Broken bones teach better lessons...

Blog for Mistra Brokenbough. MG Alliance.

[a-broken-bough]

They returned to an empty lodge just after twilight. The huntresses had departed to act on the information Mistra and Enysa brought back, and left the pair of exhausted Wardens behind at camp.

Mistra had, at first, been incensed when the order was given. Ashenvale was her home, and missing out on the opportunity to mete out Elune's justice set her blood to boil.

... but the closer she and Enysa got to Starwatch Post, the more the journey begun to weigh on her. Mistra could feel the sweat clinging to her flesh, and her snow-white bangs plastered to her brow. She could feel the subtle ache of her hard driven muscles, and had even begun to notice the weight of her armor for the first time in recent memory.

"It's been a long time since I was last ordered to play camp-keeper," Anysa's voice was sullen and lifeless as it echoed in the full helmet, but Mistra knew her well enough by now to hear the telltale current of relief that underlined the statement.

"Sentinel-Commander Wildthorn isn't foolish enough to entirely throw the Wardens' assistance by the wayside, but I know her disdain for our order runs strong. She thinks we are ill-omened."

"... and here," Enysa trailed off as she began to rummage through a small hidden compartment at the base of the wall. The Warden produced a pair of travel packs, and bedrolls -- the gear they'd brought with them, and stashed in the lodge -- before setting them aside on an empty cot. "I thought she was just being overprotective of her little sister. To think she suffered from such superstitions."

Mistra frowned at that, stiffly turning away from Enysa, and looking towards the door. Seconds later, her partner passed her by.

"We are unlikely to have the camp this empty again for some time. If we are to remove this armor at all in Ashenvale, we should take the opportunity to now."

Mistra didn't realize just how badly she wanted to bathe until that moment. The wardens practically lived in their armor while deployed in the field, and she was more strict about being seen than almost any of her other sisters.

... but even Mistra had her limits.

"Fine." She accepted the pack from Enysa, and followed the other Warden down the steps of the open-air hunting lodge, and out towards the trail that lead down to the river.

"I was teasing, you know."

"I know," Mistra said simply. "I just don't find it funny to be teased about this particular thing."

"You're always so serious, dalah alor... but at least, I hope, you know that I tease you because I am fond of you." Enysa paused for a moment, bowing her head slightly.

"... all the same, I am sorry. Allow me to make it up to you."

Mistra snorted, slinging the pack over her shoulder.

"You are incorrigible, Warden Feathersong... but I am certain that you will."

[a-broken-bough]

Ashenvale Forest was silent all around her. If it weren't the fact that she knew Enysa Feathersong was moving through the underbrush alongside her, Mistra would never have known the other warden was there.

"This is where Sentinel-Commander Wildthorn said the invaders were staging their work camp..." Mistra's voice was a breath of frustration that echoed in her full helmet.

Enysa's shoulders rose as she took a stabilizing breath. Mistra could tell that her partner was frustrated, even with every inch of her body shrouded by armor and cloak.

"They have moved on, clearly, but the destruction is..."

"Yes," Mistra's voice sounded in agreement. "It is an eyesore, Warden Feathersong."

Mistra stooped to kneel beside the remnant of a once-great tree, running her mailed fingertips across the diameter of the stump. A pang of frustration ran through her as she gleaned the age of this fallen elder, and her other hand clenched around the haft of her scythe.

"We should figure out which direction they moved in," Mistra announced.

"It shouldn't be hard, considering that these--" Enysa seemed to hold the word in her mouth until it was poison. "...beasts simply cannot help but leave a trail wherever they rampage."

"These are no beasts. Beasts can coexist within an ecosystem." Mistra stood, bracing against the haft of her weapon.

"You're right, Warden Wildthorn. We're clearly dealing with an invasive species."

Mistra could hear the subtle bite of mischief that crept into Enysa's otherwise dry tone when she said Mistra's family name and title.

Enysa stared at her from behind the placid helmet, and for a moment Mistra could've swore the other woman could read the unamused eyebrow quirk on her face despite the mask.

