Sylvanas Windrunner @darkqueensylvanas - Tumblr Blog

do you miss being alive? :( I would but since your a queen unlife must be awesome!! XD

”Mmm. A fair question, but a mistaken one. You see… One can only miss something they might eventually see again. If one is forever lost from that thing, they may only mourn it.”

"If you are, indeed, asking me if I mourn my loss of life— and here I only surmise to compensate for your lack of intelligence— then I must admit that yes, yes I do. Not a day goes by that I do not.”

"But also not a day goes by in which I do not rise above my wretched circumstances, in which I do not work to secure a better future for my forsaken people, and in which I do not suffer to long endure witless questions from brainless worms.”

"Leave me, before an arrow leaves your skull.”

#Sylvanas #Sylvanas Windrunner #WoW RP #[ Walk up to the dash like WHAT UP I got a BIG PLOT ]#[ I'm BACK buddies ]#answered #Anon

#Death... to the living.#The flame has no living heart.#Mortals beware. Sylvanas returns soon.

Is there any particular strategy to leaving your midriff and as I understand it many vital organs (although this may be different with elves) completely unarmored ?

"…"

"It is more than incidentally humorous to me that you think the rotten meat capsules within my body could by any definition be considered ‘vital organs,’ and even more humorous that one could think they’re somehow necessary for my survival and thus demand armored protection.”

"I’ll elaborate for your clearly-deficient mind. Were you to cut open my belly, the last thing you would hear would be my laughter at such an idiotic attempt to fell me, and the last thing you would see would be a puddle of useless, rotten organs pooling at your feet— shortly before my arrows pierced your eyes.”

#sylvanas #sylvanas windrunner #answered #anon

cannotcontrolher replied to your post:OutOfArrows: Well. Hello there. I suppose I’m...

// Oh hellooooo. Welcome back! OuO

OutOfArrows: Hello my lovely! It is a pleasure to find you still here! <3

#cannotcontrolher #ooc #let me pet your face

OutOfArrows: Well. Hello there.

I suppose I'm back?

#wow rp #sylvanas #ooc #out of arrows

A Wretched Hive of Scum and Villainy. (closed)

Tirisfal Glades. A place not normally known for its joy, cheer, mirth, and overall level of happiness. Settlements here were first founded by the High Elves, many and many a year ago… Ignoring, of course, the rumors that something evil lurked below the soil. The whispers on the wind claimed that the ever-present mist that perpetually lingers a few inches above the ground was a result of that same evil bubbling through the dirt and rising into the air, ready to yank down all who walk on top of it.

If that’s true, tonight must be a particularly evil night, for the ground is literally choked with fog and mist. None of it comes up higher than waist-high, though regardless, most of the villagers in Brill have sought refuge in their one and only place of mirth: The Gallow’s End Tavern, which incidentally happens to have the worst name for any supposedly ‘mirthful’ establishment ever.

The rotten wooden sign bearing the pub’s name creaks on its rusted chains in the wind, the whinnies and growls of various mounts tied to the post out front mixing with the creaks, and the sounds of voices and instruments from inside. Over the entire village, just in front of the pub, looms the statue of a woman with a bow… intimidating, dark, introspective. As if her presence, even in stone, is designed to ward away trespassers Given how grim the outside village looks, all decayed and covered in fog, inside the tavern is a different story…

"Ease upon a’self, mon! Dere be no way ya can be takin’ me! Bes’ just ta buy me da next round, ‘er ten, an’ not waste ya time."

"Put your money where your mouth is, troll! After all, it’s not hard to miss!”, spits a brown-skinned orc in response to the cocky bluster of the blue-skinned troll. Both men are seated at a table, apparently about to engage in some vigorous arm-wrestling. The crowd that’s gathered about includes misfits of all sorts, but is mostly Forsaken. Towards the bar, a rather well-dressed elf, with hair that could make Rapunzel blush, idly slaps a few gold coins down onto the counter.

"Ten on Lannosh. I’m feeling lucky tonight, Ember,” quips the preening elf, before taking a moment to examine his nails.

