#orcish peril

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Æluin: By Sûl! She's not chained to that rock! Let's go elsewhere, Shiv!

[orsinium-scholar]

Orsinium headcanon:

Due to it's remote location and firm extradition laws, Orsinium has become a popular choice for Altmer refugees. Those who survive the perilous trek find the city cold, often frightening to those with no familiarity for Orcs, but ultimately far safer than back in Alinor.

Most of them congregate in the outskirts of Orsinium Minor, in an area called "Little Alinor" or "the golden district". Though many struggle with poverty, a few have thrived by setting up businesses, the more flexible minded elves modifying traditional recipes to Orcish tastes and selling them as street foods. Of particular note is a variety of steamed bun, originally made as a small finger dish filled with sea food, now made large enough to fit in the hand and filled with cabbage and pork, which has become a staple breakfast food for blue collar orcs working stupid long hours and needing a hot breakfast.

However, many Altmer immigrants, whether intentionally or not, avoid interactions with Orcs, and as a result, have a reputation for being snooty at best, or outright suspicious at worst. They are also notorious for being skittish, shy, and particularly distrustful around strange Altmer, who might be Thalmor agents. Those of a more anxious disposition struggle between the fear of other Altmer and the fear of a people they are told are violent and dangerous.

However, the newer generation often adapts well, young flexible minds taking in the culture, making Orcish friends and picking up the language and trends. On the other hand, Altmer countercultures also arise, with some young Altmer clinging to their parents old ways, and looking down their nose at the other "corrupted" youths. Street fights are not uncommon.

Little Alinor is a place caught between two vastly different cultures, being dragged kicking and screaming out of rigid conformity. Though despite the cold stone and Wrothgar weather, it's still a safe home. As Arlith Urayel, purveyor of Arliths Gifts and known dissident to the Third Aldmeri Dominion states: "I live in a place where a single poorly chosen word can get my nose broken, and I am safer than I've ever been my entire life."

[nirnrootic]

i wanna draw my new fella but my hands are NOT cooperating (i've tried on three occasions help) so i'll just talk abt him here—

orc dragonborn. blind, because of traumatic loss of either eye (on two separate occasions). sees by virtue of a semi-permanent, low-cost telekinesis spell that allows him to sorta. feel his way around a specific radius. has the capacity of doing this for lonnnng stretches of environment (including vertically), but this is taxing and exhausting and he'd rather keep it short unless he has reason to believe he's in trouble. tall, obscenely so, and buff, as per usual orcish standards.

his name is mortozog, or just mort for short. he was initially crowned as mortozog the perilous, but after several incidents which lead to his rejection by his clan, they were to refer him as mortozog the tailspinner.

honestly, mort just wanted a quiet life after what happened with his clan and family. but now it looks like he has the world's fate laden upon his shoulders. he prefers to be kind than not, to give people second chances, but if you violate that trust? he will tear you down to fleshy little ribbons.

[sekhisadventures]

Garnal Blackice, Renegade Knight of the Ebon Blade

Important Stories:

Whispers of a Coming War: Garnal meets his future partner in service to the Harbinger, a pandaren woman with a dark past named Xiaren.

Sweetest Dreams, Darkest Nightmares: Upon arriving on the Isle of Dorn, Garnal demonstrates the skills he earned in service to the Alliance Military in his past life.

Steelhammer's Last Stand: After Magni purifies the Awakening Machine, Garnal and Xiaren are tasked with corrupting it anew... but are thwarted by Dareley Steelhammer. As they battle Nelen, Shalandrae, and Mola'raum come to his aid... and the troll recognizes Garnal for what he is: a traitor to the Ebon Blade.

Race: Human

Class: Death Knight, Frost School

Eye Color: Glowing pale blue

Birthplace: Lordaeron City

Place of Death: Northrend during the Third War

Residence: Currently quartered in a private area of the City of Threads with the other followers Xal'atath has attracted.

Abilities:

More Than A Lifetime of Warfare: Garnal is a skilled and practiced swordsman, able to wield his weapons as effectively as his deathly powers. He prefers to dual wield twin longswords over other forms of weaponry.

School of Frost: Garnal, as a Death Knight, uses the power of ice and snow to freeze his enemies solid before striking a killing blow.

Former Cannoneer to the Lordaeron Military: Though he does not often get a chance to exercise these skills anymore, Garnal is an explosives expert and can utilize gunpowder, seaforium, and other such materials to devastating effect.

History

Born Garnal Berkley, he grew up in Lordaeron and witnessed firsthand the heroism of the Alliance military and the Knights of the Silver Hand against the original orcish Horde and Orgrim Doomhammer. This inspired him to enlist when he came of age, hoping to find glory in military service.

Sadly for him, that glory did not come. He was recruited by Prince Arthas Menethil for their doomed expedition to Northrend in pursuit of the dreadlord Mal'ganis and after Arthas took up Frostmourne he was one of the soldiers that he killed and raised as one of his first Death Knights.

He served the Scourge for several years until the events of Lights Hope Temple, where he was among those who broke free to form the Knights of the Ebon Blade.

He was there at Icecrown when Arthas was struck down at last, but he found no satisfaction from it. Once the fallen prince was gone the Ebon Blade remained, but now they had to find a new path... and Death Knights often found that the thing they were best at was inflicting death.

Garnal fought through the Cataclysm, through the horrors of the sha in Pandaria, through the Dark Portal and the Iron Horde, against the Legion's return, over and over on and on... take down one threat and it wouldn't be long before Azeroth was in mortal peril again.

But the breaking point was their travels into the Shadowlands, where he found the truth of what came after death.

Garnal realized that, even if he did give in and kill himself, that death may well be no respite. He would likely wind up in a place like Maldraxxus, put right back on the battlefields he now so desperately wanted to abandon...

He despaired, was there no hope? Was he doomed to forever suffer the horrors and atrocities of war?

It was in this moment that the Harbinger appeared to him and made her offer.

Serve her, help her take Azeroth for the Void, and in exchange she would give him a third option. Life was denied to him, death was no peace... so she would use her power to destroy him, all the way down to his soul. Nothing left. No consciousness, no thought, nothing. He would cease to exist.

Garnal had seen so much bloodshed, had killed so many innocents as a member of the Scourge, that he accepted her offer. Whats one more atrocity if the promised end is finally at hand?

Trivia

Garnal's concept is nihilsm. He's a soldier who has severe PTSD from all the horrors he had to commit over the years as a death knight, but unlike a real soldier on Earth he can't stop doing it. He's a death knight, even if he were to take his own life unless he completely destroyed his body he'd just come back... and even then he believes he'd wind up in Maldraxxus or Revendreth if he did somehow go to the Shadowlands. (While this is not guaranteed, especially given what we know of Pelagos, he has no desire to risk finding out.) He wants the oblivion that Xal'atath offers because he's, to be completely blunt, a suicidal man who is also very very very hard to kill.

I almost made him a blood death knight instead of frost, but at the time blood and the new San'layn hero talents were pretty pathetic, so I went frost instead. I'm okay with this however as it allowed me to create Nankoz once Blizzard did some re-balancing. Sometimes life just works out.

Despite being a frost death knight in game, he doesn't actually use those powers in the story because his runeblades were destroyed. The Black Blood Swords that Xal'atath gave him are powerful weapons, but they aren't runeblades so they can't channel the power of the Shadowlands as they have no ties to it. Instead, he channels the power of the Void instead in the form of shadowfrost, the quite literal Chill of the Void.

[veldrune]

Warcraft Lore of the Druid's Awakening

Arrival of the Horde and Alliance

After the devastating events that plagued their homelands, the remnants of the Horde and Alliance sought refuge in the ancient lands of Kalimdor. As they traversed the lush forests of Ashenvale, their presence did not go unnoticed by the vigilant Sentinels. Tyrande Whisperwind, the high priestess of Elune, was informed of these strangers and initially believed them to be mere refugees fleeing from the chaos that had engulfed their lands. However, her suspicions grew as reports of the orcs felling the sacred trees of Ashenvale reached her ears. Determined to protect the ancient forest, Tyrande commanded her Sentinels to confront the Warsong clan, led by the fierce Grommash Hellscream.

The Death of Cenarius

Tragedy struck the night elves as the Shadowleaf Sentinels, under the leadership of Shandris Feathermoon, returned with grim tidings. Cenarius, the revered demigod of the forest, had fallen at the hands of the green-skinned invaders. Tyrande, filled with sorrow and a growing sense of unease, gathered her forces once more. Though Shandris suggested that the orcs might be responsible for this heinous act, Tyrande sensed a darker power lurking in the shadows, manipulating the events that had transpired.

The Rise of the Undead Scourge

As Tyrande led her Sentinels through the corrupted lands of Ashenvale, they encountered hordes of undead invaders who swiftly overwhelmed the orc and human settlements. Realizing that her small detachment stood no chance against such overwhelming numbers, Tyrande made the difficult decision to retreat. The undead pursued them relentlessly until their fel leader, Archimonde, revealed himself. With a single devastating blow, he slaughtered Tyrande's kindred, and only her quick thinking and mastery over the powers of Elune allowed her to escape into the shadows. Enraged by her defiance, Archimonde ordered his doom guard to hunt her down and destroy her.

Awakening the Druids

Knowing that the time had come to awaken the druids from their slumber, Tyrande entrusted the defense of Ashenvale to Shandris and made her way to the Barrow Dens in the sacred Moonglade. However, the path to Malfurion's resting place was fraught with peril. The Scourge, led by the dreadlord Tichondrius, advanced upon the Barrow Den, while an orcish settlement blocked the way to the Horn of Cenarius. In a desperate race against time, Tyrande destroyed the orc camp, defeated the Primal Guardians of the Moonglade, and recovered the Horn of Cenarius. With the horn in her possession, she ventured into the Barrow Den and awakened Malfurion Stormrage, her beloved.

