#specially with anduin gone.

[thasdorah]

sometimes i think about how anduin not being king should realistically put the void elves in a... difficult position. it's not like alleria has ties to any other alliance leaders, and some of the most significant (like jaina) actively dislike and distrust her in a way that would 100% extend to the ren'dorei. anduin gave them a place in stormwind, but anduin is not around anymore. kinda feels like the clock should be ticking for someone to want to kick them out.

[fragiledewdrop]

Gimli? For the character ask

Hi! Thank you so much for this ask. I love Gimli, and I'm in a Tolkien mood, in case anyone hasn't noticed from my teensy tiny number of Silmarillion reblogs.

First impression: I watched the movies before reading the books, so my first impression of him was him trying to destroy the One Ring with his axe. I didn't know he would be part of the fellowship, but I still thought "Woah. He has guts! Also straight to the point, no dilly dallying. I like that". It was pretty spot on, I think

Impression now: I think the trait that stands out to me the most, the more I spend thinking about him, is that he is proud. Proud of his history, his people, his heritage. To a fault, sometimes (see the whole "getting into Lothlorien blindfolded" debacle.) However, he is open minded enough to look beyond his pride and find friendship in unlikely places. I think we also never talk enough about how much he appreciates beauty: Moria, the Glittering Caves, Galadriel. Even in the middle of a war, he doesn't loose sight of the things that make the world worth saving.

Favorite moment: Oh, I have a few! First of all, asking Galadriel for her hair. The absolute hilarity of the situation aside - Feanor is combusting once again in Mandos or the Void- he could have asked her for anything. All the gifts ther rest of the company got where useful in a practical, immediate way, or, like the seed given to Sam and the Elessar- they were powerful symbols of love and hope. He asks for something that is simply a reminder of beauty, and the physical sign of looking at the face of an enemy and finding a friend there instead.

Then, there is his reaction to Moria and Mirromere. It almost makes me tear up.

And I will always have a special place in my heart for the moment he and Legolas walk through Minas Tirith talking about how to restore it to its former glory and more. It never fails to bring a smile to my lips.

Idea for a story: I love any story that centres around his relationship with Legolas, whatever its nature. Both how they navigate it, and how their people see it. More of that, please. I would also love to read more fics about his time in Valinor. If you have recs, especially about Valinr and maybe him interacting with first Age elves, let me know.

Unpopular opinion: I wouldn't say that it's an unpopolar opinion, necessarily, at least not among those who have read the books, but he's not...particularly funny? Not more than Legolas is, for sure. I see him as very noble and honorable, and I like that about him.

Favorite relationship: Legolas, without a doubt. I ship them, but I also like their friendship. It's so unique. There are two fics in particular that stand out to me. One is gigolas, and it's Finding a Voice by Roselightfairy. The other I read many, many years ago, and I liked it so much I printed it. It's about friendship and choices and grief: Of Rowan and Ruin by Thundera Tiger

Favorite headcanon: I have this idea that, immediately after the war, he convinces Faramir to go with him to the banks of the Anduin, where Boromir's corpse had been seen on its way to the sea. He tells Faramir that when Boromir died his friends sang a lament for him, with one stanza for each wind, but they left the east wind for last, and he would not sing of it and the menace it bore. Now, though, the Enemy is gone, and the wind of the east is clean once more. He would pay his respects, if Faramir allows it. And then he sings of Boromir the Just, of new things growing from evil, of overcoming temptation, of free Ithilien and smiling Minas Tirith that sings Boromir's name in hope, not grief. He and Faramir stand there until the sun sets, and both their hearts are left lighter. (It just really bothers me that he didn't get to sing, okay?)

Thanks again for the ask!

[alliterative-albatross]

My dear, your reblog about Boromir death just broke my heart a little bit more 😭 gotta watch Lotr again !

Let me sink the arrows a little deeper. 

Boromir, son of Denethor was a whole-ass man.

Often Boromir is compared to his father in contrast to Faramir, but he’s actually described as being like Denethor in “face and pride, but little else.” That right there tells you a lot about his character. 

He grew up on Sauron’s back porch, at the end of the decline of Gondor, with a younger brother who idolized him and a father who was slowly spiraling into severe mental illness. As the oldest son of the steward, Boromir has a lot to live up to and not much to work with.

Gondor had been circling the drain for 1000 years. Not only was there the looming threat of Sauron - obviously significant - but there’s the decline of the men of the west to consider, too. Since the fall of Numenor, each generation of men had grown successively weaker, their lifespans and wisdom diminished. Add to that the rise of Mordor: the corruption of Minas Ithil (Minas Morgul), the orcs running around killing people, the fall of Rohan and the treason of Orthanc, plus the back-and-forth taking and retaking of Osgiliath... well, Boromir is a man with a lot to worry about.

Then there’s the personal problems. A dead mom and an ailing, asshole father. A sweet little brother to protect (remember that Faramir really cared nothing for battles and weapons, so of course Boromir, being the Big Brother/Badass Warrior that he was, would worry over him). A city on the edge of ruin, a people on the edge of war they cannot hope to fight, an army of actual monsters living at your doorstep. Boromir’s entire world is literally falling apart at the seams. This is a man who is utterly without hope, a man with the weight of the entire world on his shoulders.

Talk about pressure, am I right?

So, let’s hit on Osgiliath a little bit. It’s not made clear in the films, but Osgiliath is actually the capital city of Gondor. It’s also a major tactical stronghold - he who controls Osgiliath controls passage across the river Anduin. As Captain of the White Tower, Boromir spent pretty much his entire adult life defending this city from constant attack - at one point, he and Faramir held the west side, and Mordor held the east side, and they battled for the bridge in the middle. Like, for months, I think (you may want to fact check my timelines on this, though, because I am too lazy). I’m pretty sure he and Faramir eventually just said “fuck it” and collapsed the bridge behind them (if we can’t have it then you can’t either, Sauron, please go suck a giant cock) and ended up swimming to safety with maybe just a couple of other dudes? Not many. 

So. Boromir the Protector. Boromir the Warrior. 

Now, Boromir the Captain. His soldiers loved him - they looked for him daily when he was gone. He was a good leader and a good man. He was missed, and he was mourned. Even Eomer mentions him fondly, saying that he was a lot like a man of Rohan. High praise, if you ask me.

Now, let’s talk about Boromir the Big Brother.

It is made clear time and time again, in both the books and the films, that even though Boromir may not have understood Faramir, he loved him. Boromir is described as his brother’s defender and protector. He defends Faramir physically in battle man times, and also emotionally, from Denethor the Dickhead.

In the books, Boromir and Faramir both dream of Imlardis and Isildur’s Bane, but it’s Boromir who volunteers to take the journey to Rivendell, solely to protect his brother from the dangerous journey.

And it is dangerous. At one point, he loses his horse crossing a ford - which means he lost most of his supplies, too. He had to walk to Rivendell with the clothes on his back. It took him nearly four months. 

Now, I kind of think this is a huge sacrifice. I mean, Boromir who cared nothing for lore or culture, volunteering to leave his men and take on a journey to Rivendell to see some elves about a dream? It smacks of desperation, sure, which Boromir obviously felt in spades. But also, I think displays that no-hold-barred, sacrificial kind of love that he held for Faramir. Boromir would do literally anything to keep his baby bro safe. 

Boromir’s relationship with the hobbits is special, too. One of my favorite moments in The Fellowship of the Ring is Boromir teaching Merry and Pippin to spar, which is why I chose the gif up top. Just, all of the Feels, am I right? 

This isn’t the only time Boromir acts in the interests of the hobbits, though. Upon crossing Caradhras, it was Boromir who was wise enough to suggest the Fellowship carry firewood with them. This foresight single-handedly saved the lives of the hobbits; they would have frozen otherwise. The next day, Boromir and Aragorn carried them down the mountain. 

So, Boromir was a good guy. He was brave, noble, kind, wise in his own way. He had a good head for strategy, and he could kick some serious ass on a battlefield (I didn’t talk too much about that one because I thought it was kind of obvious).

Now, to address the elephant in the room (or, the ring around the halfling’s neck? too much?) 

Remember that the One Ring preys on our vulnerabilities. I think film!Gandalf said it most succinctly: “I would use this ring for the desire to do good, but through me, it would wield a power too great and terrible to imagine.”

Boromir’s greatest desire is to protect what he loves - his brother, his men, and more broadly, his city and its legacy. Tactically, his argument to return to Minas Tirith and strike out from a position of strength is a sound one: rest up, make a plan, defeat Sauron at the front door, restore Gondor to her former glory. It makes sense. Remember that this is a man who has made a study of military history - he’s not an idiot by any means. But the Ring corrupted this noble desire until all Boromir could think about was this driving need to get the Ring to Gondor. 

Boromir’s story, more than absolutely anybody’s - yeah, even Smeagol’s - illustrates the dangers of the One Ring. The corruption of Boromir wasn’t inevitable, it was unthinkable. This was a good and noble man. He was a badass warrior, a friend, a brother. Boromir’s death proves that nobody is above the power of the Ring. His loss is a fucking tragedy, both to the Fellowship and to his people. 

tl;dr: Boromir is one of my very favorite characters in all of the Tolkien pantheon, he doesn’t get near enough credit, and I mourn his passing just like those White Tower bros. 

[jerek]

@hedonistic-merneith

Yeah. That’s why I’m not convinced that it’s 100% likely that this would happen. But I think Wrathion does have a need to bond, as seen in War Crimes with ‘ten years in one night.’ Calling someone brother can be frivolous, but he really goes over the top with ‘ride on my back and piss off your dad.’ That’s a move to get Anduin closer to him.

However, I really don’t think it’s a matter of Anduin being manipulated by Wrathion in a situation like this. Like I said, Anduin’s a perpetual victim, and I can see him entering relationships with the knowledge and acceptance that he’ll probably get hurt and use it to reinforce how hard it is to be ~good and nice~ like he is. He’d already expect Wrathion to do what Wrathion does, that’s why his hypothetical letter doesn’t mention ‘even though you’ve hurt me.’

Wrathion is a strong person. If he weren’t he’d have long gone mad from having responsibility put on him at birth. But I don’t think he, or anyone with ~6 years of life experience, can be expected to hold out forever. Especially without a support system: like you said, he only has his champion and his yes-men, and he knows they’re not his friends.

If Anduin were attracted to Wrathion, he’d bank on that, probably without realizing what he was doing. That’d be his ‘sway.’

Again, Anduin wouldn’t be the victim in this situation. I don’t think you’re implying that, but I wanna make clear that he’s the one reeling Wrathion in, using lovebombing, to recreate the prime of his life.

You have to be a little bit emotionally stunted to consider ‘hanging out playing jihui with a 2 year old’ the prime of your life, no doubt, and even more stunted to put all your need for love on the shoulders of that same baby dragon, but just by virtue of having lived ~20 years in a society that wanted him, I’d say Anduin has more emotional intelligence.

When Wrathion makes the player feel special, it’s because he wants an employee he can keep around for an expac and then turn loose. They’re better for having met him, and most likely they won’t really miss him too much.

When Anduin makes Wrathion feel special, it’s because he wants half of his brain. He wants Wrathion to embody his fantasies. He would cultivate Wrathion’s personality for his own personal use-- rear him like he was raising him, almost.

