* i am not KING /

this blog is undergoing a major overhaul during the next few days. 

all threads will be dropped.

a NEW starter call will be posted. for PRE-EXISTING relationships.

shitposting will be, sadly, taken down to a minimum. 

plots for BATTLE FOR AZEROTH will be started. 

i will be taking mains for the warcraft fandom and will start roleplaying on Lor’themar as my secondary main, getting drafts and replies out on a bi-nightly basis. 

      The skepticism of his peers, if they’d considered him as much at the time, is etched upon Aethas’ mind. In the long run, it turned out to be one of his motivating forces, proof that even a city as ancient and gilded as Silvermoon had much to learn and that its people needed time to heal and an opportunity to expand their horizons. Was it surprise or suspicion for his ambitious rise through the Kirin Tor? A healthy portion of both if Aethas’ understanding of their collective outlook is anything to go by.

      Yet the Regent Lord speaks with a wisdom that belies his years of service, first with a bow in hand, a sword on his hip, the wilds of Quel’Thalas his domain and now the authority of an empty crown and the weight of a people’s future resting upon him. It is not a task Aethas envies in particular, but under the circumstances, he will never claim that Lor’themar’s actions are anything short of admirable.

      The Regent Lord is, simply put, the best of the Sin’dorei. In the hectic mess brought about by Hellscream, Aethas spoke the truth then. Lor’themar made a fine example of a potential Warchief 

      “ I’ll grant you that, Regent Lord. But there is plenty use in taking steps to avoid repeating those mistakes. I think we can agree on that. ”

HAD    HE    HEARD   such  thoughts,  he  might’ve  laughed.  he  was,  in  his  own  mind,  granted  the  honour  to  serve  his  people  as  a  leader.  though  a  position  he  never  truly  wanted,  it  was  what  he  had  been  saddled  with.  thus,  he  would  proudly  serve  the  Sin’dorei  as  regent  lord  of  quel’thalas  for  as  long  as  he  was  able.  never  again  would  a  KING  sit  upon  the  throne  of  silvermoon.  there  would  be  no  man  so  deserving.  no  anasterian  to  take  his  place,  lest  dath’remar  should  rise  from  his  very  grave.

❛  spoken  like  a  true  tactician,  ❜     he  remarks,  reaching  up  to  rub  at  the  tuft  of  hair  sitting  just  beneath  his  lower  lip.   aethas  had  always  proven  himself  again  and  again  to  be  an  UNSTOPPABLE  FORCE  upon  the  battlefield,  even  when  taken  into  enemy  custody.  part  of  him  wonders  if  he  would’ve  been  truly  ready  to  die  had  they  not  rescued  him  in  time.  if  that  blood  boiled  so  STRONGLY  within  those  blood-elven  veins  that  he  would  make  that  sacrifice.                   yet,  through  his  actions,  lor’themar  believed  he  would.

     it was through no fault of the elven regent that the alliance and their king had been pushed to the brink of their collective TOLERANCE. quartering members of the horde whom anduin sought, however, was enough to draw them to quel'thalas. the revitalized ban'dinoriel would have proven an effective BARRICADE were it not for the fact that the sunwell - once the quel'dorei’s greatest fount of power - was now INFUSED with the light; and as such, so too were the gate’s magical defenses. it took a considerable deal of effort, but anduin’s holy prowess enabled him to NULLIFY the barrier in its entirety.

     before the entrance to sin'dorei lands, he stood; BLEEDING patience and concern alike. from features twisted and DEFORMED into an uncharacteristic scowl, anduin’s demand emerged, “in the name of the alliance - in the name of the light - i COMMAND that you stand down. my aim is not to butcher a people who have already seen more than their fair share of bloodshed, but i will have no other choice if you do not HEED me now.” his army stood at the ready. soldiers, mages, archers and priests were all prepared to engage their foes, and several gunships loomed in the distance beyond them. anduin did not come all this way just to FORGO his mission.

THE  CHILDREN  OF  THE  BLOOD  would  sacrifice  no  expense  to  defend  the  last  stronghold  of  Horde-controlled  territory  in  the  eastern  kingdoms.  to  protect  the  the  golden  fields  and  spring-time  meadows  that  their  people,  their  children  and  their  dreams  had  grown  upon.  this  was  QUEL’THALAS,  a  land  that  was  sowed  and  reaped  by  the  nimble  and  clever  hands  of  dath’remar,  who  had  given  to  them  the  extraordinary  waters  of  the  sunwell.  

but  the  elves  were  not  alone.  elf  and  troll,  tauren  and  forsaken  stood  in  the  bone-speckled  lands  of  southern  quel’thalas  where  the  ground  was  still  soaked  in  the  blood  of  his  people.  Sin’dorei  boots  crunched  along  forgotten  femurs  and  half-broken  clavicles  that  had  been  left  behind  by  fallen  paladins,  healers  and  frightened  children  alike.  a  plague  that  had  been  brought  unto  them  by  a  HUMAN  PRINCE  once  not  so  unlike  the  wrynn  that  stood  at  their  gates.  