Defense of the World Tree

Malfurion, upon his awakening, realized that Archimonde's true goal was to assault Nordrassil, the World Tree, and steal its energies to become a god. Together, Tyrande and Malfurion journeyed to Winterspring to rouse the Druids of the Talon from their slumber. Along the way, they encountered the Felwood furbolg tribe, who had succumbed to the corruption that plagued the land. With heavy hearts, Tyrande ended their suffering, knowing that there was no other choice. As they pressed on, Malfurion noticed a change in Tyrande, a hardness that had not been there before. She replied with a touch of bitterness, reminding him that she did not have the luxury of sleeping through times of peril, a subtle jab at his long absence in the Emerald Dream.

[gobboguy]

Chapter 23: The Underkingdom

The floor of the Orcish Hall, a grand and ancient structure, had cracked open with a deep, resonating rumble. The chasm that formed was a jagged, gaping maw descending into impenetrable darkness. Ulf the Orc Princess, clad in gleaming armor, led The Companions, a diverse group of nine suitors and one half-goblin half-human named Twig, into the abyss. Each member of the party was equipped with a lantern attached to their pack, casting feeble, flickering light against the oppressive dark.

The descent was steep and treacherous, with guide ropes serving as the only lifeline against the precipitous drop. The chasm's walls were slick with moisture and covered in strange, phosphorescent fungi that emitted an eerie glow. The air grew colder and more oppressive with each step, filled with the sounds of dripping water and distant, echoing growls.

Twig, nimble and alert, moved with practiced ease, his keen eyes picking out the best path through the uneven terrain. Despite his forced acceptance of the Quest he was eager to find his father and find out what he was doing working with the Underking.

As they descended further, the light from the Orcish Hall above faded away entirely, leaving them reliant solely on their lanterns. The feeble light cast long, dancing shadows on the rough stone walls, creating a sense of disorientation and unease. The guide ropes were their only assurance that they were still on the right path, leading them deeper into the heart of Sidhedark.

The journey was arduous. The ground was uneven, with sharp rocks jutting out at odd angles, threatening to trip the unwary. More than once, a Companion stumbled, saved only by the quick reflexes of their comrades. The air grew heavier, thick with the scent of damp earth and the distant, sulfurous tang of volcanic activity.

Suddenly, a low growl reverberated through the chasm, making the walls tremble. The group halted, their breaths caught in their throats. Ulf motioned for silence, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword. The growl faded into an unsettling silence, leaving them more on edge than before.

As they pressed on, the lantern light revealed ancient carvings on the walls, depicting scenes of battle and conquest, hinting at the long-forgotten history of the Underking. These carvings grew more elaborate as they progressed, becoming a silent testament to the dark power that resided below.

The Companions' resolve was tested repeatedly. Strange, skittering creatures scurried just beyond the edge of their lantern light, their glowing eyes a haunting reminder of the unseen dangers that lurked in the darkness. The ground became softer, turning to a sticky, treacherous mud that clung to their boots and slowed their progress.

Despite the hardships, Ulf led with unwavering determination. Her thoughts were focused on confronting the Underking and uncovering his dark plans for the Keys of Creation. Each step brought them closer to their goal, but also deeper into danger. Jekul, ever vigilant, shared quiet words of encouragement with Ulf, who was acutely aware of the responsibility they bore.

As they reached a wider chamber, the group paused to catch their breath. The air here was warmer, hinting at the volcanic activity deep below. The guide ropes led to a massive, ancient door carved with intricate runes. Ulf stepped forward, her hand resting on the door's surface, feeling the dark magic that pulsed within.

With a nod to her Companions, Ulf pushed the door open, revealing a vast, shadowy cavern. The Underking's lair lay ahead, and the fate of the Keys of Creation hung in the balance. The journey had been fraught with peril, but Ulf and her Companions were ready to face whatever challenges awaited them in the depths of Sidhedark.

Ulf looked around in amazement as she stepped into the chamber. The brickwork was meticulously crafted, and the entire space loomed with an unmistakable man-made presence. The walls, lined with ancient, crumbling bricks, seemed to whisper the secrets of long-forgotten builders.

Twig groaned, his voice tinged with fear. "I shouldn't be here. This place looks evil."

Jekul, rubbing the stubble on his chin, scanned the chamber thoughtfully. "This looks like one of the many dungeons the Orcs cleared shortly after conquering Farfield," he remarked.

Ulf frowned, her brow furrowing. "All the dungeons should've been sealed off. How could one be so far below the Orcish Hall?"

Dura, a fierce warrior with sharp eyes, called Ulf over. She pointed to the many vines snaking in and out of the walls and up the chasm. "It looks like Alden has been using his vines to burrow in the earth," she observed.

Jekul nodded, his expression thoughtful. "It's possible this dungeon goes further into the earth. We should check it out."

Hate, the group's newest member, oinked and used his snout to sniff the air. "I can smell fresh air down this passage," he stated, pointing with his snout.

Ulf considered their opinions and nodded. "It's the best plan we have."

The journey through the dungeon tunnel was tense. Their packs clinked with every step, the sound echoing through the dark, narrow passage. The light from their lanterns flickered, casting eerie shadows on the ancient walls. Jekul took the lead, his experience as one of the conquererors of Farfield, making him a natural leader, something Ulf deeply appreciated.

The tunnel stretched on, seemingly endless. The air grew cooler, and the scent of damp stone and earth filled their nostrils. Despite the growing sense of unease, the Companions pressed forward resolutely, their determination unwavering. The Orcs were ready to defend their homeland, and each step brought them closer to uncovering the Underking's dark plans.

As they moved deeper into the earth, the sounds of dripping water and distant, echoing growls grew louder. The atmosphere was thick with tension, but the Companions' resolve remained strong. They knew that their journey was fraught with danger, but they were prepared to face whatever challenges awaited them in the depths of Sidhedark.

The hallway opened up to a wide chamber, its vast expanse dimly lit by the flickering lanterns of the Companions. At the far end of the chamber, a grand staircase ascended to a set of imposing double doors. The doors were intricately carved with ancient runes and symbols of power, their surfaces adorned with scenes of battle and triumph. The wood was dark, almost black, and reinforced with bands of gleaming metal, giving the impression of immense strength and impenetrability.

Hovering ominously above the steps, blocking their path, was the source of the growling—a Beholder. The creature was a grotesque, floating orb of flesh, covered in thick, leathery skin. Its central eye glared malevolently at the intruders, while smaller, tentacle-like eyestalks sprouted from its body, each ending in a smaller, equally terrifying eye. These eyestalks moved independently, their gazes scanning the room with a sinister intelligence.

Without warning, the Beholder attacked. Laser-like beams shot from its eyestalks, slicing through the air with deadly precision. The Orcs scattered, each narrowly dodging the lethal rays.

Dura, wielding her trusty axe, charged at the Beholder with a fierce battle cry. She swung her weapon with practiced skill, each strike aimed to cleave into the monster's thick hide. Her axe connected with a sickening thud, but the Beholder's tough skin absorbed much of the blow.

Sudbad, his magical cutlass gleaming in the dim light, joined the fray. With a muttered incantation, the blade transformed into a shimmering water blade. He danced around the Beholder, slashing at its tentacles and leaving deep, watery cuts that hissed and steamed.

Oznacht, gripping his spear tightly, attacked with precision. He thrust his weapon into the Beholder's side, aiming for its vital spots. Each strike was calculated, his years of training evident in his every move.

Meanwhile, Twig cowered behind a pillar, his voice trembling. "This is a bad day, a very bad day," he muttered, peeking out to witness the chaos.

Ulf, her swordsmanship expert and deadly, joined the melee. Her blade flashed in the dim light as she parried the Beholder's beams and struck with lethal efficiency. She moved with the grace of a seasoned warrior, her every action a testament to her skill.

The battle raged on, the Companions working in concert to bring down the fearsome creature. Just as it seemed they had the upper hand, the Beholder let loose a deafening scream. The sound echoed through the chamber, freezing everyone in place.

Ulf felt her muscles lock, her movements halted by an unseen force. She despaired, her heart sinking as she watched the Beholder prepare for a final, devastating attack. All hope seemed lost as the creature loomed over them, its malevolent eyes gleaming with triumph.

The Beholder floated closer, its eyestalks quivering with anticipation and its mouth slavering hungrily. Just as it seemed all hope was lost, Jekul leaped from the darkness with a fierce roar. His claymore gleamed in the lantern light as he swung it in a powerful, arcing motion. The blade connected with the Beholder's grotesque form, splitting it cleanly in two. The creature's eyes bulged in shock as its body fell apart, its dark magic dissipating with a hiss.

As the Beholder fell, the freezing spell was broken, and the Companions found themselves released from its grip. Ulf turned to Jekul, gratitude shining in her eyes. "Jekul, you saved us all. Thank you."

Jekul bowed deeply, a humble smile on his face. "My lady, it was an honor to fight by your side."

Twig emerged from behind the pillar, his expression a mix of relief and humor. "Well, that was terrifying. Remind me not to come on any more adventures."

Atlug the Bard, ever the mood-lifter, strummed his lute and began to sing a rousing tune. The melody was light and joyous, lifting the spirits of everyone in the chamber. The Orcs joined in with hearty laughter, their camaraderie strengthened by the shared ordeal.

With renewed determination, the Orcs approached the grand double doors. They pushed them open, and a blinding light streamed into the chamber. Shielding their eyes, they stepped forward and gasped at the sight before them.

Beyond the doors was a hidden paradise, a lush and fertile cavern teeming with vibrant plant life. Towering trees with emerald leaves stretched towards the expansive ceiling, creating a verdant canopy that filtered the warm, golden light emanating from a colossal crystal embedded in a central pillar. This pillar, a marvel of natural and magical forces, spanned from the forest floor to the ceiling, its light nurturing the underground ecosystem. Colorful flowers carpeted the ground, their petals a riot of hues that created a stunning tapestry. Streams of crystal-clear water wound their way through the landscape, their gentle babbling adding to the serene ambiance. The air was fresh and filled with the melodies of chirping birds and the soft rustling of leaves, creating a symphony of life that contrasted sharply with the dark and oppressive chasm they had left behind.

