General Cero Sunsoul

We'll do a Zephi moment :V

Sometimes vital moments in someone's life are small. Something that branches out into a million different possibilities that just weren't quite possible before that moment. Sometimes all it takes to be a vital moment is...

Velerodra waves at you.

Zephidra's life completely changed because she met that strange group of elves all sitting on the park bench that evening. Zephidra's core personality would be much the same. She'd still be cheerful, supportive, willing to help anyone, strive for some type of peace, be a talented ice mage, and enjoy baking just as much as she does now.

The difference would be it would all happen under her sister's control. Without Dead Sun, it would have taken Zephidra far far longer to break from Taliorra's overprotectiveness. She wouldn't have confidence in her ability to stand up for herself, others, and have the ability to back it up. She wouldn't be as powerful of a mage because she just wouldn't have pushed herself as she has. Zephidra would still be stuck in Stormwind, off an apartment by the Cathedral district, handing out baked goods to anyone that would take them and spending all her time between helping the refugees and orphans.

She wouldn't have been an instructor to befriend a troubled teen. She wouldn't have been there to offer her walking staff to him when he was limping to school. She wouldn't have been there to fight to bring him and Eilonwy back. She wouldn't have been there to sit beside him and promise him she wouldn't leave.

She wouldn't have Silthas.

She would be a lesser version of herself. And her life would be happy, yet without her friends and family in Dead Sun... Empty. She'd still be asking herself every day why she survived those years of the orcs hunting her people down. And saying she shouldn't have.

Velerodra waving at her put Zephidra on the path that she doesn't ask herself 'why' so much.

Prompt can be found here.

Tagged by: @shaeshine & @eilitheandiel

Tagging: Everyone

The Unrelated Moment

Down a side street at the Darkmoon Faire, patrons could easily happen upon a stall covered in lepidoptera in all shapes and colors. The scent of drying herbs was potent in the air, or perhaps the scent radiated out of small mortar and pestle which always seemed to have something burning inside of it. 

The roof off the pop-up stall was bright red, sun catchers made of glass and mirror pieces hung around to catch what little light the dark skies above the faire offered. 

For those who came to the House of the Red Moth, they rarely left empty-handed. The madame of the stall of small notoriety for giving strange gifts or bits of advice to all who visited her. At a distance, her stark white hair made her look far older than she was. She was a Kul Tiran small in stature, unimposing– and though she was no longer a young woman, her face still held the amount of youth one might expect from a woman in their early forties. The most unsettling thing about her was the milky-white eyes which always stared vacantly ahead.

Another fixture of the Darkmoon Faire had become Lymantria’s “sister”, Corva. One glance at the Kaldorei was enough to reveal they weren’t related remotely. Her hair was the color of wheat ready for harvest, decorated with baubles and black crow feather. Her eyes bright and golden and a smile almost never left her lips. Her lips which never imparted words.  They  had been with the faire for long enough that it felt as though she were a fixture there– and perhaps that was why it was time for something new.

‘What will we do there,’ Corva knit her brows and signed at her blind companion. 

“What we have been doing these last years. Ensure they are prepared. Ensure we are prepared,” Lymantria responded packing in the stall. “And yes, we can still come to the faire. I know you enjoy it here.”  Corva scrunched up her face and gave an awful huff at her sister’s predictions. ‘What about R-A-Z?’ Corva spelled out the letters of their final sister’s name.  “She will come with us when the time is right, hurry now. The cart needs loaded  if we’re to make the ship in time.”

The sleeping down of Duskwatch was the only place that truly made sense for the first ever, stationary location for House of the Red Moth. Its strange and sleepy nature was attractive to anyone that claimed to be a mystic or a purveyor of odd objects. Energy was so thick in the air that Lymantria could taste it. 

In the month prior, she’d arranged for a storefront at the edge of a main street. Not that there were many streets to choose from in Duskwatch. Velerodra had selected the place based on Lymantria’s requests. A large window in the front, a place to hang a sign, and a humble apartment up above the shop itself. 

Click for bigger view!  This was harder than I thought…  Lololol - I NEED to learn how to color. = u=’  Anyways, precious babies for doodles today.  Terru, Ceru and Judelle.  Custom armors on 2 outta 3, cause Jude wants less of a robe and more badass lol.

Click for bigger view!  This was harder than I thought…  Lololol - I NEED to learn how to color. = u=’  Anyways, precious babies for doodles today.  Terru, Ceru and Judelle.  Custom armors on 2 outta 3, cause Jude wants less of a robe and more badass lol.

I was working upstairs when I hear one of our baby leopard geckos start screaming. Normally they only scream when threatened, but this particular guy screams at almost everything. Turns out there was a small fly in his cage that was bothering him.

This Post is a Conclusion to: Recurring Asymmetries, Broken Mirror, and Ribbons.

Which are all sort of thematically tethered. Hopefully this post is a fitting way to tie the ideas I wanted to together. I had to wait a bit longer than I had initially thought to post it as I wanted it to be eight days after the incident at @deadsunharbor.

—

It was foggy to her, she wandered her home like a lost spectre of herself. Drifting. Circling.

There was a wall in her home, it used to be covered in grim masks, souvenirs she had kept, but the things those mask held had never really been hers. So one by one she’d pulled them from the wall, pressed her lips to theirs and said goodbye.

Velerodra wasn’t the sort to keep clutter around, the masks had been an anomaly. Decorations on otherwise undecorated walls. There was a time they may have had a purpose, but now they had only one purpose left to serve, to burn.

She did not leave the wall empty though.

A box in the corner of her room contained a broken mirror, and she’d spend several days peicing it together like a jigsaw puzzle. Between the cracked shards she hung little ribbons. It was like some strange art project. But the broken mirror and ribbon collage now hung were masks once did. When the wind swept through her home, the ribbons unfurled from between the glass and danced. Some got tangled. Some never really moved much.

