn’t even notice how her knuckles turned white around the handle of the ships wheel she clutched, nor did she really notice the chill that set upon her tear-tracked face.

Commanders Emberheart and Dawnbrook are dead.

She had been right there- not more than a forced march away. She could have made it. She could have helped them. Could have saved them, perhaps. Or perhaps she too would have fallen with them, and perhaps the Spectre would still be in her jail cell and those five sent rescue her would be gone instead. The pit-pat of blood against the deck as it fell from her bleeding nail beds broke her from her trance- the pain was hot and sharp and but a momentary distraction. She watched it for a moment, bright crimson against her skin, the only blood she had shed so far in this gods damnable war.

She should have been there.

An anguished cry rose up and choked in her throat, the sound garbled and pathetic as she sank down to her knees and slumped against the post of the wheel. Above her, Elune shone bright, mocking her for her treachery. Was this to be her punishment? Was she to watch her friends die one by one for daring to leave behind all that had been false in her life? Was she to never hear Lirelle’s bright laughter as they dreamt up ridiculous plots that would surely drive the Oracle up the wall- never to see Sederis frown at her when she chastised him for being so reckless again? Never to feel the subtle, warm relief when she returned to the infirmary to see the feisty little priest cussing out paperwork or only half-jokingly suggesting that she might take her knife to the next idiot who asked a stupid question?

Never.

In a fit of rage she tore the moonstone pendant from her neck; nearly toppled over the side of the ship with the force she threw it into the ocean. Watched it sink, the glow ebbing under the tides until it was too deep to see. The wooden rails under her palms bowed and cracked and groaned as her anger grew forth in the form of barbed vines, the spirit of the Earth answering her when Elune had all but abandoned her. This was all wrong- her friends, dead or dying; her kin now her enemy, sworn to rob her of the happiness she had only just begun to carve out for herself. What use was Oakvale if Akaela had died anyway? What use were they when the power they had promised her hadn’t been enough? What use was Oakvale when she was so very far away from their guidance, without Aleriel to guide her hand.

Oakvale was not here, but the earth and the sea and the sky and the fires of her anger were and they stole the light of Elune from her eyes and stained them dark with vengeance.

The druid sank down against the bars and vines of her own making, unafraid of their sharp barbs. The roil in her chest only grew and swelled and made her feel sick with anger and grief until she could do nothing but cry.

Taeonthrial wasn’t sure how long she sobbed for. She cried until the hurt in her chest turned numb and her body had no more tears to give. She sat there until the quiet, scritch-scratching claws of something coming towards her drew her attention. Phidi, leafy flesh torn and barely mended by what little Tae had been able to muster for him by the time she was done with everyone else aboard, half dragged-half hobbled his way to her. Noiselessly, he reached for her as a toddler might his mother, arms outstretched and wanting of her comfort. She blinked at him. Once, twice, pulled him close.

No longer would she stand idly by.

[Taeonthrial, Prestige Class - Elementalist]

mentions: @dorksworn @jessipalooza @pyrar @pyrosophist @emberfallen @ocarina-of-what @retributionpriest @thepilgrimofwar

for interest: @felthier @stormandozone

[esheyn]

Esheyn Flamethorn

Appearance –

Gender: Female

Race: Sin'dorei

Height: 6'2"

Eye Color: Fel Green

Hair Color: Dark Red

The Facts –

Birthday: April 22nd

Occupation: Botanist, Duskward Sunspear of the Sunguard, Knight-Champion of the Blood Knight Order

Sexual Identification: Homosexual

Romantic Identification: Panromantic

Alignment: Lawful Neutral

Criminal History: N/A

Relationship Status: Single

Favorites –

Favorite food: Baked fish

Favorite drink: Tea

Favorite artist: N/A

Favorite scents: Citrus, dry leaves, leather, polished armor

Favorite person(s): Her sister, Serani Flamethorn, and her friends in the Sunguard (in no particular order): Avada Emberfall, Felo'thore Novastorm, Ithanar Islesun, Lirelle Dawnbrook, Taliori Dewblossom, Thanidiel Highdawn, among others

Randoms –

Ten facts about your muse:

⚫ Esheyn hails from House Flamethorn, a noble family with a long history of practicing arcane and nature magic in harmony, primarily for agricultural purposes. She was born and raised at the Flamethorn Conservatory, located in Silvermoon City, where the family's finest horticultural discoveries and innovations are showcased—and where Esheyn developed a lifelong love of botany.

⚫ As is tradition in her family, Esheyn was bestowed with her very own 'patron' flower, which was meticulously cultivated to honor her birth. Following in the footsteps of every firstborn daughter of House Flamethorn, Esheyn's flower is a rose; Rosa 'Esheyn' is a white-and-yellow hybrid tea rose that blooms continuously throughout the season up to the first frost.