“Ha!,” coughs the undead bartender in response, the syllable sounding like it’s coming from the ravaged lungs of a coal-miner filtered through a pit of gravel, with the barest hint of femininity behind it. The dead woman then takes a moment to cough, scraping a filthy-looking rag (the sight of which makes the elf wince) through an equally-filthy looking glass. “Yer never lucky, Tyl. ‘sides, Jandali’s the undefeated champion'a arm wrestlin' 'round 'ere. Yer on. I'll take that ten and raise ya twenty.”

#undeadambasador

OutOfArrows: I think it's about time I deleted this blog... Few people seem to have any real interest in Sylvie, aside from sending her irritating crack!RP asks that frankly I don't particularly enjoy.

Will anyone miss her..?

#ooc #out of arrows

OutOfArrows: So, I have this Dark Ranger OC over here, if anyone wants to do things with her...

#ooc #shameless self promotion

OutOfArrows: I have stunningly neglected this blog over the last few days. Fear not, my children, I have not forgotten you all. I shall be returning for some replies and answers on Sylvanas tomorrow. Give this a like if I owe you and you want to continue something we have going.

#ooc

darkqueensylvanas

What Is Rightfully Ours.

vereesaw

The moment Vereesa had returned to Dalaran with the little belongings they had left behind on the wastes of Northrend, along with a few stragglers who chose to accompany her rather than remain stuck upon the continent, she remained rather silent. After announcing her return to Jaina, who swiftly proceeded with her actions of moving the floating city to their new location (wherever that may have been), Vereesa simply kept to herself - attending to business that only directly concerned her and only if it was of utmost importance. After all… she had a lot to ponder on.

Yet such pondering could only last so long, and it appeared that five days had come and gone relatively quickly; something she was most glad of. It was on that day that she finally made herself known to people, or more so a person, whom she would need now more than any other being in the world

A heavy burden, and an unknown one at that.

“I need a portal to Light’s Dawn,” She spoke to the passerby; a mage in training, with a speciality for such mechanics. Vereesa watched as their face contorted with curiosity, and it took a mere raise of her eyebrow for her to elaborate. “if you please would be so kind as to do that for me, of course.” It was her gentle words that finally got the request, and soon she found herself landing in the Plaguelands, just opposite the entrance to Light’s Dawn; a place where such tyranny once stood, tall and proud of himself… until he was shut down.

Yet that was not her focus at that point. Instead, she put her hood up to cover her face completely and began to travel eastward; away from the safe haven and into territory that belonged to creatures whom she knew not. Moving quickly, she travelled across the grassy knolls until reaching the borders to the Ghostlands; their beloved Quel’Thalas. She had walked upon it once - when it was alive and fresh - and now before her were only hues of rusted orange and dark, charcoal blacks that scarred the landscape she once so adored. A soft sigh escaped her, yet she had no time for those memories.

Sylvanas was surely waiting - she could sense the change in the air. As her feet crunched upon the dead leaves she could sense a presence watching her; a being with red eyes, though they did not attack. They were simply watching; stalking the scene. The tactics of a ranger, she knew that well and truly, but Vereesa was not so silly as to try and hunt the being down. One who was trained by Sylvanas, after all, would be almost impossible to detect to begin with.

So she walked; albeit with caution. Though she relaxed somewhat too - simply knowing that she was being watched by the right people put her at relative ease, though she remained covered; her temperance unaffected by the changes she endured now. How she ended up in the situation where she would have to sneak into her own homeland was beyond her - completely and utterly - and though anger attempted to engulf her, she allowed it to subside for the sake of her sister.

A few more minutes of travelling had her appearing at the entrance to the Sanctum; undisturbed and unattended by any living being and yet Vereesa could sense that her sister was there; waiting as she always did. With soft steps, Vereesa approached until she found herself beneath the archway, and before Sylvanas once more. Again, she was taken aback - still not quite used to seeing her, and especially not in such a place as this. A soft, deep breath was exhaled before she finally reached up and lifted her hood, allowing it to fall beside her.