In the distance, the landscape expanded into rolling hills and lush valleys, each teeming with diverse flora and fauna. Strange, luminescent plants dotted the scenery, their soft glow adding an ethereal quality to the environment. Small creatures darted among the underbrush, their movements quick and curious. The Companions gazed in awe at this wondrous sight, their senses overwhelmed by the sheer beauty and tranquility of the cavern. It was a cavern so large that it was impossible to see where it ended. It was a sanctuary of life and light, a testament to the hidden wonders that lay beneath the surface of Sidhedark. The discovery filled them with a renewed sense of purpose and hope but also a strange sense of confusion, knowing that such beauty and vitality existed even in the deepest, darkest parts of their world.

The Companions stood in stunned silence, marveling at this hidden paradise beneath the surface of Sidhedark. The air was fresh and filled with the sounds of chirping birds and rustling leaves. It was a place of unparalleled beauty and tranquility, a stark contrast to the dark and dangerous path they had traveled to reach it. Hate stepped forward, his eyes wide with wonder. "This must be the Underkingdom," he said, his voice filled with awe.

[themortaltaint]

The Fantasy Story I Refuse to Write

War has come.

The dark lord has looked down from his tower of skulls on the ninth plane of hell, and his gaze has fallen upon Fantasyland. He covets it. He gathers together his orcish army of incel frat bros. He commands them to go forth and pillage and rape (especially rape), such that Fantasyland is rendered a smoking ruin, much like Ibiza or Bali after peak tourist season. But fear not! Prophecy has foreseen the rise of a hero, with extra special snowflake powers to push back the gathering darkness.

But never mind all that. We have to spend the first 1200 pages of our multi-volume epic sending the hero to magic school, so that he can master his special snowflake powers (because hey, magic school worked for Harry Potter, right?). While there, he will be bullied by an upper class twit, because the twit thinks snowflake powers are weird and indicative of sexual deviancy. Of course, most people with half a brain would know not to poke the bear, lest they become a smoking crater, but the bully must remain steadfast in the face of common sense. For how else might the hero be induced to shed bitter tears, to melt the hearts of discerning readers of all such formulaic trash?

Meanwhile, the hero will be mentored by God himself, in the guise of an irascible, ancient professor with a long white beard. Because we are all good patriarchal conservatives here, we must never countenance the idea that a hero could be a free agent whose special snowflake powers are independent of authority. No, indeed! That is the slippery slope that leads us to equality, egalitarianism, liberalism, democracy, disrespecting ones elders, and other such base concepts. Of course, the mentor must die. Being all knowing and all powerful would make him the natural hero of the story, rather than the snotty little dweeb he's mentoring. Why hasn't he gone and dealt with the dark lord long since? Because reasons, that's why (stop asking questions).

The hero might be a self-centered little brat, devoid of all social skills, but against all odds he will make a friend. Sadly, this friend is doomed. He will die in the first confrontation, when the dark lord says: "And now I shall demonstrate to you the power of evil, in the face of which, good is a pathetic little beta cuck."

When school is finally out, the hero will spend the next four or five volumes embarking upon an epic quest! Because the author loves his map, and by god, you are going to visit every last inch of it before the end. (Not that there will necessarily be an end. The author might die of old age long before completing the final volume.) The hero must gather together the eight magic plot coupons, so he can mail them off to the gods for the ending. And while the journey seems perilous, the hero is never in any real danger. Even the most insoluble of dilemmas will evaporate in the face of the hero's destiny, and the magic power of prophecy.

In the final showdown, good magic will meet evil magic, and they will cancel each other out. The dark lord will evaporate in a puff of blue smoke. This is awfully convenient, because otherwise, the hero would have had to do something constructive, and find real, practical solutions to all his problems. And this would have been beyond the cognitive powers of the author. So, it's just as well that it's easy to design a bullshit magic system that is both the source and the solution to its own conflict.

And thus ends the tale I will never write.

[delphina2k]

No! I am not done recommending webcomics!

Webcomic Title: The Stoop-Gallants by @snartha Status: Finished Genre: Fantasy/comedy/ensemble-cast adventure

A farmboy drunkenly summons an amorous zombie and can't get rid of it the next morning, so his bookish bestie and flirtatious squire friend set out from their remote village to find answers. Their road leads them to new friends and lovers, wacky magical hijinx, a political battle for the crown, and discovery that who society says you are isn't always the be-all-end-all answer. They're trying to print the second (and last) book in the series soon, so if you love it, get yourself a copy!

Webcomic Title: What it Takes by @kezhound Status: Finished Genre: Post-apocalypse/action

A rough jaded survivor of the post-apocalypse navigates a bloody path of broken alliances to find her way back to her boyfriend, uncovering a secret sect of survivors trying to rebuild things... but their motives and origins may be less than pure.

Webcomic Title: Clover and Cutlass by @pied-piper-pluto Status: Ongoing Genre: Fantasy/romance

Her mother is an orcish warlord, her father is a wizard cultist, but Maggie doesn't really feel she fits in until she meets the beautiful Jolene... the priest who's trying to stop Maggie's parents from enacting a villainous plan to take over the land!

Webcomic Title: The Quest of Casey Tailor by @dontbesuchascaredykai Status: Ongoing Genre: Fun Fantasy Quest

Casey's sister is kidnapped by a mysterious fairy. He runs off on a journey to get her back safe and sound, but along the way he meets new friends and foes and is forced to face some hidden truths.

Webcomic Title: Tuppence for Stardust by @anje-satvrnalis Status: Hiatus Genre: Gothy Fantasy

The year is 1987, and Amenytha Synnendor has just woken up on a desolate moor on the sleepy English island of Hollersey. Lost, far from home, and with only a strange shapeshifting fox to help her, Amy has to deal with both the island's strange magic, the perils of making friends, and her capricious new mentor's whims as she fights for the answers that could lead her home. But something darker lurks there, in the dream-corners and between-places of her story. Something much, much darker.

Welcome to the (un)official Webcomic Master rec list! I want to encourage folks to share webcomics they love to read, create, support, and more to spread the love! Feel free to add to this post the webcomics you want to share (with the format above for easy browsing) ⭐️So let's get reading, and add to your hearts content! ⭐️ Note: (the link to the 'webcomic title' can also be a mention to read it on a platform if it is hosted there also!)

[aardvark-123]

~Hragnette's Adventure with Fashion~

"I thought it might be nice to have some more stylish clothes to wear in the city," said Hragnette, apropos of nothing. "So I crafted myself an Anvilesi Outfit (Sleeveless) by sforzinda, also known as sforzmods. What do you think?"

"You must try this bread! It's simply divine!" replied Ria, munching happily on her post-breakfast snack. "What, the clothes? Oh, yes, very nice."

"...And it's called the Anvilesi Outfit (Sleeveless), presumably to distinguish it from the version that does have sleeves," Hragnette explained to Vignar. "What do you think?"

"I think this bread's lousy," grunted Vignar. "And you're a shocking little madam, strutting around the place without a hint of shame, wearing an Orcish sword on your hip! This is Jorrvaskr! Get yourself some proper Nordic steel!"

"And I know it isn't exactly my style," Hragnette said bashfully, "but it feels like it could be my style, you know? Maybe there's a side to Hragnette Bright-Helm that wants to be wild, confident, bodacious and... sexy!"

"Why are you still in my room?" Skjor glared up at her. "I asked you to fetch that fragment of Wuuthrad four hours ago! Go and be sexy in front of the draugr if it means that much to you."

"Sforzinda was responsible for a lot of unique clothing made by rearranging preexisting assets," explained Hragnette. "I'm using their newest mod, 'Very Wip Use at your Own Peril Armours', or something to that effect, but the Anvilesi Outfit was previously featured in 'Imitations of the Fourth Era'. What do you think, Idiot Elf?"

"And what might you need, hmm?" said Idiot Elf, who had naught but the default lines for her voice type. "We're one of the same kind, you and I. I'm glad to have met you."

"Very helpful," said Hragnette.

"...or the blue one, but realistically, it wouldn't take me long to scrounge up enough materials to make another. So I made the white and brown one, and here we are," Hragnette explained. "And before you say anything, Njada - no, I do not, in fact, know why Skjor let me in in the first place! It's an ontological mystery that may never be solved!"

Njada breathed an angry sigh. "I actually thought it looked pretty good on you," she spat. "But fine, be like that! I didn't choose this life so I could make friends. Just-- Can you promise me one thing?"

"What?"

Njada grabbed Hragnette's arm, almost dragging her into the table. Hragnette reached for a sweetroll to shove in her face, but when she looked into Njada's eyes, she saw only sadness and regret.

"Promise me, Hragnette..." Njada squeezed Hragnette's hand, and despite her cold, bony fingers it felt affectionate. "Don't ever start shaving your legs. It's not worth it."

Hragnette gasped softly. "Oh, Njada... I was never going to do that! Not in a thousand years." A tear rolled down her freckled cheek. "I know what you're afraid of! Another tomboy losing her way, another interesting woman turned normal and pretty because the idiots who wrote the film want her to... But that's never going to be me, Njada! It's a nice tunic, nothing more."

"That's... That's great!" Njada smiled weakly. "I don't know why I was worried... You never let anything stand in your way, do you?"

"Never." Hragnette shook her head. "I'm my own civil servant, and don't you forget it!"

"So, um, yes. It's called the Anvilesi Outfit (Sleeveless)," said Hragnette, feeling more than a little sheepish about the tears she and Njada had shared. "What do you think, Farkas?"

Farkas stared at her. "Is that really what you're wearing? To fight your way through Dustman's Cairn, a long-abandoned temple of the ancient Dragon Cult, no doubt filled with the risen bodies of their servants? It's going to rain this afternoon, Hragnette! You should put a coat on or something."

"Oh, wow," observed Farkas, watching Hragnette get changed in the middle of the courtyard. "Now, that's fashion!"

