Allerion: No. His soul belongs to the Light and only the Light is fit to keep it. He's so fucking obnoxious.
Cyri: Falls in (and out of) love with every third person she meets... Maybe every other. So soulmates? Hah.
Kelanthael: Without a doubt. He'd spent thousands upon thousands of years with his husband and when he died, the rest of Kel's life was spend anticipating seeing him again.
Khali: Yes, but actually no, but a little yes. She's in an open relationship with her goblin gal, but she's so head over heels for that gob and that gob alone that there may as well not be other people on Azeroth the moment she spots her. So, kinda sorta has her soulmate, but is willing to share?
Lliane: She'd never considered having one and doesn't really get it. But if you explain it to her, she'd say "Oh, so Teeree?" and that'd be that.
Varad: No. Next question.
Verac: No, but fate seems certain on reuniting him with a specific person.
(Thanks for the ask, Philly bb @glitchphil )
( Mention and soft mention respectively @tirrea and @aneirra-gravesworn )
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Many of you I've not seen or spoken too in far, far too long. Many of you I write to too late for you to ever receive this message. Even if you do not read this message or are unable to though, this message is still to you dear friend. I know, looking back, that my life has been rich. Far richer than I might have deserved, certainly more so than I'd have ever had the gall to ask for. Not in riches and wealth of course, but in the splendor of company I've had, in the love that I've found and lost, in the family's I've had by blood and by bond. I am beyond fortunate to look back and see a sea of joy that blankets even the darkest of trenches I've fallen into. You all that might read this must know that you've contributed to the joyous life I've had and that no matter how small your part, I've continued to treasure those moments from their inception to my conclusion.
There it is, of course; The thrust of why I write to you to. Shortly after I've sent these letters, I'll be off to make my final journey to the resting place of my husband. Should I be so lucky, I'll join the resting place of my kind and settle beneath the watchful eye of Wyrmrest Temple content to pass the torch onto our final generation. Perhaps fate will be less willing to gratify me with this final wish in which case should the sea accept me, I hope my remains might make a lovely home for some murlocs!
I know that for some of you, this news may prove confusing or perhaps troubling. To the former, you have my deepest apologies for the secrets I've kept, the questions I've avoided, and the lies I've passed on. The latter I fear must not know me well enough! I've lived a long full life after all. Long enough to know I leave it at a point where we're but a stone's throw away from unity. Long enough to know my presence is no longer needed, if in fact it ever was.
Whether you've known me as my given name, Kassius of the Emerald Flight, as the Quel'dorei jeweler Kassian, or in recent years, the Lorewalker Kelanthael, I hope you can look back fondly on the time we've spent together. I hope that you will know that you've a place in my heart. I know your stories will be told for generations and I only wish I had the chance to hear each and every one.
Any/All: deadwind pass: has your muse ever been offered a position of power? how did they react? did they refuse? / what is your muse’s favourite azerothian holiday? do they prefer the merry revelry of brewfest, or the ceremonious dignity of the lunar festival, etc?
Power -
Kelanthael’s never been offered any position of power, largely because he’s refused any offer before it can be given to him.
Cyri, never.
Khali desires a position of some power. She wants to prove her worth as a servant of Gonk and, in turn, be recognized as an authority on raptor care-taking and rearing. It’s been her dream since she was very young and it’s what drives her to continue honing her craft even after having to leave her home.
Allerion (my death knight) took his place as a Field Commander of the knights stationed at Acherus with a sense of entitlement. Widely hated by many of his peers, his service record is outstanding and he is practically in a class of his own amongst many of his fellows. The position was granted to him following the collapse of his regiment, in which the leader and several of her officers abandoned the Ebon Blade. He, being the only loyalist officer, reacted to this chance for power by betraying every deserter and beginning a campaign to hunt down each one of them and those involved with damaging the Ebon Blade’s structure. There’s a reason literally no one likes him.
Varad had a chance at power amongst the outcasts before he, for reasons unanswered, abandoned his people. It’s very likely the reason he left has something to do with what he might have used that brief chance of power to gain.