"Night will fall soon, and we can scout under cover of darkness. We'll report back to your sister and her sentinels with what new horrors we find."

[a-broken-bough]

The barracks was filled with the sound of snoring, but that wasn't why Mistra had trouble sleeping that night. Without care for the comfort of their tentative allies, she had stripped down out of her flowing haori and undershirt in the hopes that using the silken jacket as a pillow might ease the ache of sleeping on a hard floor. All in all, she'd decided, that would've been easier to get comfortable on the ground outside.

Mistra drew herself upright, leaving her wide-brimmed hat behind with the jacket, and tip-toeing across the floor with her travel pack slung over her good shoulder. While she was almost certain that the Orcs would not like to awaken to the sight of her roaming the small camp alone, she was also reasonably certain that they would rather that, than find her smoking inside the enclosed space.

She crept to the door, slipping outside into the dry Barrens air. It was good to be out at night, she thought, having suffered through this place at the zenith of the sun's luminosity. From her pack she procured a small pipe, and a pouch of pipeweed. The former was tucked into her mouth, and the latter tucked into the pocket of her Hakama.

Scaling the roof was relatively simple. Doing so in silence? That was a more difficult task. With each movement, she could feel the clumsiness her right side suffered from in the wake of her injury, and could practically hear the harsh voice of her childhood shan-do criticizing the sluggish movement of her climb... but she didn't require speed in this moment. With all the time in the world, Mistra could do damn-near anything... and right now, all she really wanted was to see the stars.

Mistra struck a match against the sole of her sandal, holding it to the tip of her pipe. Smoking was a habit picked up from her shan'do at the monastery, Master Songbrook, and this particular pipe was a gift from him when she left the mountains. The sight and smell of it brought back rare fond memories. Memories of spirited debate, and enthusiastic sparring. She puffed the pipeweed to light and held the smoke in her lungs for as long as she could before exhaling directly up into the night.

Unlike her path -- or the motivations of her comrades -- the sky was so clear out here in the Barrens. Little glimmering things shone from behind the veil of dark, and Mistra indulged in her tobacco while picking out constellations. The time of year was right for Kyuusei's Stave to be visible towards the northeast corner of the sky, and the sight of it made her feel at home.

It suddenly struck her how much she actually missed home. The food, her sisters-in-arms, the trees, even Master Songbrook's lofty lectures about theory. Mistra took a deep drag from the pipe, hoping it would help to untie the knot homesickness had woven into her chest, and then watched as the plume of smoke drifted skyward.

She smiled at another fond memory. Perhaps they weren't quite as rare as she thought, and in that moment Mistra decided that it most certainly had helped.

[a-broken-bough]

Gonna also share stories from the AU WoW Mistra. Just a heads up.

[holyisthenameofmyruthlessaxe]

To the Bone, Dorothy Allison 

[ID: That summer I did not go crazy / but I wore / very close / very close / to the bone.]

[a-broken-bough]

The Sun also Rises

Mistra Brokenbough had studied at the Temple of the Red Crane for many months, now. Her muscles were sore, her hands calloused with the remnants of blisters, and her knuckles bruised from the rigorous training regimine... but it was a good kind of hurt.

The Kaldorei hiked up the hem of her travel robes, and sank down onto the ledge. The roaring falls below settled into a sort of static white noise, and she lifted a waterskin to her lips. Mistra had come here many times over the course of her stay at the temple, but this time, she wasn't visiting as an initiate. She was here as a graduate.

Mistra removed her black and jade hat, setting it beside her before leaning back onto her palms. Sunlight scattered as it hit the rising wall of misty spray from the falls, casting a rainbow before her -- before her view of the whole of Krasarang -- and she took in a deep breath. She would miss the Wilds, but there came a time in every monk's study where a life inside the temple's grounds could no longer sustain their development. It was time for Mistra to take what she'd learned out of Krasarang, and let the world itself challenge her newfound philosophy. To adapt, and to -- hopefully -- grow.

