#roiya shadowpaw

[graceintheshadows]

A letter to Etharion Longsight - 19 November

The letter arrives sealed and spelled against tampering though not against travel-wear. It’s a bit darkened at the edges and where various hands must have held the outer envelope and seems too heavy for it to just be a letter within. The pages within, however, are relatively clean except for the occasional smudge of ink and the mark of Roiya’s own fingers at one point, seemingly covered in ash. Enclosed is what appears to be some kind of beacon, wafer-thin but sturdy, etched with arcane runes.

Eth,

I hope this finds you and yours well. As I imagine you can tell from the envelope, I’ve once again utterly failed at remaining retired. I suppose you’re wholly unsurprised. This of course assumes that you’re the one reading this and not some spy or otherwise somewhere. That ranger assured me that he had a safe method of ensuring that this letter made it safely and discretely to you, though, and given his association with a former apprentice of mine, I’m willing to take him at his word.

Keydyn and I—and Aekatrine, Nikus, Lyyn, and Quin as well—deployed with forces out of Stormwind after Dalaran fell. I know, I know. I said I was done and I repeated as much to Keydyn, but he was right when he said they might need us. We were recalled by the Argent Crusade to Stormwind from our posting in the north and one thing led to another. I don’t know what conversations have been had with SI:7–and that lack of knowledge is why I’ve sent this outside of the normal channels—about anything, but we’re in Hallowfall now. It’s shades of Icecrown back in those old days. I feel both younger and ancient all at once, being here.

Have you heard much of what’s been happening out there in Khaz Algar? I’m curious of what’s been leaking out, though I suppose given your location you may hear even less than the common folk on the streets in one of the cities or even in a village. I’ve half thought of writing to anyone who may still be at Aerie Peak, but I doubt any would care to hear from me, if they’re even still there.

It’s been a long time, hasn’t it? It seems it.

I’ve been remiss in coming to see you these past years. My own failing. I hope you and yours are well. Perhaps when I see you next—and I believe that I will, it’s just a matter of when���I’ll tell you how my son and his cousin pretended they were going to visit you and instead snuck off to Quel’thalas. It’s a long story, all of it, but I think it will make you worry and laugh at the same time.

Most of us have left them—the children—in Stormwind with the Earl of Ware and his wife. They’re older now, more responsible—but also quite apt to find fresh trouble. I worry about them because I know the sort of people they’ve come from. They’re too clever, but so are Lord Sam and Lady Mina. I’m sure it will be fine. There are only so many places they can sneak off to to find trouble, right?

Besides, we have problems enough here.

Nerubians, Eth. They called us here because between us all, we have a century and more of fighting nerubians under our belts. I don’t know what all of this means, not yet. It’s related to something far larger, I can feel it in my bones, but the Temple’s silent.

The Temple is silent on a great deal these days. Ten thousand years is a long time, I suppose, and at some point you would think I’d begin to trust my own counsel. And yet, sometimes I still look there—but I don’t have to, do I? Perhaps I never did.

It’s a strange place, this Hallowfall. The kind of place that makes you ask questions you’d not asked before. And yet, it reminds me of other places that have taught me important lessons over this long life of mine. I do wonder what it will teach me this time.

Be safe. I hope to hear from you soon, and to see you before this is over. Be well, my friend, my brother.

- Roiya.

[ @etharion ]

[isryael]

The Hunt - Confessional

“Don’t you love me?”

The elder kaldorei turned toward her, brow furrowing even as her jaw went slack.  “Oh.  Oh, Moonbeam, of course I love you.  Of course. It’s just—you’re all I have of your father, Kaede.”

“Is that why?”  She stopped fidgeting with her hymnal, eyes shimmering as she watched her mother, watched the elder woman’s face.  “Is that why you—why you gave me to the temple?”

Her mother shook her head slowly, tears shining in her eyes as she came to kneel beside her.  “No,” she whispered.  “No, I gave you to them because I knew they’d keep you far safer than I could.”

“Is what you and Uncle Nikus do really so dangerous?”  She caught her lower lip between her teeth.  “Mamau, why can’t I come with you? You know they’ve trained me to defend myself.  I could help.”

There a hesitation, then her mother shook her head, hard.  “No,” she whispered.  “No, no, I couldn’t.  I can’t risk you like that.”  Her mother’s hands were cold against her cheeks, rough and calloused.  She felt her eyes stinging.

Why wouldn’t she let her help?  She was capable, wasn’t she?

“It’s not risking me if I want it, Mamau,” she said quietly. “Please.”

Her mother squeezed her eyes shut, resting her forehead against her daughter’s.  Her mother’s arms closed around her.  She settled into that embrace, tears starting to stream down her cheeks.

Then her mother was gone.

