#vulthaen

Alcohol did not mix well with sour-moods, a lesson she should have learned long ago -- a lesson one look at the Ranger-Captain should have reminded her of. But youth made her foolish - she didn’t know what his excuse was - and impulsive, and a bottle of wine later she’d been laid out along the satin sheets on her bed in her suite in Dalaran, full of regret, and no less burdened by the memories and thoughts she’d been trying to drown. They were still there, louder now even, but despite their lingering, there was work to be done.

Winter’s Veil was her favorite holiday, and it had already come and gone - the days leading up to the holiday had been too busy; her days were consumed with running papers back and forth from Quel’thalas to Dalaran, her workload doubled with Sunward Stormsummer still abed, and her involvement in the province the Archon had put beneath her charge. There was no rest, no peace, and on the day of the holiday, when she’d meant to see these gifts sent out before the stroke of midnight, well --

Harsh words flared in her memory, and her fingers rose to touch phantom bruises on her throat. The marks were long gone, but the pain remained affixed to her memory; a reminder, one that lessened the same as the black-and-blue skin of her neck by the days. Again, the sickness rose inside of her, but Caeliri pressed past it, and past the threshold of her bedroom into the sitting room in her suite. With the more constant presences of guests as of late, she’d slipped all her gifts off somewhere unseen, but now they lay strewn across floor and couches and tabletops alike, a fleet of gaping boxes with their goods proudly on display, waiting to be sealed and sent to their destinations. Another deep breath rolled through the hollow of her chest, and Caeliri approached the army of gifts, settling in to tend to the overdue task.

--

The first was for Elleynah. Caeliri had wept when she received the other mender’s gifts, each more touching than the last; they were practical as the woman who had gifted them, and still managed to have an edge of finery. It made the younger mender smile; the Ginger Witch had found a way to broach the strange barrier that hung between them, to make something with the glitter and intrigue that held Caeliri’s eye while offering things with earnest, unquestionable use. Moths and Butterflies, indeed -- Caeliri reciprocated in kind.

Despite the fierce friendship forged between the two, it had been difficult, almost, to find something for Elleynah ( @stormandozone). Cards were the easiest option, but the painted faces were not Elleynah; they were just a tool, a gift among her many others, one facet of a multi-edged stone, but not her. It was during a trip to Summerglen that Caeliri found the answer she had sought, in the swaying limbs of the trees that sprinkled shadow-shot light along the mislaid roads that led into the village. The Dawn had shattered Elleynah’s last staff, and though Caeliri was sure by now the mender had replaced it with something comparable, still… memories of false dawn in Azsuna, where they stood on the salt-soaked shore and ran smoothly through the motions of combat swirled in her mind, and in her heart of hearts she knew there was no better gift.

There was give to the dark wood, enough that it would not break on contact with an enemy’s skull, while being firm enough to fight with. Though it was a weapon still, there was gentle beauty to it; Caeliri had it’s length carved in floral patterns, snaking vines and roots and blooms shaped as those used in Elleynah’s brews and earth-muddied magics. It’s core was wrapped ‘round with warm, soft leather in the dark shade of moist soil, tied taut to keep the Sunward’s grip sure, it’s loose ends dappled with copper charms and small glass baubles - no more than an inch, and forged in phoenix fire to save them from shattering - filled with small flowers. Within their crystalline chamber, they would stay forever pure; some commentary that was, perhaps, unintentional on the part of the young - it was likely she only saw them for their beauty, and no deeper meaning. Beneath a mender’s touch, though, the delicate engravings in the staff would glow gold-green - it served as much as magical focus as weapon in it’s own right. Nature-born, Light-blessed; just like the mender who would now hold it.

With it came new belts, made in the same dark leather that hugged the shaft of the staff, edged with copper and decorated the same, and heavyset with pouches and empty slots for potions. Tucked in one of the pouches - because if one thing remained ever true about the young Dame, it was that she loved games - was her letter;

Elleynah,

I hope my late gifts don’t seem to say I am not thankful, or that I fail to appreciate you; I have been… busy. When I see you next I will… explain in further detail, but until then--

There is no gift I could give that would ever match that which you have given me - I mean not the book and glove and pins you gave, though they were beyond anything I could ever wish and touched my heart so hard I cried (a lot), but the wisdom you have passed to me. The days we spent together in Aszuna have been some of my best, and though our nights in the ruins were fraught and strange, I would relive them a hundred times for the honor of your company. When there seemed no more sun left inside of me, you taught me the value of pressing on; there are few I know who could match you in fortitude, and there will never be words enough to thank you for what strength I have gleaned from you.

