the freak of azeroth

ID 1: detailed digital painting of Dimensius from World of Warcraft, who is a huge purple void god consisting of a vaguely humanoid torso, head, and arms, levitating a burger and sucking it into the black hole in his torso.

ID 2: the same concept as the first image, of Dimensius sucking a burger into his black hole, but drawn in MRT note (in the game of world of warcraft) and much much less detailed

Alexstrasza

As the Queen of Dragons, Leader of the Red Dragonflight and most importantly, a mother, Alexstrasza serves her duties with unmatched tenacity and grace. You would be hard-pressed to find a more suitable person for the job. But despite her parental nature and deep desire to fiercely protect those dear to her, she does not baby you—she trusts you and believes you are perfectly capable to handle obstacles thrown your way, it is only when you either ask her for assistance or she deems the situation out of your control that she will interfere. Alexstrasza loves every creature on Azeroth, sometimes to an unreasonable degree, she makes sure it is known that they all fall under her wing, her protection and care—and few move independently from the shade her wings cast and can so easily find her attention as you do. She favours you, unafraid to admit your presence is much more desirable than some—than many—and will seek your company over others.

Alextrasza is not a young whelp, she has flown Azeroth's skies for far longer than the older races that walk the soil have on two feet, and even if she loves and cherishes every life on Azeroth, even though she desires to protect and preserve their health, she will also have them understand that they will stand on their own legs through the high wind—but that were it to come to it, she will always stand before the storm.

If you were to allow it, Alexstrasza would love to decorate you, to gift you gold and jewels to hang upon your person wherever you so desired. She would prefer you wear red and gold, adorned with her gifts and more often by her side than not—fitted like you truly to belong to each other, made for each other—Alexstrasza would not insist you do as she would like, but would appreciate it even more so if you chose to by yourself.

Were you to lay the palm of your hand to her scales, you would find them to be comfortably warm. Her body emits a comforting heat that reflects her burning love and passion for her children, family and consorts, a love that does not fade even for the dead. Her golden gaze—whether draconic or elven—eases whatever nerves might trouble you, a gaze so soft you might feel cotton fill your chest.

It's a far more subtle and independent relationship than one would expect, sometimes there are days that Alextrasza is busy and must attend to her duties, and as much as she would love to have you accompany her... most of them can be quite boring, and you have your own daily tasks to go through. Alexstrasza isn't much for parading you around like a drake with a newly found mate, but she does not hide you either—she simply isn't much of a hand-holder, in the simplest sense.

The quickest way to improve Alexstrasza's mood, were she to seem troubled or feel under the weather is to grab a whelp our of the air—they're everywhere, those little rascals—and plop them down in her lap. She will look momentarily confused, but her heart will instantly lighten at the high-pitched squawk the whelp lets out, Alexstrasza thanks you for your consideration and suggests you accompany her on a walk to clear her mind. The whelp is freed from their voluntary confinement and flaps back to enact chaos on it's caretakers.

Speaking of whelps, I hope you find them cute, because they can and will swarm you anytime you are in their line of sight. Unfortunately, they are young enough not to understand their impressive strength despite their small form and will sometimes grip and nip at you a bit too hard. A nearby sitter—or even Alexstrasza herself, if she happens to be nearby—will scold the horde of excited whelps, trying to get it into their small heads that they must be aware of and have care with their strong jaws and sharp talons. The whelps will give you the largest, shiniest pleading eyes you have ever seen in your life in attempt to beg forgiveness, and it would be a crime of the highest degree to not forgive them on the sport. They would then bite you again—gently—for fun, they love you very much.

Alexstrasza has a tendency to bring you things, differently from the gifts she gives you involving jewelry or clothing. You had once stopped on a stroll for a minute to re-tie your boots—not noticing that Alexstrasza had continued walking—and looked back up to see her approaching you rapidly. Confused and a bit startled by her brisk pace, you ask if there is anything wrong.

"Nothing at all," she replies with a smile, placing something in your pocket.

You reach into your clothes, curious what it was that she had slipped into it and pull out an oddly shaped stone. You blink at the rock and look to her again, Alexstrasza had begun walking again—turning when you spoke. "Thank you...?"