“Kaede!  Kaede! Wake up.”

With a quiet, gasping breath, she jerked awake, blinking up at Isryael.  “What?  What is it? Do we need to move?  Have we—”

“No,” Isryael said, her voice quieter now as she moved back toward the fire, stirring the embers and adding another log.  “No, you were calling out in your sleep.”  Her gaze strayed toward their companion, fast asleep a few feet away, breathing deep and even, his eyes sunken shadows in a weathered face that still seemed impossibly young.  Kaede followed her friend’s gaze, sitting up slowly and exhaling a sigh.

Was I ever so young?  She drew her blanket around her shoulders like a shawl.  “Calling out for what?”

“Not what, who.” Isryael settled into her spot near the fire, her eyes gleaming in its light.  “You were calling for Shadowgrace.”

Kaede closed her eyes, shivering slightly.  “I was having a dream.”  She stood up from her bedroll, padding across the stone floor of their shelter to where their companion slept, crouching to tuck his blanket and cloak higher over his shoulder.  It had only been a few days since he’d started to actually tend their horses every time they stopped and to water and saddle them in the mornings before they started riding again.  He hadn’t breathed another word since that night he’d asked for more coffee, but she had to believe that whatever harm she’d done would heal with time.

If it didn’t, she was as much of a monster as they’d ever accused her of being.

“Are you all right?” Isryael asked softly.

“Are you?” Kaede countered, straightening and skewering the death knight with a narrow-eyed stare. “You’ve been paranoid and more taciturn than usual lately.”

Isryael stared into the fire for a few moments, her brow furrowing, lips set in a line.  Kaede shook her head, exhaling a testy sigh.

“Fine.  Don’t tell me.  Let it fester like a sore.”

“It’s not that,” Isryael said, looking at her.  “I wasn’t sure if I should tell you.”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

“Because it has no bearing on what we’re about.”

Kaede frowned, crossing her arms as she paced back toward her bedroll.  “And what, pray tell, are we about these days?  Other than dodging everyone and everything while we wait for that poor boy to sort his gray matter out again so I don’t end up facing a hangman’s noose or worse?”

“You say that like you’d want to die.”

“As I said, it would be good penance for all shit I’ve put people through and all the blood on my hands, wouldn’t it?”

“I don’t want you to die,” Isryael said, then looked at the fire again.  “So stop it.”

“Fine.”  Kaede sank back down to her bedroll, curling on her side but facing her friend.  “So what is bothering you?”

“When I went to the Argent camp for supplies, I heard some things,” Isryael said softly, staring at the flames.  Wind whistled quietly past the entrance to the small cave where they sheltered, a favorite haven of Isryael’s in her common sojourns across the northern reaches of the Dragonblight.  “There are reports of untethered Scourge.”

“Untethered Scourge,” Kaede echoed.  “What does that even mean?”

“Scourge that aren’t being controlled by the Lich King—not properly, anyway.”

“I thought that was the Forsaken were.”

“No,” Isryael said. “Not technically.  These are—these are Scourge that follow no master that’s discernable, at least not yet.  It’s hard to say.  It’s mostly just scattered reports and rumors, some unsubstantiated.”  She hesitated, her voice growing quieter. “They asked me to keep my eyes open. They’re worried, Kaede.  I’ve not seen them worried like this in a long while.”

“Worried,” Kaede said softly.  “About maybe a few Scourge wandering around uncontrolled?”

Isryael nodded. “Aye.”

“What does it mean?”

“That’s the problem. It could mean anything.” Isryael’s jaw tightened.  “And none of that anything is good.”

“So we need to be careful,” Kaede said.

Isryael nodded again.

“Then we will be.” Kaede wrapped herself tighter in her blanket.  “Perhaps we should go to Outland after all?”

Isryael choked and shook her head.  “Do you really think that’s a good idea?”

“No, likely not,” Kaede said, one corner of her mouth quirking toward a smile.  “But is an option, isn’t it?  If things get too dangerous here?”

“Too dangerous,” Isryael echoed.  “As if that was ever something in your vocabulary.”

Kaede didn’t answer, her throat growing tight for a moment.  She convinced herself that her eyes had begun to sting because of the fire’s smoke and nothing more.

Isryael sighed after a few seconds, settling in again.  “I’m sorry I woke you.”

“Don’t be,” Kaede said faintly.  “I wouldn’t want to wake him.”

Isryael glanced toward him, then back to the fire, nodding slowly.  “Nor I.”

“Then we’re agreed.”

“Yes.”

Kaede took a slow breath. “I’m going to go back to sleep. Good-night, Isryael.”

“Good-night, Kaede. Sweet dreams.”

Maybe, she thought as she closed her eyes.

Maybe.