“I’m impressed,” She admitted softly. “I didn’t realise how respected you were, even now.” As she spoke, she took a few steps closer, clearing her throat as she attempted another soft smile. “It’s good to see you, sister. I’m glad you came.”

darkqueensylvanas

"I suspect it has more to do with fear than respect, sister," she replies, a tone of barest lament in her voice. "The sin'dorei look to me in part because they lack any real leadership in their home. In truth, I am rather... less than impressed with the Regent Lord and his closest advisers. I'm certain you agree."

Of course, they have completely different motives for that agreement, but the important thing (in this moment anyway) is that it's there. Sylvanas' dissatisfaction with the sin'dorei, for whom her thoughts and feelings fluctuate on a nearly daily basis, may be entirely disparate from the dissatisfaction felt by her sister, but the point remains... Dissatisfaction is dissatisfaction.

Before she speaks further, she holds one palm into the air, slowly drawing her fingers inward to ball her hand into a fist. The gesture signals her two skulking rangers, who take the opportunity to remove themselves from the shadows. When they step into view, it's almost as if they did it from thin air. Sylvanas opts not to comment upon it, though.

"Naturally I came." The Banshee Queen attempts a smile as she responds, though it does not last long. An action that comes far more easily to her is the simpler one of taking a few steps forward, to close the distance between her and Vereesa, so that she might place a comforting, but cold, hand upon the elf's shoulder. "Did you think for even one moment that I would not?"

Here, Sylvanas nods over her shoulder, indicating the Magister's spire behind her. Devoid of life, as appearances would seem. The two rangers take the initiative to move themselves past the sisters, and take up more secretive positions inside the Sanctum. "My rangers will keep their eyes upon the Sanctum while we tend to... other matters. Come, there's much yet to do. Tell me, sister... How long has it been since you've ridden a hawkstrider?"

The proud, ancestral mounts of Vereesa's kin. Of Sylvanas' kin. Now notoriously difficult to come by if one is not on friendly terms with the current ruling authorities in Quel'thalas. But despite that... A rather beautiful looking purple and red hawkstrider, adorned with traditional high elven baubles, waits right behind the fence... presumably for Vereesa.

#vereesaw

You are not so different with Arthas after all.

“… You should have spent far longer pondering your word choice, stranger.”

“For the words you have just so foolishly thought it wise to say to my face will surely be your last. Arrogant, contemptuous wretch! That you would even dare compare me to that baseless, hollow, man-child sack of a human!” Sylvanas grits her teeth in anger, feeling her blood boil at the very notion that someone would even consider comparing her to a man for whom she harbors nothing but raw, visceral hatred.

A man who took everything from her.

The last thing she sees, as she knocks, pulls, and looses a set of three arrows from her longbow (in less time than it takes the mortal heart to beat once)… is the face of Arthas Menethil, looming over her body, laughing his twisted laughter.

“… die, now.”

#answered #anon

#ooc #promotion train #... a promotion train of myself #woo

What Is Rightfully Ours.

The dead leaves upon the ground crunch rather noisily beneath the equally dead hooves of Sylvanas' war horse. Of course, she can avoid being seen, heard, even smelled, if she so desires... But when stealth and discretion are not necessary, her presence is both easy to detect, and thoroughly commanding. A light entourage follows behind her, two rangers clad in dark garb, their ever-vigilante red eyes peering about the forest from behind the shadow of their hoods.

It's a simple lifting of her hand that brings the train to a halt. The fingers on her outstretched palm slowly curl back into her hand, causing the leather on her rangers' glove to crack audibly. Both women at her sides respond with simple nods, their horses immediately stopping atop the dead terrain. A wave of her hand is all it takes for them to dismount, and fan out. They'd been given orders to make sure this place will not be bothered by any wandering sin'dorei.

At the front gate, two Elven guards stand in idle conversation with one another, double-bladed swords perched lazily on their shoulders.

"I put in for that transfer months ago. I'm beginning to suspect Ro, mmath just hates my guts, and likes keeping me in this dingy, depressing little spire."

"You and everyone out here put in for transfers months ago. Someone's gotta stay in the... what'd you call it? Dingy depressing little spire? Even with Deatholme taken care of, they can't exactly pull the entire guard..."