She says nothing for a moment, inclining her head slightly. "What for?"

You raise the stone between your fingers, a flicker of the sun peeking between leaves above you shines it's side.

"Oh, it is strangely shaped, is it not? I thought it was interesting."

Many times you don't even notice, as the day comes to an end and you begin removing your outside clothing in favour of something more comfortable, you do not remembering having seen Alextrasza for the entirety of the day—yet your pockets are full of strangely misshapen shells and discoloured wood. And dirt.

But you can be assured that when the sun is below the horizon and the chill of night falls over the land, you will never embrace sleep without her warmth beside you.

  Ysera

I hope you're not afraid of bugs.

Ysera spends a lot of time in greenery, thick and moist forests filled with bugs and creepy crawlies--though sometimes in open plains, laying on the soft moss, a natural cushion under your head.

You will never for the rest of your life have a sense of privacy in your sleep—Ysera will know what you dreamt of and she will talk about it, mostly because she finds it fascinating what your subconscious comes up with in the dark of the night.

On the upside, you will also never for the rest of your life have a bad or uncomfortable sleep, whether you mention it or not, Ysera has made it her personal mission in life to keep your dreams peaceful and comfortable—if asked, she will simply say that since she watches it anyway, why not ensure it is nice? 

Outside of napping and dreaming—her favourite hobby and occupation—Ysera has a lot of teaching and consulting to do, druids and dragons young and old seek her advice on both important and sometimes painfully trivial matters, yet the dreamer addresses every single one of them with attention and care that’s enough to quell any worry and anxiety in regards to the problem at hand.

But Ysera is not all-knowing, she often asks you for your perspective and values your opinion greatly—don’t worry if you don’t know or understand the weight or intricacy of the problem, sometimes it helps to have access to an unbiased view she trusts.

One day she offhandedly mentions she likes your smell and upon asking for her to elaborate on the strange comment, Ysera would say that among the heavy wet smell of the morning forest, of the lingering chill of the night, your scent stands out and draws attention to you. A smell she likes to follow. You weren’t sure exactly what that meant but at the time you thought it was a thinly veiled insult, or suggestion to bathe more often (it was not). 

You like to think you know more than some how visages work, and you’re confident that Ysera can wear her hair any way she desires when she uses the magic. Then why does she, almost every time you get ready for the day and she makes use of her visage form, ask you to style and form her hair? It’s simple, she does not say it—too bashful to voice it—but she likes the way your fingers thread through the hair of her visage, how you try your best to make it different every time and sometimes place flowers and greenery in it to elevate your newest work. Whether you have any knowledge of styling hair doesn’t matter, she will wear it until she changes from her visage form. 

Despite her seeming unending wisdom to her flight and Azeroth’s druids, Ysera sometimes asks you the most out of pocket, insane questions known to man.

“Why do mortals say ‘after dark’ when it is usually said after light has gone for the day?”

“That saying—if roses are red, why is it followed with ‘violets are blue’? They are not blue.”

“The book you were reading the other day, ‘Unsolved Mysteries of Tol Barad’—why are they called ‘unsolved mysteries’? Do they not have to be unsolved in the first place to be called a mystery?”

You sometimes wonder if she asks these types of questions only to see your completely bewildered and befuddled expression as you attempt to both decipher her thought process and come up with an appropriate answer.

She does, catching you off-guard and watching the gears in your head turn as you try to understand what she just said is a rare change from the composed, wise elders and druids she so often speaks to. It makes her feel more… awake, interacting with something more alive, makes her feel more alive. 

She is one of the the best people—next to her sister of course—to be around if you were to get sick or have a need for quiet and caring, remedies and letting the body work it out is the healthiest way to deal with the common cold or any mostly harmless sickness, so she mostly helps you even out your body heat and soothe any headache or other pain. She is confident in you to handle any small illness but is unafraid to ask for the second opinion of a dragon or druid specialising in caring for and healing sickness if she feels the need, or finds your condition become concerning. 

Overall the embodiment of care and comfort when you need it, five stars.