Again, Anduin/Wrathion isn’t necessarily something that would happen in every timeline. It’s just as possible that Anduin would pick Taelia for ease of access, and have a relatively healthy relationship with her. But if Anduin/Wrathion did happen, like most of the fanbase wants it to, it would be grooming.

[terezascania]

Closure

The early morning sun cut through the high stained glass windows of Terez’s castle room, the wide and spacious quarters granted to her by virtue of Lord Thaltor’s death and his death alone. Her companion from the night before was gone, called away early to duty. Terez didn’t mind this too much, although she knew that having company for longer would have been preferable to the silence that was almost always present in the castle. There was something special about waking up in the arms of another, something that couldn’t really be replicated or easily found anywhere else in nature. It was warmth, it was security, it was

intimacy

all wrapped into one. She had had that, and so for the time being she was satisfied even if the pleasures of lazing in bed for hours were beyond her grasp for the day. 

Her companion’s departure had woken her and it was for the best that she didn’t have an excuse to linger in the bed longer than strictly necessary. Having stayed in bed this long was an unusual luxury, one that she was already calculating how she could make up for throughout the rest of the day. She stretched lazily on the massive oak bed that dominated the chamber, taking a moment to wallow in comfort before she allowed herself to start thinking about the duties of the day that loomed ever larger above her head. The duties of the Lord High Speaker were endless, and there were only so many hours that one had in the day to work. Every minute counted, every minute mattered. 

She got up and dressed, taking the time to fix her hair and wash her face. She smiled at the Royal Guards when she left her room and went to her office, greeting the various ministers and castle personnel that buzzed about the grounds with quiet intensity ever since King Anduin had gone missing. Sometimes it seemed like she was living in a hushed beehive, where the sound of the drones was so quiet that it was almost impossible to tell that you were in the middle of such an immense hive of activity. By the time she arrived at her office she was happy that the secretaries had not arrived yet, for she had forgotten to put the chamber back to place from the night before. Bits of paper, stationary, pens, and the other drudgery that usually lived on great desks of dark wood were scattered about the floor, and the normally tidy desk was a mess. Terez patiently picked up the pieces and set them back to place in their homes, everything neatly ordered in the precise place where it belonged. 

When Terez was almost done she picked up a letter that had been knocked aside the night before and she froze in place. It was a simple letter, nothing bearing any fancy seals or made of expensively soft paper. It was plain and stiff parchment, the cheapest thing one could get, and the ink was so watery that the letters were blurred. Terez had read the letter a thousand times since she had received it two days earlier, but with each reading nothing changed. 

“I am alive, I am home, we will meet soon. I hope you have not worried too much.” - V

She should have been overjoyed that V was alive, that the ice of Northrend had not crushed her to pieces as the ship’s captain had originally reported. This relieved Terez to no end, but there was something that seemed off about all of it, about the brevity, about the too-swift and too-careless handwriting. It was all too distant and cold for V, too much written between the lines for Terez to not feel as though there was more at play. It didn’t make much sense for her to feel this way, she thought, but like anchors her feet seemed incapable of movement when the thought of going to see V entered her mind. 

Something had changed. She didn’t know what exactly, but she could feel it in her bones and deep in her heart she knew that if she went to see her old flame it would cease being a feeling and would become a reality. What brief spark there was between them was gone, changed as they were by the ever shifting sands of life that brought people together with all the intensity of great icebergs crashing together, only to slowly drift apart after the initial impact. It had started before V had left, and only now was the horizon in sight. 

So, without regard to her schedule, Terez sat down and began to write at her desk. She loathed stories without closure, and so it was time to give this one a proper ending. As painful as it might be. 

[knicks-knacks]

wait a min who 👀 is Wistoria 👀👀 (i am wondering :)

HGFDSJGJ I love that writing that tag I was like "Krch is gonna ask about them" fdjgkhdfjk that's perfect im going to hug you

So!!! Wist!!! She's my Forsaken OC bc I just really love the deaders and think zombies are cool and think that there is a lot to be done with like... lore bits of the forsaken and you know how much I love my lore bits.

The most concise way I can describe her is she's a Forsaken fashion designer and skin stitcher/bone-engraver who specializes in designing fancy clothes that shows off the exposed or rotting bits of the Forsaken, in an effort to kind of help the people who feel dysphoric about their not-quite-dead bodies and to show people that they can embrace those things they deem "ugly" and make them beautiful, rather than hide them away in shame. However, she wasn't always so willing to embrace it herself.

More on that in the less concise story under the cut lol it got long on accident

(heads up: this characters pronouns are she/they and I use them super interchangeably throughout this. also sorry this took so long to type i got distracted and also wanted to try and cover it the best I could!)

tw for: the typical mentions of bones and missing body parts/rotting flesh typical for forsaken in WoW though nothing too graphic. and also death but her being a zombie that's a given

So, Wistoria herself, before she passed, she was a well-known seamstress in Lordaeron! Born into a noble family (though not high, her parents were only lord/lady), and growing up seeing all the pretty clothes, they pretty quickly learned they wanted to focus themself on that, and their parents supported them in that. After training under a mentor since youth she ended up getting REAL damn good at making clothes - both simple and elaborate. Eventually became the favored tailor to a lot of the nobility. It kind of helped her family climb the political ladder, making dresses and suits for the baroness and the marquis etc. She also loved dressing up herself!

She's a very kind and patient individual, always excited to hear about a client's day or what's going on in their life, though she's quite reserved about herself. They're kind of... quietly charming if that makes sense. Not charming in a way that Flynn Fairwind is, but more in an Anduin-type way? Not the type you'd take for a night out at the bar, more the type you'd have a long personal conversation with over warm tea in a dimly lit coffee shop. Comforting. Fitting sessions are almost like low-key therapy sessions because she feels rather cozy and easy to talk to about troubles - though they're not a therapist lol.

Also a tidbit that I just think is cute - she's taken some training in being a mage! It helps her with her sewing and they are a mage in game so I thought it fit perfect lol

anyways she gets murdered by the scourge and raised again and gets saved by Sylvanas etc etc etc

Due to the way that their corpse rotted, they lost the flesh of their lower jaw, and their chest, leaving her jaw and ribcage exposed.

At first, she was rather horrified by her appearance - as most forsaken are. It scared them to not look like... themself. And even surrounded by other forsaken whose bodies were just as bad off as hers if not worse, she still felt rather uncomfortable with those exposed bones. They typically wore a veil or a poncho to cover themself up as best as they could.

She continued making clothes. Threw themself into the cause to help the newly formed Forsaken. Salvaged cloths from graves to try and make wearable stuff. Helped sew up other forsaken at times, if it was urgent. But mostly helped in making clothes (and sometimes armor) for the people when they needed it.

Then, after the scourge was defeated and they made their new home in Undercity, and things started to shift into a New Normal, they gradually started going back to their roots a bit. Fancier, more dressy clothes. She also frequently ended up making adjustments to clothes she made in the past that old clients managed to salvage - what once fit perfect now didn't, due to lost limbs and lost muscle/fat. And of course, she was happy to restore those old clothes for the client, whatever she could do to help, but those were sometimes a rough job. It kind of brought a bunch of negative thoughts to the forefront when they did them. Their old life was gone and nothing would be the same, their body is no longer the same. Perhaps these clients come to her for alterations on old living clothes because they can't let go of the fact that they're no longer living. That sort of thing. Makes her deeply sad both for the whole of the Forsaken and for herself.

That changes though, as I said.

Soon after they had been saved by Sylvanas, they met Leila - a blood elf. They grew close, then closer, and you could Tell there was a fuck ton of romantic tension there from the start. Over time, Leila kind of helped Wistoria get their confidence back - because if she could love them, they could love themself too. She was still reserved about the way she looked, and still hid it all the time, but then there was a moment that kind of opened her eyes.

So uh, Leila and Wistoria had been out picking flowers that they planned to preserve and use in a dress. While out, Wist managed to slip and fall into a mud puddle and so had to change, but something about That Day she was particularly uncomfortable with her body. They turned away from Leila, and Leila pointed out to them that they didn't have to do that around her - she'd seen it all before anyway. And Wistoria commented how they didn't want to disgust her or anything. Leila frowned at her for a moment and then asks Wistoria to turn to her because she wants to do something. Wist hesitates a moment but from Leila's tone of voice, she knew that it was okay to let her see. Then Leila took some thread, and the flowers they'd just picked together, and - with permission - began tying and weaving them into and through Wistorias ribs. She filled their whole chest cavity meticulously with leaves and flowers and thread. She carefully tied a snapdragon upside down on their sternum. Then, she rummaged for a while through Wistorias fancy clothes, found a jacket, found a skirt, helped Wist get dressed.

Then, when she was finished, she turned Wistoria around and had them look in a mirror. No veil, no cover, just their body and how beautiful it was. Wistoria, of course, ends up crying, because it had just been so LONG since she dressed herself up. She hadn't been able to look at herself naked for longer than a second since she was raised, but now she couldn't stop taking it in, and how pretty it was, and how inspiring.

Leila and her have a long talk, after that, about loving herself and seeing that she didn't need to look like her living self to be beautiful. That her body wasn't this disgusting or uncomfortable thing that she needed to hide or be ashamed of, even with the missing parts.

After this, they still take time to regain their confidence, of course. But with support from Leila (and a lot of my other ocs lol) they get to the point that they love themselves again. They get their bones engraved, and they end up loving it so much that they take it up themself. She dabbles into decorative stitching on skin, something she had shied away from at first. Her clothes start reflecting her comfort, she stops wearing the veil and the cover, wears jackets with no shirt. Until eventually they're designing dresses that are cut specifically to showcase her missing parts. Like a boob window but with no boob, just skeleton!

Eventually, she becomes known for being the best person to come to when trying to get dress clothes that cater to specific missing bits. She makes capes with slits down the middle to expose the spine sticking out. They make one leg on a pantsuit sheer to see the bone. She makes gloves that hook onto the radius and ulna.

She's also a good person to go to if you want some flowers engraved on your bones. :)

Overall she's just. They struggled a lot with being raised but ended up being so proud of the Forsaken and what they've been through, and they end up just being. A real positive force to them bc I've always seen clothes and appearance really important to someone's self-image, at least to me. She wants others to feel as good in their skin, what little they have of it, like she finally does. And it took them a while to get there but they got there and I'm so proud of her 😭🥺🙌

[ladypurplejanewrynn]

Beauty and the Beast (Andujane version) chapter 1

Once upon a time, there was a Kingdom ruled by a powerful king named Varian. The king was a very skilled fighter and a great ruler. One day, the king decided to go for a ride on his horse and met a really beautiful blond woman on the way. She was wearing a simple dress and had her hair down. He asked her for her name. She smiled and answered him that her name is Tiffin. The two of them quickly became friends. They start it spending more time together until one day they fell in love with each other and confessed each other their love. A few years later they got married with each other and they lived happily as husband and wife. And one day the queen got pregnant with triplets. They both were happy about starting a family. Unfortunalty their joy didn’t last longer. After 9 months, Tiffin gave birth to the 3 children, but she lost too much blood and she passed away. Varian felt a lot of pain after losing his wife. He named the first child Anduin, the second one Sophie and the last one Austin. It wasn’t an easy task to take care of the children, especially if there was 3 of them. The kids grew up healthy and well. Anduin was a blue eyed kind hearted blond boy, willing to help anyone in need. Sophie was a blue eyed lovely girl, loving challanges and to goof around. As for Austin, he was blond like his siblings with the diffrence that his eyes were in a dark shade of purple. He acted a lot diffrent than his two siblings. He was arrogent and selfish. He didn’t care about anyone, not even his own family. He even once had a serious fight with Anduin and Sophie had to separate them.

