ι dwell ιɴ ѕтorмѕ

Name:   Euanthe Aliases/Nicknames:   Eunnie, Lady Euanthe ( but oof... formalities ) Gender:   Cis Female. Species:   Draenei D.O.B.:   May 27th Age: Young Adult ( but also old ) Sexual Orientation:   Pansexual; Panromantic. Relationship Status:   Single.

                                                          APPEARANCE.

Eye Color:   Light blue Hair:   Brunette Skin:   Cornflower blue, fair and smooth Birthmarks/Tattoos:  N/A Height:   6′7″ ( 205cm ) Weight:   187 lbs. Scent:   Earthy, often like fresh soil and pine with a dull floral scent

                                                              FAMILY.

Parents: Kortenai, ex-exarch father ( deceased ) || Protea, ex-exarch mother ( deceased ) Siblings: Cypress, sister ( technically deceased but in a death knight way ) Children: N/A ( but she loves them ) Pets: A riding talbuk gifted to her by the Kurenai ( whose name I keep forgetting and changing again aaaaa )

                                                          MENTAL STATE.

Mental/Physical Disabilities:   None Bad Habits: Very clingy, overly emotional and often consumed by feelings rather than logic, soft even to enemies more than capable of taking advantage of it, incessant worrying over things both big and small, self-depreciation, digging her hooves into the dirt ( it’s an odd comfort thing )

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* @blackshadcw

     ❝ ‘Dangerous’? Is that so ? ❞

     Entertained, smiling. Not that she had doubted such a thing. There was no path ever safe, no road around that had not been crossed by any. Rare was the opportunity to go unscathed in the times that were then escalating. It only grew worse. Euanthe was no stranger to the strife that so deeply permeated the streets. The lot were thugs, novice and born in the troubling times in which they saw nothing but injustice and hate. Many were easily cast aside as people and as threats. Simply, they were nothing to most. Perhaps not even people. She often saw otherwise. They were ultimately lost in the melancholy of their lives. But there were those far too rooted in ways that saw nothing but the deep darkness of the hole they had dug themselves into; the dangerous. Those without hope. There was nothing as formidable as a man with hope, but those without it possessed a heartbreaking strength of their own more concerning than inspiring. It was those without purpose that posed the biggest threat .

      Hooves click idly against cobble and loose dirt. Much like a child rocking on heels, though more thoughtful than impatient. His inquiry was not an uncommon one. Delicate, sweet, she was the sort to be protected. Though, more often than not, it was not a question that need be asked. Protection came to her in the form of two large, rather intimidating broken men when it did not come of her own accord. As of late it was rare to see the shaman chieftain alone at all. Many things weighed heavy on her mind. It was difficult to be wary when so many things clouded ones senses. To say she had not fallen victim to attack thanks to such slip-ups would be a lie. It was often not worth taking chances when it came to a world at war. Being overly cautious, Mitun would be at her side constantly unless something dire arose. It was simply how he was. He knew well how capable she was. Euanthe took care of herself. But it did not keep him from her. Sensible, thoughtful, but overprotective. It was difficult not to be, having lost almost everything once before. Sometimes it felt as though this service to her was one of the only things the old broken had left. Far from it, surely ── but she gave him what satisfaction she could. Better to have the company to ease the concern and fulfill his promises than to be alone. It was hard for her to say no to anybody .

     Such remained true in the face of Alarin. With her guards effectively dispatched and about other matters, Euanthe is left alone to handle herself. A peek of tongue through lips, teeth just barely biting into it that she might hide a silly expression before fully making it .

     ❝ Are you worried about me? ❞ it is a lighthearted tease, filled far more with warmth and gratefulness than it is pure mockery. Perhaps it is even a bit touched. She takes confident hold of her staff in one hand, tapping its end audibly against the ground. It goes without a word that she is capable. Though, given the gentle look still about her, such capability might be put into question. A smile crosses her lips as she returns her staff to its resting place upon her back. ❝ I would be honored if you escorted me. After all, it is better to be safe than sorry, is it not ? ❞

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* @blackshadcw

     Silence. A pleasant, comforting silence, one which had been so common in the downtime of conversation. When nothing need be said between them. It filled a void, normally laden with unpleasant gazes of the eye and a silence that felt thick as fog. But this quiet, thin as ice, was easily broken when it chose to shatter under the weight of words. There was no sense of alarm or alertness as there would be in any general situation. The worry of being caught, the thought of losing something. Nothing compared to the peaceful silence between them. How remiss it would be for any of their meetings to forget it .

     Soft breathing, closed eyes; Euanthe sits in that silence as if forgetting the state of the world around her. In simple times, where things did not rage and the world did not crumble apart beneath the stress of mankind’s disarray. Where there was silence, there was sly and cunning. But in hers, there was only a quiet peace. Disarming, welcoming. It was a place to lay a weary head and a time to rest. A happy smile and a moment of escape. To say she could share such a moment with anybody was rare as of late. The tension of the times had been far too great. Kindness in this regard was often shattered . 

     But not even the toiling of war would disrupt such a serenity. It was only the slow, gentle movements ─ the ones that could hardly disturb a resting child ─ that roused the attention of the draenei. The slight prod of callous, rigged horns press against the bare skin of her exposed shoulders. It leaves behind not even a white scratch. Following is skin, fel-pocked and lined with abnormalities that gave way to a small, bumped ridge should it have laid impressions within her own skin. But it had hardly touched her. It is reserved, perhaps overly so. In fear of damage or in fear of expressing far too much emotion, she did not know. His horns would come just shy of her face. Eyes open slow, half-lidded, without any other part of her moving with them. It takes but a moment to see the gentle grab for attention, be that as it may. A smile, faint as the setting sun, curls on the dark blue of her lips. How difficult it is for her not to smile at him. In the brief moment, beyond the frame in which she has to think, her head cranes just well enough to the side that she may comfortably tilt it downward. Careful as one can be, the back swept crest of her horns presses against his own. The sound of jewelry always adorning well-kept horns jingles against the dark colored ones enveloping her shoulder. There is a rough, grating sound as they rub against one another. But there is no pain. It is a force, almost nurturing, that brings about an affectionate gesture. To one that was not born with horns, perhaps it is a strange concept. But to her, it is nearly as close as one could be .