"Yes, yes, shut up," said Hragnette, strapping on her bracers. "Which way was Dustman's Cairn again?"

[doodle-pops]

You were running for your life, five orcs on your heels. Your shoulder hurt, pierced by orcish arrow. You were lucky it wasn't poisoned. Still it hurt like mad with each slightest jerk of your body. Your lungs burnt and you knew, very soon they would catch you and do terrible things to you. Maybe you should better kill yourself, before you would be forced to breed soldiers for the Enemy.

You stumbled over a root and fell, aggravating your wound even worse. Your pained yelp alerted the monsters and they reponded with victorious howls.

While you were praying for quick death, you heard silent hiss of more arrows. None of them hit you though. More orcish screams and grunts announced, that those arrows pierced them, ending their pitiful life. You leaned against thick trunk of an oak, trying to catch your breath and to stay awake.

Eru must have been smiling upon you - those archers were elves, but taller and with brighter eyes than you have ever seen. One of them called orders at them, before he motioned one of his subordinates to follow him. Both headed directly towards you.

Your languages were different, but there were few words that had the same meaning. You didn't understand all what they told you, but you managed to guess, what they wanted from you. The leader of the group was Findekáno - a handsome ellon whose mere presence was calming. His companion was Failon, a healer. He treated your injury, while the rest of the group made sure, none of the orcs would survive and escape.

You and Failon knew that removal of the arrow would be painful, and the healer asked Findekáno to help him distract you. Findekáno took your unhurt hand carefully. He was still surprised to see young woman here and alone. His curiosity had to wait though.

He placed his other hand on your cheek and kept talking with soft, gentle tone to you, making you focus on him. His smile and words, that sounded like a a praise lulled you to sleep, when the arrow was finally removed.

When you woke up again, you found yourself in rather comfortable cot. There were more bright-eyed elves like Findekáno and Failon - some of them bandaging wounded soldiers. One of those healers noticed you and called for someone, who appeared to be one of your people, Elrandir. He spoke the tongue of those unknown elves and explained to you, who they were and how did they come to your lands.

After you were fed and your injury was checked, you saw Findekáno again. Elrandir translated his words for you and so he could finally satisfy his curiosity.

For some reason he was amazed, when he learnt you were a scout hunting for your people and protecting their territory from orcs. Sadly, your people were decimated in the onslought before the great light first appeared in the sky a chased the orcs and other monsters back into the underground. You were one of a buch of survivors, trying to find a safe place to live, since you didn't have the luxury of the same protection as Doriath.

Findekáno, after your talk, sent rather numerous search party and an escort for your kinsmen. You reunited with them two weeks after that and you were eternaly grateful to him.

Your kin agreed to join the host of Noldor and assist them in their endavours. Just like you did. Once you learnt, who Findekáno...or as your people called him, Fingon - was, you did your best to return the favour. You became an asset to his scouts, not only knowing the lands of Hithlum to the smallest spot, but also with your ability to sense danger and your bond and friendship with birds, that lived there.

Rather soon you found out, something kept troubling him. You wished to know, what it was, but he didn't tell anyone a thing. One night you spotted him sneaking out of the camp, all alone, but fully armed and equipped for a long and probably perilous journey. You couldn't help, but worry about him.

And so you followed him, just like silent, guardian shadow. As Fingon headed north and didn't seem to intend to turn east or west, your worries only grew. Why for Eru's sake was he heading to Angband? Had he lost his mind?! That evening, you caught up with him.

At first, he insisted on your return back to Hithlum, but after pointing out how much better you know even this cursed land, he finally relented and told you about the reason of his lone quest. He was trying to find and rescue his dearest friend and cousin.

You wondered why it was only him then. There was something amiss, but you decided not to ask. For some reason it seemed to be sore topic. You decided to join him. You used the help of your feathered friends, from tiniest sparrow to great eagles.

In the end, it paid off. You managed to find Maitimo and free him with help from Thorondor.

When you finally returned to the camp, there was quite a lot of scolding for both of you. You didn't mind it much, since you managed to return the favour to one, who saved your life and did his best to ease your pain.

Since that quest, you both became close. You helped him where you could, and what little time he had for himself, he spent it with you. And his cousin, of course - at least, until he recovered enough to join the rest of his brothers. By now you knew about the feud going on between Noldorin princes. You saw, how badly it affected Fingon. After some musing, you knew what he needed.

Once he was free from his duties, just like you, you practically kidnapped him and led him to one of your favourite spots. You knew about a hidden valley with hotspring. It had always been a nice place, but since the coming of the new lights, it became even more beautiful with various flowers blooming there.

"Now, you worked hard enough, mellon nín. You should enjoy your well deserved rest. Who knows, maybe once you renew and uplift your spirit, you will find a solution," you told him softly.

by scroll anon <(*u*)>

Like I said a while back, my blog is becoming a Fingon appreciation blog and I really don't mind. ~\(≧▽≦)/~

To be saved by a literal knight in shining armour and then befriend him - dream come true. I'll be honest, too many times I've imagined myself rescuing Maedhros alongside Fingon. Poor baby deserves the world as well.

Question: Am I joining Fingon in the hot springs, or do I sit outside and stare at him like a creep? ⚆_⚆

[partheniasimblr]

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(En français sur mon blog)

Thanks to all builders, cc creators and pose makers @beverlyallitsims @elfydrell @herecirmsims @irinaseverinka @maxiematch @notsooldmadcatlady @plazasims @pralinesims @valhallansim @viktorviolettaenterprises @wistfulpoltergeist

Transcription below the cut

Nefaria: For Chalkaos and for the King! Soldiers in unison: Chalkaos! Chalkaos! Chalkaos! Let's hunt Orcs!

[letterstosestrilles]

Dear Tyko,

It’s been a few days since I Sent to you, and maybe you’re wondering why I’m not back somewhere you can get my letters again yet. Obviously this letter won’t explain until I’ve already left, but I don’t know whether I’ll actually be somewhere with reception in between now and … everything else. I hope I am, I want you to know what I’m up to in far more words than I can do in Sending, but I think we’ll be figuring that out tomorrow or the next day.

Before I talk about what’s next, though, there’s a lot to catch you up on, as you might imagine, having read my last letter. Questions I’ve asked and had answered, and the next steps, because there are next steps. Maybe you, like me, had a moment’s desperate hope (and fear, in my case—I can’t deny that I would have had trouble letting go, even if I would have for your sake and those of others who love me, if there were other people who had any faith they could complete this quest) that Emulf and Dwiona would take this task on with Niko, but they have other business to attend to, and I can’t blame them. So yes, there are next steps, but I do need to tell you about how we got to them.

When I last wrote, I was groggy and unprepared to face the world, but writing it down helped, as it always does, so I went off and found Maliah, who was also groggy. We drank some tea from the jug and chatted a little, mostly about our exhaustion. Eventually, she heard voices in the distance, and when we poked our heads out, Niko was also poking hers out, hair mussed and eyes squinted in the scant light. She asked if we wanted breakfast, and when we agreed, led us to the kitchen, pausing sometimes at a crossroads as she reminded herself what direction something was in.

Dwiona and Emulf were up when we got there, for a given value of it. Emulf had pitched himself so far to the side in his seat that he was leaning in the wall, coffee perilously close to spilling it whenever he drank. Dwiona was determinedly upright, not letting herself lean on anything including the back of her seat. They greeted us and offered desperately-needed coffee, and we all tried to find the rhythm of a conversation while we drank it.

Maliah and I did our best to catch them up on major events in the Prime Material Plane over the past two and a half years, though it’s shameful how little we know about what’s actually in the news, other than being fairly certain that Kirim was a major story, at least. I asked if either of them had home planets or stations they wanted to hear about specifically, but they waved me off to ask about generalities, which makes sense with some things I surmised later, but we’ll get there.

We did a little better over breakfast, where Dwiona brought out some things from a pantry that I suspect works much like the one in my Mansion and gave us all plenty of protein and bread to get our energy back up. Maliah and I talked a little more about our backgrounds, and what adventures we’ve been on with Niko that don’t fully involve the path she led us down, asked a few hesitant questions about whether they’ve had time to do much eating or resting since Reorx was attacked (the answer is “very little,” especially with their companions leaving a year ago to seek more help, Niko not having returned), and generally tried to make a very strange situation as normal as we could.

Eventually, though, it was obvious that not much else could get started without speaking to our host, so we all set our dishes aside and let Dwiona and Emulf go ask Reorx where they’d like to meet us while Niko started fussing with her hair and Maliah and I frantically straightened ourselves out. When we were all settled, though, we went out to something like a veranda, a place with a view of the sky (the only thing that still shifts moment by moment instead of holding steady as long as one is in the room) and no true greenery but crafted greenery: wrought metal flowers, silk vines, materials I can’t pretend to recognize.

Reorx, in orcish form, looked much more collected than they had the day before, and much more rested too. They asked, to begin, for more details on how we’d come to be there, and Niko obliged, to my everlasting gratitude. She knew the details that would most interest them, and the most about how she first realized something strange was going on in the first place. I only tossed in occasional commentary—things we saw before we started traveling with her full-time, personal confirmations of people I know who have been on the constant-inspiration side of things, and the occasional comment when Niko was being too modest about her own contributions. Maliah did much the same, and all told, we condensed the tale of our travels down to an hour or so, with a little extra when Reorx asked some clarifying questions.

When it was done, it was our turn to ask questions, and I started with the one I answered for you at the start of this letter: whether Reorx’s companions (it’s the best word I’ve got for them, when they aren’t all paladins and there’s clearly too much fondness and knowledge on both sides for “followers” to feel right) wanted to take over the quest now that Niko has her memories back. As I said, Dwiona and Emulf demurred, and Reorx has plenty of work to do with a lot of divine delicacy putting their domain back in order.

So the problem of Onver was squarely back in our laps, and we started asking questions as appropriate, starting with what it is that he actually wants. Reorx said, rather wry, that Onver isn’t given to dramatic speeches about his goals, but they expect that what he wants is power. The power of a god, even, but without the responsibilities or obligations of one. Reorx suspects they were a first test, not a final one.