⚫ Esheyn was educated in the ways of the Light from a very early age, taught exclusively by her mother. This ultimately contributed to her having a rather lonely childhood, as her mother's teaching methods would often keep her isolated from her peers. Esheyn still struggles with developing meaningful relationships, even as an adult, due to her sheltered upbringing.

⚫ Although Esheyn was largely unsuccessful in forming close friendships with children outside of her family, she was completely devoted to her younger sister, Serani Flamethorn, and the two were practically inseparable. She relied heavily on her sister's companionship, finding comfort in her charismatic and easygoing nature. The strength of their bond served only to dramatically intensify Esheyn's grief when Serani met her untimely demise in the Fall of Quel'Thalas.

⚫ Esheyn previously served her people as a Priest of the Light, working as a healer in numerous infirmaries and wards across the Alliance territories, from early adulthood up to the Fall of Quel'Thalas. Known for being a gentle and sympathetic mender, she primarily assisted in the care of injured and sick children.

⚫ The trauma brought on by the Fall of Quel'Thalas—and more specifically, from witnessing the brutal death of her sister—had a profound impact on Esheyn's healing abilities, to the point that she could no longer call upon the Light without causing extreme harm to herself and others. She was able to heal herself when both she and her mother were ambushed by the Scourge, but not without consequence; to this day, she still feels a constant, dull pain from a sickeningly large scar that covers a large part of her abdomen, the skin burned and twisted from the volatility of her fractured healing.

⚫ Esheyn followed in the footsteps of many of her fellow priests in joining the Blood Knight Order after the Fall of Quel'Thalas. She was among the first generation of Blood Knights, where she has served with distinction, rising to the rank of Knight-Champion.

⚫ The intense anger and grief that had consumed Esheyn in the aftermath of her sister's death, which had robbed her of the ability to safely channel the Light, only grew stronger and more violent as she began her training with the Blood Knights. These emotions manifested themselves with enough ferocity to cause serious injury to both Esheyn and anyone she faced in combat, as her body would be ravaged by erratic Light energy. To negate this, she was required to wear special gems in her armor and clothing that would absorb excess magic, essentially protecting Esheyn from her own instability. As she learned to better control her turbulent thoughts, she mastered the usage of this surplus of Light energy as a means to amplify her offensive capabilities.

⚫ Esheyn has gone to great lengths to avoid her family since joining the the Blood Knight Order—and later, the Sunguard—for a variety of reasons, but she has recently felt compelled to seek out her loved ones after many years of being apart. When not on deployment, she has been spending much of her free time at the Flamethorn Conservatory in an effort to reconnect with the life she had left behind.

⚫ As a soldier, Esheyn is most proficient in wielding a two-handed sword, but she is also comfortable in her knowledge of fighting with shields and spears. Additionally, she has trained in archery on occasion, though she treats it more as a hobby than anything else.

Five Things –

Things they like:

Gardening

Long walks

Reading

Sparring

Warm mornings

Things they dislike:

Cold weather

Gossip

Large crowds

Pests

Scourge

Good habits:

Brave

Calm

Disciplined

Kind

Loyal

Patient

Practical

Resourceful

Bad habits:

Avoidant

Awkward

Judgmental

Quiet

Shy

Stubborn

Unforgiving

Vindictive

Personalities they gravitate toward:

Confident

Empathetic

Friendly

Passionate

Thoughtful

Personality types they avoid:

Cowardly

Hypocritical

Irrational

Manipulative

Selfish

Fears:

Disappointing her loved ones

Failing her people

Losing her family

Making the 'wrong' decisions

Succumbing to anger

Tagged by: @brothersemberfell

[trained-trainwreck]

If Shahin was made to be the leader of the Sunspear would he do anything different?

What a mess. Shahin drew in a deep breath as he stood at the threshold of the Knight-Commander’s office, staring down those heavy oak doors as he’d done so many times in the past. Usually if he was here it was after some colossal mishap on his part and the anxiety he felt was the anticipation of staring down the Knight-Commander’s infamous wrath. As he pushed the door open, he almost expected to see her sitting there behind her desk with her hands folded and fingers interlaced in front of her face as she always seemed to be when he entered. This time that was not to be. And never would be again. With exception of a couple empty book cases, a heavy oak desk, and the thick leather chair that sat behind it the office was completely empty. If he didn’t know better he’d say it had never been used.

Frowning, he stepped across the threshold, adjusted the carry bag he had slung over his shoulder and shifted the heavy box of personal items in his arms. Nothing about this seemed real, like it was all some kind of bizarre fever dream. He knew better. The funerals in the preceding week had driven home just how real it all was. In one fell swoop, most of the Sunspear’s command staff and several of their more senior troops had been taken from the Sunguard in a terrible and costly battle. Somehow the title of Knight-Commander had found its way to his shoulders and he was expected to step in and fill Sakialyn Emberstar’s shoes. How the hell was he supposed to do that?