One day, king Varian went on the battlefield to fight off their enemies and has put Anduin in the charge while he’s away. The battle end it up with success. However, while the battle one of the enemies used a poisoned blade giving a deadly injury to the current king. Varian came back home, but days by days he was becoming weaker until one day, when he was laying in his bed, as his death was coming closer, he crowned Anduin as the new king of the Kingdom. Austin was very unhappy about hearing that. "Why his brother and not him? He deserved it more than him" thought the prince. Varian died a few days later. Everyone was at his grave. Everyone beside Austin. The prince was busy planning revange on his own brother. After hours of searching for a book in the library, he finally found the book he was looking for. The Book of the Void magic. Austin studied the whole book and at night he sneaked out of his room. He took his gryphon and flew to one of the most darkest places in the world in search of an artifact called "the wand of the Old Gods". Once he found it, he made a plan to assassin his own brother, when the time is right. This way, he wanted to take over the control of the whole Kingdom. The next day, when Anduin was all alone, Austin approched him and attacked. Luckly Anduin noticed him and dodged the attack. "By the light’s sake, what the hell are you doing Austin?" asked the young king. "I am taking your place on the throne. That’s what i’m doing." answered the traitor prince as he casted a spell with the wand, making two tentacules grabbing his brother by the arms. "Now that i got you in place, is time for me to get rid of you once and for all." said Austin as he smiled, grabbing a very sharp blade and approching his brother. Anduin struggled to get his arms free. He used the light to make them let go of him. Just before Austin menaged to get closer, he got himself free and dodged another attack. He used the light to blind his brother and kick the wand out of his hand. While Austin was on the floor, covering his eyes from the pain, Anduin took the wand and broke it.

The guards came in as they’ve heared loud noises of the fight. Anduin ordered them to arrest Austin and throw him in prison for the time being, while he decides his punishment for the betrayal. Austin was locked for a week. One day, he got summoned to the throne room by his brother. "Austin, you have commited an unforgivable crime against the king of Stormwind. As your punishment i banish you from the kingdom for eternity. And you shall never come back." said Anduin. "What? You can’t do that. I am your own brother. How dare you?" asked the traitor prince. "Actually i can. Guards, take him away, please." said the young king. The guards took Austin by the arms and dragged him away. "This is so unfair! I should be king instead of this two goody two shoes. It isn’t over brother! I promise I’ll have my revange." shouted Austin while being dragged away. After the traitor prince has been banished, the young king went to his room. A moment later Sophie joined him to comfort him. "Hey, i know you feel bad about the whole Austin banishment. But maybe that’s for the best? The two of you always were fighting anyway." said the princess. "I know dear sister. I know. The thing is, i thought that maybe one day we would come to agreements and improve our relationship. But instead, it got even worse then it was before. I wish, we could live as a happy family. First mom died after giving birth to the three of us. Then dad died because of the deadly wound that was unable to be healed. And now our brother’s betrayal. There’s only the two of us left. And sooner or later i will have to find a woman to be my queen." said Anduin. "And what’s the problem with finding yourself a girlfriend?" asked Sophie out of curiousity. "The thing is that i don’t feel ready. And even thought i have a choice between arranged marriage and marriage out of love, I want to marry someone I will truly fall in love with. Just like father did. It must be someone special. Someone who will be kind and caring. Soft and loving. Someone who will be fun to talk too. I don’t want to marry someone cold, selfish, snobby and boring." answered the king. Then an idea came in Sophie’s mind:"What about we organize a ball? This way you’ll get to spent some time with ladies and you’ll get to choose the one you’ll be interested in." "Do we even have to do this?" asked the king. "Oh come on! Don’t be such a buzzkill. Even if you won’t find the lady of your dreams, at least you’ll get to chill and relax a little. Isn’t that right?" asked the princess with a smile on her face. "Alright, you might be right. I kinda need some more time of relax and chilling. Let’s do this then." said Anduin.

Meanwhile, Austin was already planning to get revenge on his brother. He decided to pay a visit to the banshee witch Sylvanas. He made a deal with her. She would cast a curse on his brother and the whole kingdom of Stormwind. And in exchange he would find and give her an artifact that would bring her back to life. While the traitor prince went in the search of the artifact, the banshee went on her way to the kingdom. Meanwhile, the party start it. A huge amount of ladies were flirting with the king, trying to get his attention but none of them seemed to be his type. The young king had a few dances with some of them. But he found them boring or self-centered. A moment later he went to sit on his throne. "What’s wrong brother? You seem to be bored." asked Sophie. "All these ladies are very pretty. But none of them seems to be what I’m looking for. They’re all just seems interested in me because I’m the king. I feel like they don’t really care about getting to know who I truely am." answered Anduin. Suddenly the music stopped as a flying figure appeared in the room. "Ah, the young king of Stormwind. I was looking for you." said the banshee. "Who are you? And what do you want from me?" asked the king as he got up from his throne. "Oh, is nothing personal. You don’t have to worry." said the witch. "What does that even mean?" asked Anduin. Suddenly a pair of chains caught him by the wrists. "What the...?" asked the king as he struggled, trying to free himself. "Leave my brother alone you witch!" shouted the princess rushing at Sylvanas. But another pair of chains shackled her as well. The guards made an attempt to fight off the witch, but they have gotten overpowered by the chains. The visitors start it panicking and tried to leave only to get caught by the chains as well. "No one is leaving till I’m done." said the witch and start it casting a spell. Everyone got blinded by a dark purple light. A moment later Anduin woke up. He was on the floor and the witch was already gone. He looked around and instead of his subjects, he saw living objects looking at him. He felt really weird. He felt that something has happened to him as well. Suddenly a candlestick approached him:"Anduin, my brother is that really you?" Anduin thought a little:"Did this candlestick just called me it’s brother? Wait is this...?" He looked at the candlestick again:"Sophie, is that really you? What happend to you? What happend to everyone?" Then he noticed his voice have gotten a bit deeper. "Looks like the witch cast it a curse on our kingdom. She turned everyone into an object and looks like she turned you into a beast." said the princess. "A what?" asked the king and rushed to the closest mirror. What he saw horrified him. He saw a beast that looked like a werewolf and had the blond fur. He couldn’t believe that it was him. "How...how shall I reverse all of this?" asked he himself. He noticed a small note sticked to the mirror:"If you want to reverse the curse, you have to find the true love of your life. Only the kiss of the true love will reverse the curse." Austin kept his part of the deal and gave the artifact Sylvanas was looking for.

[wastingstarlight]

(re-posting because this dumpster fire of a website always messes up formatting when I put read mores in asks 🙃)

raiwalk asked: would it be alright to ask for a fluffy wranduin, for the song prompt?

yes!!! send all the wranduin prompts!!! <3 okay, so i cheated on this one a little bc a lot of the songs on this playlist i had been using are Big Angst™ so i skipped until i found a non-angsty one! ANYWAY thank you so much for the request :’)

(cross-posted to ao3)

///

When I don’t know what to say When I don’t know what to do There’s a room I need to sit in Surrounded by my favorite view And I need a hand to hold Someone to tell the truth Would it be okay if I came home to you?

//

Anduin is having a bad pain day.

They’re fewer and farther between now, but when they do happen, they never fail to knock the wind out of him. He has made so much progress in his recovery but on days like this, he is sharply reminded just how far he has to go.

Tong had been in just after dawn with a pot of tea laced with healing herbs, which had dulled the pain enough for Anduin to doze for a few more hours. Tong must have said something to Wrathion as well because the notoriously inquisitive dragon had not once knocked on his door demanding audience.

It was…nice, Anduin supposed. The quiet. His guards brought him lunch just after midday and he ate alone for the first time in weeks, the only thing filling the silence the muted click of chopsticks on wood.

After, he means to read, goes so far as to open a book in his lap, before dozing again. There had been more healing tea with lunch and with the painkillers came the familiar cotton-headedness.

He is just on the edge of sleep when there is a clatter at his window, a thud on the ground, and there, in all his glory, is Wrathion in whelp form sprawled awkwardly on Anduin’s floor.

There is a sharp knock on his door. “Anduin?” his guard calls out. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” Anduin replies, mind whirring as he tried to come up with an excuse through the brain fog. “Just, um, dropped my book.”

After a pause to make sure the excuse worked, Anduin sets the aforementioned book aside and glances back at Wrathion.

“I wanted to check in,” Wrathion says primly, sounding quite diplomatic for a dragon that had just crash-landed into Anduin’s bedroom.

“And you couldn’t use the door?” Anduin replies with a faint grin. The grin fades when his gaze settles on the awkward angle of Wrathion’s left wing. “Did you hurt yourself?” he asks, instinctively feeling out for injury with the Light, before being sharply reminded of how much energy he had been using to keep his own pain at bay. More cautiously, he reaches out with a sliver of Light, just enough to feel the impression of any wounds.

“I,” Wrathion says, lifting his chin defiantly, “may have, hypothetically, accidentally…gotten some burrs stuck on my wings. That I took care of!” he adds hastily, “…with my teeth.”

“What…actually, never mind,” Anduin says, rolling his eyes. He knows better than to ask at this point. “C’mere,” he says, beckoning Wrathion over.

“What?”

“You came here for me to heal you, right? Well, I’m not getting out of bed, so. Come here.”

With a huff, Wrathion pads over. The mattress groans when the dragon jumps onto it. He might have been the size of a particularly large, winged, house cat, but he was certainly more dense than one.

Taking great care to avoid trodding on Anduin’s legs, Wrathion comes to a halt just beside his hip and extends his offending wing.

The scratches are minor, more from the burrs than from Wrathion’s attempt to remove them, and Anduin brushes a gentle hand across the skin of the joint where Wrathion’s wing meets his shoulder, palm infusing with Light as he heals the worst of the damage. Anduin doesn’t think he imagines that Wrathion leans into him.

“One of my champions was telling me about a cave on the northern shore of the Jade Forest,” Wrathion says airily. “Apparently there’s a special type of bioluminescent algae that grow nowhere else in the world but there.”

Anduin smiles, smoothing his hand down the velvety skin of Wrathion’s wing for longer than was strictly necessary. It is fascinating how something so small can be so complex, so powerful. The exhaustion is once again setting in, made stronger by his expenditure of power, but Wrathion’s very Wrathion way of checking in was nonetheless endearing.

“Is that so?” Anduin asks, stifling a yawn.

Wrathion stiffens beside him, folding his wing back in. Anduin hadn’t realized just how heavily Wrathion had been leaning on him until he is gone.

“You should rest. I’ll—“

“No, wait,” Anduin interjects. He hesitates. He doesn’t want Wrathion to go—Anduin has missed his company, though he’d never outright tell him that. “Tell me about the cave,” he murmurs after a heartbeat.

Wrathion tilts his head and narrows his eyes. Apparently he finds whatever he’s looking for because then he huffs and makes a big show out of making himself a comfortable space to settle. Wrathion lets his wings unfold a bit and absently Anduin brings one hand down to stroke the exposed velvety skin.