She had waited until now - to finally do what must be done. The darkness that crept and lurked in the corners of her mind had been contained. But it was weighing her down.

It had been eight days since it arrived. Eight days it had whispered and hummed. Eight days it had tried to pick at the most vulnerable and frayed ribbons of her mind. It had taken four days to burn away the masks on her wall and reassemble the mirror she had broken. Now it hung on her wall.

She was ready now. It was time to look the darkness in the eyes, and rather than cast it out, assimilate and intergrate it. To make it her own.

It had been eight days since the darkness crept in. Today — she resolved — was the day she would stare the darkness down.

Day Eight, at Dawn

Velerodra had taken a bath, and gotten dressed. She tied her ribbons and bells neatly into her hair. She stretched her limbs and shut every window and every drew every blind. Though the sun was rising, to be in her home, one wouldn’t know it. Now light seemed to sneak through the cracks of her blinds.

She took a deep breath and moved to stand before that broken mirror. The glow of her eyes bounced back at her, peering into her, as she peered into them.

She watched as her emerald and jade eyes were washed over with a swirling violet. Dark tears spilled from her eyes as her nails sunk deep in the flesh on her nape.

She watched as the eyes in the mirror, flashed with amethyst and from the spiraling hues formed a blazing eight pointed star. She knew these eyes. Her mother’s. She’d only seen them when she’d been truly angry. There were whispers now, but she could barely hear them, her own eyes welled with tears, and the ones staring back at her did as well, a sadness in them.

Her nails tore into her flesh and peeled.

Through gritted teeth Vel spoke softly, and sweetly.

“I will always love you the most Ava.” She sniffled as her own eyes reflected those in the mirror. She kept clawing at the back of her neck. Though not recklessly, she’d traced her hands over that part of her flesh so many times she knew it by heart.

She met the violet gaze with her own, the eight pointed stars locked with one another. In the other fragments of the mirror, green and emerald hues danced, and flickered. As if watching on.

“This is not goodbye.” Vel said sadly, as her she carved a square onto the back of her neck. And slowly she curled bloody nails inward, digging in and moving beneath the patch of flesh she’d marked. There were easier ways to do this. But it had to be this way. Her own hands. Flesh to flesh.

“But you are too much of me - and I can’t have that. I need more room, to become new things. I love you mother, but you’ve become clutter.”

It wasn’t the pain from skinning the back of her neck that was making her cry, it was the words she’d just said. She knew them to be true. There was no place for the weight Ava had left in her heart. She needed to make room for — all the things she was afraid to truly let in. So long as this woman haunted her, she’d never be able to move. It wasn’t goodbye, she’d never be able to be rid of the woman, she’d always be a part of her, she just needed her to be a smaller part of her. She peeled a layer of flesh from her nape as dark tears poured, mixing with crystal clear ones. She clenched her fist and pulled. And her hand fell to her side.

She stared as she watched the deep violet hue flicker and dim, she watched as the eight pointed stars in the centers began to fade away - one point at a time. The upper and lower and the left and right points vanished, leaving just two diagonal lines forming a bright ‘x’ shape. She watched as fel fire ignited that ‘x’ in the center of the eyes and burned an arc between the angles on each side. A new shape was born from the ‘x’, - ‘∞’. She saw one eye burned darker than the other, and she watched as the violet was slowly replaced by familiar emerald and jade hues.

She looked at the flesh she’d torn from the back of her neck, the eight-pointed-star that Avaraelia had marked her with. The symbols faded from her eyes. And she stared into the mirror, and there were no whispers now. Whatever darkness may lurk in her had been reshaped. Mists swelled at the back of her neck, knitting her flesh together, free of any marking.

She sobbed. That mark she’d run her fingers over so many times to remember that time she’d felt so loved. It was gone.

As her new flesh formed she glanced at the braclet that always decorated her wrist. The silver infinity symbol. The same symbol that had burned in her eyes. And through her sobs she managed to smile at that. There were, people more worthy of the space in her heart that’d she’d let Ava have to herself.

She felt the flesh in her hand disolve between her fingertips, and her own bood turned to crimson vapors and faded away.

It was noon when the staring contest concluded. But still dark in her home. She dried her eyes. She opened the windows and blinds. There were no more dark tears in her eyes. She was - herself again.

She was, Vel. She was always Vel. But she felt lighter now. As if an anchor had been lifted, and sails unfurled.

She stepped outside, and her eyes flickered brightly. Her bells chimed and ribbons danced as a warm breeze brushed against her cheeks.

Notes: This post is a few days late, it takes place the day after this post. I was a little slow on finishing this one. As of right now, I have one more post I want to write on Vel’s current situation. Which will probably be posted this Friday.

This is the story of the boys who loved you

Who love you now and loved you then

And some were sweet, and some were cold and snuffed you

And some just laid around in bed

Some had crumbled you straight to your knees

Did it cruel, did it tenderly

Some had crawled their way into your heart

To rend your ventricles apart

This is the story of the boys who loved you

This is the story of your red right ankle

–The Decemberists, ‘Red Right Ankle’

At dawn Velerodra finally had managed to remove herself from her hallway. She’d walked through her home, and opened the windows allowing the sounds and scents of the surrounding forest to enter. The citrus, cherry blossoms, the rippling waters from her pond, and the squawking of her cranes. Each window she opened, she also closed the blinds. While she welcomed the fresh air, the sunlight hurt her eyes.

She had also managed to clean up the various messes she had made. She was still in the armor she’d donned the previous day. Though by the time she’d finished cleaning up, she felt foolish for wearing it. Had she truly felt so threatened by her own reflection? She gathered all the shards and placed them in cardboard box and sealed it. For some reason, she wasn’t ready to throw the mirror away. Even though it served no function, and that box was just unnecessary clutter, it was set in a corner, out of the way.

Her body ached, the demonic armor she wore was not kind to her mortal body.

