Duroxas Quel'Ivan

Curses: Does your muse believe in good/bad luck? How about karma?

“I’m in the business of believing that things happen for a reason. It’s not particularly of the good or bad luck variety, but it can border upon karma in of itself, as fate is one to give balance in the grand tapestry of the universe.”

Caeldrin gave pause at the table, its surface covered with a linen cloth, and a pleasant maroon lace center embroidered in. An opened gold box resided to his left; the rose in full bloom with a wreath of thorns and feathers; and delicately hand crafted no less. Its contents were being shuffled by the elder across from his friend Duroxas. The chamber was open and the corner of his kitchen with the window blinds kept shut is where they conversed.

The slide of narrow and long cards shuffled continuously until the Duskwight was satisfied. Methodically, he placed four cards on the table between himself and his friend before placing the entire deck back into the box. Leaving it open, he returned his sight on the red-head with an eerily wavered calm. Cael became solemn and did so unnaturally as if second nature.

“That’s neither here nor there though. The question is if I believe in it, or no.”

Send one (or a few) to my muse and they’ll answer: 

Some more action– this fight isn’t over, maybe now we know who he’s been sparring with these last few days!

I skipped a day so I drew two figures, Duro and Tylorias both. Man these are fun to do – anyone looking to improve on action poses, try watching some dbz for inspo!

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The 17th looms! Find me on Twitter at –

Crickets chirped and cicadas hummed in the trees and grass outside the balcony of the manor, along with the gentle swishing sound of the ocean waves carrying through the double doors into the master bedroom of the large home. Vindliah lay sleepless in the bed, eyes on the arched ceiling and skylights above. Like many times that evening her hand reached out to touch Duroxas sleeping beside her; his bare skin like molten to her icy digits. The scales over his person no longer concerned or perturbed her. She wasn’t even sure if he was aware his skin grew rough in his sleep, his conscious effort to smooth his skin out during the day melting away when he lost consciousness. Between them both her son, Aetheorn, slept with little snores while pressed against the larger male’s side, attempting to snuggle closer every now and again.  

“..Are you waiting until a clear victor is present before you choose?” Lord Renault Harthfolde’s words echoed in her mind suddenly, intrusively, causing the woman’s anger to spark, nails clawing across one of her mate’s larger rough patches. 

Letting out a heavy sigh she rolled onto her side, subconsciously staring at her lover and child. The entire conversation from only hours before caused long brows to furrow, a strand of black hair falling into her face. With a scowl she reached out and grabbed the curl, twirling it in her fingers for a moment, watching as it meshed with the rest of her snowy tresses. The Spellblade hated this single ebon streak, just as much as she hated the ones in Aeth’s hair, a reminder of past mistakes that seemed to haunt her, and now her son, even to this day. 

Normally she would pinch and pull the strands until they hurt but tonight she gave pause. She could relate to this ebon lock.. An outcast amongst the rest of the snow-white tresses that made up her long curls. Vindliah felt like the outsider to those she knew in the Alliance. Venezio’s anger and distrust of her, his subtle threats and posturing even after years of knowing one another were testament to this. Renault’s taunts and call-outs to who she would fall to fight for in the coming war; he was right that she would need to pick a side. There was no waiting on the sidelines, not that she ever did in the past. Who did she choose? The Alliance who she, for years, bled and put her life on the line without hesitation for? Or the Horde that had invaded her home and raised her mother and sister into undeath? The Horde who took her in and, while not knowing she was Alliance, did not question her odd, non-elven habits and uncommon accent.. Who, when they learned of her past, told her it was just that. The past. 

It was a question she had been ignoring, one that nagged at her mind and kept her up more and more lately. “Who do I fight for?” She whispered, fingers moving from her own hair to Aetheorn’s, his soft curls sticking to his face with summer sweat. Gently she blew on his head, her breath holding just the lightest amount of arcane to cool the boy down. Between that little mop of hair three runes shimmed; one on either side of his neck and one on his nape. Her heart ached for the briefest of moments upon seeing those cursed markings. Her thoughts pushed back to the earlier question and with a sluggish movement she sat up, eyes still upon the two sleeping elves in her bed. In their bed. This home was not just hers, it was Duroxas and Aetheorn’s as well. This was her family. Her mate and her son. The man she had, for years, felt a calling to but had ignored due to the faction war.. Had denied herself from because it was forbidden lest they both be labeled traitors to the Alliance and Horde. And now her son.. a half breed of both factions; a Night Elf and a Blood Elf. He was not Duroxas’ blood but she saw how he cared for the boy when no one was looking. How firey he got when he heard Ranirus was getting more familiar with the child and began making more efforts to spend time with him.  

“I choose you.” Fel green eyes softened as she looked to Duroxas; it was the same words she had spoken to him the night she left Stormwind behind. Closed a chapter of her life she had such a hard time letting go of and was glad she finally mustered the strength to do. 

In that meeting this evening all she heard was hatred, blood lust, a desire for destruction, and want to cause misery. They had every right to feel that way. They were justified. But their words also meant the destruction of any chance of future happiness her family could have. It meant the destruction of the Horde’s future. Of her son’s and mate’s future. Her body ached with the choice she was making, her heart still felt as if it would bleed blue and gold… She loved her country of Gilneas, still looked proudly upon the flag and wanted to get vengeance for her people. Wanted to fight under Wrynn’s banner and pierce the skull of every Forsaken who sung victory in the Banshee Queen’s name. 

But this wasn’t about her anymore. It was about them. She would fight to protect them. 

Screenies from the RP I’m in with my guild right now. :3