“Well,” Wrathion starts. “I had sent a pair of champions on a mission—“

Before he knows it, the combination of herbal tea, afternoon sun, and Wrathion’s familiar voice has lulled Anduin away from his aching body and into a mercifully dreamless sleep.

///

Knight-Lieutenant Maren Bristol is not surprised that Anduin doesn’t answer his door when she knocks with his dinner. She is surprised at what she sees when she enters.

Anduin is young, so young, but somehow he looks even younger asleep when the worries of the world don’t line his face. He’s on his side, curled around and with one arm thrown over the sleeping dragon beside him. They are both washed in the golden light of the setting sun.

Maren sets down the tray quietly and can’t help but smile as she leaves.

[ladywindrunner]

Due to… whatever in god’s name Blizzard is doing, I’ve decided I’m officially making Sylvanas Windrunner canon-divergent. Do not get me wrong, Sylvanas will continue to be an absolute bitch and snake, but I’m no longer going to struggle to fit her into whatever unhinged supervillain Blizzard wants her to be.

From here on out, the verse The Dark Lady will follow the below historical timeline. I will of course update my page to reflect the divergence but – you’ve all been warned.

a very special thank you to @fatesblades @windrunnerrs & @lady-proudmoore for helping me sort through this clusterfuck of an expansion, and ensuring I kept the divergence accurate and straightforward. 

please look under the cut for the complete rewrite ❤︎ thank you all for your patience c:

QUICK FACTS:

Sylvanas would never agree or entertain any arrangement with the Jailer. She will never serve another, and that includes some random being in the Shadowlands. Her allegiance with the Horde irks her enough, but she suffers through it out convenience and need.

The Forsaken need allies, they do not need another death-dealing master who wishes to use them as a weapon.

(the only way Blizzard could salvage that plot is if she planned on betraying the Jailer, but it’s still… tired and urgh.)

She is absolutely a treacherous bitch and you should definitely not trust her (especially if you’re alive).

Sylvanas does not, and probably will never respect Anduin as a king. He’s nothing but a child leading nations. She would absolutely use his naivety and good nature against him.

She is a manipulator, and will never brazenly attack an enemy or insinuate herself in a plot unless said person is either someone she can trust (Nathanos) or she’s about to murder them (see: everyone else).

The Forsaken are her people, and she cares about their well-being. If she didn’t it would almost be as if the last years of content and character development meant fuck all for the sake of needing a villain (i’m not bitter, you’re bitter).

THE DARK LADY // A DEADLY BARGAIN (THE DEATH OF VOL’JIN)

Following the Battle for the Broken Shore, as Vol’jin struggles against his mortal wound and the insidious taint of Fel within him… “You do not honestly believe Baine will be beneficial for the Sin’dorei.” Sylvanas’ remark strikes a painful chord within the Regent-Lord, despite his mistrust of her intentions. He watches her with obvious suspicion.

If the Windrunner he knew still lingered in the woman before him, she’d long become impossible to glimpse.

“It does not surprise me you speak of treachery,” Lor’themar counters, eyes narrowed. “Do you remember nothing of loyalty, Banshee Queen?”

        Her smirk vile, as is the crimson glare of her dead eyes.

        “Do not play as if you care for the Tauren, Lor’themar,” she chuckles, “And I am not suggesting we kill Baine, I am simply bringing a far more agreeable solution to the forefront.”

        “Vol’jin will never name you,” Lor’themar scowls. He does not care for the troll, nor his obvious pick, but Sylvanas would be the very last name on the list. She was Queen of the Forsaken, a viper lurking in the tall grass.

        The Sin’dorei was having trouble recalling a soul she hadn’t betrayed.

        “Imagine if he were to pass with only a chosen few present,” she mused aloud, “Only those few would know which name he spoke…”

        “And what benefit do you bring to the Sin’dorei?” Lor’themar nearly snarled. He had not forgotten her aid in seeing his people into the Horde, but she’d been quick to use that against him.

        The comment annoys her; she gives him a piercing glare.

        “We’re at war, Lor’themar,” she snaps. Her tone lacks its ordinary taunting tone – it is flat with cruel fact. “Do tell me, who do you believe would lead the Horde to victory? Baine? He treasures peace more than sense. He would give ground when he should hold. Gallywix would sell us all for a single gold coin if it’d see his own life spared, and I imagine the Legion can offer him far more.”

        If Lor’themar agreed to the plan, she could sway Gallywix easily with payment. The very reason she didn’t wish for the goblin to be in charge, was also the best method of convincing the merchant lord to lie.

“And the last orc who led the Horde, led us into war, and is arguably responsible for the catastrophe we have now…” Sylvanas quirked a brow at the man, her smile returning, “So who does that leave? You?” She stifled half a chuckle, “a man who doesn’t even wish to lead his own people. You have the military sense, Lor’themar. You simply do not possess the ambition.”

        He glowered at her, “I would sooner lead the Horde than trust you to remember who came to your aid.”

        Windrunner said nothing for a moment, her smile growing slightly as she considered him. He’d grown wiser.

        “Pray-tell then Regent-Lord, what do you want in return?”

Vol’jin’s death came swiftly, the grievous wound causing the troll untold agony before he slips away (the speed would have been surprising to the three, if they hadn’t possessed the knowledge that foreign poison masked by the demonic influence, was raging through the Warchief’s veins). Sylvanas Windrunner, Gallywix, and Lor’themar Theron witness the man’s demise together.

His last decree as Warchief was to name Baine Bloodhoof to take his place.

        His final command would never reach the others, however. Their lies spun well, Sylvanas saw herself rise to become Warchief.

THE RECLUSIVE WARCHIEF // RECLAIMING THE GHOSTLANDS (POST-LEGION)

Peace is not something Sylvanas handles well. The idleness of it bothers her, but she is not foolish enough to think the Horde wishes to be dragged into another war (not one where the Horde is the aggressor). She tolerates the truce about as well as one can imagine. She is a more reclusive Warchief, she does not care for Orgrimmar, she’d rather spend her time with the Forsaken – who have extended a helping hand to the Sin’dorei in reclaiming the Ghostlands.

        A kind gesture, that some see as Sylvanas attempt to placate the more concerned members of the Horde leadership. Some see it as a welcomed change to her character, while others watch her with increased suspicion.

        It does help repair a fractured relationship between the Forsaken the Sin’dorei.

        An unintended, but welcomed happening while Windrunner keeps her word to Lor’themar.

A GLIMPSE OF PEACE // RECONCILIATION (BEFORE THE STORM)

Sylvanas does not support the meeting between the Forsaken and their living family. Following the catastrophic meeting between she and her two sisters, the Banshee Queen is firmly under the belief that it will lead to nothing but heartbreak and undue pain. The living cannot see past undeath, no matter what they claim.

        Receiving the missive from Anduin does nothing but irritate her. His good intentions are viewed by her as a form of manipulation, though she does entertain that he is simply naïve enough to believe that somehow the idea may work to heal old wounds.

        She permits the meeting to take place, and is not surprised to see Forsaken turned away by the living.

        She is taken aback when she witnesses other families accepting their undead companions. She watches in silence as her people find the peace that has eluded her for years.

        “My Queen,” Nathanos’ voice is hushed and careful. She has said nothing for some time, her expression is something unreadable. The crimson light behind her cool eyes has fizzled out, leaving nothing but grey.

        Sylvanas glances to her champion.

        The gaze is different.He does not recognize at first.

        Then he recalls what it is.

        Hurt.

        In that fleeting moment, she conveys how pained she was. The agony that reconciliation is possible, just not for her.       

        Sylvanas leaves the exchange, feigning disinterest.    

THE SUNDERING OF GILNEAS // THE WAR OF WOLVES (POST-BTS, APPROXIMATELY WHEN TELDRASSIL BURNED)

Yet the Warchief is not without her machinations. She schemes against her closest enemy, the one who ruined her attempts at subduing Eyir, while also discovering a way to bring back into the fold her wayward Forsaken who’ve gone to their living families.

        With peace looming, Sylvanas sets to work placing insurgents within Gilneas. Through them, the Banshee Queen ensures that it is Gilneas who broke the armistice. Witnesses on both sides saw Worgen soldiers attacking Forsaken troops.

        She calls for the Forsaken in Stormwind to return to Lordaeron, citing concerns over their safety as the Alliance has proven they are incapable of peace with the undead.

        Most return to the Horde, peace once again hanging by thread. They have no reason to believe they too have fallen prey to her cunning ruse.

        The peace broken, Sylvanas needs no other reason to march on Gilneas. Undead forces wait before Greymane gate, and in response the Gilneans prepare for war.

        But it is not the Forsaken who raze Gilneas. Sylvanas engages the enemy in frivolous skirmishes, biding her time until the orcish fleet reaches the shores of the enemy kingdom.

        The orcs sweep across Gilneas from the sea, while the Forsaken push inwards from the borders of Lordaeron.

        With nowhere to run, the stationed Alliance forces succumb to the combined might of the pincer strike. They simply cannot fight a war on two fronts, and it is not long before they collapse.

        Horde soldiers are careful not to cut down any man who surrenders, a specific instruction from their Warchief. A gesture seen as a mercy (while in reality, a convenient manipulation by the Banshee Queen, further implicating Gilneas as the aggressor, and that she is trying to be a worthy leader).

Gilneas is inducted into Lordaeron and becomes Forsaken territory. Prisoners are treated with some dignity. Only a handful are executed when they attempt a desperate escape that inevitably fails.

        Sylvanas wastes no time raising those who fought against her as Forsaken, swelling her numbers while the Horde celebrates a well fought victory.

A COLD WAR // TWO QUEENS OF A NATION (AROUND THE TIME OF THE SIEGE OF LORDAERON)

Peace returns, though in the form of a cold war. Relations between the Horde and Alliance are strained, but there is little evidence that anyone is going to break the peace. Sylvanas knows that Genn is biting at the bit for vengeance, and delights in the knowledge that eventually the old dog is going to shatter the truce on his own accord.

        She is careful to ensure the Forsaken think little of Calia Menethil (who has since revealed herself). Who is she to return now and call herself queen of anyone or anything? She uses propaganda so her people see it as Alliance mind-games.

        The Dark Lady watches over them, not a Menethil.

While she doesn’t care for the unforeseen irritation, at the moment she can do nothing about Calia without the assumption she is responsible for it.

        Sylvanas eventually trades the Alliance prisoners for Zul and Talanji. Always seeking allies, they are inducted into the Horde, but find themselves suffering through the delicate peace.

WHISPERS FROM BEYOND // THE SEIGE OF NAZJATAR (RISE OF AZSHARA)

        The Speaker of the Horde brings Sylvanas the infamous dagger Blade of the Black Empire, though they claim to have little recollection as to why. While a valuable object, it was not one that the Warchief was seeking out (and the lack of knowledge the Speaker possess, makes the Banshee Queen nervous). She was suspicious of the motivation of the individual who gave it to her, but took the offering despite the uncertainty.

        The struggling peace between the Alliance and the Horde is somehow sustaining itself (much to the annoyance of Sylvanas, who cannot break the peace openly). She permits the Forsaken to visit their families, though they must return for their own safety (having ample success in convincing her people the majority of the living are notto be trusted), and she does allow limited numbers of humans into Lordaeron to see their families.