Sitting on the foot of her bed, she removed the fel-infused gauntlets from her hands, and stared down at darkened flesh. She winced as she closed her hand into a tight fist and then opened it. The heavy boots were next to come off. She nudged them beneath her bed with bared feet. Sore hands fought with the the buckle of her belt, which she slid off and cast aside.

Only the thick leathers now remained. They were so tightly fitted to her form, that it seemed less like armor and more like it was a discolored layer of flesh. She peeled at the base of her top, struggling to force her fingers between leather and flesh. The process was slow, and it left her skin torn and cracked in places. With a pained expression she peeled the top and over her head. She dug her nails between the leather and flesh at her hips and with a hiss the serpent shed her skin.

She carefully collected the armor and replaced the pieces back to their place in her closet. Despite the agony this armor caused her, it always made her feel safe. The demonic magics woven into it enhanced her senses, and augmented the parts of her soul that burned with a fel flame. A demon’s embrace was rarely tender, and her armor was no exception. She slipped on a robe before delicate footsteps carried her to her bathroom.

Since she had moved into her late Master’s home, she had not altered the Pandaren’s furnishings. Much of the place was exactly as as he had arranged it. Including the rectangular bath that was proportioned for Pandaren, not elves. A hot bath was prepared, and filled with carefully selected oils. Oils that would soothe and revitalize her flesh. She lowered her body into the bath, as steam clouded the bathroom.

The initial sting of the scalding water nearly caused her to jump out, but instead she forced herself to endure the sensation. Her body throbbed. The hot water against cracked and dried skin was a familiar sting. She grit her teeth, drew her knees to her chest and squeezed them.

The oils would be kind to her, but only after she had soaked in the bath for a considerable amount of time. She tried her best to keep still, not wanting to disturb the water, as each little swirl of water against those darkened fel-fissures, seemed to set every nerve in her body aflame. She gripped herself tighter, lowering her head. Attempts to remain still were futile, her body trembled and caused the water to ripple outwards crest against the sides of the bath and return to her. Wave after wave. She closed her eyes tightly as tears spilled down her cheeks.

Time ticked by. The herbal bath never reached a point where one would call it pleasant. But eventually the oils offered enough comfort to make the bath tolerable. She filled her lungs with air and submerged her head beneath the waters. Her eyes closed. And she exhaled through her nose, sending a stream of bubbles towards the waters surface. With no air to inflate her lungs, her back pressed flush against the bottom of bath. Her eyes opened and she stared up through the waters above her. She held her breath, and submerged beneath the healing waters, she could think clearly.

Was she really so afraid of her own distorted reflection that she felt the need to cling to armor that caused her flesh to burn, and crack? Why was she keeping that mirror anyways? Why did she keep those masks on her wall for that matter? She asked herself many things, but at the fore - she continued to ask: is there more to me than whatever -this- is? Those reflective fragments she’d seen herself in, had frightened her, perhaps because that’s what she felt she was, a bunch of fragments, none of which were any more or less ‘Vel’ than the other. The divisions arbitrary. All of them were equally empty - when she wasn’t there to stare at them. She wondered if fragments of herself had vanished, and she knew the answer. Many of them had. Though she preferred not to think about where those fragments went, though deep down, she still knew. _

She thought about the eight pointed star that still decorated the back of her neck. 

She thought about the masks on her wall, and how she used to stare into them just to experience the fears, and despairs of others. Just to - try - and feel them as if they were her own. She kept the masks because they were hers. But what they held, never belonged to her. She’d tried - to live through others as some sort of short cut, but it never worked. 

The star on her neck, was her mother’s mark, the reason she’d never changed a thing in her home was in respect to her master. How much of herself was a less a reflection of herself and more of someone else? And what tied them all together? How could they exist together at all? 

Her head broke through the surface of the water and she gasped for air. She finished her bath, dried herself, wrapped herself up in her robe and opened a window to allow the steam to escape the bathroom. She returned to her bedroom and spent some time fussing with things, making sure everything was in its proper place and tidy.

She stared at the box that was sitting off to the side. She knew that whatever void energies had slipped into her that night, still lingered. She could feel it wandering through some fragment of her mind. Some fragment, disconnected from the others, a fragment that could vanish.

She moved towards her dresser and toyed with some of the ribbons she kept. The ones that she nearly always wore in her hair. For now, she kept her still wet hair free of decorations. She pulled back her bed sheets and slipped beneath a single silken sheet. Her body still ached in places. She lowered her head onto her pillow and and closed her eyes. And her thoughts drifted as the contrast between her eyes grew starker, and though she could not see, a violet hues shimmered around their outer most edges of her eyes.

Ribbons. Fragments.

She wondered, if perhaps, ribbons was better way of thinking about herself than fragments. She wove in and out of people’s lives, just as people wove in and out of hers, and the combination of all these people she’d known. All these people who had looked at her had helped create her. In many ways she was still being made. Ribbons unfurling and being tugged and pulled. 

Perhaps she was both. Fragments, some of which had been less a reflection of herself and more a reflection of another, all held together by delicate ribbons that held created a carousel of ever-shifting shards of glass. Perhaps not quite so elegant as a carousel would be, more a tangled web that kept all those reflections bound and balanced. 

Perhaps she could just be secure in knowing - that whatever she was - she would always be herself. She’d changed so many times… For different reasons. But - what was it - that kept it all held together? Even now as her mind shifted to contain some dark presence, something was keeping her together. There were things she’d been through that ought break most minds, but hers was stubborn in its ability to crack and reform, to unravel and rearrange.

She should have gone mad. She should have gone mad many times over, between Sha, demons, addictions, the void, trying so hard to be this thing or that thing to this person or that person while still trying to be - Vel. Perhaps she did break into fragments, yet, even now, as she flirted with energies that poked and prodded at her and whose whispers echoed in her mind as yet another fragment formed, the ribbons moved as well. She had been rearranged so many times before, and somehow Vel would emerge from this - still Vel.