Verac’thar was a loyalist to Kael’thas until the very end and for the briefest of moments had a level of power during the Illidan/Kael’thas led Northrend campaign before things, as they so often do, fell apart. He was proud to serve while he did and would gladly have followed his prince until the very end if he could.
Holidays -
Kelanthael loves to flex his legendary tolerance during Brewfest
Cyri only ever really celebrated the Harvest Festival, but if she got to attend the lunar festival she’d probably fall in love with it
Khali’s been to one Darkmoon Faire, but completely believes that it is 1. A holiday outside of Zandalar and 2. The greatest thing ever
Allerion doesn’t celebrate hoildays
Varad mocks people that celebrate holidays (but pretends to be in an Arakkoa costume for candy during Hallow’s End)
Verac’thar’s favourite isn’t the Day of the Dead, but it’s the only one he places reverence and importance into. Saying it’s his favourite would send the wrong kind of message after all
A quick trip to Stormwind City.
Disguised as a Worgen oh so pretty.
My visit unannounced and arrival late,
Imagine then this was my fate;
A Pandaren sat before me eyes,
Having stolen my own guise.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
<Lacking the grace of his correspondent's care package, a burlap sack stuffed to the point of bursting arrived at the doorstep of the Emberward estate. The scent of potatoes lingered on the bag's fabric which would have remained altogether unremarkable had it not been for name sloppily inked onto it: Lady Tirrea Emberward.
Within the sack was hay, hay, and more hay. Beneath that a second sack wrapped tightly around oblong objects. Within that was a small box marred by time, the decorative gryphon carved into its face barely recognisable, its hinges rusted and stubborn as hell. Alongside the box was a bottle of Dalaran Noir, a cork stuffed into its neck and a covered in unblemished ruby wax that had oozed down the neck before fully hardening. Inside the blemished box sat a Stratholme lily and and scattered purple seedpods. The letter itself had noticeably more artistry than his previous; under direct light a faint golden cloud serpent could be seen gliding across the page, weaving above and below words, its jaws unhinged and about to swallow its creator’s signature at the bottom.>
The Kind Lady Emberward,
Had I known we would be exchanging gifts, I’d have prepared for a better means to do so! I can only pray that you found the fortitude to dig through the hay to find the contents within (and that you are capable of looking beyond my method of sending said contents). It is also with some regret that I must inform you I am, yet again, writing you from the top of something. Though the height of the tower is much less impressive than the space near the clouds Acherus occupies! Thankfully I also have a freshly brewed cup of wonderful tea to calm my nerves. Perhaps you’ve saved a life this evening.
If you might be so inclined, when next I visit I would happily accompany you to the grounds your home once stood on. Then you may at least have a friend beside you as you look at the past. As I shall say for your digression and your remorseful memories; please, share what troubles you so that I might listen. There is no need to suppress the things that linger on your mind, no matter how relevant they may or may not feel. As long as they are relevant to you, they have place in our letters. And thank you for your kind words toward Lady Ashborn, they mean more than I can properly express. I’m still not sure how I feel about the goblin you made mention of... I feel inclined to say I hated everything about it.
I did as you asked on my journey to Stratholme and wore your gift. While I’m afraid I cannot report any possession prevention, I can assure you that the person writing you is none other than the same Kelanthael you met in Quel’thalas. Though he now sports a lovely golden bracelet on his wrist. May it protect me should I have any more direct encounters with resentful spirits!
I arrived at Stratholme a mere hour after having received your package and found myself overcome by the grief that still lingers among these lands. The scent of rot still stubbornly clings to the fog around the weathered stone , as it seems the case that every step toward this city is meant to remind trespassers of the suffering that still echoes from voices without bodies. Such melancholic sights and sounds were not what I had traveled there for though! Thus I imbibed my dream brew and settled into meditation atop the gatehouse. When the noise within my head lulled I was soon pulled into a vision of the land years prior, an evening not unlike any other from the city that had already weathered destruction once prior. In the dream state, you are little more than an observer and however much you might wish to warn them of what’s to come you may as well be speaking to a wall.