        When the mysterious Empress Azshara contacts her, Sylvanas appears to cement an agreement that would see the Alliance decimated, clearing the way for the Horde to rise. Through some means Sylvanas cannot ascertain, the Queen of the Naga has become aware of her possession of Blade of the Black Empire.

        She agrees to meet Azshara, and keeps the meeting secret from all but her Champion Nathanos.

        Queen Azshara’s request is simple, Sylvanas gives her the dagger in exchange for something. Windrunner scoffs at the idea at first, refusing to part with such an item.

        “Surely you wish to do away with the Alliance pests,” Azshara cooed, smirking as she spotted the ever so subtle shift in the Banshee Queen’s form. Of course she was already aware of the answer. She’d spent a long time observing the surface world, ensuring she’d have every advantage. “And I wish to be rid of N’Zoth...”

        “I will not part with the dagger,” Sylvanas states, though she chuckles at the apparent impasse. “But perhaps there is an agreement to be made…”

        The arrangement was simple.

        Azshara would lure the Alliance fleet out into the ocean, and swallow it into her domain.

She would, of course, manipulate this to all appear as N’zoth’s bidding – the Old God was locked away in his failing prison. While his escape was inevitable (though potentially millennia away), he’d be none the wiser in believing Azshara discovered a method to release him.

        The Hero of the Alliance would wield the Heart of Azeroth to defeat Azshara and destroy the Old God for good. N’zoth posed such a threat that the High King would not lose an opportunity to strike at the nefarious enemy.

        With the Alliance none the wiser, Azshara would decimate their forces, using her imposing naga and sea-monsters to whittle away at their army.

        That is when the Horde, lead by Sylvanas, sweeps in to rescue whatever’s left of the Alliance.

        This would all be carefully planned of course, to ensure the Horde arrives too late to stop the Hero of the Alliance from unleashing the Heart of Azeroth’s power upon the prison.

        N’zoth’s jail will be flung open, and in that moment – Sylvanas will be the one to strike at the Old God and slay it.

        Azshara will feign being free of his influence, and slink away into the darkness of the sea. The Horde will appear as heroes.

        Unfortunately for Sylvanas, the plan goes awry.

        Azshara lures the Alliance out into the ocean and attacks. While she holds off their forces, she does not unleash her full might until the Horde arrives.

        The Horde’s fleet arrives earlier then intended due to Lor’themar Theron and Thalyssra’s efforts to speed up the ships and save more lives. Sylvanas finds herself unable to sabotage their efforts without risking her deal be exposed.

        Worse yet, it is only when they arrive that Azshara unleashes her full might. She absolutely decimates the Alliance and Horde, intent on slaughtering whoever stands in her way to obtain the blade.

The dagger comes to be possessed by the Naga Queen when she catches Sylvanas off-guard. The two women fight, but Sylvanas is forced to relinquish the knife when Azshara bests her with potent spells.

She’s spared, seeing herself mocked by the Empress and reminded to keep her mouth shut, otherwise everyone will know of their agreement.

        Thus it becomes a hasty rush to alert the Hero of the Alliance to the truth of the Heart of Azeroth’s purpose, but Sylvanas and her agents are too late.

        Her failure sees N’Zoth freed, though there is a satisfaction in seeing Azshara temporarily subdued.

THE TASTE OF FAILURE // THE PROMISE OF AN OLD GOD (VISIONS OF N’ZOTH)

With the Old God freed from his prison, it wasn’t long before N’Zoth began to corrupt the world. He sent visions into the minds of people, whispering of untold horrors that were near-to arriving.

        Not even Sylvanas Windrunner was immune to his insidious powers.

        The Horde’s pride, once bolstered by a number of strategic victories – is in tatters after Empress Azshara laid waste to them all.

Sylvanas withdraws to Lordaeron, locking herself away as she attempts to regain her footing after such a catastrophic failure. Her pride had seen her trust Azshara, a foolish move that cost her much of her power, despite leaders of the Horde thinking her notions of saving lives good and honourable.

With little option, the Horde and Alliance work together to fight against N’Zoth. The Banshee Queen does not enjoy being so reliant on the Alliance, but she endures the displeasure out of sheer necessity.

A Horrific Vision of Sylvanas Windrunner is present in Capital City in place of Thrall in Orgrimmar.

N’Zoth preyed on Sylvanas’ fear of death, twisting her mind until she believed only the Old God could grant her immortality. Lordaeron is a writhing, disgusting tomb of void-infused undead and ghosts, who feed off live prisoners in grisly rituals.

Occasionally the city is rocked by a deafening, bone-rattling wail.

ENDURING PEACE // AFTERMATH (POST VISIONS OF N’ZOTH)

Outwardly, the Horde enjoys its lasting peace with the Alliance. As both sides nurse their wounds, Sylvanas is distracted by a growing sensation that all is not right.

        While she has no proof of manipulation, the Warchief cannot shake the notion that a new, terrible threat has been watching Azeroth for some time. She finds herself on edge, and sending scouts to all corners of the known world to attempt to find some inkling of what she may be sensing (an endeavour made easier due to the armistice, perhaps the only benefit she’s believed its had).

        She also must suffer with the knowledge that Azshara is alive. Windrunner plots the empress’ downfall, though the process is slow and meticulous. She underestimated the queen’s abilities once, and it cost her both her pride, and the dagger.  

        Sylvanas does not know why Azshara kept their deal secret, but she imagines it is due to some sort of trick the naga will attempt later.  

[sheyshen]

10 headcanons for shey wrynn? :3

ooo! my little fireball! Let’s see...

She generates a lot of heat so when sleeping next to Varian or out somewhere colder he’d tend to stick close to her. Initially it was just him that would do so but as time passed others like Anduin and Genn would also tend to favor standing as close as they could whenever it was cold. (Fire mage = walking heater)

The staff she used prior to getting Felo’melorn, was a gift from her master in Dalaran (Colden). The dragon design on the end is removable and has a blade hidden beneath it.

She doesn’t have much in the way of family (bio parents consider her dead and gave her over to dalaran because they were afraid of her, big sister doesn’t know she’s alive.) so after Varian’s death the only family she has left is Anduin, her itty little toddler son, and Uuna who she considers her adopted (ghosty) daughter.

She has a soft spot for flowers, not really any preference of the type, but does like the starlight roses that she found in suramar a lot.

She still has the Sunreaver disguise (from the Quel’delar chain) and has modified the spell on it so she can use it to visit her friends in the horde even outside of dalaran.

Even though Felo’melorn’s power is gone she still uses it as her primary weapon. Because it was something she and Aethas got the first time they worked as a team. More of a momento of something good that happened during a lot of bad, and when they started the journey to become companions, friends and later friends with benefits.

She really really wants to learn how to use a glaive. She thinks they’d be a lot of fun to fight with.

Varian was her first love, though not her first lover, her first ‘relationship’ was with a fellow student before leaving dalaran to become an adventurer. They still keep in touch and she had a chance to work with him again during the fight against the Legion.

She absolutely hates long winded spells and tends to only use single phrase or simple incantations. Less risk of messing up and catching an ally in the blast that way and less risk of being interrupted.

She has a tattoo on her arms that match the ones her master had. She had them done after he died during Theramore’s destruction. They’re of a special ink that glows under certain circumstances or generally around a large amount of arcane energy.

[wrathion]

Hia! Hope you're doing well c: as another Anduin lover, I'm curious: what do you like about the current Holy King of Stormwind?

ahh i’m doing alright right now, thank you! 

as a general answer? everything, he’s the king who has had a coming-of-age story and carries a strong love of life itself. he’s the boy who grew up in a war-torn world who craves a peaceful end to the fighting. he runs on his gut feeling on what is right above all else, putting himself at risk if he thinks it’ll benefit someone else. he’s the one who agonizes so much about others that he neglects his own needs. he’s anduin wrynn, not just a trope or two in a suit with tied back blond hair.

as a current bfa-centric answer? i really love that they’re not ignoring his anxiety and depression and are actually letting him struggle (albeit subtly) and will hopefully slowly work through it! 

this is big meta and theory territory but hear me out:

varian’s death absolutely ruined anduin. sure, it was something that he was preparing for his entire life, but can you really ever be prepared for something like that? especially in anduin’s situation where he also happened to inherit an entire kingdom. after varian died anduin was in shock, doing his job but not putting the heart he typically would into it. then the champion brings the compass to him and he breaks. velen even says that he “refuses to eat and sleep” which is token self harm. 

of course he has that little moment with varian in the vision of stormwind, and he’s told to do “what a king must do.” varian probably intended this as a message of caring for his people, but just as importantly, himself. but anduin interpreted it as caring primarily for his people, that his role as king was more important than the person behind it. 

it’s evident that he thinks this way because of how he acts, not acknowledging his needs as he commands his own people to fight and die in a war he does not want to fight. a war that he thinks is for the greater good. as i said above, anduin has a need to keep as many people as he can safe, but he’s lost that drive and keeps sending people out hoping for the best. in the beginning of lost honor, genn says that they’re out of soldiers in stormwind and will need to begin drafting farmers. 

he’s also thoroughly inexperienced with war-related strategy, which just adds to the bonfire of his deteriorating mental health and confidence. he sends out a small special team to kill rastakhan and to try and break the alliance between the zandalari and horde. it’s kind of obvious that it would only push them closer, but when you’re fed up with yourself, burnt out from life and desperately need to tick things off the to-do list, thinking rationally doesn’t come naturally. 

and that’s not to say he doesn’t care about the lives he’s losing, he very obviously does. to the point where it’s destroying him.

i think the most obvious example, though, is in before the storm. at the very end, after the gathering (where shit in the anduin planning department starts going wrong). anduin’s looking out on the graves of all who were lost. i’m just going to put the full excerpt here because they’re honestly my favorite in any wow book.

Anduin shook his head in sorrow and disbelief. “I can’t blot out the images of the Desolate Council running as fast as they could to what they thought was a future with their loved ones. I feel responsible. For them. And for them,” he said, gesturing to the living still moving on the field. 

“Sylvanas killed her own people, Anduin,” Genn reminded him. “Not you.” 

“Rationally, of course I know that. But it doesn’t matter. Not in my bones. And not here.” Anduin placed a hand on his chest for a moment, then let it fall. “Those who fell on this field did so because King Anduin Wrynn of Stormwind had promised them they would be safe as they reunited with their loved ones. And they died because of that promise. Because of me.” 

The bitterness in his voice was like acid. Genn, who had never heard it from him before, fell silent. After a time, Anduin spoke.

“You’ve come to lecture me, obviously. Go ahead. I deserve every word.” Genn sniffed and rubbed his beard for a moment, his eyes on the horizon. “Actually, I’ve come to apologize.”

Anduin’s head whipped around, and he didn’t bother to hide his shock. “Apologize? What for? All you did was warn me against this.”

…

Genn took a deep breath. “But he was right. You were right. I still think what was done to the Forsaken against their will was horrifying. But it’s clear to me now that some of them haven’t been broken by it. Some of them are still the people they once were. So I was wrong, and I apologize.” 

Anduin nodded. A smile crossed his face fleetingly, then was gone. It was clear he was still burdened with guilt and stubbornly wouldn’t relinquish the pain of it. Not yet. 

“You were right about Sylvanas,” Anduin said, that cold bitterness lingering in his voice. “Light knows, I wish I’d listened.” 

“I wasn’t right about her, either,” Genn said, startling Anduin for the second time in as many minutes. “Not entirely. I knew she couldn’t let this go by without doing something. I thought she’d attack us. Not her own people.” 