The next question, one that’s been keeping me up nights, is whether the damage to Reorx was from charging or discharging the weapon. We know that it can pull from beings as well as from the ethereal plane, after all, and the kind of charge you can gain from hurting a god is not the kind of charge we want in Onver’s hands. Unfortunately, it seems to have been some measure of both, and Reorx can tell that some portion of their essential nature is in Onver’s hands—it allows them to do at least some general tracking on him, but that he succeeded in even that measure is terrifying.

Another logical question: what can a mortal do, with a piece of a god’s essential nature? With a piece of Reorx’s, given their domain. Pure destruction, certainly, but if all Onver wanted to do was destroy, he could easily have spent that power already. Other options are more nebulous: he could use it like an incredibly powerful version of the inspiration I can give, or infuse it into an object, or hoard it for when he gains more power at the next stage of his plan, whatever that is.

That gave us all plenty to think of, so I went sidewyas to Niko, who had her full and proper memories restored to her so recently and who I’m full of questions about and for. I started with something Reorx had said the day before—that they’d taken Niko’s memories to keep Onver from following her back once she found him. But Onver had also been brought to them once, so I was confused. Reorx cleared it up, starting the story a little back from that, as I’ll relay to you now.

After Onver destroyed his community so brutally, which Niko told us about, Reorx charged her and Achenna, who I haven’t met, to bring Onver to them for a conversation—as they say, punishment isn’t really in their remit, but something clearly had to be done and it was Reorx’s paladin Onver betrayed. They did, which is when Onver attacked and whisked away (some kind of teleportation magic, but whether it was magic in an item, a scroll, intrinsic, or learned, Reorx couldn’t say), but the protection was less about the location, in the end, and more about knowledge.

Niko and these other companions are all very close to Reorx, it seems, in a way most people aren’t to gods (which makes me think about Mishakal and her comment that Reorx’s plane might be more comfortable for us than many divine planes, so I’m guessing it’s not terribly common for gods to take on companions, but that seems rude to ask). They’re privy to secrets of divine knowledge, of universal and creative knowledge, that shouldn’t fall into Onver’s hands. Moreover, when you’re that close to a god, apparently there are means of tracking, so removing Niko’s connection kept her safe until Onver gave up looking for her.

That was a lot to think about, so I sidestepped again and got another blow to my perception of things for my troubles: I asked about the timeline of things, and whether the return of Niko’s memories had given her time back too. She laughed, a little wildly, and said that apparently the time between Onver destroying his community and Niko and Achenna bringing him before Reorx was twenty years. (I don’t know much about genasi lifespans, but you’ve met Niko. She does not look old enough to have been hunting someone for twenty years. Another question I don’t quite have the courage to ask.)

More than that, the memories she shared with us of bringing Onver to a mortal temple to Reorx were modified. She wasn’t a regular paladin called to be a servant and companion to Reorx in this circumstance. She’d been with them for some time, and the perhaps-killed head of the temple was Reorx themselves, twisting things so Niko could know what she needed to without betraying that knowledge if she was found. Apparently these companions go on what they agreed to call pilgrimages sometimes, returning to mortal planes to wander, learn new techniques, inspiring interesting projects, and the like. Niko was on one of those when Onver fell into her lap.

(And fell, it seems, by design. He might not have known exactly who was coming, but as Reorx put it, there are ways people can make themselves attractive in such situations, and if it hadn’t been a servant of Reorx, it might have been, I don’t know, a high-level cleric of an agricultural god interested in the supposed uses of the machine, or even, as they said, Gaizka, powerful enough to draw interest.)

The extra twenty years certainly make parts of what we’ve been surmising make sense. Niko and Reorx agree that she was hunting him fiercely enough that he can’t have been putting too much into place, but Maliah and I remembered Shaan Liadon, and his mother who might possibly be a warlock, which gave us all a sober moment. That’s more of a loose thread, a side problem I already know Athan and Gaizka have their eyes on from different vantage points, but it’s still a reminder that Onver might have done plenty of things even on the run.

They also agree that while Onver might have been presenting himself as a regular denizen of the Plane of Earth when she met him, chances are large that’s a disguise. There’s no guessing what he actually is, when there are so many powerful beings, Reorx included, who can change their guise on a whim, but we should be prepared for him to have resources and powers aside from his weapon, at the very least. He definitely has access to magic, by whatever means, even if his primary offensive capability is the weapon.

Well, let me be precise, so I’m harder to take by surprise: with Reorx, he really only tried to fight or wound with the weapon, and didn’t attack when he was separated from it, just tried to get back and hamper others’ movements. (At least at that point, he had to be next to the weapon to fire it. Point in our favor. When Niko and Achenna brought him in, it was using surprise and ambush tactics. Point less in our favor.) It may be that it’s the most damage he can do so he doesn’t see the point in doing anything else. It may be that it’s the most damage he can do to a god, so he didn’t try lesser measure. And it may be that he stuck to the weapon because he wanted power more than he wanted to win, in which case he definitely wouldn’t care to stick to it with us, since we can’t grant him divine power.

That was all a lot to take in, so I made another sidestep: does Reorx want him alive? Niko had talked about taking Onver alive before, to deliver him to justice, but apparently she’s done that once before. And, from what it seems, Reorx doesn’t care. If we deliver them Onver, they’ll deal with him as they see fit. If he doesn’t make it back but he’s dealt with, they’ll be pleased enough to move on to other things.

Maliah stepped in and asked the wonderfully practical question of what the thing looks like, after all this worry about it. Niko, obviously, has seen some plans for it, so she can tell us more, but it does look superficially like a drill, since it is a planar drill even if it functions as much by magic and metaphor as by its physical components. There are apparently a lot of lenses and lasers, which seem like parts that could be sabotaged, or so I optimistically hope. It’s large, on an industrial or agricultural scale rather than a hand weapon.

Reorx seemed to see all of us listing a little, still tired after healing them, and brought the conversation to a close by saying that they could tell us at least vaguely where he is, and would give us anything they can, but that there are places in the universe where it’s hard for magical sight, even that of a god, to penetrate, and Onver has wisely holed up in one. That, though, they said, was to deal with after a few more days of recovery.

Before they sent us off for that recovery, though, they said that they wanted to thank us for coming and finishing the job their companions have been so faithfully doing. They asked if there’s anything we know we need, and I mentioned something to hold Onver once we have him, and they produced from the air, as though it were nothing, a pair of strong but light manacles with runes carved in that can apparently keep a person from using teleportation magic once you have them restrained, and I thanked them and they turned to other gifts.

Reorx gave each of us a gift and a blessing. Niko they said will have greater rewards when they’ve had time to think of what would be appropriate, but apparently the glaive she’s using has more powers than she knew, or used to have more powers, and they’ve restored it to full function. Her blessing is a blessing of health, and as Reorx said it, I could see her sitting up straighter, a little more vital, even if she still looked exhausted.

Maliah was given a beautiful tooled leather quiver, just the size of her regular one but with space to hold arrows, javelins, even extra longbows, all of which can be drawn even quicker than getting something from the bag of holding. Squirt didn’t receive a gift, but they both received blessings. Maliah’s is a blessing of protection—for one who protects her friends, said Reorx, and I’m pleased they see her so well. Apparently it will protect her, which I’m even more grateful about, a little extra ease in dodging and avoiding harm. Squirt’s blessing, which Maliah nearly wept over, is one of wound closure: he’s going to be a whole lot harder to kill, and easier to heal, which is worth weeping over, I’d say.

I got a puzzle to go with my gift and my blessing. They said (and meant, I since discovered) that they wanted to know more about my gloves, but in the meantime asked Dwiona for a particular harp, and when she handed it to them, a small and beautifully covered object, they strummed it once, and the music seemed to shiver into being as light in the air. They cupped it in their hands, blew it over my gloves, and now, it seems, the gloves have the powers of the harp: they’ll cast Fly, and Wall of Thorns, and several other spells, once a day each, and if I try to use the gloves to charm someone, which I don’t expect I’ll do often, they’ll have a harder time resisting it. They also said that as I look for how they stored the data, I may find it easier to do some of my own, which is the puzzle, and one I look forward to unraveling.

The blessing is one that may amuse you, actually—Reorx, like you, seems to agree that whatever my virtues, I’m not exactly overflowing with wisdom, and gave me a blessing of wisdom to make up for it. I’m used to discovering new reserves of power in myself, but I do have to admit it’s deeply strange to feel a god expand your understanding and powers of observation, and I keep finding myself in spirals wondering if I would have thought something in quite the same way before the blessing. Hopefully it will settle soon.

After that, and a great many thanks, we were given the run of the compound while Reorx took care of business.

Dwiona showed me to some absolutely gorgeous music rooms. They don’t have any overt acoustic material on walls or ceilings, but even just talking in them, you can feel the roundness in the tone, the way it’s almost an echo but doesn’t actually linger or muddy any sounds. I don’t think I’ve heard a concert hall as good. And they’re just there, full of musical instruments, each a perfect example of type, some of them types I’ve never heard of and couldn’t imagine. Others have the wood-and-rosin scent of a luthier’s shop, or sheets of brass to be shaped, wires to be turned into strings for palm-sized harps as much as for guitars twice as long as I am tall.

I spent most of the rest of the day absolutely enchanted, playing first one instrument, now another, each all pure and perfect tone, the smoothest trumpet I’ve ever heard, a drum whose beats could echo across miles, a fiddle Serime would kill to get her hands on.

I had, however, in a fit of wanting to do something for the exhausted people who haven’t had breaks and vacations with friends and family for the last two years, offered to treat everyone to dinner in the Mansion, and that included Reorx, so eventually I tore myself away and very quickly planned a feast and a Mansion that’s a bit less flamboyant than usual, just in time for everyone to come along.