"True. That would be foolish," Sylvanas interrupts, drawing the attention of both Elves. That voice of hers sure does carry... And it simply demands respect, with every syllable. "They cannot pull the entire guard. ... But I can."

"Dark Lady!," both blurt out in semi-unison, immediately moving to salute her. Sylvanas, however, waves them off, indicating the respectful gesture is not necessary. "I'm sorry, what was that about... pulling the entire guard?"

"That should not concern you," is her simple, at-first response. Before she says anything further, she hands over an elegant-looking golden scroll, which the left guard takes and begins to read. "Your grand magister has requested that you withdraw to the Terrace for today. I have graciously offered to keep the Sanctum safe while you are recalled."

They know better than to question her. They also know better than to scoff at the chance to spend a day out of the Ghostlands. After a set of respectful nods, the retreat into the sanctum, to inform the dozen or so mages within of the Dark Lady's news. It doesn't take long before the place is completely empty, except for her, and her two watchful rangers lurking in the shadows... As she stands in front of the gate, her cruel red eyes looking out into the lifeless fields, she smiles... and thinks a single word.

Perfect.

#vereesaw

katarinaducouteau-deactivated20

A Whole New World (Closed RP)

katarinaducouteau-deactivated20

What were they even going on about? Oh, right, there was some kind of deal ongoing. Katarina glanced back and looked at the wagon of kegs out of the corner of her eye, then turned back to lock eyes with the Forsaken creature, letting him know exactly how serious she was being about this whole ordeal. She pressed her knife harder to the throat of the troll she was holding, allowing a bit of blood to bead up and run down the length of the weapon.

“Both of you shut up right now,” she said, her tone deathly calm. She didn’t see the need to shout when she had both of their attention, even if they were rambling on and on. She growled low, looking at the troll she was holding up. He was quite heavy, but given his size she had figured it wise to take out his center of balance before anything else. If a fight was going to break out she’d get the heavy first.

“This has nothing to do with the damn wagon. I’ll set it on fire when I leave if another word is mentioned about it. This is about me finding the woman I’m looking for. So let me rephrase my threat. If I don’t have a response by the time I count to ten I’m going to swipe my arm to the right and open up whatever the blade happens to slide along on the way. Then I’m going to give you,” she said, looking at the Forsaken, “another ten seconds before I open your neck as well.

“She’s about my age, a bit more muscular than me, with a few scars and red and purple hair. If you’ve seen her, you’d best speak up now, because my father raised me to never make a threat I can’t keep, and right now I’m threatening to open both of your necks,” she growled, sliding the knife further along the troll’s neck so that when she moved she would open him from ear to ear.

“One.”

darkqueensylvanas

Well. That's certainly a firm and commanding opening offer. Both Troll and Forsaken pass approximately four seconds in shared (and stunned) silence, before one of them decides to break said silence.

"... You're on your own, Jin."

The Forsaken tavern keeper, having apparently had just about enough of this, takes the opportunity in the midst of this batty woman threatening his troll-vendor to bolt at the fasted speed his rotten, bony little legs will carry him. It causes the prone troll to sneer, and even attempt to spit in his direction, unwisely ignoring the thread behind himself for a moment.

"Coward, mon! Das why you gonna pay for all twelve!"

After he spits his vitriol-laced words at the fleeing Forsaken, the troll attempts (rather poorly, since he's all brute strength and no real skill to match) to yank the knife away from his neck. The little bit of pain had been nothing to him, and that much should be obvious, given his overall massive amount of scars... Many of which look self-inflicted, and ritual-based.

"Ya crazy bitch," he grunts, finding the knife-laced choke hold more than a little difficult to get out of. The attempt inadvertently ends up driving the knife deeper into his neck, allowing the blade to pass dangerously close to his larynx. In the process, the little pinprick of crimson at the knife's tip turns into an extensively bloodied patch, with the troll snarling and attempting to squirm free all the while. ... But that's quite hard when the back of your legs have just suffered through a nasty kick. "Leh... me... go..."

#tw: violence