Her chest fluttered at the thought, and she stared off at her beloved Krasarang. At the beautiful, ancient temple grounds that had picked her up when she was at her most broken. That had given her a community. An outlet. A sense of purpose.

... and from the vantage point that had swiftly become her favorite spot in all the world, Mistra knew it was time to move on. When she'd left home as a young woman, it was with a mission she did not want. A heartache that weighed heavily on her as she carried her mother's torch into Ashenvale, but this time, the journey ahead of her was one upon which she willingly embarked. The warrior part of her upbringing would always be there. Through her studies, she had come to accept that it was as intrinsically tied to her as it was to Azeroth itself -- but that there was no reason to wallow in that thought, or to use it as an excuse not to try harder. Be better.

Mistra closed her eyes for a moment, taking in the feeling of it one last time. Then, she took a breath. Opened her eyes, and capped her waterskin. Placed her hat atop her head, and stood.

"You can do it. Just take one step. Then the other. Then repeat."

... and, unlike so many times before when she'd had to say those words aloud, Mistra Brokenbough took her first steps onto a wider world.

After all, one cannot find new horizons if they're afraid to leave the old ones behind.

[serai-querel]

Sunday’s fight at Ramkhamhaeng photography: David Terrazas model: Jung Dahee

[a-broken-bough]

Become the Master Of It.

Mistra knelt atop then reddish-brown tile rooftop of a Booty Bay inn. It was a beautiful midsummer eve, and the air was full of smells and sounds. The woman with the ink-dark hair, and tendrils of shadow -- whose name she had missed in conversation due to distraction -- had handed her an armful of fireworks.

She had been afraid of them ever since Teldrassil. During the Lunar Festival, the sound and sight alone had filled her with dread. Pinged every single anxiety she'd had in the wake of the terrible event... and that was even in Moonglade. What safer place could there have been for her?

... but it was a mark of how far she'd come in the past several months, that Mistra could sit here among friends and enjoy the night. While her companions had gone up to the roof, she had stopped at the inn below to return a drink tray, and to buy a mug of hot water. She'd made the last batch of tea from the World's Faire Carnival, and simply... basked for a moment.

... and so it was with calm nerves that she struck a match against the rough tile. With a deep breath, she pressed it to the bottle rocket's wick and shook out the flame before stepping back. The firework whistled as it took off, rocketing upwards into the clear night sky. Mistra plugged her ears, watching the projectile until it was swallowed by the twilight, and...

Boom.

She flinched, but... it wasn't nearly as startling as she'd expected it would be. Seconds later, the initial explosion was followed by a crackle as the bright pyrotechnic display split into a wonderful azure blossom. The faint scent of smoke began to descend, and it mingled with the smell of seafood stew wafting up from the kitchen below.

Mistra could feel her lips peeling back over her incisor fangs. Enraptured by the sight of the firework that she had set off, the Kaldorei quickly lit the second, then third, and then fourth. By the time she scrambled back from the launch site, she was grinning like a fool, lopsided smile splashed across her features, with a giggle on her lips.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

They went off in rapid succession with less than a second between, and Mistra's normally sullen features were set awash with brilliant green.

"I love this."

The breathy statement had barely left Mistra's lips when she realized how long it had been since she'd said those words aloud. She leaned back onto her palms, craning her neck skyward, and it was so easy to forget about the weight on her shoulders.

Things were good, and the stars were gorgeous this evening. Perhaps a little moreso, now, thanks to her.

((Thank you for your brief cameo, @longveil <3))

[a-broken-bough]

Here Comes A Thought

In.

It is Lunar Festival. Her uniform is pristine. She is fresh-faced, and there are fireworks, and tonight, they are celebrating. They welcome her with open-arms and bright smiles and laughter. She was the last one, but they waited.

Out.

The watery spray flecks Mistra's skin, and she takes a deep breath. Damp air fills her lungs, and she purses her lips to regulate the exhalation. The sound of the falls pounds in her ears, and...

In.

The sharp crack of hardened wood against bone. Wind leaving lungs. Reeling and disoriented. The sting of tears. Plucked from a daydream, and placed onto dangerously wobbling feet. Another layer of bruises.