Anduin winced and turned away. “She may have killed them, but I promised the Desolate Council safe passage. Those deaths are on my conscience. They will haunt me.” 

…

Anduin took a deep, shuddering breath and nodded at Genn. 

“Nonetheless, it is a tragedy, and it’s done any chance of peace great harm. It’s destroyed the prospect of working together with the Horde to heal the world. Azerite will continue to threaten the balance of power. It’s hurt the Alliance, too. Sylvanas used a moment that could have been a true turning point as a chance to eliminate people whom she viewed as her enemies. And she did it so smoothly, so well, that I can’t even call her on it. She didn’t break her word. Calia was a would-be usurper. I can’t ask Stormwind to go to war because the warchief of the Horde chose to execute individuals she will now paint as traitors. So she gets away with it. She’s won. She eliminated the opposition, killed the rightful heir to Lordaeron, and did it all while looking like a noble leader for not attacking the Alliance and starting a war.” 

Genn said nothing. He didn’t need to. He simply stood next to Anduin andlet the young king sort it out on his own. 

The minutes passed, and then, finally, Anduin spoke. “I will never, ever stop hoping for peace,” he said. His voice trembled with leashed emotion. “I have seen too much good in too many people to paint them all as evil and worthy of slaughter. And I will also never stop believing that people can change. But I realize now that I’ve been like a farmer expecting to harvest crops from a poisoned field. It’s simply not possible.”

Greymane tensed. The boy was leading to something. 

“People can change,” Anduin repeated. “But some people will never —never—desire to do so. Sylvanas Windrunner is one of those.” 

He took a deep breath. Sorrow and grim resolve made him look older. Genn had seen similar expressions on the faces of those who had been tasked with a heartbreaking duty. 

When the boy spoke, Genn was glad of the words but saddened by his need to say them. 

“I believe,” said Anduin Llane Wrynn, “that Sylvanas Windrunner is well and truly lost.”

anduin admitting sylvanas is incapable of changing is huge, and i honestly missed the whole point of it the first time reading through the book. 

this is the same anduin who took the time to talk to garrosh, and even saved his life because he thought he was capable of changing. the same anduin that believed in garrosh even after the horrible things garrosh did to him and all that he cares for. and now he’s saying he was wrong, with a bitterness in his voice when speaking about his own failure, and what he has to do next.

even genn’s a bit rattled by how self-deprecating and almost hateful anduin’s being, which is kind of telling.

i guess overall i feel like they have something really good building with anduin, and i’m especially hoping they either have his mental illness peak in a moment of desperation where he falls to some certain old-gody forces. 

this might be a bit fanfictiony but having an arc where he works himself out of a depressive episode in the form of old god corruption by using the lessons he’s learned about self-discipline and love in pandaria would be amazing. 

alternatively to fit in with the subtle route they’ve been taking so far, they could push the alliance infighting arc they’ve been building up and have anduin prove his ability as king by handling what he does best, a diplomatic situation. there he could realize that he’s not as inept as he thinks (and acts like) he is, and can start working to care for himself.

tl;dr yeah man i just like anduin a little bit. i think he’s neat is all.

[biot08]

Warcraft: Battle for Purpose

SO we all know how BfA is going to end. We will go and punch stupid queen Azshara and the minions of N'Zoth in their stupid faces even though Azshara alone deserves an entire expansion all to herself.

Once we are done there, oh no, Sylvanas has Xal'atath and her desire to end all life will make her out to be the final boss of the expansion. Forces in the Horde led by Baine and those who rallied with him will team up for special attack with the Alliance, The Horde Has Gone [0] Expansions Without Our Warchief Being A Raid Boss, and somehow, SOMEHOW, despite it all, the Horde and Alliance will decide to try this peace thing again.

Rinse, wash, repeat, head to next expansion.

But what if...

WHAT IF...

What if Blizzard were not cowards?

Life partner and I came up with some ideas. I will share one today, the other tomorrow.

HORDE FRAGMENTED

Everything goes down as described. Baine's star is rising, and Sylvanas and her minions of evil defeated. The Alliance, led by Anduin, is satisfied for now; no need to steamroll the Horde into submission today, and that didn't work out after the third war anyway.

But the Horde Sylvanas is leaving behind is different from the one Garrosh left behind. The one Garrosh left behind had not just gotten done trying to hitch several new horses to its wagon. The Nightborne are horrified at what they have apparently signed up for. The Highmountain are probably deciding to fuck right off back to the Broken Isles. The Zandalari have just been put through the wringer, and these idiot allies of them are, well, idiots. The Horde could find itself fractured after Sylvanas' downfall, and instead of rallying, could simply fragment. Their ideals stressed too far by their leadership, and the dream of stronger together shattered. After all, what use is that strength if it is only continuously abused by the one in power?

Blizz won't do this one, though, because man how awful would that feel for the Horde player base. But it feels like a possible natural consequence of what we are seeing.

More tomorrow. The better one tomorrow.

[paperdoe]

Daerhovan - History

A VERY LONG history of Daerhovan. For a page in his main bio.

Arc 1: The Call

Age: 1- 300

Born to Gaelwen and Losdirith of Lothlorien. The youngest and last in a brood of four, who included: his twin sisters Lossenduin and Lossenth, another elder sister, Heledirnien, and elder brother, Haldor. Both parents SIlvan elves, though Gaelwen has a trace of prominent Sindar in her bloodline, hence why her daughters and youngest son have silverish hair. His father and brother perished in an ambush from Goblins while they scouted for threats in the Dimril Dale. A devastated Gaelwen was terrified of losing her only surviving son, prompting her to keep Daerhovan shut inside Caras Galadhon for many years. He being a naturally curious and adventurous child, felt hemmed in and suffered severe restlessness and wanderlust. Had mixed feelings of resentment and understanding pity for his mother. Didn’t suffer the same grief, as he hadn’t known his father and brother for very long.

Often got into trouble, and his twin sisters (Heled lived in Eryn Lasgalen) and family friends managed to convince Gaelwen to let her son see more of the world. Or at least the rest of Lothlorien. Her only condition was to have her, or someone else constantly watch over him. Managed to sneak out of their flet one night by himself. Got as far as the vineyards before meeting the Wood Lord. (immense white stag). The stag seemed to want him to follow him to Thinglad, the southern border of Lothlorien. Was found and scolded by Lossenduin, grounded by Gaelwen for at least a week. Went out and about within Lothlorien a lot, and was trusted enough in time to go out on his own. His favorite places were Cerin Amroth and the banks of the Anduin. Desired to explore the more wilder corners of the region.

As he approached his teens (for an elf), was pressed into finding an occupation by his family. Opted to become a vine tender for five years, but the work become mundane and repetitive after awhile.  Began to have an interest in botany and wildlife. Orthir, the scholar of the trees, offered to take Daerhovan under his wing as an apprentice of sorts. Taught him much about these subjects. Daerhovan’s brother in law taught him about herb lore alongside Orthir. Love for the natural world grew. Learns about how to hear and feel the thoughts of trees by the whisper of their leaves and the creaking of their branches. Mallorns are easy to understand and speak freely, as they have a symbiotic relationship with the elves here. Others who live on the borders are quieter. Daerhovan wonders what species of plant life dwell in other corners of the world.

Orthir and Arasdil take him into the Great River region through Limlight Gorge, the the edge of Fangorn Forest, to an area where elves have historically been known to converse with the ents there. Strangely, no ents show themselves. Meets the Wood lord again one night, who bids him to follow again. Makes it to the borders of The Great River region, where signs of strife from Easterlings and the Eotheod stain the land. Despite the stag seemingly calling him to continue from within, he turns back. Becomes more proficient at herb/plant lore over the years. Learns the art of healing, the elven magic associated with those who become sole healers growing within him.

Arc 2: Forests of Secrets

Age: 300 - 310

Daerhovan wishes to move out of Lothlorien entirely and see the rest of Middle Earth on his own. Gaelwen absolutely forbids this. Remembering what happened the last time her family went outside the borders. It takes almost a year of convincing and coaxing, and promises of visits, to persuade her to let her son go.

Searches for the Wood Lord again throughout Thinglad, but he hasn’t made an appearance in years, and Daerhovan fears he was hunted down by poachers. Nonetheless, he wanders through the Great River region, into the Limlight Gorge, and approaches the edge of Fangorn. Instead of finding an ent, encounters a maddened Huorn. His attempts to calm it go badly as one of it’s branches slices his belly open, but it doesn’t stay to finish him. Near death until Radagast finds him. Radagast brings him to Rhosgobel, and works tirelessly to heal the elf. His efforts work, and Daerhovan begins to mend. Radagast observes him attempting to speak to the wildlife that often visit the wizard’s hut, and sees how he delights in their company. Radagast offers to teach the young elf about animal lore, to which Daerhovan agrees.

For four years,  Daerhovan learns much about the nature of wild animals, though his skills in communication and understanding are yet to be perfected. He wishes to find the huorn that attacked him. Radagast disagrees, teaching him that beings in a maddened state are often unreachable. They figure that past territorial upheavals between the Easterlings, Eotheod, and Gondor in this region are to blame.

Daerhovan takes his leave of Radagast, the two having become good friends. He heads towards the new kingdom of Rohan.

Develops his plant and animal speaking/understanding skills more. Finds that birds are easier to talk to than most mammals, and delights in their songs. Understanding reptiles, fish, and insects seems to require deeper knowledge, if they choose to communicate at all. He hesitates to call it a pet, but he befriends a robin who follows him around and keeps him company most times.

Arc 3: Pilgrim

Age: 310 - 600

Returns to Rohan to explore the region of Wildermore during a return visit to Lothlorien. He gets wind of a monstrous bear that’s been stalking the village of Dunfast for months. Wanting to help, he encounters the bear, and commands the creature to find new hunting grounds, though not without some trouble. When the village learns of this,  they hail him as a hero, and invite him to stay with them for a time. Grows especially close with a young widow. Daerhovan stays for a few days before returning to his homeland, but returns to Wildermore afterwards. For two years he stays in the region, visiting Dunfast, and the woman. Grows more proficient at speaking Westron.. The woman begins to have feelings for him, and while Daerhovan doesn’t share her level of infatuation, he grows curious about the closeness of another. They steal away one night into the woods, exploring one another through kisses and caresses, though it never escalates beyond that. The widow desires that he stays, but he knows he must move on from the region.

Quietly observes the new kingdom of Rohan build their places of cities and farms, and keeps out of sight. The only time people see him is in the shadows, before he’s gone in a whisper. Admires their respect and love for horses. Wanders northwards towards Dunland and Enedwaith.

The Long Winter slams most of the northern and central parts of Middle Earth. His family pleads with him to return, but Daerhovan can’t bear to leave those who may need his help. Aids animal and person alike, establishes his own little sanctuary in a remote corner of Dunland. Sends courier ravens to his family to reassure them he’s safe. Hears rumours about the strife going on between the Rohirrim and Dunlendings, but doesn’t pay any mind to it. Once the Winter lessens it’s grip, swiftly leaves the region, heading into Eriador.

During his wanderings in the north, often keeps to himself. The only company he keeps are with animals. Observes the going ons of towns, but from a good distance. His love for the natural world and his deeds in maintaining it and exploring keep him isolated from people for decades. Because of this he becomes almost starved for interaction, though he doesn’t know how to go about it.