[incompetentwizard]

??? (For Roiya, Quin, and Lyyn)

Quin: “A healer, and perhaps something more, but I’ve yet to see it. Good at what she does. Probably not worth watching.”

Lyyn: “A clever one, to be sure, and I get the feeling that she is just a bit too interested in the business of others. Still, as long as she keeps out of mine, I’ll have no issue with her.”

Roiya: “Ah, the Commander of few words and fewer actions. For one who has lived a great many years, she strikes me as far too much of a bleeding heart for my tastes. The others occasionally seem intimidated by her, Frovelos in particular, but I’ve yet to see anything from Shadowpaw that has truly impressed me. Still, it would be best to keep my distance. I’ve no doubt that ours is a mutual distrust.”

@graceintheshadows

[lordaeronslost]

??? (-Sky) for any or all.

From Arcavius:"I can't say I know her well, but Quin told me about the way Shadowpaw was after Karazhan and after everyone thought she'd been killed. Guess she must be something special if Roiya cried like that."From Quin:"Oh man. A friend, for sure, and one of those allies Lyyn and I can always count on to help get a certain someone out of trouble--unless we're landing in it together. Still, though...I wish she and Cere could find some way to work things out. The way things are isn't fair to either of them."From Lyyn:The spy cackles in a good way. "Trouble walking, but aren't all of us? Love her to pieces."From Jude:"Sometimes I look at her and wonder if that's what Shadowpaw would have been if she didn't join the priesthood...or what the Mistwraith would have been if her mother had actually raised her."@shadewhisper

[steelshatter]

Libram of Ages - Dec. 22

These past few days have been a whirlwind nightmare of absolutely horrible thoughts and feelings, and yet I’ve emerged intact, and I think better than I was before.  This time of year is always rough on me, what with my parents’ deaths at the hands of Trolls weighing on my mind.  Of course, Aren, my Gryphon, legacy of my father’s own mount, getting injured did not help things.  Damnable Forsaken... when this furlough is over, I fully intend on discussing their continued existence with the Commander.

On top of that, the letter I had received from Wyn was a bit more than I could handle.  I had truly hoped that there was still room in her heart for me, as she will always have a place in mine.  It seems, however, that while she does still have a whit of care about me, her heart belongs to another.  I cannot fault her for this, as it’s been years since we’d seen each other before our surprising rendezvous in Icecrown.  While I do wish her well, and will surely need to send her a reply, it could not have come at a worse moment.  

On top of that, the knowledge that Jude readily employs spies throughout Azeroth was more than a tad disconcerting.  I understand that it comes with the territory of her position, but I’ve never been one for that style of subterfuge.  If you’re going to stab someone in the back, it’s easier to do it under the cover of dark, rather than prolonging it.

What was worse was when I removed my shirt while exiting the forge.  My scars were fully visible, which set Jude into a slight... panic.  I assured her that I had no intention of committing the same mistake.  A lie, but a kind lie, the sweetest reassurance that everything was okay.

However, the mistake I made was speaking with Lucy about the same, I had thought in private, while readily admitting that it was is something I still struggle with.  Apparently, M had been privy to the conversation, and called me out for my lie.  Amidst my panic, I ran from both M and Jude, running to Northrend as fast as my Hearthstone and legs would carry me.  I had hopped the first gryphon out of Dalaran, but...

Unfortunately, it put me right in Valiance Harbor.  Which is the home of Quin.  Not wanting to deal with that, I got a second gryphon to the Argent Tournament.  Climbing the tower near the main command tent of the Crusade, I stood at the edge for a long moment...

I sincerely considered jumping off, I readily admit that.  It would have been so easy to just throw myself off the tower, and no longer deal with anything.  I chose instead to turn and walk away... and that would be when Icecrown truly earned its name with me.  I slipped on ice, and smacked my crown on the edge of the platform as I tumbled off the tower.

I awoke to Quin healing me as best she could.  Jude sent her to check up on me. (Note to self, send both flowers.)  After a long... depressing conversation, Quin said something that broke me down, and left me hurt.  Another long conversation later, and I finally slept.

The following day was the Party for the Servitors, and I was still unsure of what I was going to do.  I sat on the roof of Misty Pine and played my lute for a while, to entertain the guests below.  I’m going to bulletpoint the following events.

- Got the look of disdain from M.

- Had a brief conversation with Roiya.

- Had a long conversation with the Commander, regarding my use of Hand of Sacrifice.

- Had a longer conversation with the Commander, giving him a full report of my activities over the past week.

- Was assured that I would not be punished for my actions.

- Finally went to the party.

- Received Automated Pitch Pipe from M. (Note to self, don’t forget to sharpen sword and dagger for practice with her.)

- Got permission from both M and Roiya to use their sigils for something important.