Out.

A shower of splinters follows the ear-splitting groan of wood. Panicked voices rise above the crackle of flame. Throat stinging. Eyes stinging. Screams. Fear. Adrenaline rages through her veins, and she runs faster than she ever had before, but the pain is still excruciating.

In.

Mistra can feel the phantom fires shooting along her left-hand side, but she will not indulge them. She refuses to even open her eyes. The scarred tips of her fingers are rough against the flesh of her opposite hand. These marks are nowhere near as bad as they were two years ago, but that tiny bit of tactility anchors her. Helps evade the spiraling whirlpool of memories before in can fully tug her under this time. No.

Out.

The night is young, and beautiful, and her laugh is like the Goddess's own. Flushed cheeks. Ears burning. Fingertips touch, and her heart pounds in her chest. The accelerating thump thump thump swells and swells until it's all she can hear, and her lips curl upwards. The smile is crooked, but she doesn't care.

In.

The memory of that summer evening floats past. As if borne on a lazy breeze. She inhales, and by the time she has finished the breath, it is gone. Mistra's empty thoughts are filled with the roar of the falls behind her.

Out.

It is Lunar Festival. Her uniform is too small in places, and it still smells of smoke. She hides her face behind her hair, and keeps her head down. A beautiful woman greets her, and welcomes her home. She wants to run every time a firework goes off, but she stays anyway. It doesn't feel the same without them, but she is the last one.

In...

[a-broken-bough]

The Weeping, and Gnashing of Teeth.

They do not understand.

Cold fury gripped Mistra's face as she stormed her way through the Temple and out into the training grounds. Startled initiates, fresh from their lessons, scampered out of the Kaldorei's warpath. The moment of realization she'd had upon seeing the fear on her peers' hadn't been a fleeting one, but it had just made her even more mad. Even as their shocked expressions were burned into her mind whenever she closed her eyes for longer than a blink.

Of course I am alone. Master Lin is incapable of knowing what I have been through. These people have never lost anything, so they simply cannot understand what it is like to lose everything. They are weak.

She clenched her fists at her side. The knuckles on her right hand throbbed a dull ache in response. Still angrily screaming their protest in the wake of the sparring match. Even her own body seemed to rebel against the victory.

I never wanted to fight. I never asked to lose my home. Or my sisters. Or my honor as a sentinel...

With a clatter, she stepped though the first of her combat drills. Mistra squared up to the wooden dummy, left ulna impacting the highest of a triangle formation of pegs as her right radius caught the lowest. A grunt escaped her set jaw, and she frowned through the pain, repeating the process until her forearms grew dark and flushed from the impact.

I am what this terrible world has made me. I am hard and unforgiving, because to be anything less is to buckle under it's weight.

As swiftly, and jarringly as she began, the Kaldorei moved into the second exercise. She thrust both palms upwards, catching the top pair of prongs with a meaty thud before driving a fist into the straw padding. Every other time, she alternated fists. Every third, she would hook the prongs, and tug downwards with all the might she could muster from her core.

... but you didn't lose your honor, you gave it up... and you weren't always like h-

She banished the intrusive thought from creeping to the surface, slamming both wrists against the top pegs again. She proceeded through the third exercise, alternating between the exterior and interior. Wrist, and prong. Repeating the process, and striking harder every time introspection threatened to close in on her.

You are not strong. You are broken. You are the same cruelty that shaped you. You are to them as she was to you. You aren't mad at their weakness, you're mad at yourself for what you've become. So stop trying to hold them accountable for shying away when you are the one that bared her fangs.

One. Radius and ulna. Two. Ulna and radius. Three. Palms up, clearing high. Four. Palms down, clearing low. Five. Wrists in, clearing out. Six. Wrists out, clearing in.

Mistra could feel the phantom sting of a quarterstaff as it battered her ankles. It did not matter that the act only made her slower. It would be a lesson well learned. Her Shan'do's discipline rang in her mind as she worked through the drills to avoid the price of failure.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. One two three four five six. Onetwothreefourfivesix.