Notes: This is a follow-up to previous post. These things turned out to be longer than I had expected. There is still at least one more. I ended up stuffing a lot of backstory in here again. Sometimes I need to write these sort of meandering things, to sort through Vel’s brain. I forget sometimes, how messy it can be to keep track off all the different directions her head gets pushed and pulled in. There are bunch of really brief mentions in her towards the end.

Mentions: @avaraelia, @kurel-andiel, @eilitheduskbringer , @residentsofdeadsun , @ellwelune, @twiddist , @galirayna , @evelynnblackmore , @raylendaerthe​, @recke-stoutmantle ​, @gaelin-duskwhisper, @crymsynlotus, @novinderethehierophant​, @strixena​, @jagged-little-pieces​

This is the story of your gypsy uncle

You never knew ‘cause he was dead

And how his face was carved and rift with wrinkles

In the picture in your head

remember how you found the key

his hideout in the Pyrenees

But you wanted to keep his secret safe

So you threw the key away

This is the story of your gypsy uncle

–The Decemberists, ‘Red Right Ankle’

At dawn, she wrapped herself in robes and moved from the temple, to the chilly grounds outside. She turned to vapor, and let the winds carry her southeast, towards her home in the Jade Forest. Few knew exactly where she lived, and those who did, were unlikely to pay her a visit.

Avaraelia remained a major factor in what made Velerodra - who she was but her search for clarity was not over. Before she was her mother’s daughter, and all that entailed, she was a weapon. A weapon forged for a very specific purpose. As she walked the grounds of her Master’s home, which she had inherited, she knew that he too played a crucial role in sculpting Velerodra in - whoever she was now. His influence, like her mother’s remained.

She locked her door as she got inside and moved to her living room, the one room in her entire house that had any sort of ornamentation on the walls. Masks. A wall of them. Hozen masks. She stared at the wall and felt her head grow heavy from the void energies that she was containing. She knew what those masks held, she knew better than to look them in the eyes now. But she could still feel them, glaring at her. And even glances towards them caused whispers to start to creep from one container of her mind into another.

As the murmuring began to fill her head she left the room and freed herself of the dozens of blackened eyes that had been staring at her. Why keep such grim souvenirs?

They were hers. Each mask, had been used to aid in an exorcism. Each mask still contained the the essence of the Sha that had once possessed someone. That was the weapon her master had forged. He had found Vel, a strange elf who he quickly realized was missing something.

If our pasts define us, or shape us, what is someone who has a limited past? If someone has lived for years, but never could form coherent episodic memories, do they have a past at all? And how might such a being develop? If one day whatever had prevented the formation of long-term episodic memories suddenly was gone? The mind of a child, the brain of an adult? Was there a distinction between the two?

Velerodra Valesinger spent the first ninety years of her life hexed. She only knows this from medical records she had poured over endlessly. Ninety years, she spent, being moved from clinic to clinic, healer to healer, weak and feverish. Some records suggest her mind needed to focus on the most essential resources to keep her alive, and the formation of episodic memory was not such a function. It is the best explanation she has found for why she has no memory of most of her (estimated) life. In truth she had little idea how old she is, little idea where she comes from, and little idea of how she somehow was freed of her hex.

When Vel’s Master found her, she had that childlike mind, impressionable. Malleable. And he saw in her a blankness. A lack of emotional affect. She tried to emulate emotion, but she did not seem to grasp them. And with that as his material, he forged a weapon designed to deal with the Sha that had infected his homeland. The death rattles of an Old God. They preyed on emotions, but Vel, with her blank mind, had little to prey upon. She was taught to use her mind as a temporary prison. The masks that decorated her wall held the emotional turmoil of whomever she’d placed it upon. Why did she keep them? Because, she sometimes, longed to relive them. To experience the fears, hatred, doubts, and rage of others, in the hopes that she might understand what she seemed to lack.

Her Master later regretted what he’d conditioned his student’s mind to be. He’d essentially kept her emotionally stunted. Meanwhile other aspects of her mind developed normally.

For all the harm Avaraelia may have caused, she did, if nothing else, encourage her daughter to feel. To feel angry, to feel hatred to feel love. The demoness manipulated her in order to get Vel to experience feelings that she had been taught so hard to simply not acknowledge.

These two influences, Avaraelia and Xyolo could not have been more opposing. Yet they formed the foundation of who Velerodra Valesinger was. Somehow both of their influences still coexisting within her.

She was her master’s weapon. She was also her mother’s daughter.

Vel sat at the foot of her bed staring into a mirror, carefully studying her own mismatched eyes. A trail of mist began to wrap around her twist and turn and weave into a slender string that sort of hovered from her wrist. Her dark eye stared at her in the mirror as she heard more mumbling inside of her head. The mists turned black and thick, less a string and more a whip. With a hiss she pulled her arm back and struck forward, the dark sludge shattered the mirror and dissolved as a grey vapor. She stared now at the shattered mirror that covered the floor. She looked away in disgust. She had barely been able to look at her reflection, and now she glanced down and saw a cavalcade of partial reflections staring back at her.

Despite averting her gave, she still felt as if her own eyes were staring back at her. She wrapped her arms around her chest and shuddered. She felt — vulnerable. She moved to her closet and disrobed, exchanging her robe for something she felt truly safe in. Heavy metal gauntlets and boots, and thick fel-infused leather that seemed to cling to her flesh. There were two reasons she didn’t wear this armor often, the first was because of the sheer amount of demonic energy it gave off was not likely to go unnoticed and unquestioned. The second reason was because of the pain it cause. But, it made her feel safe.

She went to clean up the shattered mirror and knelt down. She stared at the fragments of her reflection. She reached out with one of her heavy gauntlets to try and collect some of the larger shards. But as she leaned forward she was again assaulted by a barrage of her own fractured images. She clenched her fist as her mind began to buzz.

She felt sick. Her stomach churned and she scrambled towards her bathroom, but she collapsed to the floor in her hallway. She vomited onto hardwood floors. She coughed and gagged. She didn’t get up. She closed her eyes.