- Got permission from both Jude and Quin for the same.

It is well past time to let go of the sins of the past.  I met with Marlowe, a wondrous tattoo artist.  Roiya, Quin, Jude, and M’s sigils now cover the scars of my right arm, as a reminder to keep strong, to not forget that there are people who expect the best out of me.  I fully intend to do so.

[lirrenstoneforge]

Field Journal: Entry #2

[[The following is an audio recording]]

*Rustling and the sound of wood scraping on stone*

Testing, testing...oh, I think its working! At least, I suppose that's what this light means.

*More rustling*

I've never done this before, its a bit awkward, isn't it? Feels like I'm talking to myself. Which I suppose I am. At any rate, its preferable to trying to write. I'll probably be out of commission with that for a good few days, and I'd like to get a start on recording what happened in the Ghostlands.

*A gentle, dull thud of a mug being set down on a wooden table*

We met at the Northpass Tower in the Eastern Plaguelands. I chartered a gryphon to fly me directly to the tower; I didn't fancy trying to take Garrod through that Light-forsaken place. I'd only seen pictures of it before. Lets just say that I was much happier to be a few hundred feet above all of it!

I had the opportunity to meet a few more members of the Servitors. The leader of the expedition was Roiya Shadowpaw, whom I recognized but couldn't recall if we'd been formally introduced. She looked as though she needed a week's worth of bedrest and brandy to set her right. Don't know why she was headin' out into the field, still gettin' over an illness. Perhaps the Servitors are a bit shorthanded? I wouldn't be surprised, given that some of 'em are disembarked on missions in Draenor.  Ah, where was I?

*A light cough and a pause, followed by a gentle thud of the mug*

I recognized one of the gnomes, Reminial Rooknook. Seen her at the hearth about a fortnight or so ago. She's friendly enough, but I can't help but feel uneasy around her. Can't put my finger on it just yet. Didn't help matters that she summoned a skeletal demonic horse from one of the dimensional hells out there...but to each his own, I suppose. The other gnome I hadn't met before, named Seda Artec. Really hard to read that one, monotone voice and face covered in armour. At least she didn't summon a demonic mount. Lastly there was another new recruit, went by Frovelos. He seemed eager, apparently had just joined the day before. I was relieved to have another newbie along, moral support and all that. Though he seemed very competent and used to operating in a covert group.

The ride into the Ghostlands was uneventful, though I was fairly certain I spotted a group of shambling undead just over one of the hills beside the road. We went through the mountain pass that connects the Eastern Plaguelands to the Ghostlands and came upon the ancient entry gates. They are a right mess, I tell ya, torn banners and broken wagon parts all over the place. The whole area had an air of neglect and sorrow; chilled me right to the bones. You'd think they'd set about tidying up a bit by now, but apparently elves aren't ones for rapid recoveries.

*sound of wood creaking as she shifts in her chair*

It must've been a beautiful land before the Scourge invaded. Now its all deadwood and moss, dark and gloomy and fit for the corpses that inhabit the place. Speaking of which, the Dead Scar is absolutely horrendous. I can't imagine they'll ever be able to get rid of that disgusting trench. There's still a number of monstrosities wandering through there. Saw my first abomination, and very nearly tossed up my lunch onto poor Garrod's head. Thankfully it didn't notice us, and I'm tryin' real hard to forget what it looked like. Pure nightmare fodder, that is.

We veered away from the Dead Scar, heading more into the forests to the west. Surprisingly we spotted a small encampment with a few sindorei on our way. We were lucky they didn't take notice of us. We left our mounts a safe distance from them and started to pick our way through the underbrush on foot. It wasn't long before I nearly had a heart attack. I heard a noise behind us, and whipped around to see what ghastly beast was about to eat us for dinner. Instead I saw a young elf darting away behind a tree! She must've been with the encampment, and Roiya - I don't rightly know her title, unfortunately, I'll have to ask her - did something to her to slow her down. I'm trying my best to not think about that, either. After some debate we decided to simply leave her sleeping here, and hope that she was unconscious for long enough to allow us to find the book and get out of there. We didn't particularly want to spark an international dispute, accusations of treachery and infiltrating Sindorei lands, all that nonsense. I wonder if she told on us, but no one believed her...

Approaching the Windrunner Village I couldn't shake the feeling of dread. The combination of the moody sky and oppressive atmosphere with the abandoned village was plain unsettling. We were able to find a building that was probably once a library, and seemed a likely spot to search. Only problem was a revolting pile of fungus at the entryway. More of the fungus was inside the building. Once we were all inside, that was when all hell broke loose.