A wooden thunk echoed in the mostly empty room as he set his belongings on the desk and his carry bag soon followed, discarded on the floor at the foot of her chair- his chair. Shahin leaned forward and braced his hands against the oak, fingers splayed wide, and hung his head. There was so much to be done. No point fretting about it now. He drew in another slow, even breath, exhaled, and set about getting to work. Personal effects were deposited in the drawers and distributed somewhat haphazardly over the desk top. Tomes, scrolls, manuscripts, and several thick books found their respective places on the bookshelves on either side of him. Maps were unfurled across his desk and pinned to the walls in several places around the room. Lastly, the crest of the Blood Knight Order was raised to hang alongside the sigil of the Sunguard- albeit just a bit lower on the wall.

Nearly two hours passed as he arranged things just so and finally took a seat in his chair. A knock at the door sounded almost immediately. Groaning, he pinched the bridge of his nose and heaved a heavy sigh for what felt like the five hundred and fifty second time already that day. He took a moment to compose himself, sit upright in his chair, and try to look somewhat respectable before he called out “Enter” as relaxed and authoritative as he could manage. Maybe it worked. Maybe not. Damnit, why did other people always make this look so easy?

Through the door stepped a tall, sharp-featured blonde Blood Elf woman. Even if she hadn’t been wearing the patch covering her right eye, she would still have struck an imposing presence; one that always seemed to ooze confidence and imminent danger. In many ways she reminded him of a jungle cat- beautiful, elegant, and far more dangerous than she appeared at a glance. Having crossed blades with her in the past, he knew all too well that confidence was warranted. Shahin visibly relaxed as she pulled the door closed behind her and took up a position of parade rest a few steps short of his new desk.

“You requested my presence, Knight-Commander?”

Use of that title made him cringe. He tried to hide it but it honestly felt like a futile effort.

“Thanidiel. Yes, thank you for coming on such short notice.” He gestured to a chair at her left. “Please, have a seat.”After she was seated, he continued.

“I’m not going to waste time with the formalities. I don’t have the patience for them, so we’re going to cut straight to the chase.” He paused for a moment. She arched a thin brow. “I have no idea whose idea it was to pick me for this position or why they did it, but I need an executive officer I can trust to be straightforward and honest with me.” He leveled a finger in her direction. “That’s you. We’ll sort the paperwork out later but I’m making you my Knight-Lieutenant, Thanidiel.”

For her part, Thanidiel did not look the least bit surprised or at all phased by his declaration of intent. She simply inclined her head in a slight nod, as though this had been expected all along.

“Of course, Knight-Commander. I assume you have orders for me.”

He nodded.

“I need to fill out the rest of my command staff to replace those lost. I have a few candidates in mind but I would greatly value your input as my XO. I want you to put together a list of recommendations, their qualifications, and your personal evaluation of their abilities and suitable roles.”

Thanidiel pursed her lips, likely already putting that list together in her head, and offered another nod.

“As you wish, Knight-Commander. If there’s nothing else, I’ll see to my duties.”

Shahin gave a wave of his hand. “Dismissed, Knight-Lieutenant. Have that list ready by this evening. We’ve got a lot of work to do.”

She stood, saluted, turned on her heel and turned to exit as swiftly as she entered until his voice stopped her.

“Oh, one more favor if you please?” Thanidiel turned to look at him over her left shoulder. “Send for Dawnward Dawnbrook on your way out.” There was a brief moment of curiosity on Thanidiel’s face, her brow arched and her good eye scrutinizing him, before she nodded and left the room. No sooner than the door closed with a soft click did Shahin sink back into his chair and rub his temples with his index finger and his thumb. Barely two hours in and he could already feel a headache coming on. Duty was duty, however, and there was still so much more to be taken care of.

While he waited for Lirelle, Shahin retrieved several pieces of parchment and a quill from his desk to begin penning letters from his colleagues in the other branches of the Sunguard. One to Cerethien, one to Azriah, and finally one more to Vaelrin. Each letter was identical in its nature; a request from each of the unit commanders what exactly they required of the Sunspear both on the field and off. While to many this may seem a trivial matter of little import, to Shahin this information was vital and would give him more to work with when he began to fine tune his broader intent for the Sunspear. At the very least he hoped it would establish a foundation for rapport with the other unit commanders. Building trust was paramount at this stage in the transition.

That task finished, Shahin secured each of the letters in his desk until such a time that he could get some kind of seal for them. Not so much a matter of security as it was a matter of procedure and polite discourse. Seals seemed to make things so much more official. As the drawer slid closed he heard another soft knock at the door.

“Enter,” he called again as he righted himself and straightened his tabard and tunic as his next guest stepped through the door and closed it behind her. Shahin put on his best pleasant smile (and it wasn’t a terribly good one) as she took a seat. “Dawnward Dawnbrook. I know this is sudden, but thank you for being here nonetheless. It’s been a busy week for both of us.”