She felt her mind shift. As it was trained to do. She felt the voices grow faint.

Who else, sculpted her? There was more to her than whatever  this was, wasn’t there? Her thoughts wandered to more recent events. About the things she still didn’t know after the events of Friday night.

She wondered if Kurel was doing any better.

She wondered if Kurel’s shape was still as it was before, or if it had returned to normal.

She wondered if she could have done more to help.

She wondered why she’d even offered to help Eilithe in the first place.

She wondered if Dalen had collected Elle, and if they were holding one another.

She wondered where the fuck Ethan had come from. She though he’d been exiled.

She wondered if Kit was right about calling Ray by her name. She’d tried it, but couldn’t tell if she liked it or not. Perhaps it was a poor time to test such things.

She wondered if Evelynn got away from Raylen.

She wondered if Evelynn was settled down.

She wondered if Recke ever went to check on her.

She wondered why Gaelen had attacked her and Saeris and if he was upset because of that time they’d knocked on his door.

She wondered if Lady Draconis and her people all survived.

She wondered about the screech from whoever the Dark Mother was, and what it meant.

She wondered if that meant this was over now.

She wondered if anyone found No’vi.

She wondered all of these things. But why?

Part of her mind told her it was natural curiosity. Part of her mind told her it was because she cared. Other parts of her mind started to grow louder and her stomach began to churn again.

She spent the rest of the day on the floor in her hallway. She spent that night there too.

This is the story of your red right ankle

And how it came to meet your leg

And how the muscle, bone, and sinews tangled

And how the skin was softly shed

And how it whispered

Oh adhere to me

For we are bound by symmetry

And whatever differences our lives have been

We together make a limb

This is the story of your red right ankle

–The Decemberists, ‘Red Right Ankle’

At dawn, Velerodra Valesinger turned off any and all communication devices she had. She removed the bracelet that she wore around her wrist that Eilithe had given her to keep her connected to the seal. Abruptly, the shadowy tether that bound Anorasmira to her, was gently retracted, granting the druidess her autonomy. As daylight crept across the mountains of Kun-Lai, the monk rid herself of any means to communicate with others. She would remain off the grid. Enough people had seen her up and about, and there should be no reason for any concern about her absence. And it was not unlike Vel to just vanish at times.

Still dizzy, faint, and unsure the specifics of what had transpired the previous night at the Dead Sun Harbor, Velerodra Valesinger had retreated to Kun-Lai to recover. She’d tried to check on Kurel, trying to push her way past Dead Sun’s enforcers that blocked her pathway, but the weak and drained monkette only managed to push herself, stumbling backwards she tumbled down the wooden staircase. It was then her form had flickered and faded from existence in a haze of mists that unfurled and sought the winds outside of The Hanged Man. She arrived, eventually at the Peak of Serenity and took her form once more. 

 As a monk, the Peak of Serenity had been a place she’d trained. Now it was a husk of what it was, a scar left by the Legion on Azeroth. None made pilgrimages here anymore. Velerodra still did. If anything it suited her more now than it ever had. Her own body had been mutated by Avaraelia’s slow, gradual infusions of fel. She cultivated a gradual and increasing dependence, building her tolerance and creating an addict of the girl. Though the care she’d taken in forcing her daughter to deal with going extended periods of time without what she craved made Velerodra a fairly functional addict. By her mother’s careful hand, Vel had been shaped into a candidate for Avaraelia’s experiment. 

She’d baptized her experiment in the viscous green pools above Dreadmist Peak in the Barrens. That was her former mother’s ‘Shrine’. And what emerged from the pool of demonic blood had been something between an elf and a demon. A felblood. An underdeveloped, disappointing, felblood. Her baptism was one of the few memories Vel had of Avaraelia ever showing her warmth.

After she’d thrust her into the waters, she returned to the Shrine below. Leaving her daughter to sink or swim. Somewhat literally. When her experiment entered the Shrine, Avaraelia wrapped her in robes and held her close. Vel never forgot the warmth as Avaraelia sent a pulse of her magic through the eight pointed star that still remained the back of her neck. The way it radiated through her body, and made every nerve tremble and fire off in a cascade of crippling pain. 

As Velerodra was perched in her mother’s lap, paralyzed by the an ever building agony from the demon’s possessive energies, Avaraelia whispered in hushed words, “You are mine. For all of time”. She traced over the symbol she’d branded Velerodra with again, and again, and made sure her daughter knew that she would always belong to her mother. Tears rolled down her cheeks as Avaraelia offered her moments to catch her breath, but for what felt like hours, she continued to infuse Velerodra’s soul with her magics. Each time the same words uttered.  “You are mine.”   It was the most love Velerodra had ever felt. It remained the most loved she has ever felt. If times had been different, she would have returned to her mother’s Shrine to coalesce. 

But for all Avaraelia’s possessive words, in the end, they were just that. Words. Velerodra was cast away. And so now Velerodra sought out her own sanctuary. Her thoughts were not on the events of the prior evening but on herself, she struggled to sort out just who Velerodra Valesinger was. 

 Was she one thing? Was she a divided thing? How many divisions can one thing sustain before it is a new thing? How many internal contradictions can one hold at a given time? How many opposing forces and dualities can be contained in one vessel? Or perhaps that’s all we were - a series of contradictions, a set of what we are and a set of what we are not, in equal measures - define - an existence? 

Such questions plagued her as she settled her weakened form into the hot springs. Her head throbbed with the familiar sensation of void energies still lingering in a compartment of her mind. She had many compartments, often cut off from one another. The void was as much a prisoner as it was a corrupter of her mind, for it only ever had access to the corner that was set aside for it. Such was how her mind had been conditioned to function. The bubbling spring water burnt her flesh, but she forced herself into it, submerging her form beneath the surface, allowing the healing waters to redden her flesh, and cleanse the wound on her side. She held her breath.

One minute.

Two minutes.

Three minutes.