When next you’re free, I want to invite you to Summerglen - I think you’d like it as much as I. It’s wooded and warm and wonderful there; perhaps when the war breaks and there is a softer dawn on the horizon, we can go together.

Your friend, Caeliri

Satisfied, she set the odd, long box to the floor and slid it away with her foot, seeking something smaller now to fix her attentions on - something she found immediately, something that made her wince. Caeliri reached across the table, pulling the small, floral-patterned box towards her to peer within. The locket was cast in silver and warm to the touch, devoid of flouncy, feminine patterns on its front in favor of a riveted edge that gave it a more masculine air. Batting the box back and forth between her open palms, she watched the glimmer of light dance on it’s smooth front, wondering if she should send this gift at all. Before, there had been no question, but these days...

Caeliri took a deep breath, recalling words Vaelrin had for her, ‘You are his lover still.’ Was she? The Highlord ( @theshadowavatar) was a ghost to her - less than that, even. Ghosts, at least, she heard still - since that trip to Azsuna with Elleynah, there’d been more than a handful of phantom voices in her ear, but none of them were the voice she’d hoped for. Again and again the Ranger-Captain assured her that her anxieties were misplaced, that there was affection between her long-dead lover and herself still -- while also swearing up and down the dead had no feelings to give. The back and forth had been maddening, the conversations circular always, but something in all the words between them stuck with her even now. ‘Rightly so.’ It was threaded through with such…

Drawing a hand through her silken hair, Caeliri let those thoughts ebb away as she popped open the locket to look inside and assure all was in order. It was a thick, weighty thing, with multiple panes of glass that flipped on an internal hinge. Five panes in total made up the interior, and three were already filled with small portraits of Zarandarin, Talthin, and Elrandarin. The last two were blank, for the new born Lords she’d yet to see. Her note was simple, swift - if she lingered too long on it, she feared what she might say.

Arandur, Don’t forget them.

She did not sign her name.

The box was closed, hastily, and shoved into the depths of her medical bag - she’d leave it in his office in the Dawnspire, the only place she knew to send something to, one day, get back to him. A weight struck her shoulder suddenly, and she didn’t need to twist her head to know Grace had come to occupy her common perch. She was growing these days - growing fat, at least, with all the treats she’d received for the holiday. Trilling brightly, the phoenix let her golden flames gust over Caeliri’s face as she began to preen the mender’s long, unbound hair, tucking it and twisting it as she desired.

Swallowing, hard, she moved on to something else, seeking… seeking --

She swung her foot idly beneath the table, and her toes smacked hard against something beneath the table. Both cheeks puffed up, a withheld sound of pain vibrating in her throat for a long, long, long minute, before she wrangled the box between her feet, still aching toes hugging the back edge of it, and slid it across the carpets. It was heavy, without much give, and gave quite a struggle as she tried to pull it into her line of sight - one look at the contents and she understood why she’d limping for the rest of the day.

This gift was for Vulthaen Voidsunder ( @curiouslich), the Forgemaster in the Dawnspire, who’d taken such great interest in the design and forging of the ceremonial armor she wore as Dame. Beneath the ebon’s dark hands the ithimithril had been shaped and shaded in the soft pinks and stark golds of a brilliant, blinding dawn, set against matte ivory steel and swathed in glittering cloth; Caeliri had worn it once, already, and near trapped herself inside it’s enchanted grasp - she wasn’t quite used to the lack of straps or buckles to close it, and it had been difficult to find the runes and speak the spells to break it open while it was on her slim form.

Ever bound to his vigil at the forges, along side his sisters, she’d reasoned he was unable to get his hands on the raw materials found on the Broken Isles. Given her proximity to not only the Isles but traders eager to exchange coin for their wares, it had been easy to fill a box with a sampling of raw ores to send back to the Dawnspire. Another gift for another dead man, Caeliri gave a half-hearted laugh into her empty room, aware that elsewhere in her armada lay another gift for another departed soul whose body still lingered. Death-touched, her nightmares had whispered, you carry crypts inside you. Perhaps there was truth to that yet.

A bead of nervous sweat broke on her lower back, but she paid it no mind, and put pen to paper;

Forgemaster, There are few who serve as faithfully or as eternally as you. Though you told me, often, that your work was your passion and your hobby and was a gift in and of itself, I will still feel forever in your debt for your careful handling of my armor, and for the kindness you showed me while touring the forges. Elleynah still reminds Grace of your disapproval, as well of that of her mother, when she misbehaves, and I’m pleased to report that it still works.