What I was privy to watch was what drew me there in the first place. A city at peace, children playing in the streets, laughter and joyous yells escaping the nearest pub’s open doors. The stone was uncracked and unsullied, store doors were open on every block, goods were carted in and out of the bustling streets every passing moment. When I awoke from my gaze into the past, I ventured in to see the ruins of what I had seen pristine only moments ago. With clever step and patience the undead that still linger aren’t wont to notice much; I suspect the ones that remain among the earliest batches have little remaining of their minds at all. I soon found myself standing in a flower shop, many of the pots shattered and littering the floor, while those that remained had little more than dust remaining where flowers once sat. Not all things are meant for death though and in your presence is proof. A Stratholme Lily clung to life, having grown from the dirt foundation beneath cracked wooden floor. Within the box I sent are seed pods I’ve harvested alongside the flower itself. If you are willing to suffer my request, my heart would love few things greater than to see the lilies bloom once more.
I fear that what I take away from this visit has not yet settled within me, as I wrestle with conflicting answers attempting to take root in my mind. I do however know one thing with great certainty and that is the upcomming gift of being shown your notes on our fishy friends. If you can escape the city for an evening, I would happily accept your company at my next planned location. We can discuss the finer details of the Murloc’s ability to out-populate intrepid adventures attempts to extinguish them.
I will be making a brief stop in Hearthglen to make time for a friend and steal floorspace by a fireplace for a night’s rest. If you’re willing to provide me another letter to enjoy on my way to the Greymane Wall, I’d be most grateful! I suspect my next letter will not be as immediate as I would hope. Gilneas no longer lends itself well to postage. I hope my lack of response won’t brew too much worry, regardless of how much I may enjoy knowing I have you worrying after me.
Be well Lady Emberward and know that you yet another that cherishes the letters you send. I assure you I will come to no harm or at least make my best effort an effort not to. I wish you the best on your aspiring career of post-lunch napping.
Your friend & murloc enthusiast,
Kelanthael, Lorewalker Aspirant.
P.S. I enjoyed a swig or two of the wine and resealed it. Perhaps wait to drink it until next you hear from me on the off chance I succumb to the plague. If you’ve already sampled it, then I hope you’ve enjoyed the vintage beverage and that it is not your last.
As I write to you I sit atop Acherus, overlooking the Plaguelands as far as the fogs allow. Thus far, your worries have not taken form! No harm has come to me along the dour beginning to my journey, so long as we ignore a rogue bit of cobblestone’s attack on my largest toe. I wish I could wax poetic to you about my view, but the mustard and muddy colours that make up most of this landscape’s palette do not lend themselves to that. Instead I might tell you of what drew me to the ebon hold and its deathly denizens!
I traveled to Acherus under the pretext of learning more about the servants of Arugal, the worgen death knights. While not entirely a lie, I am ashamed to say it was not the full truth. While I am in the process of composing a piece on the Worgen’s place in Azeroth, the reason I largely went was in hopes of hearing from an old friend.
During much of Legionfall and the events thereafter I was in the company of a company of the Ebon Blade alongside a Lorewalker much my senior, a Pandaren by the name of Yozu. We spent much of our time in the presence of an ambassador for the Ebon Blade, a young Sin’dorei whose age had been frozen in time both in metaphor and the most literal sense of the word. Ambassador Ashborn or, as she later became known to me, Aquilari was the very essence of what one often envisions Death Knights to be; austere, exacting, fierce, haunting. Naturally I was drawn to her like a moth to a flame. Master Yozu and the Ambassador had rapport. I would come to find out that she was the closest thing he had to a daughter, which is quite likely the reason she eventually came to recognize me as more than a nuisance.
To describe the woman trapped within a shell of undeath as lovely would do her a great injustice. With time she began to allow glimpses at the woman she once was. She shared with me the wisps of memory that lingered within her of a lifelong lost, of sorrows and joys, of youth and her death. To see the vulnerability juxtaposed against the icy maelstrom that would rend flesh from her enemies with the ease a breeze might scatter leaves. The horror she was capable of only added weight to her plight. She longed for life, lamenting the pain of undeath, the loss of senses, the loss of whatever normalcy she once had. Even so, she was diligent in her work. She was driven and fiercely protective of those beneath her. I’ve heard of Death Knights going rogue often enough when I was in their company, though in the months I spent with them only a single knight succumbed to the urge to flee from undeath. Though not only had the Lady Ashborn tracked him down, she subdued the most brutal of her lot and compelled the renegade to return to them. Such was her influence among her order, such was the power of her will and the strength of her heart. I admired the brilliant force of nature that was Aquilari. I still do.