     ❝ I was beginning to wonder if you were still there, Alarin. ❞ A low and hushed tone, one not lacking in slight humor and happiness. Despite how close they were, it was difficult if not impossible for one of her horn shape to completely lock them with another. A bit of grating was about all she could manage. There was plenty of room for him to pull away, should he wish to, so long as he did not become tangled in the string of gems lining her ridges .

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* @donttell-myfather​

     ❝ Is this sort of exchange a human marriage tradition ? ❞

     Clueless. Perhaps worse than a talbuk unaware of panthara even with it slavering over its ankles. It’s a look of curiosity, but very little understanding. So little that the draenei was almost embarrassed to call herself fairly knowledgeable of the races she had come to know since coming to Azeroth . 

     ❝ Livestock… ❞ Euanthe muses, so deep in thought it is as ridiculous as it is overtly considerate. ❝ But, is there a point to having ten Ironforge rams and no ewes? Why not nine ewes, and one high quality ram? You get far more that way. Wool, fit offspring, milk with which to make ideal cheese. Do you not think that is most ideal ? ❞

     She had a fair amount of knowledge of talbuk and elekk from her own recent living conditions. The rams of Ironforge? Not so much. Though he’d never mention a word of it to anybody else, Artan was more or less a farm boy. The knowledge he had regarding caring for talbuk and elekk was beyond anything she or anybody else really expected. He was also excellent with chickens ── more or less. What she didn’t learn from her father she had unintentionally garnered from her guards. ❝ I mean, if it is for someone you love, there is nothing that is too much… yes? It is not quite the first thing I would consider, though I am rather fond of talbuk… perhaps it is not so strange . ❞

      Straight from the mouth of a strange young draenei woman .

      A wide and surefire smile, as if exceedingly proud of her next thought .

      ❝ Have you considered a herd of talbuk or elekk instead? How about a goat, or a couple of chickens? Oh!! Or, maybe ─── !! ❞

the witcher prompts ☁ //: @blackshadcw

     How long it had been; How long since she had met with her kindness. In war there existed none, beneath the hate and the unacceptable. Sympathy was met with bitterness and contempt. To be kind in such trying times was to be an enemy to the crown. Such was reality, such was fate. To even be in the wild, twisting lands filled with wandering giants of the past was equivalent to infiltrating a primal prison thought once inescapable. But Euanthe bore no weight of her questionable choices. There was many an authority to blame for the atrocities she had witnessed in her life upon Azeroth. For many long, winding years, she and her family fled as they were hounded even through the stars. From planet to planet, world to world, conflict pressed into her life like thousands of giant, poisoned spears. No matter where she walked, there was no peace. No love, no acceptance. She saw naught but pride strewn upon the ground in a bloody, tattered mess. In that hateful existence, she found nothing .

     But in tears she found humanity. The cry of a child rolling across the fields, beneath the pounding of earth and ear-piercing roars. Though gentle giants in many aspects, a defensive brutosaur was nothing short of a nightmare. It was a recognizable response. She had seen such frightened demeanors in elekk. Even the strongest of draenei could wind up trampled and killed without caution to an inattentive beast. No being of their size would ever survive being stepped on by the large dinosaur ── especially not a young child. An expression of fear glazed over teal eyes, a scurry of distance much too short to make up for the sheer size of the foot descending rapidly upon her. Was that the reckless nature of Zandalari children? No ─── Euanthe had known many a child with such abandon. She thought to tame it, or perhaps climb its scales and ridges and ride it around the forest. How familiar such impetuousness was; how like other races’ children that was. There was no difference between them in this world. They were all the same, and yet still they fought. It was a sad existence of reality .

     Fleet-footed paws leap, carried forward by the change of the wind. Little time was wasted between the travel and close. Though not nearly a bullet, a ghostly beast on all fours was not steady going. She listens to the dire rumbling of the earth like a timer, sliding beneath the massive body of the brutosaur and grabbing the child by the lining of her collar. Drifting, nearly twisting paws, the shaman holds within her throat a pained whine as the force of the beast’s foot sends her future out of its way. There was little reaction in response, to start. The young child, in the light of fear and life threat, sees only a wolf as her hero. There is no discernible difference between her race and those of the Alliance within such a form. The shaman knows this. She says nothing, even when praised and petted like a normal animal. Once more comfortable and further away from the fields, there is mention of the loa of death and being looked after. Perhaps, in that moment of shock, she had been seen as the spirit of a wolf rather than simply a shaman. Her parents would know better when she inevitably retold the story. But they would know nothing of her identity, or even what she truly was. It mattered little to the tired wolf. Euanthe felt no remorse in kindness .

     A stride, and she is hidden away from sight once more beneath the brush of the wild. Sitting, wincing as body shifts and the pain of twisting an ankle too far hits in full form. It does not make it impossible to walk, but it is far from a pleasant thing. How fortunate that the next tone she hears, rather than one of spitting anger, is one of praise. There is no animosity there, for the time being. Resting, soft eyes aglow with a relaxed expression. A slight smile, a warmed heart. She finds respite in that familiar voice .