And with a gasp she emerged from the waters. Pulling herself from their warmth onto the rock and snow that surrounded the springs. She was lost in the steam that rose from her form as she exposed her bare flesh to the icy Kun-lai winds. They felt like whips against her body. Still weak, she curled into a ball, as the cold winds whipped her wet body she trembled and felt paralyzed, like every nerve was on fire. A cascade of sensations that reminded her of that time in Avaraelia’s lap. That time she had felt so loved.  There was no getting rid of her mother’s influence. She would always be, if only in part, and even if her mother did not acknowledge it, Velerodra was always her mother’s daughter. 

She sank back into the hot waters, this time their temperature exaggerated in contrast to how cold her body had been. She felt as if her skin was boiling. 

One minute.

Two minutes.

Three minutes.

The process repeated was repeated until the shock of the transitions began to feel less shocking. Until the pain became dull. Until she made herself numb to it. Until it no longer reminded her of that time she had felt loved. At which point, she walked into the warm temple that still was in tact atop the Peak, and collapsed. She wrapped her arms around her trembling and naked body and just wept. The tears that were shed from her emerald eye were black.

In response to this prompt for the guild arc: In the night, perhaps during a sweet dream the sensation of being watched was overwhelming. As though something or someone stood at the foot of your bed. Slowly the pleasant dream twisted- leaving you to face the nightmarish version of your worst fear…

She stood on the beach barefeet sinking into the sand.   The tide washed in, rolling over her ankles and tickling her with sea foam as the water crept back into the sea.   The sun was setting over Dead Sun Harbor, and the twilight held a sort of uneasy calm.   There war no breeze from the sea on this evening, not even the faintest of gusts.     The air was thick and humid, and as the last rays of light faded from the sky, and the first stars appeared overhead, the air seemed to grow warm around her.     

I know that heat.

“I know you are near.”   Vel said, her voice felt lost, despite the natural silence that had settled over the scene.

A robed figure moved through waves of sand, as the ocean seemed to twist and fade into a desert.   Yet it still seemed to move.   Silently.   The only sound that stood out were the footsteps approaching her from her left flank.    The figure stood just a few inches taller, and was familiar.    She was not surprised to see the red hair when she turned to meet violet eyes.    

“Why are you here?”   she asked, still seeming to believe she was in Dead Sun, despite the surreal shifts to the landscape, despite the distorted constellations that hung above her.    Stars that shouldn’t be seen.   

The woman in the robes extended her hand, “To reclaim what is mine Vel dear.”

“I am not yours anymore Ava.”   Vel’s eyes drifted towards the extended hand, and she balled her own into a fist.    

“Come now child.   Do not waste my time.”   

The dreamscape seemed to freeze.    Everything went still.    Except for Vel’s hand, as it uncurled, and her fingers moved towards Ava’s.    

Why do I still want this?   Her hand is so sure that I will reach for it.   So sure that I would never be able to deny her.   So sure that I will always be hers if she just - says the words.    She disowned me.   She rejected me.   I was never loved by her.   I was never anything to her, and yet, still, why do I want nothing more than to take he hand, and call her ‘mother’ once more? 

As her digits curled to take the woman who had been a mother to her’s hand, they simply passed through.    Vel stared at her hand, which was translucent now.    Mists spiraled off her body.

“Shame my dear.   It seems I have arrived too late.   You were warned about to being too nebulous.”   Ava reached to put a hand on Vel’s cheek, but that too, was more vapor than flesh now, and the glance Ava spared her was one of cold pity.   The world around them shifted again, the sands turned back into sea, the stars rearranged in the sky, and a breeze cooled the air.     Ava’s words smirk grew amused, “I was right to have given you up.”   the red head was gone now, and the world returned to normal.    

Vel glanced around the Harbor nervously as she felt sweat form on her brow.  Only now did things register as unusual.   But the unusual had passed, and she was just standing on the beach.    

Quick steps carried a startled monkette across the beach, and towards the docks, from the docks towards the Wheel.   She heard voices from outside.   Familiar voices.   Saeris, Kurel, Evelynn, Eilithe, Ray, Raylen, Tyler and others.   She heard rolling dice.   She heard laughter and bickering.    Some voices she did not know.   As she walked in and glanced around, she noticed that no one turned towards the door, and her bells, she noticed, were not chiming.   She reached up to try and tap them, only to pass through her ear.   She again looked at her hand only to see a rapidly dissolving limb.   All of her was fading into a mist.   She glance back at the beach and realized she’d left no foot prints as she’d moved.    As she thought back, her quick steps across the docks had never once made a sound.   

Help.

She tried to shout, but could not speak.    She moved across the gambling house, and tried to grab onto something.   Try to make her existence - known, or something.    She reached for a glass that was resting on a table, but nothing happened, the sweat that she’d felt on her brow, she felt drip through her and leave condensation on the glass she’d touch.    And slowly - all sensation began to fade.    She was left - able to perceive, but had no form.   She was just, air.   

Conscious air.    

And no one - none of those that she knew seemed to mention her.   None seemed to realize she was gone.    After all, would it be so odd for her to be absent here or there?   Vel did Vel things…  why would anyone think to wonder where she was?    

Is this all then?    I am …  truly non-existent…   and I the only mark I made, was the beads of condensation on a glass…   

What a waste…

As her thoughts decayed into less coherent questions, she began to see herself less and less as ‘Vel’ - which was almost a comfort.   As if in erasing herself from existence fully, was better to be in some strange state of being aware of one’s status as a negative-existential.    That concept alone was a paradox enough to make one want to will oneself from existence.    

Never really got to do as much as hoped.   

Perhaps this is just how it goes.

Some things, are never 

Really meant to 

Be.

Vel gasped as her eyes shot opened.   She glanced around her, bedsheets drenched in a cold sweat.    She was home.   

A dream?   

She could feel her heart racing in her chest.   And when she placed her palm over it she couldn’t help but feel relieved to actually feel her own body.   And each thud of her heart.    She inhaled deeply and looked around her empty bedroom.    She could hear her cranes making noises outside.   