Eventually, the throb of each impact began to drown out her thoughts, moving through the drills at breakneck speed, weaving punches in between each set.

Onetwothreefourfivesix. Onetwothreefourfivesix. Onetwothreefour... four... four...

... until it didn't. She hooked her palms atop the pegs, pushing with all the weight she could muster, but she couldn't bring herself to continue. Mistra slumped against the wooden man, black bruises beginning to blossom along her dusky purple-grey forearms, wrists and knuckles.

I wasn't always like this. I was made to be like this. Do I really want others to suffer the way I have suffered? To break as I have broken?

Something snapped in Mistra's chest when she finally allowed herself to think it, and as the breeze shifted, she could feel the sheen of tears dripping down her cheeks.

"No," it was barely the ghost of a whisper. Mistra hadn't even realized she'd spoken it aloud.

The world did not make me stronger. It made me weary, and brittle. Afraid to ask for help, and afraid to let anyone give it to me.

The surface of the lacquered teak wood felt cool against Mistra's forehed, and she let herself continue to hang from it. A sigh escaped her, and all of the thoughts she'd fought so hard to keep from rising to the surface... simply didn't stay. They would rise to the forefront, and continue to rise until they were gone. Time stood still in the silent courtyard. She could feel the breeze, and hear the rustle of leaves, and for a cruel, perfect moment, it felt as though she was home again.

[budogang]

Hip Hop Wooden Dummy Wing  Chun Girl Style  :)

[a-broken-bough]

the late-night talk

When you get your soft, italicized, Oh.

Oh. you figure it out when you realize just how vulnerable they are willing to be with you. it isn't everybody who could or would stay up talking into the night with you, not with such affection or easy familiarity. it isn't everybody who is so understanding of you. it isn't everybody who could bare their soul to you in return. that kind of intimacy... it means deep foundations. it means comfort. it means trust. maybe it's a secret, maybe it's a story, maybe it's something you just never thought of before -- but they say something, late at night, and you realize all at once how remarkable they are, and how special it is to exist in the same time and space as them. "oh" indeed.

Tagged by: @kyuusei-shadowleaf

Tagging: @alexandriawilliams, @merelliahallewell

[a-broken-bough]

A Kick to the Head

Mistra had delivered the knock-out blow within moments of the round beginning. This was where she excelled.

Her opponent pushed forward off his back foot, and lead with a charge. It was a harbinger of how unwieldy his whole performance would be for the duration of the very short sparring match. Avoiding it, and finishing the match was just a simple series of movements. He raised his right arm to swing, and she stepped to her left -- underneath the oncoming blow -- and brought her right arm up. A single, swift strike to the solar plexus. His momentum came to an abrupt stop against a set of knuckles. Hard, and cruel after years and years of having them rapped by overzealous instructors for failing to keep proper forms. The strike was as precise, and final. A lesson well-learned.

He dropped to the mat, clutching his chest, and gasping for breath as he held up a hand to signify his surrender.

"Initiate Brokenbough."

Mistra's brow furrowed in frustration, and she turned to the instructor.

"There is no doubt in my mind -- and likely in any of your peers' minds at this point -- that you're the most proficient fighter in this class."

Master Lin was an older Pandaren woman, and the instructor that seemed to have the least patience. Especially where Mistra was concerned.

Mistra braced, tucking her arms behind her back and bowing her head.

"We are not fighting for survival in this room, Initiate Brokenbough. The purpose of sparring is to help make you and your opponent better fighters. To work on basic form, and technique. Initiate Liu cannot do that if you continue to-"

"I am all too happy to critique Initiate Liu's performance if you wish-"

Master Lin didn't even have to speak up. The utterly withering glare she fixed Mistra with was more than enough to convince the Kaldorei to shut her mouth. Mistra glowered, every muscle in her face seeming dedicated to an expression of frustration. Still, she kept quiet.