Lirelle reached up and brushed a stray strand of her shoulder length blonde hair out of her face and made herself comfortable, crossing her legs at the knee in front of her and leveling her sharp gaze at him. It was strange for him, a frequent visitor to the infirmary, to see her in something other than her mender’s robes that had been traded today in favor of a loose fitting cloth shirt, some equally loose fitting simple linen pants, and leather boots. Though she was tall and thin, gangly was almost the right word to use, Shahin knew for a fact just what an intimidating presence she could be and had been on the receiving end of more than one lecture and withering glare from the Dawnmender.

“I know you’re a busy woman, so I’ll keep this as brief as I can.” That seemed to please her a little if the more relaxed shift in her posture was any indication.

“Given the…unfortunate circumstances of the previous couple of weeks, I have been tasked with assuming the position of Knight-Commander for the Sunspear. This isn’t a position I ever expected to find myself in, but here I am.” He takes a breath and closes his eyes. “I haven’t had much chance to speak with you prior but I want our professional relationship to start off on the best footing it can, Dawnward Dawnbrook.” What a mouthful. “So. I encourage you to share any questions or concerns or…whatever else is on your mind. Speak as freely as you like.”

Lirelle arched a brow, centimeter by centimeter as she scrutinized him from her seat. Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly and she leaned forward toward him as though to get closer and really take a good look. He tried to keep his expression as neutral as possible.

“Freely freely?” she asked, her tone thick with suspicion. “Or is there a catch?”

He nodded.

“Freely. You’re the liaison to my unit from the Dawnmenders. As such, your concerns are my concerns and you may your mind in my office without fear of reprisal.”

The other brow ratcheted up to join the first. He could see the deliberation in her eyes and watched as she came to her decision. Her lips turned down into a frown. She righted herself and took a deep breath in. Shahin braced himself. What came next could only be described as a verbal deluge and he was pretty certain Lirelle never even paused for a moment to take a breath at any point.

“If you want actual honesty? There is a line between doing your job and being the bulwark the rest of us can rely on and taking unnecessary risks that put not only yourself, but those beside you in danger. A lot of the Sunspear do not seem to know where that line is, and while I don’t doubt that their intentions are noble, they can be really, really, really stupid. I don’t know if those helmets they wear aren’t soaking the blows to the head enough or something, but this seems to be a trend in this unit in particular. Just because they wear full plate and feel like they can handle anything doesn’t mean they’re invincible, and this paired with their lack of discipline, it’s a wonder that we haven’t lost more. I’ve expressed it before and now that you’re in charge, I’ll tell you. The Sunspear are quite literally our first wall of defence, and any cracks in that wall will be exploited by the enemy, to the detriment of all of us. Just as they need to be able to trust the Dawnmenders at their backs to keep them standing, we need to be able to trust them to protect us, and breaking the line to charge straight into the fight is bad for everyone, no matter how heroic it may seem.”

While he might have expected that much over time, he certainly did not all at once. Clearly Lirelle had no issue voicing her opinion when given an opportunity. Many of her concerns had been raised time and again by the Dawnmenders in the past; the very nature of the Sunspears’ presence at the front of the battle escalated their chances of injury significantly. However, there were several occasions where a lack of willingness to cooperate, glory-seeking, recklessness or some combination of the three had resulted either in more or greater injury than would have otherwise occurred. He was just as guilty of it as any of the rest.

“Well,” he began slowly, still recovering from what had amounted to a tirade, “for what it’s worth, I happen to agree with you. The Knight-Commander-” Shahin cut himself off and cleared his throat. “…the former Knight-Commander and the Sentinel were no slouches when it came to discipline, but I feel it may be necessary to try a somewhat different approach.” He sat back in his chair, bouncing his right leg as his elbow came to rest on the arm of the chair and his fingers curled at his chin. “I have always felt the Sunspear were more a collective of singularly skilled individuals as opposed to a cohesive unit. This is something I intend to rectify, I assure you.”

She seemed a bit mollified by that, but she does continue. “There’s also the issue of people brushing off injuries or illnesses, and I’m saying this in general. If you’d kindly remind them that our job is to take care of the Guard’s health, no matter how insignificant the issue might seem, I would appreciate that. Even if it’s minor, like a sprain, taking a few minutes to get it seen to can save everyone hours of time down the road. And with the amount of punching each other that they do, they’re the ones who need it most.”

Shahin inclined his head to her and leaned forward, lacing his fingers in front of him on the desk as he did so. “Consider it done, Dawnward. I know we can be a stubborn bunch and I do sincerely apologize for that. It’s in our nature, but I’ll see to it the Sunspear are reminded that even insignificant injuries are better to be treated than not. Getting them to actually follow through may be another matter entirely, but I’ll do what I can. Is there anything else I can see to while you’re here?”

A momentary pause followed. Lirelle’s lips twisted into an all-too-sweet-to-be-genuine smirk.