What time is it?

The monkette always rose just before sunrise.   But the cranes usually were quiet until the sun had properly rose.    She glanced at the window.    She rubbed her eyes, for the first time in - years she had woken up off her body’s internal clock.    

This must be what it feels like to oversleep…   

She noted as she tried to shrug off the surreal dream she’d just been claimed by.    She nervously reached for her desk, and tapped her finger against the wood.    Just to make sure - her fingers were not fading away.

Elle shot Kurel.

Ethan shot Eilithe.

There was a fire that burnt No’vi’s labs among other things.

Vel expected tensions to be higher than ever between the various denizens of Dead Sun Harbor.

And yet…

She could not detect the levels of tension she expected. No, if anything there seemed to be a decided lack of tension.

Eilithe seemed less snippy than she had a night prior. She practically seemed - warm. She said ‘goodnight sister’ to Elle over the seals. She called Recke a tit and a fat-ass and he called her sightless. But it seemed in good spirit.

It was odd. The whole evening felt odd to her.

Evelynn and Elle excused themselves from the Hanged man briefly and returned seeming more friendly with one another than she’d ever witnessed the two seem.

And even though her face was practically painted crimson due to the topics of conversation, Elle seemed far less judgemental than she often did. She almost seemed … vaguely relaxed. At least, more relaxed than Vel had ever observed Elle.

When Vel had left, she said goodnight to everyone. And everyone said goodnight back in some way or another. Eilithe asked Vel to try to keep Kurel from working too much in his condition. And the monkette had expressed doubt in her ability to convince him to take care of himself. She told Eilithe to more or less - distract him with sex. She didn’t know if it would work, but, what harm could come from trying?

She then received a private suggestion from Elle, of all sources.

Elle had shot Kurel… why… was she offering suggestions related to his well being? It was probably worth a try.

As she left the Hanged Man, there was a moment in which she paused and wondered if the whole night had just been a dream or if she was missing something.

She expected tension. What she found - was something that for the first time struck her like - well - vaguely, a family. At least - maybe that’s what it seemed like. Her sense of family was a bit on the fuzzy side.

No. She decided.

She was clearly just missing something… things couldn’t be nearly as fine as they appeared to be… could they?

This look is BOLD! But by the gods do I love it! This lovely little Sin’dorei is paving the way for upcoming fashion. Most say matching your clothes to your very own hair color is not a good match, but what about when you use your hair color as an accent color to your outfit? To that I say, YES! Grey leathers outlined with the subtle gold and blues paired with the deep blue hair makes for a heart-stopping look! It even has the Alliance colors, I love seeing our faction pride out and about these days!

There was nothing but silence in the dark town of Dead Sun Harbor.  All of the residents had been evacuated which left only the Family and the Enforcers wandering the silent streets that had been consumed by battle only a day or two ago.

Things were already on the right track with the usual bickering between Family members. The heavy tensions and stupidity. But, at least they were forming a plan to attack the Temple where she had been initially corrupted.

Sadly, nobody knew what to expect on the inside… or how to even begin the attack.  Evelynn could have helped- except she doesn’t know a thing about it. All she knows is that it’s heavily corrupted and she never really gave it much thought while she was infected.

With things steadily getting back on track like nothing had happened, she’d be locked in her apartment with only the light in her bedroom and living room on. There were two enforcers outside. Just to make sure nobody got any bright ideas to attack her… since she was a bad guy only 48 hours ago.

With nothing entertaining her, she was mostly left consumed with her thoughts. Her will, mind, and body had been twisted to serve the ‘Lord’ and question nothing. Yet, now she was questioning everything.

She would release a heavy sigh and lift her hands up to rub at her temples with her index and middle fingers. She was pacing the hardwood floors like a lunatic. She couldn’t stand to stay in one spot for too long, nor could she stand to be in the body she was in any longer.

As her rubbing came to a stop, so too did her movements. A brief ‘light’ shone in her mind.   She had already begun making plans.  Plans to… say goodbye.

She looked to the left, down the hallway that led to her room. With the walls illuminated she lingered on one specific spot on the floor. Where she had shared an embrace and apologies with someone who… missed her more than anything. The real her.

She wasn’t Evelynn. Not anymore. That persona had been wiped away. The slate had been cleaned. Eve had been torn out of her body. Now she was just Nikki. The ghost that took a joy ride in a corpse she didn’t want to be in.

She blinked several times, then looked at the bookshelf in front of her. There was a notebook stuffed between two of the books so she stepped forward and took it in her hands and began shuffling around for a pen to write with.  She needed something to occupy her mind. To distract her from the discomfort she was in.

Plopping down on the couch, she would flip a few pages in, not even stopping when she saw the frantic scribbling of that other persons confusing life written on the pages.

When she found a blank page. She would pause and pick her brain.  Who did Evelynn care about?  Who would need to know that she wasn’t going to be around? Who would care?

When the names popped into her head… she took pen to paper and began writing her ‘farewells’.

Elle,

I know this is terrible timing. Especially when you’re looking for someone to connect with about what happened. I’m sorry that I’m writing this when you ‘need’ me.  But, I can’t stay in Dead Sun anymore. We talked about how strong I was for surviving the stripping of my will and sanity but I can’t do this. I feel nothing but guilt. Not just for hurting your back and then using that to lure you away and corrupt you but also because of what I was forced to think about Recke.  And… I attacked the Family. People I’m supposed to protect and care about.

We had our ups and downs. I know you meant it when you apologized for what you said… and I did too. Emotions are things I’m still struggling to deal with. I know you are too. But maybe this is for the best.  I’m a terrible person.

I’m not good at this.

I wish you well… please don’t try to contact me. I don’t want to remember the pain I caused.

Goodbye.

-Evelynn

She stared at the words when she finished. Was that good enough? Would Elle be suspicious of the wording? Does it look like something Evelynn would write?