I doubt you have the time, or inclination, to wander far from the Dawnforge, and so I’ve sent along what I could gather of Leystone Ore from the Isles. The ore is yours to do with as you please - I figure it may prove useful, if nothing more than for your examination of its properties.

Be well, my friend, and give Shimmer all our love, Caeliri and Grace

She planted her palms flat on the table, and scooted back her chair rising up on screaming toes to hobble across the room, sliding the box with her good foot. It made the journey much longer than it needed to be, but she needed to remove this gift from her vicinity before she harmed herself again - because that was extremely likely. On her shoulder, Grace cooed, eyeing another box of treats that had been sent along for her with greedy glee. She fluttered across the room to land atop it, cooing loudly at Caeliri, before dipping her head down to peck and the box of cinnamon bark Iiloridan ( @edaigoa) had sent for her.

“No,” Caeliri lilted back, shuffling back to her chair. “You eat any more of that and you won’t be able to fly.” Grace’s feathers fluffed up in absolute offense to the rejection and the insult, and she cooed sourly at the mender.

Zanarian “Felsunder”

Relic of the past this former paladin and heir to House Shadowsunder threw away his ties when a conflict in Shimmervale threatened to tear apart his home land.  After being accused wrongly for his part Zanarian was arrested and detained.  In the fallout of the third ware he was given a second chance at freedom. If he would follow Kael’thas through the portal. He didn’t hesitate to take up the banner. While in the Black Court Zanarian aligned with the Illidari and agreed to become a hunter of demons. Now a ranking member of the Cabal of the Dying Sun he has been freed from imprisonment. Zanarian is ready to experience anything he could care to enjoy and is always interested in having a good time.

Vulthaen ~ Dawnspire Quartermaster

Youngest born son of the Lead Voidsunder house, Vulthaen was well crafted to be a political tool and soldier.  Finding peace in the forges and fire of his family he has shown quite the gift at metallurgy and was trusted with many Void secrets.  In an attempt to keep the family strong after the loss of Shimmervale the Voidsunder struck a deal and promised Vulthaen would work and share his knowledge at the Dawnspire.  During the fall of Silvermoon he lost his life fending off the scourge, only to join them.  Once freed from the Lich King he returned to his original oath tending the flames of the Dawnforge.  Patient and cool headed as a Deathknight he can is commonly found at the forge working to procure anything and everything the Oathsworn require as the appointed Quartermaster of the Dawnspire.  Always willing to talk and take on extra work one just needs to locate inquire at the within the Dawnspire

Iritus Sunshatter, Captain Investigator of the Phoenix Guard

Current Heir to the land of Goldsea in the Dawnspire Itrius has delegated much of the duty of being head of house so that he can continue his work with the Phoenix Guard. Through years of investigative work Itrius has been promoted to Phoenix Captain. While on his search for seditious activity towards the State he enjoys helping all those that he comes across. A kind hearted man by his nature he will work to reach a compromise and ensure as many best interests are met. He believes he walks in the shadows of his family and his duty, but his mind have earned him his position and Itrius will not waste a moment to put it to use.

Isilos Sunshatter, High Advocator of the Sunshatter Ardents

Leader of the Sunshatter Ardents Isilos has taken the order of healers by force. Purging the corruption of Fel from Goldsea he removed many of the members of the Ardents from power and instilled himself in the vacuum. Devout Sun cleric Isilos does not approve of Shadow or Fel magics viewing them as a source of corruption, but understands their role in the practical. Always a pragmatic and respectful speaker he will always be willing to share his strict views of things and debate with those that do not agree.

Zanarian “Felsunder”

Relic of the past this former paladin and heir to House Shadowsunder threw away his ties when a conflict in Shimmervale threatened to tear apart his home land.  After being accused wrongly for his part Zanarian was arrested and detained.  After the fall he was given a second chance at freedom if he would follow Kael’thas through the portal, he didn’t hesitate to take up the banner. While in the Black Court Zanarian aligned with the Illidari and agreed to become a hunter of demons. Now a ranking member of the Cabal of the Dying Sun he has been freed from imprisonment. Zanarian is ready to experience anything he could care to enjoy and is always interested in having a good time.

Vulthaen ~ Dawnspire Quartermaster