#tyrnael

[lathrine]

when you accidentally adopt your friend's child and raise her as your own

[lathrine]

i kinda want to make like a whole comic for the Lathrine Dawnseeker Saga, which would really just be a slice-of-life episodic thing about a traumatized warhound taking her kids and dog and retiring to her friends' seaside estate. but until then, i hope y'all enjoy snippets of scenes

[lathrine]

local melancholic zombie is worried about his besties' love life, gossips with boss

[lathrine]

yall im so deep in the oc swamp, im a goner

[lathrine]

yall ive been sipping on that good good oc juice lately

[lathrine]

Fendae: ☯, ☛, ✄, ✓, ✉

☯ : Do they believe for every darkness there is a lightness? If not, why?

“If there is no darkness in the world,” Fen said, so softly he couldn’t even hear himself, “then the Light and good things would lose their meaning. We need that reference to make sense of-- of everything. There has to be balance, on both sides. If there isn’t, then this... was all for nothing.” A hand gently touched his shoulder, then a moment later Acalithel pulled him into a tight embrace.

☛ : What is their typical response to being given orders?

When the butler straightened Fendae’s shirt and sent him to offer the guests drinks and finger foods, he went with a soft smile and a softer step, like a ghost given physical form. Always available and nearby, yet never obtrusive or an inconvenience.

When the cooked called Fendae to help in the kitchens, he sat on a stool peeling potatoes and stirring the giant soup pot until his arms ached and his butt went numb.

When the master leatherworker he was apprenticed to dropped a pile of leathers in front of him and told him to get to work, Fendae cut and sewed and dyed until the sun rose. 

Really, the Illidari were no different. The time Fendae spent making a plan that got everyone in and out safely could be totalled into months. Much of it was spent pulling more experienced fighters and soldiers aside, into a quiet room where he could ask for their opinions, their experiences, and expertise. 

✄ : Are there any reasons why they would ever think of self-harm? If so, what are they?

The shadows were the worst. Even with the strange half-sight some demon hunters bore, Fendae could still see the shadows moving in unnatural, eldritch ways. Never head on, only out of his periphery. Enough to make sure he never forgot-- the sort of flippant, casual neglect and abuse and manipulation that somehow hurt more than if it had been intentional, because then at least he would’ve mattered enough for her to make an effort. The scars torn into his back, his shattered self image, how he never felt competent, never felt like he was enough-- whether it was-- was his abilities, or his appearance, or his sexual prowess. He couldn’t even escape properly, or so that nasty little voice that sounded low and sweet told him. He didn’t even cut things off to her face, instead waiting until she’d left the continent to just-- what, up and vanish? Gouge his eyes out, get tattoos, join a cult?

Denying himself the energies his very soul craved was the easiest way to cope. She would’ve known if he did anything too apparent, she always did, and anyone found out... they couldn’t ever claim he was anything but an upstanding member of the post-Kael’Thas blood elf race. 

✓ : Name at least two people who can trust them with their life.

Even after their knock-down drag out fight, Fendae protectively circled the skies over Tyrnael. He perched on rocks and trees and ruins, wings resting at his side and tail swishing gently as he cast out with his spectral sight for-- for anything, really. Anything that might try to get the jump on her-- on them-- or anything that might turn into a problem. In combat, he kited and harried and dashed in the way of anything Tyrnael’s giant mountain of a demon couldn’t move quick enough to block.

If Fendae had been at the Temple during the siege, he would’ve laid down his life to protect Xandral and his clan from-- from the Illidari, from the felorcs, from the invading armies. From everyone. But Fendae hadn’t been at the Temple. So when another draenai shaman appeared, a hearthealer from a Draenor slightly shifted over from their own who offered his services and healing waters, Fendae's focus shifted before he even knew the man’s name.

✉ : Do they tend to rely on words or actions more?

All her velvety shadows and soft, seductive touches meant nothing to him. Not when her words made the truth so very, very clear-- the thoughtless remarks she made just infrequently enough for them to continually catch him off guard. How there was no point in continuing his apprenticeship because, after all, he had her. Yes the Plague was unfortunate, but Lordaeron wasn’t really a loss, not after how they had treated their elven “allies”. He should really wear that outfit she sewed for him more often, he looked so much better in it than in anything else he wore. Maybe he didn’t feel like it right now, but she wanted sex, so pretty please? Wouldn’t he just this once, it would be so quick...?

Fendae could’ve written it off as intentional needling, poorly veiled power plays and moves to get a rise out of him. But the comments appeared even in the throes of bloodthistle, when her tongue and mind were loose and the shadows no where to be seen, and that was when he really realized-- she just didn’t care.