#lichface

I am glad I managed to finish the remaining commission before I am heading to the business trip next week. 

Considering how many want Zenos... glass houses and all that

MAN, Tyracel, where do i even start about Tyracel

she starts out so tragic just because her life was actually going really, really well (at least relatively speaking considering most of my OCs’ backstories are difficult at best) and then she got cut down by the Scourge when she was just starting to enjoy that life, you feel? she lost everything and now barely even remembers any of it, though god did she want to, at one point. she used to want to remember it so bad because it seemed like something that was forever out of her reach: a fulfilling, satisfying life with people who could accept her for what she’d turned into. one of my favorite comparisons/analogies to make about Tyracel in her previous life and Tyracel as she is now is that she was as bright and warm and fierce as the height of summer when she was alive, and had it all frozen out of her when she was resurrected.

and for a while she took that certainty (what she felt was a certainty) and ran with it–she kept people at a distance, she managed her affairs so privately and so conservatively to the point she didn’t even let herself do anything fun, or have hobbies or anything, because embracing her role as a death knight was easier than highlighting all her shortcomings as a person and being forced to confront them.

ultimately that didn’t end up working out just because she worked with people so much–her fellow death knights (who she ended up far more attached to/invested in than the Horde as a whole), Vex, Sarelle, and others she fought with on the Broken Isles and Argus–people who slowly started to chip away at the barriers she put up and slowly bring her back into the world of the living.

because in the end, all Tyracel’s ever wanted, since being brought back as a death knight, is to feel alive again. if she can’t be alive (strictly speaking) she wants to remember how to feel alive, and in the end, she found that, she found her own version of it, at least. just took her forever to adjust her standards, and to fully accept that whoever she was once, in that old life, she would never get that back, no matter how hard she tried, and she was only hurting herself by pretending she would. she had to let herself grieve for what that life might’ve been, and then let it go.

I love you showing a more intelligent side of Magnai, tbh

[Thank you. :) To be honest, I never really got the impression that Magnai was stupid. The way of the Oronir is to judge someone by their fighting prowess, but that doesn’t necessarily makes one unintelligent. If anything, he was described as something of a nerd and kinda unpopular among his peers for it until he proved that he has the brawn to go with the brains.

“That’s a serious line of questioning, dear. Are you aiming for something?” The she-wolf hems as she offers a krakka root to the nearby chocobo, the bird snapping it out of her hand so fast one may worry it will take a finger with it. “I suppose.. it would count for me to say the Sahagin are something that used to give me nightmares. These suns they still put me on edge, ya? Though they’re not souring my eves.”The she wolf shrugs her shoulders, head shaking as she continued. “They can snap up half of a crew from a longship in the breadth of a few moments. Though the tribes that hung about the Syvinberk isles were all driven off and put to the axe, not that they don’t sometimes come back to bother us..”

“Well.. eh.. suppose can tell. You have been nice to, Poe, and probably have even heard since live around.” The huntress’ tail flicks about irritably. “Not fond of Iyrn’s pet, he is certainly spirit-inhabited! Is too smart for raccoon-dog, gets into rooms that are locked!” Her expression droops and she looks worried about even speaking further. “Do not tell Iyrn, okay? She thinks I am mean to him, but is not so!”“He is just spirit making mischief, is only so long he will be happy with just eating out of trash..”

The sound of metal clashing against wood is all the reply F’ismat feels like offering, though the longer the questioner stands there the more irritated she becomes. She turns her pea green gaze towards the source of her irritation, the tip of her scimitar Labwa held low as to not take her irritation as a physical threat. Not yet, anyroad. “I am a janissarrry of Thavnairrr, we do not fearrr death, dismemberrrment, norrr defeat.”

“If you wish forrr someone to confide in you, then find a mistrrress orrr a barrrkeep.”