"Post the Sunspear training schedule in the Infirmary. The other menders will thank you later.”

“Done and done. I’ll even put in an official request that a Dawnmender or two be put on standby for our drill sessions, if you find that acceptable?”

The grin on Lirelle’s face widened into a smile.

“Oh, they’ll thank you for that too, I assure you.”

Odd. Why was she smiling like that? Surely previous leadership had made at least some kind of offer like this before, hadn’t they? Perhaps Lirelle was just being pleasant just as he was. Yes, that was it. At least he hoped it was, anyway. Whatever the case Shahin stood and leaned over the desk to offer Lirelle his hand.

“I hope this marks the beginning of a fruitful partnership, Dawnward Dawnbrook.” He paused a moment as she stood from the chair and shook his hand firmly. “And, please, call me Shahin while you’re in my office. I’m not fond of titles.”

“Lirelle,” she said, still smiling. “You’re not the only one.”

Business concluded, Lirelle turned and left Shahin standing at his desk. When she pulled the door open, she came face-to-face with Thanidiel. Both women exchanged greetings as the former exited and the latter entered, her hands full of several pieces of parchment and a couple of thick, heavy tomes she’d procured in her time out. They wasted no time getting down to business as she presented her short list of potential command staff candidates. The proceeding hours were spent debating and discussing the future of the Sunspear, mapping out the new and refined command structure to break down the unit overall into subunits to be organized on the battlefield with a clearly defined command structure. Their hope was to relieve some of the stress from unit commanders by issuing the task of providing the overall battle plan for the subunits to follow to them and leaving the execution of that plan to the more senior enlisted and their assigned subgroups. The exact composition of those subgroups was left to be flexible for the Sunspear to have the ability to interchange personnel fluidly and be able to easily identify the next in command in event of casualties.

That done, they then turned their attention to the training regimen for the Sunspear. Physical training was still an important facet, but both Shahin and Thanidiel agreed there needed to be more emphasis on the mental side. To that effect, they put together the foundation for what would be more time set aside to educate the Sunspear as a whole on battlefield tactics and command theory, further enabling the unit to maintain battlefield flexibility in the event of casualties at the higher level. Next they set to engineering a brutally difficult series of training exercises designed with one goal in mind; to entice tighter and more cohesive cooperation among the Sunspear. If they were unable to move and fight together as a single unit, there would be no success.

Satisfied with the basic roadmap, the pair of Blood Knights gathered all of their paperwork - an impressive stack of it, to be sure- and packed it away as neatly as they were able. Sundown was upon them and if they planned to present this to the Archon they would need to do so soon. Soon enough, the newly appointed Knight-Commander and his newly appointed Knight-Lieutenant found themeselves standing outside the Archon’s office. Shahin drew in a deep breath to steady his nerves.

“What’s the matter, Knight-Commander? You’re looking more green than usual. Nervous? You shouldn’t be.” Had it been coming from anyone else, Shahin likely would have taken offense. With Thanidiel, though, the wry fondness in her tone was reassuring. “It’s only your career at stake, after all.”

He laughed.

“Ever the comforting presence, Thanidiel.”

“Oh, come now. I’m not going to let you completely fuck this up.” Shahin glanced over his shoulder at Thanidiel and she canted her head to the side. “Or maybe I might. Knight-Commander Highdawn has a nice ring to it.”

He felt himself smirk.

“If this goes badly, I’m telling the Archon this is all your idea and I’m just a colossal idiot.”

Her one good eye glinted mischievously, giving away her good humor despite her usual stony expression.

“Oh, I think that will already be readily apparent to him.”

Another moment of trepidation passed as he summoned the will to knock once on the Archon’s door. He bade them to enter from the other side and Shahin reached out to take the knob in his hand.

Here goes nothing.

(( This uh. Turned into a thing. @vaelrin @curiouslich @sakialyn @thanidiel @retributionpriest @lissanaria @felthier @azriah for mentions and whatnot.

I think that’s everybody.

Thanks for another cool ask! ))

[thanidiel]

Inferno

The pain is good. It means she hurt the Wildfire more than the Wildfire hurt her. If she wasn’t hurting, wasn’t feeling how heavy her bones were - that would be bad. Would mean that, at any moment, she could just collapse and bleed out.

There’s a roiling flush of heat in her gut, her head. It’s like her blood has been replaced with hot magma, like coals are sitting in her belly. When was the last time she stirred that blistering wrath in her like this? Every throb of pain through her body is a throb of fire.

That’s good too. She can feel the saturation of blood sinking into her gambeson increase, clinging to her skin with wet weight. Despite that, feeling is good. Being able to move as freely as she does is good; no severed muscle.

She wished the rest of them farewell once they all settled from the climatic end of the spar. After that, it’s hauling ass through the Dawnspire grounds. She wants to get the fuck out of there.