Fungus dropped from the ceiling, landing on nearly all of us. And the damned shit was caustic! Oh, that burned like that time I tripped and fell on the hot coals of the forge in my da's workshop, only this time my face and shoulders and arms were practically on fire as well. Luckily I managed to sling most of it off, but not before my poor hands took the brunt of the burning goo. And wouldn't you know it, the Light-forsaken crap was mobile! Seemed to suck itself back together, and was moving of its own volition. I should really write a missive to one of the scientific papers, see if they know about it --

*A pause and an impatient sigh*

--Except this was a covert mission. Dang it. Ah well, its not like I really understood what was going on with that mutant fungus. At any rate, we managed to get the fungus off of everyone and frantically searched for the book before it could attack us again. Reminial managed to find the text and we all bolted out the front door; not before it nearly killed us all with asphyxiation from a gigantic gas bubble it released.

*An incredulous chuckle*

What a way to start my experience with the Servitors. A gigantic farting caustic fungus and a book that is probably horribly illegal to own.  And what of their opinion of this new recruit? Injured on the very first mission I embark on! I suppose we achieved our objective, so at least it wasn't a failed mission. Light above, this device is telling me I've rambled on for nearly fifteen minutes! I'm going to have to edit aggressively --

*the recording ends abruptly*

[graceintheshadows]

Lucky ones - Part 2

[see @lordaeronslost for part 1]

The dagger gleamed on the coverlet, polished gunmetal with the smallest hints of blued steel showing through, like stars in the night sky.  The moonstone in the pommel glowed dimly, like Elune set high on a winter night.  The pieces that matched it were laid out to either side and she stood at the edge their bed, staring at the weapons laid out across the blankets.

“Roiya.”

She nearly flinched at the gentleness in her husband’s voice, wondering how many times he’d said her name before she’d heard.  The distraction—no matter the source—that had swallowed her whole was unforgivable.

I’ve gotten soft.  Perhaps dangerously so.

Of course, that had been by design.

“We’re sure they’re safely settled?”  She half-turned toward Keydyn, her brows knitting.  “That nothing will—”

“Siryn will be with them this time,” her husband said, setting aside his whetstone boot dagger.  “And Lord Sam and Lady Mina will be there, too.  They’ll be fine while the rest of us—”

“That’s what we’ve said a dozen times,” the priestess said with a deep sigh.  “More than that, even.  And sometimes it hasn’t been that way.  It hasn’t been fine.”  Her lips thinned slightly as Keydyn’s hands settled on her arms.  For a moment, she squeezed her eyes shut.

“What’s really bothering you?” he whispered.  “It’s not as if you’re actually capable of staying retired.  You’ve tried three times and it hasn’t stuck.”

“This could have been the time,” she said with the barest trace of wry humor.  A lump built in her throat and she stepped closer, leaning into his chest and inhaling the scent of woodsmoke and leather.  “I just thought—I thought it would be different.  This wasn’t in my plan.”

“What was?”  Keydyn rested his cheek against her temple, wrapping both arms around her as her head settled against his shoulder.  “Were you intending to go out hunting for—”

“Yes,” she whispered.  “No.  I don’t know—maybe I was.  Maybe I was going to make a request of someone to—to do it.”

“We knew that something bad was going to happen,” he said softly.  “The minute Jude got that letter, we knew.  I suspect you knew sooner than that.  Did he...?”

She nodded slightly.  “He did, but the warning wasn’t as stark.  I don’t know why.  Maybe he expected me to be able to glean more information from what wasn’t in the note than I did.  Perhaps he thought Elune would grant me insight.  Damned if I know.”

“Do you think he’ll join us?  Be called up like we are?”

Roiya took a slow, deep breath and shook her head.  “I don’t know.  Based on everything I know, I’d assume that he has duties that will keep him closer to home and considering that we don’t know exactly what kind of situation we’re going to be walking into...no.  No, Keydyn, I don’t think they’ll be calling him up soon.  Not unless he comes as a volunteer.”

“While the rest of us are voluntold.”  He shot her a grin and pressed a kiss to her jaw, then feather-light one to her lips.  “At least we get to go into this with family.  Speaking of, are you ready to eat?  I heard a rumor about one last big meal tonight before we have to finish making ready.”

“A last breath before the storm,” Roiya said softly, glancing back at the weapons laid out on the coverlet.  “Hopefully they’ll be able to see us off from Stormwind.”

“I’m sure that arrangements are already in the works,” Keydyn said, squeezing her one more time before he released her.  “Does she know?”

Her eyes fluttered shut and she sighed.  She knew who he meant.

She shook her head.  “No.  But by morning, she will.  Would you like me to...?”

“I’ll have something to send with yours just after dinner.”

Roiya nodded, letting one hand trail down his arm until their fingers wove together.  “We’ll make time,” she said softly.  “To make up for it.  The three of us.”