It was a pleasant dinner, thank goodness. Squirt gorged himself on a dozen kinds of meat, everyone else appreciated the strange array of dishes I conjured up, roast hog next to Infernal curry next to that cake I always wanted to try from The Estate of Bidi-Maha in the Time of Industry, which was just as delicious as I always hoped. I kept conversation as light as I could, and Reorx and their companions mostly talked about crafting, and mishaps with trying new ones. When they lapsed, Maliah and I told some stories of the quests not directly related to helping Reorx.

Eventually, we all admitted defeat and left the Mansion behind to rest again.

Yesterday was quiet. I went back to the music rooms, and while I spent a little time looking at the spellwork and wondering how to replicate it, and pulling out Hanai’s old notes to see if the crystalline structure could be a key to it, I also spent some time doing some maintenance on the rest of my kit, since the gloves are the showiest part but not the only part. I redid the wiring in my belt to be more efficient with the larger amounts of data I need to access, recalibrated the sensitivity on my loop sensor, and, while I had such perfect recording acoustics, rerecorded a lot of my vocal samples.

Maliah and Niko had both disappeared, Niko to rooms dedicated to fibercraft and Maliah sometimes with her and sometimes looking at and testing out Reorx’s gorgeous collection of bows, and we were all enthusiastic over dinner, which we had in the kitchen this time and without a god along.

And then today, after a bit more of the same, Reorx called us to that veranda again, to talk to us about our next steps, since Onver doesn’t seem to be moving fast but we all want to be done with him anyway.

As I said, because Onver has a piece of Reorx’s power, they can’t pinpoint him, but they know at least vaguely where he is. And as I said, there aren’t many places that can block magic as thoroughly as the place he’s hiding. Reorx listed a few, each of which sounded inhospitable: pockets of the Shadowfell, certain corners of the Celestial Plane, some of the Outer Planes, where Reorx says Onver does not yet have the power to walk.

But Onver isn’t in any of those places. No, Onver is, it seems, on the dark side of the Feywild. The place they tell ghost and horror stories about, a place where large parts don’t allow any access to magic and where I’ll thus have a hard time being of any use to my friends at all to the point where I’m worried I’ll be dead weight for a decent amount of the journey, unless I can make friends with some unspeakable horrors on the way to Onver’s den. But you can’t make friends with the land, which is also against you, and contains, apparently, pockets where time distorts, where we could lose months or years. Reorx, helpfully, suggests we avoid those. I’ll have to ask what they look like.

Or, most likely, I’ll have to ask Cerunwe what they look like, because we do know one person who’s been to the dark side of the Feywild and come back out, if with more difficulty than ze has yet told us about. We’re going to owe zir a hell of a favor, but the thought of at least zir advice, if not zir guidance, is one of the only things giving me hope, when Maliah blanched as soon as Reorx said where Onver is. Maliah’s not scared of places, not really, not when she could explore them, but this she’s scared of, and that scares me in turn, even if something about it tugged my imagination and my interest when I was there.

Maybe I’ll get to write my song about it after all.

I don’t know if we’ll be back on the Prime Material Plane in between. These messages may send from the Feywild—I doubt the dark side has the reception to send messages, but if we need to find Cerunwe, we won’t be starting there.

I’m scared. Of Onver and of this. But I can almost see the end of it, now, and some hints of what could come after. I’ll just have to keep those in mind, because the nearer things are too terrifying to focus on for long.

Please tell me you’re reading something happy in book club this month.

Love,

Elyn

[doesitsparkjoytho]

"The Happy Harpy Post" - Medieval Craigslist

(**For anyone not in the U.S., Craigslist is Facebook Marketplace's janky, super sketch predecessor, basically an online site to list items for sale, jobs, "Missed Encounters," etc.**)

[For Sale / Trade]

Realm's most powerful -- and evil -- sword

Just in time for that long-awaited conquering!

The realm's most notoriously blood-thirsty sword has reappeared from the dark abyss yet again. The last band of heroes battled death to cast it into oblivion some centuries ago, but like a merciless rash, it will not stay banished.

Features:

Authentic blood stains and nicks

Possessed by an extremely evil and demeaning spirit, rumored to be that of Lord Archbane himself

Crafted from the finest dragon's bone and titanium, ensuring years of slicing, thrusting, hacking, mutilation and general intimidation

This weapon is not for the faint of heart. If the latter is not black as pitch, I assure you that the blade will drive you mad in its attempt to corrupt your soul. I stumbled upon the sword but three weeks past, but already the power of this dark artifact threatens to consume my being. However, one with the strength of spirit to master it stands to gain an instrument of unimaginable potential.

Willing to trade for guaranteed safety during new owner's reign of terror, a residence in owner's general vicinity, and a small (negotiable) re-homing fee for myself / the sword. ***And please note: the sword has attached itself to me in ways that I dare not speak of. If you try to kill me and take the sword in place of a transaction, it will be lost for many more centuries. It has assured me of this.

If interested, please find or send for innkeeper Finbar Ruild of Heshire, Eastern Province.

Free Pulsating Crystal Thing

Are you a dark being of some authority seeking an artifact of unknown power and antiquity to enhance your castle/cave/fortress/tower/dungeon's mystical atmosphere? Are you perhaps also wishing for a handful of random occurrences to shake things up, or to rid yourself of a few pesky, traitorous, or bumbling minions too curious for their own well-being? Then look no further! This strange, eerily glowing crystal pulsates as if containing life and is sure to amuse and amaze guests. In addition, this nifty crystal can easily lull one to sleep with its deep, otherworldly and ominous croonings. I guarantee you won't stumble upon another artifact of such myriad uses and features. I'm only parting with it because the lady of the keep has suggested that I have one too many "unique" trinkets.

Serious inquiries only (No minions, peasants, slaves or other lowly beings, as I dread the repercussions of this falling into the wrong hands). Please contact Lord Vasuvian at the black tower. You can send a messenger by horseback, pigeon, falcon, hawk, bat, dragon, etc. I promise its safe return.

[Services]

Haircuts for Heroes

Are you a hero? Do you want to be? Nothing says "hero" like a unique hairstyle. I offer dying, cutting, braiding, and lime-washing. Be the first to try out my new Dark and Dangerous dye, made from a fermented leech and vinegar mixture which is entirely unique and promises the darkest, longest lasting black available.

Stop announcing your triumphs and displaying your spoils to earn the trust of the town and start standing out!

My shop, Haircuts for Heroes, is located in North Ghestfel.

Live-in Mage for hire

Have you ever wanted life to be a little easier than it is? Do you ever find yourself wishing that your floor would clean itself, that your fire would stay lit through the night, or that those pesky birds would cease pecking the thatch from your roof to build their nests?

Now you can make your wishes come true! Mage with 20+ years of experience in the Way is willing to lend his talents in exchange for room and board. His only request is that you don't treat him as a servant and allow him time for his own studies between your requests.

If interested, please send word to Octulus Drolp so that we may arrange a meeting and home viewing.

[Missed Encounters]

At the smithy - M4W

You, dearest woman, had four children in tow and were berating each of them as they touched everything in the shop. I smiled at you, but you were too busy to take full notice of me. Your voice was the sweetest music to my ears. I doubt a lovely lady such as yourself with four energetic children would be without husband, but if that is indeed the case, I beseech you to come and find me!

Make inquiry for Will at the stables.

O4H

To the ruggedly handsome human who passed through the southern Fivhren woods yesterday morn:

As I emerged from my cave, sleep still crusting my eyes like fairy dust, I was struck by a most unusual but welcome sight. Upon the knoll beyond my cave, a dark-haired man (you) knelt by his steed. My orcish heart pattered- and I am not easily moved, particularly by those of diminutive form. A dark green cloak enfolded your manly form, and you seemed intent on starting a fire, perhaps to make your breakfast.

Not wishing to startle you, I went about my morning as routine demanded, beginning with my rejuvenating spritz in the creek just beyond my cave. I began to hum to catch your attention. When you spotted me, I tried to act alluring, splashing my heaving green bosom with water from the nearby creek and rubbing my face sensually. In reality, I was merely taking my morning bath and desperately attempting to remove the morning crust from round my black orbs- but I figured 'hey, why not kill two birds with one stone?'

I locked my gaze unto yours, and your visage was overcome with- dare I hope- alarmed intrigue? You quickly gathered a few of what I assumed were your belongings, leapt onto your steed and rode away. Without me.

I am sorry if my forthcomingness frightened you away. I am willing to take things slowly, if you are lacking a mate and or have any interest in lady orcs. I enjoy, I imagine, many things you humans do: fishing; rolling in the mud and baking in the sun afterward (it's good for one's skin); eating and cooking (I prepare an astounding seared pig, and my frog-eye soup is unmatched); clubbing and stoning small, pesky animals; and, last but not least, dancing.

If you ever pass my way again, don't hesitate to peek your beautiful head into my cave and holler. But you'd better holler fairly loudly, as I'm a heavy sleeper.

Sincerely yours,

Ghrus'yula

[Community Notices]

Your Daughter Is No Treasure

Dear Lady Fitz,

Please cease advertising your daughter as the most enchanting creature in the land. I had the misfortune of crossing her path in the market this Saturday past, and she was neither lovely, endearing, soft of voice, or willow-thin. In fact, I have seen female trolls more alluring. If you were to place her in a tower for one to rescue, those stupid enough to brave the perils set before them on faith of your word alone would, upon seeing her, leap to their deaths or fall on their own swords before they carried her out of there with them. I am not trying to be rude, I am merely pointing out the truth which I think you should know. If you really wish to marry your daughter off, be honest. It also might not hurt to throw in some gold.

Sincerely,

A man saving fellow men from unhappy futures

To my neighbor to the east and south, the marauding tyrant

Dear kindred conqueror:

Being a power and land hungry tyrant myself, I acknowledge that certain consequences can be expected from claiming new provinces. For example, I realize that valuable farmland will likely be laid to waste in the process, forest burned and the animals inhabiting it slain, and villagers and townspeople dispatched from their homes.