It was like she was a whole other person.   She really had no clue how to act when it came to who she was before.  She tried to pretend already but it failed miserably. Now people gave her weird looks.

Another sigh left her lips. She left that page there and went to the next.  Who else needed to know that wasn’t on the inside of her plans?  Another person that she was close to…

Velerodra,

You probably weren’t expecting a letter from me. I’m sure you got excited when you saw it at first but this will probably hurt your feelings… and I don’t want to- I don’t mean to.

I’m leaving Dead Sun. 

You’re probably going to be one of the people I’ll miss the most. I enjoyed our time together. I was really beginning to… open up to you. I liked you and I felt like we connected in some way.  That’s why I’m sorry I’m saying goodbye.

Maybe it’s selfish of me to do this… but after what happened to me… the corruption and-… I just can’t stay here.  Only a few people will know why I left. You’ll be one of them. Elle is another… if you need to speak to her… she could probably use the comfort right now.

I hope this doesn’t make you cry… or feel alone. I want you to smile and blush at the thought of me. Keep your head up high. I want to hear those bells jingling.

Don’t try to contact me.

-Evelynn

A deep breath would break her train of thought. Her vision already blurring slightly. She’d wipe her eyes and sniffle. That one… actually packed a punch.  Vel seemed like a decent person, even to her.  She could already see the wilted ears on the elf. Just like she could hear the faint ringing of the bells. “Ah… fuck.” She muttered and tilted her head up as the pen began to tap against the notebook. “Who’s next…” Distracting her mind with the constant taps. It would take only a minute or two before she looked back down, flipped the page and began anew.

Raylen,

We didn’t end on good terms. I know it was a heat of the moment kinda thing so I’m… actually really sorry that I hurt you. I know I kicked you in the face among other things… and that probably hurts. Well, I know it does. You were all wrapped up in bandages and looked like shit earlier.

You were becoming a good friend. The night I watched the stars with you and opened up about my nightmares is a good memory. It surprised me that you seemed to care about me.  I’m not used to receiving affection- at least not yet. It was good.  You’re a good person… even if you did attack me.  I don’t blame you. I don’t hold it over your head or anything… so if you start blaming yourself for this I’m going to be really upset with you.

I’m leaving Dead Sun.

You got a taste of the madness. I saw it with my own two eyes. I hope you understand, to an extent, why I can’t be here. Why I can’t be around all these people I was supposed to protect and care about.

It hurts to say goodbye. I didn’t think it would.

It was nice knowing you though.

I’ve written this twice already in the other letters I’m giving out… but, don’t try to contact me. Please.

-Evelynn

This was already beginning to feel tedious. Yet, it also felt like pieces of her were being stripped away. This was good. She couldn’t just bury Evelynn away. It would be best if people weren’t questioning where she suddenly went. It was also good for her to feel like she didn’t carry the weight anymore.

Xaxas,

We haven’t talked in a while. I miss it. But I haven’t been able to leave Dead Sun… there were some… complications that I can’t speak about. I know you’re old so I might just be a passing memory. Someone that you don’t really think twice about… but I wanted you to know that I’m leaving.

I’m not going to be around… at least not for a long time- maybe ever… I don’t know yet.

You were one of first few ‘friends’ I actually thought I had. I felt like I could spend an eternity up on that rafter in the Pig just talking to you about the little things. You were so interested in me and so was I in you. It was a good feeling to just feel that way with someone. I’m going to miss you and Anir so much. I wish I could hold him and play with him again.  At least let him know that he was a good listener.

Don’t try to contact me.  I don’t want to be found. Or reminded of what I did.

-Evelynn

Was that all of them?  Were there more that she couldn’t think of? Elle, Raylen, Vel, Xaxas… Rayna? No… Gaelin? The thought just sent shivers through her spine. That was a big no.

Yet another sigh left her lips. Her tongue then ran over them to wet them and she’d set the pen down and begin pulling the pages from the book. She probably had an envelope around here somewhere.

When the letters were stuffed away. She’d tap the small stack against the scarred palm of her left hand. She had already written the respective names on the top.

Now she just needed to find Recke. Then she needed to find Eilithe and set a date for these to be distributed. She also needed to speak more about her plans. How would they bring her back into the Family?  A good portion thinks she’s dead…   What a shocker that’ll be.

But she couldn’t stand this body. She couldn’t stand it when people called her Evelynn.   She needed to find a mage. Jenny possibly.  An illusion would do for now… it just needed to be a damn good one.

“Ma, I’m hung'y.” She closed her eyes against the memory of the voice, instead concentrating on carrying her daughters away from that place, towards her freedom. The debts caused by her attempts to appease that memory had been paid, in her blood and in the mysterious diamonds that had been sent to her. She was never going back to this place. Her son, Davon, walked quietly beside her, looking just as regal as his father did, though his father had never cleaned bedsheets and prayed that the cough that his mother occasionally had was just a cough and nothing worse. His father never feared for their health, not when he was a paladin of the holiest order. They never feared for bandits when his sister was one of the greatest rangers.    It had been such a blessed life. And… it was all over and in ashes, and she was left with her son and niece and little in the way of places to go.

Leos, It pains me to think that it has been over a year since we last spoke. Taladren’s birthday came and went, with presents from Kit and from Mira (though I am unsure if school books count as a present; however, she did also give him a wooden sword and an enchantment that takes the form of a verdant chirping dragon). When we visited the farm near Halfhill, my former students held a bit more of a festive celebration for him.

It was surreal being back in her body. Truth be told, after it happened, the first thing she did was sleep. For nearly two weeks she’d wake up briefly, eat the tiniest amount, and go back to sleep. She couldn’t help it, she was so weak and tired, and her small dragon self would not leave her place of comfort. Eventually the voice in her mind that told her to regain her strength and restart her training won, and she forced herself awake one morning and started stretching, willing life into her limbs for a long time before finally taking a breath and transforming into her elfen form.