“And then the five of us,” he said softly, fingers tightening for a moment.  “This time, you’re stuck with me, Roiya Shadowpaw.  Whether you like it or not.”

The ghost of a grin curved her lips as she stared back at him.  “Bold of you to assume that I’m the one stuck, Keydyn Silverstag.  I am far more of a handful than you are.”

The ranger laughed and dragged her close again, slinging his arm across her shoulders.  “We’ll see about that.”

“Will we?”

“Certainly.  And so will any damn spider that tries to come between us.”

“Hell.  Any fate that tries to come between us.”  She reached up to run her fingers along his cheek and jaw.  “I love you.  You know that.”

“I know,” he agreed.  “And you know the same of me.  I came back from the dead for you.”

“You came back from the Dream for me.”

One corner of his mouth kicked up into a smirk.  “A little bit of both.  At least that’s how Nikus explains it.”

“Speaking of—he’s coming with us, isn’t he?”

Keydyn frowned, glancing toward the door.  “That’s the impression I got, but you know him.”

“I certainly do.  We both do.  But this—”

“I know.  We’ll have to see.  Have to find out.”

“Yes,” she said softly.  “Yes, we will.”

She didn’t like the idea of the druid staying behind.  They’d need both he and his daughter both in the field as healers at the very least, regardless of the magnitude of what they’d end up facing.  That was still an unknown beyond knowing that it would be nerubians.

To what end and what fresh war they were walking into, the priestess-assassin known as Shadowgrace wasn’t certain.  All she knew was that after three attempts at retirement, she was headed out again to war.

[graceintheshadows]

What is a habit your muse has, which they consider perfectly normal, but others think is weird?

What is your muse's favorite food dish? Are they able to make it themselves?

In what ways does your muse express their love to someone else (platonic, familial, romantic, sexual or otherwise)?

Oooh, these are hard ones.

Okay. Roiya has a habit of doing a bit of lurking just out of normal sight. She's convinced that doing this is a normal thing that people do when they're watching and/or listening to a conversation but not ready to join yet. Luckily, she's been around the block enough times the past couple of decades to no longer get offended when people tell her it's creepy, but not enough that she's been able to break the habit.

Roast venison with potatoes. She's fully capable of making it herself but she's convinced that it tastes better when one of her boys (either her husband or Nikus) makes it. Second is kimchi, which she can make but someone else's is her favorite.

Touch. It's all about how the touch comes, though--the brush of lips, the lifting of hair back from someone's face, the squeeze of a hand, an arm around shoulders. When she was being trained at the Temple all those centuries ago, Roiya didn't get a lot of caring touch, but she sure as hell learned to associate it with caring for someone (we all have Keydyn, Nikus, and Ildanan to thank for that).

[graceintheshadows]

A whisper of a tale

There is a story among the kaldorei, a tale so old, now, that few care to remember.  No one knows where it came from or why the Temple tried to silence it after the war ended.  It was whisper, was warning.  It spoke of a nameless fear that was all too real then and perhaps—perhaps—is all too real now.

We have always known the shadows.  There is not a time in my memory when we have not, nor was there a time in the memory of my mother, or her mother.  Elune has chosen some of us to walk among them, shielded us in our work.  Some of us walk still in Her favor.

Some of us fell from Her grace.

The tale we have forgotten is a tale of what can happen when one reaches too far and too deep.  When one forgets.

Goddess help us in the dark hours that are to come for we have forgotten what happens when the dark whispers come and we answer them with an open heart.

A priestess did that once—listened to their whispers.  When the void called, she answered.  Some versions say she thought it was Elune’s voice.  Others leave it unspoken.

The Old Gods whispered to them she went—pliant and willing, a blade forged by Elune turned to their dark purpose.

Goddess help us all if she has survived after all these centuries.

Goddess help us if she trained any to follow her after she fell.

[graceintheshadows]

An ending

She stared at the paperwork for a last few moments.  The assignment, at this point, had come as no surprise—she had been in Nazjatar more often than hadn’t been of late.  Before the seas had opened up, she had been considering retirement again.  It had seemed time.

Elune—and the Alliance—had other plans, it seemed.

Either way, it was time.

She stacked the paperwork neatly on one corner of the desk.  It seemed so impersonal, now.  Cleaning had not taken all that long, all things considered.  Perhaps before she deployed she would swing out to Etharion and Thoran’s farm, just to see how things were.

To see how things were and tell him personally that she had been called up, that things had changed.

She folded the tabard neatly, smoothed a hand over the lion embroidered in gold.  Roiya smiled faintly, laying next to it her signet and aiglette.

It was time.

She slipped the key from her ring of them and laid it with the rest.  She walked to the door, pausing to whisper a prayer.  The protections on the office that she’d laid so long ago faded slowly, erased without a trace.  It would be up to the next occupant to lay new ones of their own.