She feels suffocated. Ithanar doesn’t have to know that part.

There’s so many people surrounding the perimeter of the pavilion.

Harthen is there.

Of course he is. He wanted to see her fight someone her of her own mettle for once. Well, now he knows just who he has to impress. Fuck. He’s breaking from the crowd. She doesn’t want to talk to anyone else.

Before a word can escape that yapping maw of his, she’s planted the length of one arm against his chest. There is a hiss of pain, derived from the way shorn metal rivets dig into her opened flesh. She can see the blood seep into the cotton of his tunic. Clenched teeth pry apart and there’s this almost unfamiliar slurred growl that comes out,

“Get th’fuck out of m’face.”

Down Harthen goes with a shove. And onward Thanidiel presses. To the Infirmary. Get everything washed and stitched. Demon talons? Far from sanitary. She calls for Lirelle Dawnbrook. That’s a medic she remembers - from the Sunspear gathering. It’s the early afternoon, Silversword is too industrious to not be preoccupied right now. Bri? Sleeping, probably.

Sensory memory replays itself over and over and over again. Rolling waves without lull of the way she felt something once sturdy give under the weight of her boot. The cacophony of shrieks, flurry of wings, rapid fracture quaking through bone. The buzzing quiet of Victory that settles after like snow blanketing the field after skirmish.

There is this sense of searing triumph that wipes away everything else in the blinding white of its ferocity. She thinks back to the Knight-Commander and Knight-Lieutenant. They had asked of the Sunspears to fight, and to learn.

What did she derive from that frightful combat? Nothing new, if she were being honest.

But she was reawakened.

It has been so long since she has fought as so; years have been spent under the restrictions of her assignment as Instructor for the Order. When was the last time she had struck with intention to end a fight? Sparked more than just embers from that shard of stolen Light?

This is her kind of speed, to adopt Ithanar’s kind of vocabulary. She feels… unleashed. A wildfire allowed to consume, a hound unmuzzled, a sword turned onto its edge. This control, this restraint, this limitation - it’s all falling away from her. It is as though summer has dawned and antlers, so gloriously donned in blood and velvet, have broken towards the sky.

This is her kind of speed, and she wants more of it.

No longer shall she hold back. If the Guard thought of her as vicious already, they would learn the true meaning of the word next they took to combat.

What they had witnessed beforehand of her was merely embers. She would return to them as a blaze, an inferno.

And the Wildfire? Thanidiel had her taste and knew it not to be whole. She would coax similar heights from that woman.

----Ah, here, the Infirmary. 

The Blood Knight breaks out of her clouding thought and plants her bleeding body against the pillar. Awaiting that worried Dawnmender.

What is everyone else so worried about?

(( @curiouslich @sakialyn @azriah and @captainswingbeard @jessipalooza @retributionpriest @tyleril-silversword for mentions! ))

[caeliri]

Mender Waiver

Laid on the Oracle’s desk at first light, the waiver bore the delicate, swirling script Caeliri had trained into her in Northrend. Attached were two notes; one for the Oracle, regarding the Mysterious Infection, another a copy of a letter sent to the High Confessor herself.

I, Caeliri Dawnsworn, hereby accept the outcome of involvement with the Mysterious Infection sweeping soldiers of the Kirin Tor. Whatever fate befalls me, Light bless, I will take to it readily, with no hate in my heart and no blame on the Kirin Tor, or those who I contracted the illness from. If quarantine is required, I request that my phoenix, Grace, be placed in the care of Lirelle Dawnbrook until I am well - if Lirelle Dawnbrook is joining me in quarantine, then Grace’s care should be passed on to Lord Vaelrin Firestorm, Ranger-Captain of the Sunguard.

Should I fall ill, and no other treatment has been devised, I request no fel-based treatment be used on my person until I teeter on the brink of death. Then, and only then, with loud, clear consent may these treatments be used - if I am unconscious or otherwise unable to speak for myself, I default the choice of my treatment to the aforementioned Ranger-Captain; his word is as binding as my own, and where I am unable to speak for myself, I wish his word to be heeded.

Elsewise, should I contract this disease, I consent to testing other, experimental treatments for the illness - as above, should the worst befall me as result, I accept the consequences. I would ask that all testing of new methodologies be defaulted to me, to save our patients the potential suffering involved in experimentation.

Caeliri Dawnsworn, Dawnward of the Sunguard

The second letter, penned with passion, was lengthier and laced through with a rage that was rare for the bright young mender;

High Confessor, Oracle

No doubt your desks are filled with letters about the occurrence last night; Oracle, you saw, first hand, the calamity which occurred towards the end of the evening, but for the High Confessor, who was not there, I need to make my feelings and fears known.