"Initiate Brokenbough, I would remind you that this is still a beginner class. That despite your obvious skill, many of your classmates moved on to intermediate courses long ago. This exercise is not about eliminating an opponent. It is about working together with your peers to hone your skills. To hold them accountable for their progress."

There's an awfully long pause, and Master Lin closes her eyes. Her sigh is audible in the deathly silent dojo.

"You are not alone anymore, but your refusal to acknowledge this is why you find yourself surrounded by fewer and fewer faces that you recognize. If you cannot learn to work with your peers, then I am going to have to ask you to excuse yourself from the temple's grounds. I suggest you meditate on that this evening."

Mistra knew that she was angry. She could feel the hot frustration burning in her cheeks. The nails digging into her palms as she clenched her fists so tightly, it felt as if they might draw blood. The scrunched face, and furrowed brow as she struggled to keep her tongue reigned in... but she didn't quite understand how angry until she turned and saw mixture of concern and fear on her classmates' faces.

It was as though Mistra's whole body had fallen into a bucket of ice water.

"Oh."

[a-broken-bough]

bluebell :   does your muse learn from their past ,   or are they prone to repeating the same mistakes ?

It's funny you should ask this, because... I don't actually know.

I like to think that Mistra is capable of breaking the cycle. Especially after all of the positive growth and change she's undergone lately... but her anger runs deep. It is entirely possible that she goes completely ape shit the next time the Alliance and Horde go to war -- possibly even the next time she encounters Forsaken on a battlefield.

... but I like to think she's doing better than that. So. We'll see what happens when it happens :P

((Thank you for asking this one @ameliarabon you're delightful <3))

[kyuusei-shadowleaf]

Kyuusei Shadowleaf as The Empress

A breathtaking tarot commission from karrah_e.

[promptfairy]

❥     𝐁𝐎𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐋 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒    [   𝚆𝙾𝚁𝙳 𝙿𝚁𝙾𝙼𝙿𝚃𝚂    ]   .

headcanon prompts with questions based on plants   &   what they represent in flower language .  happy roleplaying !!  ♡

abatina :   is there anything in life your muse has changed their mind about over time   (   due to becoming more educated on the topic ,   certain experiences  ,   etc .   ) ,    or that they   would   change their mind about under certain circumstances ?  

acanthus :   is your muse deceptive ,   or willing to lie or deceive to achieve certain means ?   why or why not ?   

aloe :   how does your muse handle grief ?

amaryllis :   what is something or someone that your muse takes pride in ?   how do they express that pride ?   

anemone :   how does your muse view the world ;   as a cruel   &   unforgiving place ,   a land full of wonders ,   or something in - between ?  where does that world view come from   (   what experiences ,   life lessons ,   etc .   ) ?  

angelica :   where does your muse draw inspiration in life ?   what motivates them ?

apple blossom :   how does your muse go about expressing or not expressing their sexuality ?  

bachelor’s button :   does your muse actively seek romantic companionship ,   or cherish the liberties of being single ? 

basil :   does your muse have a love - hate relationship with anyone or anything ?

bay tree :   does your muse seek glory   &   accolades ,   or do they favour a simpler ,   more personal life ?  

begonia :   how cautious is your muse ?   are they prone to noticing red flags ,   or paranoid to the point of untrusting most everyone ?   why or why not ?  

belladonna :   how does your muse respond to silence ?   do they take comfort in soundlessness ,   or seek to fill the void with noise ?   

bluebell :   does your muse learn from their past ,   or are they prone to repeating the same mistakes ?  

carnation :   what is your muse’s relationship with their gender ?   how do they express or not express this relationship ?  

chamomile :   what is your muse likely to take away from a painful experience ?   are they one to be haunted by adversity ,   or to use what they’ve gone through to become stronger ?  

chrysanthemum :   how does your muse express romantic love ?  how do they feel about love as a concept ?  

daffodil :   is your muse one to be loyal in relationships ,   or are they likely to quickly move from one bond to another ?

daisy :   did your muse ever feel as though their innocence had been lost ?   what moment in their life could be described as the end of their innocence ?  