  Nozdormu

Early on, you had to use every single cell in your brain to navigate a single conversation with this guy. The amount of mental gymnastics you had to do to decipher some of the stuff he says offhandedly is impressive—you were advised to not think too hard about what he says, that the effort is too great for something he won’t explain to you if you asked anyway, but you choose to engage with his pondering and strange comments despite the occasional headache. Which is something the Lord of Time find increasingly more impressive as time goes.

That doesn’t mean you can’t have a normal conversation with him, if Nozdormu truly wants to tell you something or chat, he will. He simply finds it amusing and strangely engaging to create conversational hoops for you to find your way through, it's not malicious... on purpose.

You once complemented the tattoo on his visage form’s shoulder and he has never covered it since, even when he conjures more clothes on his visage form he always keeps his tattooed skin exposed—even if it might be impractical, and if you asked, he would never tell you it was because you seemed to like it. 

As the Guardian of Time and leader of the Bronze Dragonflight, Nozdormu is extremely busy. Not only has he had to lead an entire flight, but the entirety of time to watch for as well—less so after the loss of his titan-given powers as aspect, but his position is demanding. There might be days or weeks where you would not see him, not knowing what he was doing nor optimistic that you would ever know—and despite having no idea where or when he is, you are unfortunately the person most would assume knows and you'll have to become skilled relatively fast at answering the question of where he might be to those who need his attention. 

Fortunately, Nozdormu doesn’t leave you to answer for his hand forever and instead will leave you with answers to give—his definition of an answer to; “where is Nozdormu and when will he be back?” being along the lines of; “he will come to you when the time is right.” which is not technically an answer, but it gets them off your heels for a while.

Nozdormu does not often explain what he’s doing, where he’s going or why to you—nor anyone, really. He has many things on his mind, so much that it is surely unreasonable to assume one being could shoulder the entirety of time on their own, he reasons with himself that it is precisely for that reason he must be the only one to bear the burden of time. Most of the dragonflights operate separately and many of the dragons within them fly independently, but the Bronze Flight much more so. Many of the flight work alone and rarely do they work in groups, the dragons of his own flight rarely or ever speak to Nozdormu directly, even if they desired to do so—which most don’t have a reason for. 

Over time, despite his flight taking considerably less losses than others comparatively, Nozdormu has short times where he feels a strange, cold pit of… loneliness strike him. He often distances himself from the mortal world and spends time gazing into the timeways, sometimes to an unhealthy degree where he would not emerge for a long while—and who would notice? For the longest time, he has been so detached from the ‘current’ time that there was no one who would ask. 

He would wonder, often, what it was that drove his future self to insanity... was it some event in the future—unseen to his current eyes—of losing control of himself in a horrible way? To lose grip of his senses and fall to madness, lose the desperate battle to cling to rationale and grasp of what makes him himself...? What is it what makes Nozdormu what he is? Is it his power over time? If so, then who was he before? How does he know if his understanding of himself is true, that it does not fool him? Unable to see that he has become different before it is too late? Where his morals and senses have become too altered—twisted unrecognisably—to the point of insanity?

It is an uphill battle to get the dragon to open up about his doubts, of the nagging, itching concerns he never allows to crawl far enough to the forefront of his mind to show behind his eyes. You only have vague assumptions of what Nozdormu might be thinking when he gazes distantly over your shoulder—you might never know what he is feeling, and you certainly might never understand those feelings. But it does not mean you can’t try to reason that perhaps if he confined in someone, not necessarily yourself, anyone, that it might help him sort his thoughts. 

As is his expertise, Nozdormu deflects and guides the conversation away from the topic. He does not wish to become Murozond, but he knows he cannot’ alter the true timeline—he will not stop his pursuit of preventing his own downfall, but how far can, and is he willing to go? He cannot’ allow himself to fall to madness—he cannot’ allow you to see him fall. 

You know there is little you can do to actually help him while he keeps this distance, so you stay where he places you—so barely within arms length that it’s obvious he wants you not to interfere for your own safety, but yet somehow so barely closer than most that perhaps, you can find a way to ease his burden just a little. Until the time is better.