Sir Dolraan the Tenacious

Send ‘!!’ and I’ll write a para description of your muse from mine’s perspective, including:

Their looks, their personality, and who they are to my muse, + Etc! ___ Khaeris & Ahuatli She couldn't help the deep soul sigh of pleasure as she watched Ahua and little Zia'ja where they sat in the now quiet shallow waves. It was sunset, and like the golden city of Zul'dazar behind them, Ahuatli was radiant with sunlight reflecting liquid pools of gold up on the beautiful troll woman and her baby. The pair were laughing and cooing, delighted in each other. Love was all around. Khaeris shifted where she sunbathed on her surfboard and felt her heart growing too big for her body. This family meant so much to Khaeris. Had taught her so much. Had given her so much. All that might have made it better was if Zul'jawa and Pollux had been there--then again, Khaeris treasured the time she got with Ahuatli (and the baby!) now. Maybe she shouldn't be too eager for the men to join them. The veildancer was such an inspiration to everyone who knew her kind, generous, and playful heart. There was sentimental mist in her eyes as Khaeris lay her cheek down on the board, still unable to take her eyes off her friend. This. This was what life was about.

Commission for the very lovely @kharrisdawndancer

Another DWC has wrapped up and I know we're all feeling it, so now is a good time for all those questions we had while reading the stories!

Ask IC or OoC questions about my stories or OCs! Tell me what your favorite story is and why! Tell me what you liked best about a particular story! Tell me what you'd love to see in future DWCs! Ask or say anything!

ANON IS ON!

Y'know, the one where the scarlet in the jail cell was masterminding a coup the whole time and everyone (except the players) was surprised? That one?

I want the Scarlets to come back and be a major plot element. I want blizzard to use them as the villains they are, pushing that whole humans-only narrative, and all that.

But.

I want them to remember that purity-fixated bigotry in a fantasy setting can't just be about race. It needs to be about the things that don't exist in the mundane reality too.

Like the use of magic. In this specific instance, I mean the Light, but they should be eschewing all of it. Light, fel, void, nature, arcane, all of it. It becomes forbidden and punishable by death and naturally only a few specific officials are allowed to touch it because they need to study the enemy, you see, it's impossible to win a war without knowing how their weapons work, you see, we would never actually use it to our personal advantage, you see.

I want to see the Scarlets become a terrifying force to be reckoned with because they force out paladins and priests entirely and eschew the use of any kind of magic or "not human" energies. They focus on soldiers and tech and victory through massive numbers (humans haven't been decimated the way most other a-side races have). They run headfirst up to that "sufficiently advanced technology" line and go "advance the technology some more."

The culmination of that plotline of course being that there is no benefit to being this way. Zero. None. The pride in doing everything The Human Way (whatever that means) is just how they got you to murder and enslave everyone that wasn't human without feeling bad about it. That yeah look at all you achieved without everyone else, and how you could have achieved that decades ago with everyone else, and wouldn't have had to drown babies or burn homes to do it. That it didn't help.

And, most importantly, that this was not the influence of an old god or the void or anything else. It came from human minds and needed no help to fester. There cannot be another scapegoat. Humans just do this sometimes, and it's up to humans to refuse to allow it (by embracing everyone else and asking for help). Everyone is capable of terrible evil, and by that token, everyone is capable of rejecting evil.