edelweiss :   what was the bravest moment in your muse’s life ?  are they known to be courageous from then on ?  

fern :   does your muse believe in magic or cosmic forces ,   or are they more likely to think their life is ultimately a matter of their own control ?  

forget - me - not :   has your muse ever forgotten something that is or was important to them ?   are they afraid of forgetting things like that ?  

gardenia :   is your muse one to confess romantic feelings early on ,   or to conceal them for long periods of time ?  

gladiolus :   describe a moment from your muse’s life that they will never forget .

goldenrod :   does your muse believe in luck or fortune ?  why or why not ?   where do they believe these things come from ?  

heliotrope :   does your muse believe in soulmates ?

hibiscus :   how does your muse view the gentler ,   daintier things in life ?   as things worth preserving   &   caring for ,   or things only bound to wither   &   disappear ?  

holly :   how strong is your muse’s sense of intuition ?  are they aware of it ?   do they ever fear that it is only paranoia ?  

hollyhock :   how strong is your muse’s sense of ambition ?  what’s something they strive for in life ?  

hyacinth :   is your muse athletic ?   does it come naturally to them ,   or have they had to work for their physique and/or skill ?  

hydrangea :   how much does your muse value communication in their relationships with others ?  are they prone to being misunderstood ?

iris :   if your muse could convey one last message to someone they have lost or left behind ,   what would it be ?  

ivy :   what are your muse’s views on marriage ?   do they believe it is something strictly for love ,   or an institution rooted in business   &   social benefits ?   do they desire or have they desired to be married ?

lavender :   how easy is it to gain your muse’s trust ?  once their trust is broken ,   how might one go about mending it ?  

lilac :   what was your muse’s childhood like ?   how has their upbringing affected them as they’ve aged ? 

lily :   how does your muse view their mother ?  

lotus :   has your muse ever felt as though they’ve been reborn ?  have they ever desired the feeling of a fresh start ,   or a better understanding of themself and/or the world around them ?  

magnolia :   describe your muse’s relationship with nature   &   the natural world .  

marigold :   is your muse prone to jealousy ?  how might they handle envious feelings ?  

mint :   does your muse view themself as virtuous   &   moral ?  what do these words mean to them ?

nasturtium :   describe your muse’s relationship with their birthplace ,   or homeland .  

oak :   who would your muse consider the strongest person they know ?  

pansy :   does your muse often reflect on their own actions ?   do they ever think a lot about the past ,   and what they could have done differently ?

parsley :   describe a holiday your muse enjoys ,   and why they enjoy it .

peony :   what would a   ‘  happy life  ’   look like in your muse’s eyes ?

poppy :   what comforts your muse ?

rhododendron :   is your muse receptive to warnings   &   advice given by others ?

rose :   how much does your muse value other people ?   do they wish to have many friends ,   lovers ,   and/or associates ?   are they an easy person to love ?

sage :   what is your muse’s legacy ?   what do they want to be remembered for   &   what might they actually be remembered for ?  

salvia :   is your muse possessive over people or things that matter a lot to them ?  how do they express that possessiveness ,   or lack thereof ? 

snapdragon :   is your muse merciful ?  why or why not ?

southernwood :   how seriously does your muse take themself ?   do they prefer a solemn   &   intellectual atmosphere or do they delight in jokes   &   banter ?  

sunflower :   what brings your muse the most joy in life ?  

tulip :   how does your muse view people in general ?  

violet :   how does your muse respond to betrayal ?

willow :   how does your muse handle sadness   &   depression ?

zinnia :   how has the loss of fallen comrades and/or loved ones affected your muse ?   has it taught them anything or given them any new perspectives ?

[open-world-azeroth]

Location: Gale’s Rest

Zone: Stormsong Valley

Notes: Well, it’s called Gale’s Rest, but the gales don’t seem to be resting much. The wind howls about this hilltop lit by an old runic standing stone, a shrine just below offering little insight into the history of this place. Despite the chaotic winds, the energy here is peaceful, and the view breathtaking.

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