However, it is the latter which concerns me. Far be it from me to advise you on proper warmongering, but your actions have brought the consequences of war to my borders. In the towns and villages dotting our shared borders, beings fleeing your terror-inducing campaign are piling in by the hour. However, that's not the main issue here. No, what concerns me is that these humans, orcs, elves, etc. are crossing my borders and falling dead in my towns, creating an awful sight and stench which, in the end, I am left to deal with. Not only that, but my denizens are becoming worried that I might gather my army again and attempt to take the few provinces I have allowed them to keep. I have worked hard at gaining their newfound trust in the last few years following the end of my campaign, and your actions are threatening the fragile halcyon of my new kingdom.

If you would kindly see to it that more of your soon-to-be subjects did not escape your borders, or at least died within them, I would be most grateful. If you do not comply, a few thousand of my most sickly denizens may somehow find their way into your lands just when you think you've established yourself in your new domains.

Yours to the west and north,

Lord Belus III

--------------------------------

So I used to write. A LOT. Before fanfic, I was an aspiring fantasy novelist, and I wrote pretty much all the time. I'm trying to get back into it, so I've been looking at my old pieces and taking stock of what I like/don't like. This is one of my all time favorite pieces so I thought I'd share!

[lightmourned]

LFC

– ––– the basics ––– –

NAME: Taranys Lightmourne

AGE: 360s, close to 370

BIRTHDAY: September 28th

RACE: Sin’dorei

GENDER: Male

SEXUALITY: Heterosexual

MARITAL STATUS: Unmarried, Single

– ––– physical appearance ––– –

HAIR: Light Brown

EYES: Golden

HEIGHT: 6′6

BUILD: Muscular, long used to the weight of heavy weapons and armor. Long legged and broad shouldered.

DISTINGUISHING MARKS: A long scar along the length of his abdomen, carved into him from a Death Knight during his service against the undead under Prince Kael’thas.

COMMON ACCESSORIES: Besides a necklace bearing his family sigil, a steel dagger usually remains on his hip, sheathed in a gilded scabbard. His greatsword usually hangs on his back, whenever he needs it.

– ––– personal ––– –

PROFESSION: Sworn brother of the Blood Knight Order, Paladin.

HOBBIES: When not spending his time training, Taranys is usually reading various texts, primarily focused on the Light, as well as the occassional drink after his duties are completed.

LANGUAGES: Orcish, Thalassian, Common.

RESIDENCE: Silvermoon

BIRTHPLACE: Quel’thalas

RELIGIOUS ATTITUDE: Zealous

PATRON DEITY: The Holy Light

FEARS: Failing the expectations his peers and (now deceased) parents have for him.

– ––– relationships ––– –

SPOUSE: N/A

CHILDREN: N/A

PARENTS: Ba’thas Lightmourne: The revered patriarch of the Lightmourne dynasty, it was through his direction that the Lightmourne dynasty was able to climb socially and uplift their fortunes from their previous levels of financial peril. Through his ties to the Church of Holy Light, Ba’thas was able to ensure both his sons would be raised as Paladins when the time came. Perished in the Scourge invasion of Quel’thalas.

Melinda Lightmourne: While coming from minor nobility, Melinda was a well educated and magically inclined woman whose marriage to Ba’thas was originally based on matters of political convenience. After the birth of her two sons, she gradually began withdrawing from public life to help with the rearing of her children, being a positive influence which encouraged modesty, honesty, and faith from her two sons. Taranys views her as the most impactful influence on his life, save for the Order which he joined. Perished in the Scourge invasion of Quel’thalas

SIBLINGS: Taranys is the youngest of two sons, the older of which, Isengrim, was raised by the Lich King as a death Knight.

OTHER RELATIVES: Unknown.

PETS: N/A

– ––– traits ––– –

extroverted / introverted / in between.

disorganized / organized / in between.

close-minded / open-minded / in between.

calm / anxious / in between.

disagreeable / agreeable / in between.

cautious / reckless / in between.

patient / impatient / in between.

outspoken / reserved / in between.

leader / follower / in between.

empathetic / unemphatic / in between.

optimistic / pessimistic / in between.

traditional / modern / in between.

hard-working / lazy / in between.

cultured / un-cultured / in between.

loyal / disloyal / unknown / in between.

faithful / unfaithful / unknown / in between.

– ––– additional information ––– –

SMOKING HABIT: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess.

DRUGS: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess.

ALCOHOL: never / socially / frequently / to excess

– ––– starters ––– –

Home is where the Heart is: In the aftermath of the Lich King’s fall and the subsequent retreat of the Scourge, Taranys and the majority of the Blood Knights were sent home to Silvermoon, set to guard the city and continue to maintain its defense from all threats. Much of his time is spent either patrolling the city, or fulfilling Lady Liadrin’s orders whenever and wherever possible.

A Consumate Warrior: With the incursion into Draenor and Pandaria, Taranys was given command over various groups of Blood Knights, working alongside many of the other races of the Horde. He and his troops tended to remain insulated from other groups and commands, usually reporting directly to his Blood Elf superiors rather than to most other commanders.

An Unholy Invasion: In the aftermath of The Battle of the Broken Shore, most of Taranys’s forces were left decimated by the Burning Legion. With the retreat to Dalaran, he joined forces with the remaining Blood Knights and the Order of the Silver Hand, continuing to serve the Light in whatever way possible. He, alongside members of the Argent Crusade, fought in vain to retrieve the deceased Tirion Fordring, though returned him to Light’s Hope Chapel for a proper burial.

As the war against the Legion continued, Taranys continued fighting to protect his homeland, though the tactics employed by Sylvanas had left a sour taste in his mouth, which only worsened as time went on.

A New Career: Though he fought in the battle for Lordaeron, the use of biological weapons against the Alliance left a poor taste in his mouth. He withdrew from the Horde’s ranks, viewing it as a crime against nature and the laws by which he had fought, as well as a reminder of the horrors he had seen during his attack on Icecrown. With his withdrawal from the Horde’s military, he has instead taken up his father’s post as a Lord within Silvermoon, beginning to rebuild the family’s estate and fortune, while desiring the Blood Elves to begin slowly withdrawing their support for the Horde.

– ––– notes ––– –

Taranys can be found on both MG and WRA under the name Tarannys

This is a sideblog! All follows will come from @frostmourned

[ @wraconnect ]

[gobboguy]

Chapter 11: Home at Last

As Gelbeg gazed down at the still form of Ionia, her pallid complexion and trembling form stirred something deep within him. Despite the atrocities she had committed against his people, he couldn't shake the feeling that her survival was somehow crucial to their shared destiny. With a heavy heart and a sense of duty weighing on his shoulders, Gelbeg resolved to carry her to safety, no matter the personal cost.

Carefully lifting Ionia's limp body, Gelbeg fashioned a makeshift papoose from his cloak and gently secured her within it, ensuring she was shielded from the biting cold. With each step, he felt the weight of her frail form pressing against his back, a reminder of the burden he had willingly taken upon himself. Though doubts gnawed at the edges of his mind, Gelbeg remained steadfast in his determination to see her through to Cairn Doom, where perhaps the healers of his people could offer some semblance of aid.

As he trudged through the unforgiving landscape, the howling winds of the blizzard seemed to echo his internal turmoil. Why should he risk his own life for someone who had brought nothing but suffering to his kin? Yet, even as the doubts swirled within him, Gelbeg could not deny the inexplicable pull he felt toward Ionia's survival. It was as if some unseen force guided his steps, urging him onward despite the daunting odds stacked against them.

With each passing moment, Gelbeg's resolve grew stronger, fueled by a sense of duty and an unwavering belief in the importance of their shared journey. Through wind and snow, he pressed forward, his determination unyielding as he carried Ionia toward the hope of salvation that lay ahead.

As Gelbeg trudged through the treacherous terrain of the Acury mountains, the biting cold of the blustering winds whipped at his cloak, sending flurries of snow swirling around him. The jagged peaks loomed overhead, their rocky faces obscured by thick layers of frost and ice. Each step he took felt like a struggle against the relentless fury of the elements, and doubts gnawed at the edges of his mind as he wondered if he was even on the right path.

But then, as he crested a snow-covered hill, Gelbeg's weary eyes beheld a sight that filled him with both relief and awe. Before him, nestled within the craggy embrace of the mountains, stood the mountain fortress of Cairn Doom. Massive stone walls rose from the sheer cliffs, forming a formidable barrier against the elements. The gateway, carved into the side of the mountain, was a testament to the strength and resilience of the Orcish people.

As Gelbeg drew closer, he could see intricate carvings adorning the walls, depicting scenes of Orcish devotion to their god, MOG. Gone were the ornate Naga imagery that once adorned the fortress; in their place were symbols of Orcish strength and determination. The air was alive with the sound of Orcs going about their daily tasks, the clang of metal against stone mingling with the howling of the wind.

With a shout of triumph, Gelbeg hurried forward, his heart filled with hope at the sight of his kin. Here, amidst the towering peaks of Acury, lay the sanctuary he had sought for Ionia. And though the journey had been long and perilous, Gelbeg knew that he had finally found the answers he sought, and perhaps, a glimmer of hope for the future of his people.

[warcraft-lore-archives]

A Timeline of the Sin’dorei People

Approx. 7,300 Years Before the Dark Portal Opens: The Highborne Exile

The Highborne, the forefathers of the blood elves, are exiled from kaldorei society for their unwillingness to desist in practicing the arcane arts. Led by Dath’Remar Sunstrider, they build a fleet of ships and set sail for the east, where they settle Tirisfal Glades some years later. This is when the Highborne begin to resemble their modern descendants, as their skin loses its violet color and they shrink in stature due to being cut off from the second Well of Eternity [World of Warcraft Chronicle Volume I, pg. 117-118].

Approx. 6,800 Years Before the Dark Portal Opens: The Founding of Quel’Thalas

Dath’Remar leads his people north after concluding that Tirisfal Glades is unsuitable for settlement as the land is suffused with dark energy that is slowly driving some of the Highborne insane [World of Warcraft Chronicle Volume I, pg. 118]. After an arduous journey, the Highborne establish the kingdom of Quel’Thalas and create the Sunwell on the northern tip of the Eastern Kingdoms. This is when Dath’Remar steps down as leader [World of Warcraft Chronicle Volume I, pg. 120-121].