It was about as unglamorous as she thought she could get: still dressed in her clothes from the previous night, sitting on the edge of the bed in the hostel's communal dormitory, holding her head. She'd awoken moments ago to someone gently shaking her awake.

~~~

"You're having a nightmare. Time to wake up." The Lightforged draenei's tone was supportive and concerned. Messy had blinked awake, but to vision that swam and blurred, blackening at the periphery. Oh. _Oh_. She sat up on the edge of the bed with the other woman's helpful hand and took deep breaths. Not a nightmare. Not a hangover, no matter what it looked like. No, it was the aura she had come to expect when Sight was impending. Her stomach was tight, her head was pounding, and her heart fluttered with a lingering palpitation. The woman sat with her a few minutes, until she was such Messy was stable, then provided a wash basin and a towel in case she would need to vomit. She apologized for needing to leave, promising to check on the nightborne later as she headed toward the door. She thoughtfully kept the lights off--the rest of the occupants had left for the day already. Messy had wanted to tell her that it wasn't a hangover, that she hadn't even drank any alcohol the night before--though she had smelled of it after getting splashed an enthusiastic fan at the fencing exhibition match last night. Messy wasn't sure why she felt shame that the other woman would think she was a drunkard--there were plenty of youths who stumbled into the hostel late at night inebriated. She just hadn't been one.

She swallowed hard and turned her face up, opening herself to her Goddess and silently promising to do Elune's bidding. Sight struck her immediately, freezing her in her seat and her eyes glowed with unfocused Light appearing before her in runes and cryptic symbols. Her mind did not see the same divinity manifested. She saw great blue fungal caps creating a canopy over ethereal machines and works. She saw familiar wrapped figures moving about their business. Ethereal arcane batteries piled high. Conduits thrumming with power arcing through them. It felt purposeful. It felt imminent. A wrapped head turned toward her point of presence. It started toward her, gaining momentum with the snap and rustle of arcane power so associated with them. A foreign moon--White Lady--hung in the sky and brightened, drawing her awareness, and pulled her toward it; rocketing her perspective out of the vision. Messy collapsed over her legs and felt too heavy in her body. She trembled, unable to do more than focus on her breath for more than a minute. When she had gathered herself, it wasn't the basin she reached for, but her sketchbook and colored pencils.

~~ "Ahhh, that looks like Naigtal. I have never seen those particular mushrooms elsewhere. I have fought there, though it was a Legion world, not Ethereal." The Lightforged gently corrected, looking at the rendering Messy had put to paper. She had been true to her word and returned to check on the young Priestess of Elune.

Messy looked over to her slowly to keep her head from feeling like it was going to rupture. Her voice was hoarse and her shoulders tired. "This is today." "No," the draenei shook her head and smiled reassuringly, "the Legion is vanquished and the Ethereals have no presence there. Rest." Mesandrèaux considered fighting, trying to warn, trying to convince. But the simple confidence of the other woman was heavy and familiar. So, her own pulse felt like it was beating against the inside of her skull, she simply answered, "Oh," and laid back down on the bed.

The magical practice ranges were always a loud, but controlled, chaos. Sometimes literally with chaos magics, if enough Illidari were in session. She had heard that the more mechanically oriented firing range was said to be just as loud, but likely less colorful. She wondered which might be more mathematical though.

Jaskian shook out her ponytail and tugged off her gloves with efficiency. Perspiration beaded along her hairline and a trickle snaked down her spine. Not just from exertion, the literal heat in the area was rising--several flame oriented casters were having at it and giving each other pointers. The shaman was very animated and the magister was rapt, and another kind of caster--warlock, she thought likely, careful to keep any curl off her lips--listened to both with the intense eyes of someone who loved fire. Jaskian smiled to herself, already making up a small story about the trio in her head. She loved making stories about strangers. Her notebook was nowhere to hand at the moment, so this one likely wouldn’t last, but it was fun to imagine.

The frost on her gloves cracked as she snapped them into her palm and stepped back from her lane, giving it up for the next in line. Her mind quickly sorted and catalogued what she had seen and how her own performance had stacked up. She had done her fair share of supporting the Kingdom lately, even when her husband had been unfairly scrutinized and reprimanded, and it had felt good to get back in fighting form.

She had practiced several different schools today, but she always gravitated back to casting her precision frost spells. Sometimes Frostfire. Perhaps she was so drawn to them from her history in Dragonblight.

A few arcane spells were thrown, of course, and she recognized her husband’s influence in them with a warmth she sent toward him through their magical bond. She’d enjoyed the Ordered feel of them and the crisp, clean lines of runes and pure mana.

A few hefty fire spells, though she always felt she lacked the raw power fire seemed to prefer.

She had seen someone using fel fire, but that certainly was not for her.

There had been some holy Light, a young priest it seemed; he had brought his coach.

A lone Kaldorei Illidari was practicing new abilities with Void magics, and had gleefully cackled when it seemed she had mastered whatever she was working on. … Everyone else active at that time had paused. No heads had turned toward the demon hunter, but all eyes shifted to her.

No one, Jaskian was thankful, was experimenting with Anguish today. She had heard the rumors, and even read two treatises on the matter. She had no wish to draw close to Astalor Bloodsworn and his trials. Hopefully it was one magic she would never have to touch. Magister Bloodsworn was one voice she hoped did not gain strength, though she feared the frightened ears had turned toward his honeyed voice.

There, that was the sound. One eye blinked open, while he kept his head down. Naps should only be interrupted for the most important reasons. An ear flicked to hear the noise again: a little raucous, a little out of the ordinary. It was close. The rest of the noisy city was easy for him to tune out in favor of focusing on this one, delightful sound. Water, splashing abruptly, droplets flying, and the sound of something dragging through the surface. Yes. His head lifted and he found his prey.

An elf laughed and turned the reel and braced the pole. She was small. Just a child, not much bigger than his own. Easy.

Off like a streak, muscle exploded into action and launched him across the marble steps of the reflecting pool. He dodged another elf skillfully, his dash nearly silent. He leapt, sunk his teeth into the fish, and landed on all fours with feline grace. He raced off down the street, yanking the fishing pole out of the child’s hands. A surprised child’s startled cry sounded--satisfying!--as the long pole dropped and followed him like a wild-minded feather toy, bouncing over cobblestones for half a block before the line snapped. He knew he needed to continue to run--he never fled, what a ridiculous supposition!--to stretch his legs and work up an appetite for this abundance.

The fish was not compliant, and the tail curled up and smacked him in the face most disrespectfully. He growled and sunk his fangs in deeper. Food should know its place! His tail lashed and he ran harder.

When it was quieter, after a bath, he sauntered away from the remnants of his ill-begotten meal and left the bones for the rats. Tomorrow, he’d come back for them.