Arc 4: War of the Ring

Age: 600 - 660

Begins to notice that the wilderness seems hostile more than usual, and blights begin to appear in some corners of the wild. Ancient feuds that lay dormant begin to re-emerge. Aids the elves of Edhelion in confirming the rumors that an evil dwarf called Skorgrim who ravaged the area 3000 years ago has gained the means to return. When the rumors are confirmed to be true, along with reports of Sauron stirring in the East, sets out to help elf, dwarf, man, and hobbit alike rid Middle Earth of his presence. Becomes embroiled in the finding of the One Ring at the same time. Stays put in Eriador for a long time. Becomes more involved in events pertaining to the finding of the One Ring and the war following it. Feels privileged to help and see the Fellowship of the Ring off from Rivendell. Stays true to his promise to Aragorn to rid Eriador of evil, becomes involved with the events surrounding Carn Dum and the false King Mordorith. Helps to weaken and eventually bring him down.

Allies himself with the Dwarves of the Iron Garrison to help reclaim Moria. Is almost killed by a matron of the Nameless when he kills several of its young, but escapes.

At the capture of Mazog, volunteers to go with the Golden Host of Lothlorien and travel to Mirkwood to trade Mazog for dwarven prisoners and to keep the forces of Dol Guldur at bay. During a skirmish, finds and heals a dwarrowdam named Badari who also became involved. Immensely curious about her, though they parted ways quickly after the campaign ended. Encounters Badari again, aiding her in a fight against bandits. assimilates himself into her kinship of mostly other dwarrowdams, and finds some of his most beloved and cherished friends. Including Mallovorel, who becomes like a sister to him, her husband Maeglir, and many others, though the encounters are awkward at first as he attempts to re-learn how to socialize. Many people find him strange because of this.

Becomes close to certain animals who would follow him to Mordor and back at his call. On his way back across the Misty Mountains, befriends a mountain lynx whom he considers his most special of animal companions, and calls her Verya.

Travels with the Grey Company for a time to aid in their efforts, Upon returning to Enedwaith, finds that the land has greatly changed, for reasons that both excite and sadden him. Becomes drawn to a forest called the Mournshaws, and aids the spirits of the forest who dwell there. One of which is a maia of Orome the Vala. Begins to gradually lose the magic associated with elven healers as his sword is bloodied by the many enemies he slays.

Begins to have feelings for Badari during all these events. Is both confused,relieved, and ecstatic when she returns them. These emotions come to a head the eve after the Battle of Pelennor Fields, where they make love to one another inside a hidden storeroom. He, along with his love and kinship, march with The Host of the West to confront Sauron to help buy Frodo time and safe passage across Gorgoroth. Rejoices along with the rest of the army and his friends as Frodo succeeds in his quest. He heads into Mordor with orders from the Lords of the West to clean up after Sauron and his enemies, but the task proves to be full of trials.

During once such foray into the diseased swamps of Arganaith, where the Great Plague of the early third age originated from, he becomes sick of mind and heart from all the death, decay, and corruption of the land. Fearing for him, his friends get him out of Mordor. Retreats to a small cabin in Nen Harn, the northernmost border of Bree-Land, to recuperate. Feels guilty for abandoning his charge and friends, but everyone reassures him it was for his own good.

Recovers sufficiently enough to travel to the Dale Lands, The Ironfold, and Ered Mithrin, under Gandalfs suggestion that he and his friends help to stop the lingering evil in the north. (continuing story..)

Besides helping Gandalf with his troubles, meets and befriends another dwarrowdam who is burdened with her sisters brutal death, and the maddened horse she left behind. Works with the dwarf and an old, rohirric friend to calm and tame the horse.

Helps the dwarves of reclaimed Moria to find a deep, massive cavern full of gems of every color and large veins of mithril with Badari during this time as well.

Arc 5: Warden of the Wild .

Age: 660 - 800

What remains of his family sails into the Uttermost West as the fourth age begins. His heart burdened by grief at their leaving. Desires to be by himself for awhile in Lothlorien after the parting. Galadriel follows suit after awhile, and while The Golden Wood is still beautiful, the light provided by Galadriel’s ring, Nenya has started to dim. Cannot bear to stay as the woods grow darker.

Years go by. Daerhovan, along with his wife, help to rid the echoes of Sauron’s influence and blight across Middle Earth. As kingdoms are rebuilt and people return to their cities, Daerhovan himself desires to settle down in a forest he was attracted to from the early days of the War, the Mournshaws of Enedwaith. Is chosen by Rhi Helvarch (the maia) to become what the local dunlendings call a Derudh to commune with the Forest Lords and be shown their secrets. For many years he takes to his role quite seriously, becoming a local legend among the mortal locals. He still wanders to other lands and settlements of friends, but mostly sticks to Enedwaith.

      It happens slowly, but over time he notices the forest beginning to decay unnaturally.. First in specific corners of the region, then throughout. The rivers and ponds dry up and a strange fungus that chokes the life out of the plant life emerges. Dismayed and distraught, Daerhovan works tirelessly to find the source of the blight. He travels to The Greenwood to enlist help from Mallovorel and Maeglir. During an investigation, meets the nameless matron he thought had been defeated back in Moria. Enraged by vengeance, the monster makes it it’s personal mission to eliminate Daerhovan. By this time the spirits of the woods haven't been seen or heard from in years, and are assumed to have returned to their masters in Valinor. Except for one, who takes on the form of a white raven. The spirit allies itself with Daerhovan to rid the forest of this evil.

One by one, they restore the waters and work to heal and free the plants from the fungus. Until they must meet the creature face to face. They track the source of the blight, into a series of underground caverns, and discover the creature has been reproducing again. They quickly burn the eggs, and incite the wrath of the nameless even further. A terrible battle ensues where all members of the party are seriously injured, As the nameless goes in for the killing blow, Verya clamps jer jaws around it’s throat, killing it, but is fatally wounded in the process. Sacrificing herself to save Daerhovan.

          Though the Mournshaws are safe and begin to heal from the ordeal, Daerhovan becomes heavily grieved at the death of one he considered his best friend. Buries her within a special place in the woods, and visits often. The raven spirit vanishes, and is assumed to have returned to it’s masters in the Uttermost West.

Arc 6: To the Ends of the Earth

Age: 800 - 1000

More years pass. And Daerhovan spends his days meditating and tending to the wilds, visiting his friends, and spending time with his wife. Mallovorel and Maeglir have a son, whom they call Amruchil. Becomes the kid’s adopted uncle, and grows to love the child as if he really was his uncle. Teaches Amruchil all there is to know about plant and animal life, and the deeper meaning of the balance of the natural world around them.

As Amruchil matures, more fellow elven friends leave for Valinor. He knows Mallovorel will sail soon with her husband, but would never persuade them to stay. Cherishes what time they have left together. It’s all he can do to hold in his emotions when the day of their leaving comes. Embraces Mallovorel, one who he considers a sister, tightly and for awhile. Is pleasantly surprised when Amruchil desires to stay in Middle Earth.

Many more years go by. Daerhovan works and travels constantly. Visits the two kings of Rohan and Gondor occasionally, along with other members of the Fellowship, glad that some old friends from the war still remain. Helps out Legolas and Celeborn with the healing of North Ithilien and The Greenwood. Takes in no more animal companions since Verya’s death, but still communicates and seeks out company of wildlife. The only people he’s constantly with are Badari and Amruchil.

As more years go by, Badari grows old, for dwarves at least, and leaves this world to the halls of Aule. Is utterly devastated and inconsolable for a long time, the heartbreak from her death nearly becoming his demise, but with the help of his adopted nephew and a deep, hidden reserve of strength, escapes this fate and continues to live on. Personally buries Badari in the stone of the Lonely Mountain itself, alongside her own family and ancestors.

     Wanders almost aimlessly for a long time, not caring where his feet take him. Is conflicted with desires to stay in places he’s grown fond of, and to wander somewhere far, far away from old haunts. Makes it a point to visit Badari’s grave bi-yearly.

    Even more years go by. More old friends and family either becomes victims of their own mortality or sail west. Re-visits Lothlorien after decades. Isn't as sad as he thought he’d be upon returning, but is warmed by fond nostalgia for the past.

Returns after nearly a couple centuries to what was known as Mordor, back to the swamps of Arganaith. Even after many years the swamplands still bear the scars of Sauron’s reign. Is determined this time to help the land make a full recovery. Works tirelessly with Amruchil to help more plants grow, for clean water to be restored, and for wildlife to move in. It takes a while, but Arganaith grows beautiful under their efforts. As they travel across the rocky plains of Dor Amarth, a violent earthquake separates Daerhovan from Amruchil. Fissures are created and earth is thrust up from the force of it. Searches frantically for Amruchil in the aftermath, but he is never found by Daerhovan in this life ever again. His demise is a mystery. Though Daerhovan suspects he was swallowed by a fissure in the earth. Though the cracks in his heart from his wife’s death never fully healed, they widen further from this new tragedy. His only solace is that he’s been reunited, or will be with his parents.

But strange signs and stories of an elf being seen convince him that Amruchil possibly escaped alive. Searches in vain for him for a long time, but his adopted nephew is never found.

Arc 7: In The Wind

Age: 1000 - 7000

Centuries pass Daerhovan by. The elf still keeps up his self proclaimed duty of maintaining the balance of the natural world, but the years start to take a toll on him. His heart, already scarred from the passing of friends and family, becomes even more burdened by the weariness of immortality. Begins to resent being an unchanging being in a temporal world . Hardly visits settlements and cities of men anymore. The other two races of the free peoples either gone or wandering the world in very few numbers. Yet hope and moments of light still manage to crack through. The birth of new life and the recovery of ecosystems once scarred by ancient wars and sorceries. And the beauty of natural wonders.

Gondor and Rohan become fragmented and transform into other kingdoms and civilizations. Elves and dwarves are all but gone. Claims of adult men the size of children are turned into tall tales and stories. More centuries pass by. Daerhovan often becomes dormant. Resting unmoving for days at a time, before resuming his wanderings. Local legends begin to spring up whenever he encounters people.

Begins to revisit old, ancient places and haunts. Many places like, like Lothlorien and Mordor are almost unrecognizable. Other places have had entire towns built upon them, and places that were once entire towns have been reclaimed by nature. Despite drastic changes to places he once knew like the back of his hand, the graves of Verya and Badari somehow endure. During once such visit to the latter, has grown so weary of life and the trials it threw at him that he no longer feels the will to go on. As he falls to his knees near the grave of his wife, a cloudburst bathes him with light. The world seems to grow more vivid in color as flowers of every hue sway in the gentle breeze, butterflies flitting in the air. And in the distance, the visage of a white stag watches him from a backdrop of mighty pine forests and snowcapped mountains. The sight fills him with peace, and a reassurance that life will go on and thrive, despite the passage of time.

Daerhovan smiles once last time as the sun rises over the east, and his fae leaves his body, somehow findings it’s way to the Halls of Mandos. Spends a little time in the place of the dead to reminisce about his life, before being reunited with friends and family.

But it’s not enough. Through a little bit of rebellion on both their parts, amid pleas of desperation, Badari and Daerhovan share a joyous and passionate reunion. Verya is also found and allowed to join in. And thus he spends the rest of eternity with those he loves.