Then, she stepped out, murmuring softly to no one and to all of them—though they weren’t there to hear it.

“Good-bye.”

[graceintheshadows]

The Last Hours of Teldrassil: Shadowgrace

Smoke clogged her throat, stung her eyes.  It was hard to breathe, but she couldn’t stop.  She had to keep going.  There were too many people there, too many that couldn’t escape without help and there would not be enough help.

She abandoned us.

It had been a blip on a subchannel, word that Tyrande had reached Stormwind with Malfurion Stormrage. That, if nothing else, would have driven her to at least try to reach the city before all was lost—for she knew in her heart of hears that all was lost—but she still had to try.  Someone had to try, as their high priestess had seemingly abandoned them.

Elune, light and love incarnate, watch over your children as we face the darkest shadows of our lives.

Her eyes stung as she wrapped a strip torn from her cloak over her mouth and nose to help mitigate the smoke.  Her ribs ached and she knew she was bleeding—the last moments as they grew close to Rut’theran before it was obliterated by a falling limb of the great tree had not been kind—and for a second Roiya was glad that the cloth was still damp with saltwater from the sea.  It would help for a time, at least.

Why had they been so keen to follow her into this hell?

Goddess have mercy on them.  Goddess have mercy on me.

She sucked in a breath, barely managing not to cough, and plunged deeper into the billowing smoke. Her boots echoed hollow on the stones, the sound muted by the roar of flames, of heat-driven wind, of the screams of the trapped and the dying.

Burning was a terrible way to die.

She dropped her shoulder into a burning door.  The wood splintered, ash and embers spiraling around her, melding with the shadows swirling around her.

I am shadow, your hand in dark places.  Elune, watch over me and help me to save your people as I walk in the shadows of Your light.

“Come!” she barked at the family huddled inside, reaching a hand out to them.  “Hurry!  There are portals at the temple.  Hurry.”

They hesitated for a moment too long.  She plunged deeper into the cottage.

“You need to go,” she said urgently.  “There is no time.”

“You’re Shadowgrace,” the elder of the three women inside said, her voice a raw but hushed whisper. “What are you doing here?  Our world is dying.”

“Elune commands, and I obey,” Roiya said, gentling her tone and swallowing the cough that threatened. “Our people are dying.  Where else would I be if not saving them?”

The woman’s eyes glimmered, tears there not only from the smoke.  She swallowed, nodding hard, clutching a girl of perhaps ten against her chest.

“Go,” Roiya whispered, her voice almost lost to the crackling and the screams, the rushing wind and the sound of falling debris.  “Please.”

The woman nodded, gathering her child, the others with her fleeing out into the plaza in her wake.

Her own eyes stinging, Roiya coughed once, then again, hard.  For a second, her vision dimmed.

Elune, please.  Do not forsake me—do not forsake us.

The cottage creaked. A whispered curse escaped her lips as a beam came down in a cloud of embers and sparks like fireflies in the summer air.  The sound of its crash left her ears ringing and she stumbled out into the streets of Darnassus, into the streets of a dying, burning city.

There would not be time to save them all, but she would die trying.

[graceintheshadows]

Book of Grace - 31 March

Goddess watch over us on this shattered beachhead.  We’re within view of that damned place and I can feel my hackles rising just thinking of it. We’ve been here for two nights and a day; the Illidari requested our assistance in defending a toehold here. They call it Vengeance Point.

I don’t know what I would call it, so I suppose that’s as good a name as any.

We help them turn back the Legion’s assaults against our camp, try to help ward the place, to build something akin to defenses.  One would think that bastard would have learned the utility of walls somewhere along the line and taught his followers the same.

I shouldn’t speak ill, much less set it down here, but I know it comes from a place of frustration and restlessness.  When they returned, I was in Suramar, working with the volunteers there.  For as wrong as everything seems there now, in some ways it still felt right and familiar.  I recognized the ache inside me that had been covered over and buried for so long.  For better or worse, Suramar was my home.

Was my home.

<A few drops and a smear of ink mark the page, as if the writer paused here or was otherwise interrupted.>

I don’t know that I can keep them safe out here in the field.  I want to. I want to make everything better, I want them to walk away from this stronger and with a future that they can look forward to—I want them to have futures even at the cost of my own.

Fro shoved his fist halfway down a demon’s throat, trying to keep a grip on his blade.  It was a mangled mess by the time all was said and done and thank Elune that Z and I were able to mend it with Ah’lam’s assistance.  I don’t think Sky has slept since we’ve been here and that worries me.  I know she fears the nightmares that could come and I know we’re close to the place where she was held, the place she escaped from, and that will only make the fear worse.