In time, the Highborne of Quel’Thalas would eventually be known as the high elves [World of Warcraft Chronicle Volume I, pg. 120].

Approx. 2,800 Years Before the Dark Portal Opens: The Troll Wars

Dath’Remar’s great-grandson, Anasterian Sunstrider, comes to power [World of Warcraft Chronicle Volume I, pg. 121].

Although the high elves lead a prosperous kingdom, it is not without contest, for the land they are settled on originally belongs to the Amani trolls. During the time that would later be known as ‘The Troll Wars,’ the Amani launch aggressive, powerful attacks on the elven denizens of Quel’Thalas, forcing them to seek help from the nearby human kingdom of Strom [World of Warcraft Chronicle Volume I, pg. 129]. As part of a deal made between the two kingdoms, the high elves reluctantly instruct the humans in the ways of arcane magic in return for their assistance in fending off the trolls. As luck would have it, the one hundred human magi taught by the elves are instrumental in turning the conflict in their favor. The human and elves’ combined victory against the trolls indebts the high elves to Strom, which ultimately leads to them joining the Alliance a couple thousand years later during the Second War [World of Warcraft Chronicle Volume I, pg. 130-131].

Approx. 5 Years After the Dark Portal Opens: The Second War

The orcish invasion of Azeroth forces the humans to turn to the high elves for help, just as the latter did during the Troll Wars many centuries prior. Reluctantly, King Anasterian Sunstrider supplies the Alliance with a rather meager amount of high elven forces [World of Warcraft Chronicle Volume II, pg. 156-157].

Approx. 6 Years After the Dark Portal Opens: The Second War, Continued

The orcish Horde, now allies of the very Amani trolls that detest the high elves, encroach on the borders of the elven kingdom. They raze the countryside and use enslaved red dragons to burn down a portion of Quel’Thalas’ forest, drawing the wrath of the elven people. This event forces the high elves into the war and compels them to join the Alliance [World of Warcraft Chronicle Volume II, pg. 164].  

Approx. 15 – 18 Years After the Dark Portal Opens: Neutrality

Lady Katrana Prestor, the black dragon Onyxia in disguise, seeds the destruction of the Alliance and convinces nobles of various kingdoms that the orcish internment camps were a grave waste of money and time. The high elves, still ruled by King Anasterian Sunstrider, are the first to secede from the Alliance [World of Warcraft Chronicle Volume III, pg. 34, 90].  

Approx. 20 - 21 Years After the Dark Portal Opens: The Sunwell’s Fall

Sometime in the weeks leading up to the Third War, Lor’themar Theron is promoted to Ranger Lord of the Farstriders. Sylvanas Windrunner serves as Ranger General at this time [Blood of the Highborne, Chapter Two].

As the Third War begins, Arthas and his legion of undead march on Quel’Thalas in a quest for the Sunwell. With the aid of inside information provided to him by the elven magister Dar’Khan Drathir, Arthas overcomes Silvermoon City’s magical defenses and lays waste to the kingdom. He resurrects Kel’Thuzad as a lich in the Sunwell’s depths, inadvertently leading to the corruption of the magical fount [World of Warcraft Chronicle Volume III, pg. 61-62].

King Anasterian Sunstrider, considered elderly at this time, dies in battle while defending the Sunwell, passing on the leadership of the high elves to his son Kael’thas Sunstrider [World of Warcraft Chronicle Volume III, pg. 63, Blood of the Highborne, Chapter Two].

Although the Sunwell is not destroyed by Kel’Thuzad’s unholy resurrection, it has been polluted to such an extent that it will poison and eventually kill the very high elves it is sustaining. With that in mind, Prince Kael’thas Sunstrider makes the grave decision to destroy the Sunwell. Immediately after doing so, he renames his people the blood elves to honor the sacrifices of their fallen brethren [World of Warcraft Chronicle Volume III, pg. 88, Blood of the Highborne, Chapter Three].

Roughly ninety percent of the high elven population dies in Arthas’ conquest of Quel’Thalas [World of Warcraft Website: Blood Elf].

Approx. 21 Years After the Dark Portal Opens: Warcraft III

Prince Kael’thas Sunstrider departs from Quel’Thalas to aid the Alliance in the fight against the undead, leaving Lor’themar Theron to serve as regent lord in his absence [World of Warcraft Chronicle Volume III, pg. 90].

While fighting alongside the Alliance, Kael’thas and his regiment of blood elves are assigned to serve under Grand Marshal Othmar Garithos. Garithos, who harbors a deep resentment for the elven people, orders Kael’thas into such a perilous encounter with the undead that he is forced to accept help from the naga. This event reinforces Garithos’ distrust of the blood elves and leads to him imprisoning them in the dungeons of Dalaran. Prince Kael’thas and his followers eventually escape to Outland with the help of the naga [World of Warcraft Chronicle Volume III, pg. 93].

It is on this alien world that Illidan teaches Kael’thas and his blood elves how to siphon magic from objects, the environment, and creatures – including demons – as a way of feeding their magic addiction [World of Warcraft Chronicle Volume III, pg. 95, 139, The Warcraft Encyclopedia: Blood Elves]. One of Kael’thas’ most loyal followers, Grand Magister Rommath, is sent back to Azeroth to teach the rest of the blood elves how to drain magic [The Warcraft Encyclopedia: Blood Elves].

Kael’thas, hopeful that Illidan will find a permanent cure for his peoples’ addiction to magic, follows the demon hunter to Northrend where they intercept Arthas at the behest of Kil’jaeden. Unfortunately, Illidan suffers a grave defeat and departs. The victorious Lich King hunts down what remains of the blood elven forces and transforms them into San’layn to serve him [Page: Quel’Delar: The Sister Blade].

Approx. 21 – 22 Years After the Dark Portal Opens: Exile of the High Elves

Lor’themar Theron, unwilling to lead a divided nation, decides to exile the high elves for their refusal to feed their addiction by draining magic from living creatures [Short Story: In the Shadow of the Sun].*

Approx. 25 - 26 Years After the Dark Portal Opens: Events Leading up to The Burning Crusade

On Azeroth, the blood elves subjugate a naaru sent to them by Prince Kael’thas. A small organization, known as the Blood Knights, bend the naaru to their will, allowing them to wield the Light at their discretion, although doing so proves to be exceptionally painful [World of Warcraft Chronicle Volume III, pg. 145, Blood of the Highborne: Chapter Four].  

It is also at this time that Lor’themar Theron begins engaging in negotiations to join the Horde. In desperate need of allies and skeptical that the Alliance will offer them any aid after what happened at Dalaran during the Third War, Lor’themar turns to Warchief Thrall and his former friend, Sylvanas Windrunner [World of Warcraft Chronicle Volume III, pg. 150, Blood of the Highborne: Chapter Four]. By the start of the Burning Crusade, the blood elves officially join the Horde [World of Warcraft Chronicle Volume III, pg. 151].

On Outland, a faction of Kael’thas’ best and brightest magi desert after their leader Voren’thal has a vision that the naaru, not Kael’thas, will be the blood elves’ salvation. The Scryers, as they are called, take up refuge in Shattrath and aid the Alliance and Horde in battle against the Burning Legion [Quest: City of Light, World of Warcraft Chronicle Volume III, pg. 141].

Approx. 26 Years After the Dark Portal Opens: The End of the Sunstrider Dynasty

When the blood elves venture from Azeroth to Outland, they are dismayed to discover that their prince has succumbed to the seductive lure of fel magic and formed a pact with their enemy, the Burning Legion. His actions alienate his people and all but solidify Lor’themar Theron’s position as the official ruler of the blood elves [World of Warcraft Chronicle Volume III, pg. 156].

Kael’thas, well under the sway of Kil’jaeden by this point, invades Quel’Danas with the intent to reignite the Sunwell and use it as a portal to bring his demonic master into the world. Together, the Horde and Alliance invade Sunwell Plateau and put an end to the corrupt Sunstrider prince for good.

Much like during the Third War, the newly reborn Sunwell is made corrupt by Kael’thas’ actions. However, the magical fount is purified by the heart of M’uru, the very naaru that the blood elves enslaved a year prior. The Sunwell’s restoration finally puts an end to their magical cravings [World of Warcraft Chronicle Volume III, pg. 159].

At some point, Umbric and his followers are exiled from Silvermoon City for their exploration of void magic [Quest: The Ghostlands, Quest: Telogrus Rift, NPC: Magister Umbric Dialogue].**

Approx. 30 Years After the Dark Portal Opens: Mists of Pandaria

Regent Lord Lor’themar Theron initiates conversations with King Varian Wrynn about possibly rejoining the Alliance. However, the events leading up to the Purge of Dalaran put an abrupt end to their negotiations, as the blood elven Sunreavers are held responsible for stealing the Divine Bell from Darnassus [Page: Lor’themar Theron].

The Sunreavers exiled from Dalaran by Jaina Proudmoore become a central force in the fight against Lei Shen on Thunder Isle [Page: Sunreaver Onslaught].

 -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

* In “In the Shadow of the Sun,” Lor’themar says he exiled the high elves five years prior. Since the short story takes place right after the events at Sunwell Plateau and Chronicle states that The Burning Crusade covered the entirety of year 26, it’s assumed that Lor’themar exiled the high elves around this time.

** It’s never stated exactly when Umbric and his group of elves left Silvermoon City, although it appears to have been at least a few years ago, since he says, “We’ve been working for years to comprehend the powers the void might provide” [Quest: Telogrus Rift]. Given that his research into the void was said to be a threat to the Sunwell, it’s possible he was exiled after the Sunwell was restored during The Burning Crusade [Quest: Remember the Sunwell]. However, because of Rommath’s vague wording, it’s just as likely that Umbric was exiled any time after the Third War.