                 ❛     Shindu fallah na! Anar’alah belore, talah shar falanore!     ❜         He  cried  to  his  people,  urging  their  Blood  Knight  Calvary  to  man  the  defensive  line  between  the  healthier  trees  of  the  Eversong  Wood  from  the  blackened  forest  beyond.        

their  mage  towers  had  been  erected  with  haste,  arbolests  armed  to  the  teeth  whilst  their  paladins  and  farstriders  manned  the  first  line  of  defense.  in  the  hazy  background  of  the  orange-tinted  skyline,  one  could  make  out  a  few  orcish  airships  that  circled  the  eversong  forest.  to  the  north,  their  navy  was  prepped  with  battle  mage  and  arcane  canon  alike  to  defend  the  Isle  of  Quel’danas,  Sunsail  Anchorage  and  Silvermoon’s  port.

                        she is almost impressed with how delicate the common tongue might sound in his tone. it’s not a terribly foreign thing to hear from a “child of the blood”, as is their current choice nomenclature. a powerful name, no doubt, one she knows they carry full well and without doubt. her wit is almost as cynical as the regent lord might be, but for all their posturing, at least they can afford to. jaina only hums in response, a curt nod, before sliding out of her chair to show as much respect as she can muster  (which is hopefully more than they anticipate.).

                          ❛  and the same to you, regent lord. i hope your people are doing just as well.  ❜        a well-wish that may quickly turn sour given their intertwined past. she would not be surprised to hear the backlash after that one. a few unfortunate  (disgraceful and abominable)  misfires or accusations and suddenly dalaran is practically in flames. after the sin’dorei find their way into their respective seats, she slides back into her own in the same manner as she had risen from it. 

                           ❛  a lot of preening that gets your men back into your command and your people back into my city, i presume.  ❜

IT  IS  WELL-KNOWN  that  one  must  suffer  a  grudging  respect  for  one’s  enemy.  for  one’s  cunning  and  resilience  in  the  fact  of  terror  and  death.  but  the  blood-elves  were  known  for  their  suffering,  for  their  hardship.  what  they  should  have  been  known  for  however,  theron  believed,  was  their  unwavering  FEROCITY.  had  it  not  been  for  lord  zhu’s  wisdom  at  the  gates  of  the  thunder  king’s  palace,  blood  would  have  been  spilt  that  day.  but  it  was  he,  the  regent  lord  of  quel-thalas,  that  lowered  his  blade  first.  

                    he  knew  that  garrosh  would  have  to  fall  long  before  proudmoore.  and  in  the  moment  that  he  SPOKE  those  words,  he  could’ve  sworn  he  saw  her  features  soften.

he  presumed  her  greeting  and  well-wishing  was  just  as  empty  and  hollow  as  his  own.  the  one-eyed  man  is  seated  the  way  a  tiger  remains  CAGED,  watching  and  waiting  for  any  opening  to  strike  out  at.  

      To hear such an admission after all his work, all his energy spent and used up, brings with it a sense of hollow regret. There will never come a time when Aethas will feel at ease with the chaos to rain down around his head, to take so much with it. But time and the passage of it lead him to reconcile that even if he could, he would not undo the work he began. The elves of Silvermoon past and present deserve a place on the world’s stage, deserve valuable allies and resources. That would always be a cause worth spilling his own blood for.

      There is a pause too stagnant to be strictly thoughtful in nature, knowing well what it means for the Regent Lord to speak of this at all. Never one for grand gestures and veiled diplomacy, the sentiment must be simply because Lor’themar believes it to be so. No more, no less.

      “ If not wisdom, then someone who understands his mistakes. It was my hope that my actions would speak for themselves some day. Now that they have, I can’t help but wonder over the cost of it all. ”

          EVER  THOUGHTFUL,  THE  regent  lord  would  sweep  his  gaze  back  to  the  fire  magus,  watching  his  body  language  for  any  sign  that  his  hooded  face  could  simply  not  give. But  Lor’themar  had  personally  seen  the  youthful  man  beneath  it.  It  was,  perhaps,  one  of  the  reasons  why  they’d  considered  him  a  danger.  A  genius  with  his  craft,  but  eccentric  and  far  too  eager  to  wield  it  in  their  name.  

The  COST  of  it  all.  spoken  like  a  true   soldier  indeed.  no  longer  a  pretentious  fool  rushing  off  to  save  the  world.  but  lor’themar  couldn’t  fault   him  even  if  he  still  was.  they  all  had  been  like  that  once,  and  now  that  such  a  glimmer  of  irresponsibility  was  gone?  he  was  almost  prepared  to  mourn  it  the  way  one  mourns  the  loss  of  innocence  from  a  child.  

                                           but  it  was  time  he  stopped  treating  aethas  as  one.

A  HALF-SCOFF,  half-laugh  whistles  out  from  his  nostrils,  the  regent  lord’s  eye  flicking  off  to  the  side.  it  always  came  back  to  that,  didn’t  it?  he,  the  enigmatic  and  strong  public  figure  that  was  meant  to  lead  their  people  into  a  new  age  of  power  and  glory.  that  was  what  the  arcane  sentries  were  spewing  every  hour,  wasn’t  it?  

but  aethas  was  young.  so  young  in  fact  that  lor’themar  had  been  HESITANT  about  his  involvement  in  dalaran  to  begin  with.  but  time  and  time  again,  this  ‘young’  man  had  proven  himself  loyal  and  undeniably  useful.