I tried to reassure her, but I don’t know if it helped.

Goddess watch over us.  I don’t know what to do anymore.

I don’t.

[Mentions: @vindicatorz; @shadewhisper]

[graceintheshadows]

Book of Grace - 6 April

I am still trying to sort through what happened last night.  I keep looking at his tabard, at the other trappings of the office.

Of the three of us, he gave them to me.  To me.

Why?

I don’t know that I can wear it—I don’t know that I ever could.  There is a part of me who would feel wrong in doing it.  My heart aches at the thought.

No.  I think the three of us will just update the trim on our tabards and that will be that.  That is his tabard, will always be his tabard.

He is one of us, will be one of us, forever.  He is a part of each of us.

There is so much I wanted to say, but the words would not come.  Words seem poor to express the wellspring of emotions, of memories and feelings and thoughts and actions.  They are not adequate to express the experiences of the past few years.

Has it only been a few years?  A drop in the bucket of a lifetime as long as my own, and yet…

And yet.

I will miss him dearly.

I write as if he’s dead. Intellectually, I know he’s not, but my heart still aches like he was.

Nothing will be the same now that he’s stepped down.

Goddess help us all.

I will leave the tabard here when I go back to the Broken Shore, safely secured, like Fro’s scarf from Masana.

It is a thing I can’t bear to lose.

[graceintheshadows]

Archetype

Tagged by @steelshatter

MEET YOUR ARCHETYPES

The Spiritual seeks a deeper meaning. For them, the journey of faith is never-ending. Thoughtful and compassionate, they have a strong sense of moral obligation.

The Advocate is the one everyone wants on their side. In the name of justice, they are not afraid to challenge authority or speak up for others.

Friendly, sincere, and compassionate, the Caregiver finds their reward in helping others. No one could ask for a better best friend.

50% Spiritual

28% Advocate

22% Caregiver

I am not going to subject anyone else to this at this time...

[graceintheshadows]

Book of Grace - 21 January

At some point, I will learn better.  I will know better than to internalize problems that are not my own, I will learn to quell the ache that rises inside when I see the people I care about suffering. I know that was a lesson Nessiana tried to teach me long ago.  It is one that never took and truth be known, I don’t know if I really want it to.

I went through ten thousand years of trying to cobble together a family to replace the one I’d lost, the one my work had forced me to forsake, the one the war had taken from me.  Now I have one and it’s no easier—far harder, in fact.

I hate watching them suffer, but at the same time, I can’t solve their problems for them.  I have to keep reminding myself of that.

All I want is for them to be happy.

Cere still doesn’t trust himself. Sky is afraid.  Nikus...he doesn’t say it out loud, but he’s unnerved by what’s happened—to him more than anyone else.  Keydyn is grim, as if there’s to know than what he’s saying, that there’s more going on in the echelons of the Alliance that he doesn’t want to talk about. Something’s going on with Fro and I’m not sure what it is, but I haven’t gotten to corner him about it, either.  People are confused, worried, uncertain.  We’re fighting a war against an enemy most of our number is only slowly coming to understand.  There are Servitors mixed up in something that they’re trying to keep secret—M among them—and while there is a part of me that wants to get to the bottom of it, in truth there are a dozen other things that I need to concern myself with and at this point, sorting out whatever they’re up to is currently somewhere in the middle on the list rather than nearer to the top.

Right now I’m more worried about unit cohesion and ensuring that we’re able to do what we need to do.

It’s only a matter of time before I have to ask them to come back to Val’sharah with me.  There is something stirring there that I fear the druids cannot handle.

With Ysera dead, the Dream is without its guardian.

Without the Dream...

...I need to talk to Cere.

[Mentions: @silverglaives; @mindspanner; Skybrooke, Frovelos]

[graceintheshadows]

Book of Grace - 24 January

Whisper reached out to me requesting help for a friend, and all things considered, I didn’t see how I could say no without at least learning what might be at stake.  It seems that there was some shal’dorei involvement, which is concerning to say the least.

Perhaps I have been too focused on Val’sharah, on the issues there, and have missed the worst of the hell going on in Suramar.  I am a fool. There is too much work to be done and yet I spin myself in circles, constantly aiming in the wrong direction.

The Sunwhisper brothers were, in a word, amusing, but there was something strange about the two that I just can’t put my finger on—not that I exactly want to.  I have enough trouble; I don’t need to borrow more.  Still, it seems they would like me to work with the more casual of the two on the case.

Perhaps I can help this girl where I fear I am failing and have failed with some others, in part due to my reluctance to do something like blocking the memories.

But blocking memories only leads to trouble later.  I have learned that lesson all too well.  That brings only temporary relief—and the horror is worse later.

It is always so much worse.