[sonofthedarkspear-blog]

I’m none too good with words and I’m not rightly sure why I’m writing this but in every MMO or game I like to play as Warriors.  I can’t really think of a smart way to describe why but I love the idea that in a world full of people armed with magic whether they’re paladins or mages or warlocks the Warrior just enters the fray with their equipment, their determination and their courage against foes wielding magic that gives them a major advantage over Warriors but they still fight.

There are a ton of cool warriors to drawn inspiration from in the World of Warcraft universe especially like Broxigar the Red, Varian Wrynn, Grom and Garrosh Hellscream, Anduin Lothar, Genn Graymane and many more that have gone on to do great deeds like when Grom single handedly slew Mannaroth and freed his people from his corruption.

I’m not rightly good with words and I apologize if this comes off like me saying Warriors are the best or something.  No, every class has its heroes and benefits.  I just rightly wanted to ramble some about Warriors because they’re my favorite class. 

Every class is awesome and special in it’s own way and I’d love to hear about your favorite classes!

[voidsarrow-blog]

          Alleria draws back her bowstring. Her head roars with a cacophony of shrieks and jeers, a thousand voices clambering over one another to be heard among a roiling storm of emotion; anger, fear, disgust, anxiety. She feels like her skull was full of flies, each buzzing drone becoming part of one collective chorus. 

                 ( KI͢LL—̀                 —̕UP̷O̴N ̷T̵H͏E ̶ŞEA̵T ̵OF KI̴N͝GS— ͏                                              ̛ ̛ DANG͠E͘RǪUS͠,͏ DAN͟G͞ER͘OUS͡ ̀— M̡URDĘR͢S͜ AND RUIN͜ȨD̵ L̕IV͏ES,͘                   ̕ ̶ ARE ͘YOU ̀     A̶FRAÍD͜?̷ ARE YO͡U͞ ͜ ͘ ͟ ͞ ̧ ͜ ́ ҉ ̸ ͞ ҉ ̵      YO̸U̴ ́WI͝LL͟ ̡BE AT ̛F̨AU҉L͝T ͝IF͘ ỲO͟U̡ DO NOT ͟ACT҉,                     ͟ ̡Y͟OUR͏               G͝R͟A̢V̢E ̕B̕ENEAT̛H͠ ҉TH͞ȨSE ͜STO̕N͏ES̶ ͠WĮLL N͝EVE̛R͏ BE̢ REMEMBER͢ED,                               ̨ ҉ ̀ ͜ ͘ ̕ ̷ ̡ ͘ ͝ ͘ ͢ D̡Ǫ YOU ̢F͘ANCY̡ ̵Y͞OUR̶ŞEL̶F ̨ TH̡E W̴OL҉F ?̨                                                                              ͡ÒR T́HE͝ ͢DE̶ER ? )

          One shot. That’s all it would take, she watches as Anduin confronts her sister. Jaina, Anduin, Genn, herself — certainly Sylvanas has lost this battle. Her forces are pushed back, her land broken open like a cheap safe. Nevertheless, her voice and stride are confident, with no hint of surrender in her. 

          Alleria can imagine her like this before the Lich King. Proud, confident, unwavering. She did not know the might of the Scourge army, she had not been there— but she can picture the ranger-general with her bow in one hand and her chin held high, fearless before the most fearsome thing any elf has ever seen. This she can picture; the unmovable pride and courage of the Windrunner family. She can hear her mother’s voice: This is your legacy; we will die before we will kneel.

           ( S̵H́EWILL͡S͘A͘LT͢T͟H͢ISÈÀRTH͢BEF͟ORE                SH͟ÉWI͘LLL͘EA̢VE̸ITT͏OB҉ETAKE̴N )

         She does not heed the void lightly. Secrets and futures from the shadow are hard-won, but she tilts her eyes to the ceiling. It’s right. There is no backup here, she can sense no other presence. The Horde has evacuated. Sylvanas is facing down four powerful leaders — Alleria or Jaina alone would be at least an even match for her — with no assistance, not even her pet ranger. Something is wrong. 

          Alleria tightens her grip on her bowstring. She can hear Locus-Walker, see him leaning towards her, saying, it takes no special skill to banish the dead back to the Shadowlands, if you would like to learn... She could end this here, kill her before she could give an order and then flee. She closes her eyes, breathes in—

          Unbidden, an image quiets the screaming crowd inside her head like a hush falling over a theater at the start of a performance; she remembers holding an infant. Her sister. Chubby hands clutch at her hair, marveling at the colorful hawk feathers that she’s tied into her braid. Their mother is gone out for work, and Alleria is thinking about how much responsibility this child will have someday. Their family, and the expectations that come with it, fall heavy on her own shoulders. In innocence, she makes a promise that she will fail to keep: You will be okay, you know. I will never let anything harm you. I swear it. 

          When Alleria opens her eyes again, Sylvanas is gone, and she knows it. She expects it. If she had fired at all, the point of her arrow would not have found its mark, but the wall behind. From when she had pulled back her string, she had known it.

          Murmurs begin in the back of her head, and she follows the other leaders mechanically, but she doesn’t hear them. Her lungs are burning and there is a pricking sensation in her head and limbs, like needles under her skin. She looks up; the others feel it too, as the room floods with poison. 

          They will be afraid, angry; afraid to die, angry at their losses or their only-partial-victory. Alleria is neither. She cannot be afraid. She won’t die here; doubtless Sylvanas would bring her back, not wanting to waste her in such a way, and she would not waste a second chance. In her heart, she cannot find space to be angry; or even sad, or disappointed. She feels numb. Even as Jaina proclaims hold on, with a low, furious confidence, she doesn’t feel anything. 

          Alleria, the eldest of the three Windrunner sisters, holds her head high as the twinge of Arcane brings them upon the floating ship. She takes an unsteady step forward, her breathing heavy as pain seeps out of her limbs with the fresh air. Across the ruined battlefield, the Horde retreats on their airship, their parting glares only a hint at what was to come.

          A thousand years, she thinks, to herself, and was it worth it?

[raider-k]

Hey, I just met you, and this is crazy...

But I decided to post a special edition of my Legolas fanfic Building Ithilien, written completely in Legolas’ POV, first person. 

Legolas: Telling off my father, leaving home, and starting up my own colony never felt so good...until I almost died a couple of times along the way.

Here is the Prologue...

I Experiment with Becoming an Elven Hors D'oeuvre

Don’t ever tell the dwarf, but I’m not perfect.  Far from it, actually.  And this moment in my life was the perfect example of said non-perfection.  

I made some erratically bad errors in judgment.  Gimli would say that it was typical pointy-eared arrogance.  My father would say I acted like a damn fool.  

I was utterly alone, and the darkness drowned me.  That night, foul with a pitch so black—it fought to consume me, swallow me whole, and if it did not, then my enemy would. I knew not who or what I faced, but I had seen first hand its grim trail.

My ears pricked to the low rumble of someone, some creature breathing, followed by a sharp crack, like wood being snapped. I dared not move from my position. I checked my peripheral vision. All seemed still, save my heart pounding in my chest. Panic and fear chased through my veins, raking my body with self-doubt and loathing. I was an idiot to have come alone.  

Crack! An enormous pine slapped the earth. The ground shook as if lightning split the sky. Crack! Another tree whipped down, this time grazing my side.  A few steps to the right over, and I would have been pulverized.  The trees and the night thrummed in the rhythm of torture, a terrible drawing of breath, thick and sinuous. The breathing grew louder, each distinct thunderous breath.  Whatever it was, it was coming closer.

I tightened my fingers on my bow, steady I told myself, and briefly rolled my shoulders back, a habit I used to calm my nerves before battle. I lightly released my fingers and squeezed the bow again. Calm returned, or at least a semblance of calm. I was ready.

I swung out from behind the tree, fitting an arrow to my bow and firing toward the breathing. I plastered myself against another tree, edging my way closer to the smell and the rustling sounds. In the inky night, I could see no more than my hand and bow in front of him. The ground pulsed beneath my feet. The horses whinnied, followed by the pounding of many hooves. They had stampeded. A muffled thump sounded from the trees, and then silence. The rank odor had vanished, and only the hot scent of fresh blood lingered. My body sagged involuntarily like an exhale when you know the worst is yet to come.  I could not be sure the threat was gone until I swept the area.

I stepped into the clearing, weapon still in hand. All of the horses were gone, hopefully of their own volition. I could not blame them. If I had the slightest shred of intelligence at all, I would be with them. I knelt to the ground and then stood. It was too dark to check for any tracks of predators. That would have to wait until morning light. I moved steadily back to the tree line and the river where I had first heard the breathing. I was sure of one thing; the creature I encountered tonight was no ordinary wolf, bear, troll, orc, or anything thinkable.

I kept my guard up and stole back toward the river and trees. My eyes busily scanned the close-knit woods for any sign of movement. Scarcely looking at the ground before me, I stumbled over a fallen log. So much for elven grace.  I scrambled toward my feet. Certainly,  that log had not been there a moment ago.  I ghosted my fingers along the coarse bark until I reached the breaking point of the tree. Almost as if someone had snapped the tree like a twig, the trunk broke off in jagged ends two feet above the ground. Glancing up, I noticed with a growing sense of dread four other trees broken at the base in the same manner. Deep gouges marked the trunks. I bent down to study them and then swallowed hard. The choking smell had returned.

My arms darted out to grab my bow when a hard jerk toward my chest sent me reeling toward the river. As I tumbled over the bank and fell, I drew my long, white knife, frantically slicing the open space before me. I struck something hard. It was too dark to tell what. Before I hit the river below, I  found himself wondering if it was such a good idea to fall blindly into a ravine with a blade in one's hand…

...Plunging into the Anduin, I  lost all sense of direction and flailed in the murky water. I had fallen into the river from great height, and my right shoulder slammed into a boulder on the way down, knocking the knife from my hand. The swift current of the Anduin rushed over me as I frantically searched for my weapon. The clouds still blotted out the moon. With my bow still on the riverbank above and my knife somewhere in the river, I was unarmed and alone.

A breeze gathered, parting the clouds, and a thin strip of moonlight reflected off the river. my knife! I  grabbed for it, only an arm's length away. The handle felt warm and sticky. I held it up in the moonlight only to see that the blade dripped in gore.

When the clouds lifted completely from the moon, I  saw red everywhere. Blood streaked my chest, torso, and my hands. My throat burned; I was going to be sick. My chest still throbbed from the hit I had taken, and my shoulder felt on fire. I stumbled toward the edge of the river, fighting the push of the current and the huge wave of nausea squeezing my throat.

Suddenly as before, a thick acrid odor assailed my nostrils. My enemy had returned. I pushed myself against a large outcropping of stones in the riverbed. I wished for my bow, but praise the Valar I found my knife in time. The smell and the sound of the creature's breathing grew stronger.

From behind the rock, I  heard a guttural snarl, followed by ripping, flesh being torn from the bone. The water thrashed and swelled against my hiding place. Flecks of bone and flesh floated past me. The splashing stopped. I  waited. I knew the beast still lingered. I could hear and smell its breath. I wondered if this was it for me.  What an inglorious end—eaten in the river by an unseen monster. I rolled my shoulders back and gripped my knife.

How did it come to this?

I closed my eyes and tried to remember...

I’ll be posting new chapters once a week on Fanfiction.Net.  Come join Legolas—he’s going on adventure!