When one of the patients that we oversaw, a draenei woman, deteriorated towards the terrifying point of perishing, not only did Lightward Lightwing happily stand by and allow her to suffer, and content with letting her die altogether, in favor of pressing her for more questions and answers to further her own desire for prestige, when at last the conclusion was made that fel magic might alleviate the symptoms when introduced to a patient’s system, Lightward Lightwing wished to proceed without consent of the patient, who was still conscious. I will mention, again, the patient was draenei - while I am sure you are well aware of the history of their people, to make my point in this known, explicitly, I will detail what I learned while we were stationed on Draenor.

The Fel is the sole, driving force behind the exodus and subsequent genocide of the draenei. The introduction of fel magic to their people created the eredar, who chased them, along with the Burning Legion, across the stars for eons before our world was even settled, or our people even born. When they at last settled on Draenor, it was the fel that turned the orcs to brutal savages and set them upon the draenei. The draenei were captured, experimented on, brutalized, assaulted physically, mentally, and sexually, and executed in mass numbers, all because of the Fel’s introduction to the Orcish people. The Daenei are people of the Light - they exist with an innate connection to the Naaru, ethereal beings of the Light. For them, their fear and disgust of the Fel, and their belief in the Light, is paramount to their very existence; it is not our place to choose to infect them, to save their lives.

The common consensus among the menders - save Initiate Dewmorning, who deserves his own letter both of commendation and chastisement - was to get consent before treatment was administered, but as soon as Lightward Lightwing decided that her theory was the best one, she wished to proceed even without the consent of the still conscious patient.

Not only is this problematic for all the cultural and religious reasons I listed above, ethically, it is insane. We can not treat patients against their will; as much as I am for the continued livelihood of all patients who come under our care, as much as I would have wept if she perished, if a patient’s wish is for purity in death, it is our duty to respect that. To assume we have the authority to make that choice for people, to strip them of their autonomy, is disgusting. Furthermore, the patient was not oathsworn; she did not bind herself or consent to the practices we preach and act upon to assure the continued livelihood of our brothers and sisters in arms. The situation, when plied against those bound to the Sunguard, is different - the situation would have been different, too, if we were removing a limb to keep a patient healthy.

The situation called for more consideration, more care, more thought than what was being shown - for all we know, we have made an enemy of this patient, now. When she wakes from her delirium, she may be livid with this choice - we may have added another member to the Legion’s armies, or otherwise empowered someone to stand against us. Imagine, if we had acted without her consent at all. In the end, the patient did offer consent for the treatment, but the suggestion that we should have acted at all without it is... damning.

Given Lightward Lightwing’s propensity for showing up to the infirmary and slogging off her duties on to others and napping on the job, and her alighted interest in the events of last night only when it became clear her name may be penned in the history books and glory placed upon her, it may be wise for you to make a general address and remind the Dawnmenders not only of their duties, their expectations and their oaths, but what we do and do not do as Dawnmenders, and where the limit of our power lies. I can excuse dismissal of my words, even if it was insulting to be sworn at and disregarded because I was put into the quarantine, but the callous treatment of our patients is not something I can abide.

- Dawnward Caeliri Dawnsworn

@lissanaria | @stormandozone | @jessipalooza | @thesunguardmg

[moonunveiled]

closure

It was so cold.

 It rattled his bones and seeped into his marrow. Neither his cloak nor the standard issue blanket given to him when he reached camp seemed to make any dent in the cold. Didnt stop his teeth from chattering or the whole body shivering that had kept him awake for hours. 

He’d been relieved at the victory in Sunsail. Another defeat would surely have made the cold seem darker as well. Lady Renduveil’s company that evening had been welcome as well- he’d been worried for the priestess and to find her whole and well was a weight from his mind. Her words were soothing but not even warm tea and warmer conversation could pull this cold away.  Finally he gave up sleep altogether, pushing himself up from his bedroll and creeping from the tent he shared with another initiate. It was more than the cold that kept him awake. Word from the Archon had swept through the camp and with it news that had caused pause for the druid. He hadn’t known Dawnward Dawnbrook well but she had been a part of his introduction to the Sunguard. And she’d apparently seen enough to put some measure of faith in his work, considering that she’d put him to it without standing over his shoulder. She’d seemed... blunt and quick witted and strict and he had been looking forward to working with her elbow to elbow over time. To becoming her comrade as much as her subordinate. And the idea that she was gone? Just like that? It brought back the days after the fall in ways he hadn’t felt since then. There was little closure to death in war.

He paused outside the infirmary tent, watching shadows of menders as they moved from bed to bed, illuminated by the lights inside. There was a brief sting of guilt at having lamented their lands so harshly while their people fought and died for it. And with the first perhaps personal loss of the war on his mind, Dalheim’s words from earlier took on a much more poignant tone..

“Even should worst come to worst... it’s important that you remember, Quel’Thalas is in her people, not her borders.”

Lyrenn exhaled a slow breath. There was nothing he could do for Dawnward Dawnbrook, or commander Emberheart or any of the other lives they’d lost thus far. They had moved beyond his reach. But he could do what Lirelle would be doing if she were here, at least. 