All good things must come to an end though and such was the fate of my dear friend. In my attempts to help her find peace, I fear I my efforts awoke something within her that even she was not quite ready for. She fled shortly after, a number of her company disappearing alongside her. In less than a day the work she had spent years building crumbled back to its foundations. By nights fall her most zealous officer had taken flight after her and the other renegades, intent on bringing back their remains.
So here I am, perched atop Acherus, writing to you as I sit surrounded by what few tomes they had to offer me on their Worgen companions. It seems as if she has not yet been found, though others have not been so lucky. I cannot say with certainty she is still among us, but I like to hold out some hope.
In light of the grim, allow me to at least offer a bit of excitement! Next, I travel to Stratholme where I’ll be taking a moment to investigate the past with the help of my former master’s dream brew! I’ll be sure to send a letter more reflective of intrigue rather than self-reflection! If you’d care to send a letter, I’ll be sure to visit the Northpass Tower both before and after my visit to the city that marked the beginning of a prince’s end.
I hope that this letter finds you well and that you are capable of suffering my rambling musings of the past. May you be well and may life treat you fairly. May you share your laughter with others as often as I was privileged to it.
And perhaps I wrote too soon. As the sun makes to set, I find myself enamored with the gloomy valley that lays before me.
Honesty hour: What did your characters dream of in childhood?
Allerion: He did not want to serve the light as a Paladin. He didn't want to serve the light at all. He wanted to work in the family butchery and one day take over with whomever he would start a family with. But he was the second oldest son and after opportunity presented itself he was sent to serve the Silver Hand through a connection his father had with one of its members. Given Allerion's ultimate fate, he became a butcher. First at Stratholme, then again in death among the Ebon Blade. So, sometimes dreams do come true.
Cyri: Her first dream was to marry her twin Cyril cause she loved him more than anyone else in the whole wide world. Cyril told her she was an idiot. By the time she was six she realised that's not how marriage works, but the idea was there. She wanted to find love and, since her town had a whopping sub-hundred population, the fire was lit for her to travel. Eventually that dream evolved to wanting to see the world and get as far away from the farm as possible. Now after a third of a century later, she just wants to come home and see it like it was when she was young.
Kelanthael: When they were young, Azeroth was a much simpler place. They wanted to soar the skies, to pierce the veil of the dream, to see Azeroth in all her glory both waking and asleep. They wanted to grow old and spread the wisdom of their lives to younger and younger generations. Now, in his old age, he's done so much more than his younger self could have ever dreamed and with all of his youtful ambitions filled... well, now he's just waiting to see what his last days entail.
Khali: When she was young, she was terrified of raptors. Her dream was to never see another one again. No Gonk, no scales, no claws. She didn't even like Gonk! Khali knew what she wanted and that was to run away. Go where no one would find her. The dunes of Vol'dun or maybe even one of the other continents. No one, and she meant no one, would ever ever get her to like raptors. And then she got an egg on her eight birthday. Twenty years later, her pack's over two dozen strong and that egg hatched into Kerhana, her riding raptor and her pack's matriarch (behind herself, of course).
Varad: Varad was born with his future decided for him. Varad would worship Rukhmar and serve as a priest for Varad's people. Varad was filled with contempt for everything his people cherished and wanted nothing more than to see it burn. After being thrown from the spires, that dream was emboldened and thrived. Imagine Varad's joy when that dream came to fruition and Varad learned there were infinitely other universes where history would repeat itself.
Verac'thar: A child of noble origin, to a line of prominent members of the magisters, they dreamed of nothing more than to serve the light. Being the youngest of seven, there weren't many expectations of tradition resting on their shoulders. They were enchanted by the tradition and history and had their heart stolen by more than a few members. They loved to serve and threw themselves into it fully and it was their life for nearly two hundred years.