Pushing the tent flap aside as he entered, he squinted in the light. “How can I help?”

@thesunguardmg @retributionpriest  also @dalheim for mentions of weeerds

[theislesunfamily]

A Letter to Elleynah Stormsummer [You Break, We All Break]

The letter addressed to Elleynah Stormsummer is rather plain, but still formal enough, stamped with a seal belonging to House Islesun.

A blocky script contained within most definitely belongs to Ithanar, but it seems hastily put together with some spelling and grammatical errors here and there.

Elleynah,

I just wanted to apologize for my absence in the recent weeks. I know you have been busy, that we have all been busy, but some personal events have come up that I had to take care of.

There is no easy way to write this, to pen this out, but there is a chance I may not come back from said personal events.

I’ve left my family in shambles for too long now, and I want to give them one last thing to cling onto. I’m no leader for them, no shining example, but I will try my damndest to be one for them now.

With this all in mind, I have some requests in the case that I do not return, which seems quite likely given what I am headed into…

Tell Velianor I am sorry we never got to finish those swim lessons.

Tell Enne, the taller Illidari woman, and Seven, her Felstalker - it is a long story - that I am sorry I did not get to spend more time with them. I really enjoyed that pup, and her company of course although it was brief.

Tell Eldriana and Waralyon sorry that I was not able to enjoy their rather fine and hilarious company further.

Give Lirelle and Sederis my thanks for the wonderful company and drink the other night. I made the bed in their guest quarters before I left. I’m a grunt, but not a savage.

Tell the Spectre, the Knight-Captain, whatever title she goes by now - I’ve put a gift together for her and Bael’nar.

It’s sitting on my desk now as I look it over, but I won’t say for it’s a bit of a surprise.

Tell Bricini she still owes me coffee, yes, even if I am a ghost or spirit.

Give Synthiel my thanks for the conversation. She’s a mysterious one, but damn intriguing. I wish we had spoken more. 

Tell Zalin that he needs to protect you with everything he has, protect all of this. You two are the future.

Tell Dawnsworn that she needs to stop getting hurt in the infirmary, but she is damn good at her job and her giving a damn matters more than perhaps anything. 

Tell the Wildfire that she still owes me a truth.

She can make that up by giving such an “honor” to you.

Tell Nuellen that she assuaged my concerns about being some old and worn down soldier who couldn’t keep up with the Sunguard. Tell her thank you for that. 

Tell the Knight-Commander thank you for giving me a damn chance to prove.

If you ever run into a woman named Qeren Brightmantle, let her know that she was fantastic and that green was her color. Most definitely. Make sure she is alright, at least for my sake.

Finally, thank you. You keep doing what you think is right, Elleynah, for you have a good sense for it.

I’m sorry we didn’t have the chance to spend more time together, to go explore ruins, to go seek out some ancient runes, to see the world, to continue our friendship but don’t mourn me. Do that all for me, would you? 

There are good things ahead.

Ithanar

This letter remains on Ithanar’s desk. 

It was never sent.

No, instead a note has been scribbled on the far right corner.

He’s coming back.

I’m not sending this.

[ryther-writes]

Hurt

(@retributionpriest​ and @jessipalooza for mentions.)

The room was dark and had gone mostly quiet, most of the injured from the battle had fallen asleep, but Kyranyx could not find peace unlike some of the others, her eyes falling on the flickering candle, the quill and ink that lay next to her on the bed had been mostly untouched, with the parchment still as blank as it was a half an hour ago when she had requested for some, to write to the Spectre, to inform of her of her situation and uncertainty of ability to help, but she couldn’t seem to face such an idea of being unable to help.

It had been years since she had been hurt in any capacity beyond some cuts and bruises, and a broken bone was something she hadn’t faced before, which didn’t help to put her mind at ease. Such an unknown injury to Kyranyx only made her worry more, despite Lirelle’s assurance that it would only be about a week’s recovery, if that.

I want to be out there, now. They need all the help they can get.

But she didn’t dare disobey Dawnward Dawnbrook’s instructions and make things worse than they already were. Kyranyx closed her eyes for a moment, but all that played in her mind were her final steps before the fall off the cliff that had caused her broken ankle. A deep exhale came out of her nose, and Kyranyx looked over the splint that was barely visible in the candlelight, and then her eyes fell back once more to the parchment that lay in her lap that was on top of a block of wood that resembled a writing surface. She took another deep breath, her stomach turning, but she took the quill out of the ink bottle, and began to write anyways.

--

Dear Spectre Sunshard,

It is with a heavy heart that I must inform you that due to a recent injury I have suffered in the battle against those who tried to reinforce the enemies forces, I am left unsure if I can aid you in the upcoming excursion to help clear out your lands further. I hope you understand, and I wish you the best if I am unable to attend.

All the best,

Kyranyx Ryther