Garver Dracaren

IC/OOC Blog for Garver Dracaren

[garverdracaren]

[garverdracaren]

Tales of the Crew: Zin’Ara

The night was dark, but never quiet in Stranglethorn Vale. The sounds of the jungle echoed out, even over the stone walls of Zul’Kunda. Of course, the ruins themselves were not asleep - Trolls were an active people, after all, and there were sure to be several bonfires roaring, encircled by members of the Bloodscalp tribe, dancing or conducting some ritual.

Which made Zin’Ara’s objective all the more difficult.

She had no ill will towards her people, but the thought of spending her entire life in this place, among crumbling walls and all the same faces, was suffocating to her. The Bloodscalp clung fiercely to their lands, and fought off all outsiders... Zin’Ara could not live within such walls forever.

But, neither could she be caught and thought a traitor, though a traitor she might be simply for leaving. So she moved atop those crumbling walls, leaping where she needed to, all in the hope she’d avoid being seen. To disappear in the night, leaving those who knew her to wonder where she’d gone, perhaps blame it on the Skullsplitters and have yet one more reason to fight.

That was the hope, at least, before landing on a wall with a particularly fragile ledge that gave out under her sudden weight.

She slipped, cursing under her breath and holding tight to the rucksack of her things she’d slung over her shoulder as she hit dirt, rolling into the light of one such bonfire she’d hoped to avoid. Zin’Ara glanced up, amber eyes darting between several warriors that had gathered for warmth and to exchange stories. “Don’t suppose ya’ be in a mood ta’ ferget ya’ be seein’ me?”

As if.

Now, she found herself fleeing desperately through the trees, dodging handaxes and trying her damnedest to ignore the growling of beastmasters’ tigers on her heels. She was agile enough that the rough, tree-dense terrain of the jungle did not slow her down, but the rest of her tribe was no stranger to moving through it either. In an ideal world, this would have been a departure without danger: no goodbyes, no arguments, no harsh feelings.

Now, she had no place to return to - but that was fine by her.

Eventually, she lost her pursuers - if not by her skill, then by making it far enough away from their territory that they no longer cared to chase her. Heavy breaths passed through her, sweat rolling down her wide brow. 

Her feet once again touched stone, but now it was the stone of the main road through Stranglethorn. Glancing both ways, Zin’Ara considered her options: the Humans, she knew, came from the North, and were unlikely to treat her much more kindly than her own people had. So, deciding quickly, she turned South, hoisting her rucksack again over her shoulder as her feet started padding down along the road.

Though she might not be able to return to the place of her birth, the place that had been her home for her entire life, her heart was light in her chest, and a toothy grin spread across her face.

What did one place she could not go matter... When there was an entire world for her to explore?

[maggierockfinch]

Thumb Fight Night

Garver eyed curiously at the woman as he spoke “What is it ya’ do typically?” Maggie smirked at the man and quipped a single worded answer “Exist..”

Beautiful render done by Moose <3

[garverdracaren]

Garver’s new streetrat friend!

[garverdracaren]

Tales of the Crew: Kedine

How had this happened to her?

Kedine Bloodshard was a woman of fine breeding, and even finer upbringing. Her family was among Silvermoon’s oldest Noble Houses, and she could trace her bloodline back almost to the settling of Quel’Thalas. She had received the highest education from the most prestigious institutions, including personal tutelage in the art of wielding Fel magic, and had wealth such that she wore nothing but the finest of silks, weaved into one-of-a-kind designs that would only ever grace her personage.

All these advantages, all her knowledge, her grace, and how did the leadership of Silvermoon employ her talents?

Playing tour guide.

Despite herself, she hunched in the middle of a tavern, resting her chin in her palm. Not even a fine restaurant that would serve each meal with shavings of gold as mere garnish - no, the Orcish ambassador she had been charged with chose this dingy establishment, unfit for those of her pedigree. Already, the proceedings of the day had left her weeping internally.

She had put her best foot forward - her finest jewelry, carefully applied makeup, and her absolute favorite dress. The fine, silken cloth was a brilliant scarlet, had been embroidered with real gold, and was the last work of one of Silvermoon’s finest tailors before illness took him. It was, more than any other piece in her collection, truly one of a kind. And it was wasted to impress a filthy, classless Orc.

The day had dragged on, an entirely miserable affair of Kedine attempting to make the best of a truly awful situation, and excel at the role assigned to her that she might reach for heights above it. She could talk for hours about Silvermoon’s art, its fashion, its architecture, its long and storied history, and that of her people. But what did this... This brute wish to discuss? Their weapons, their wars, their meats - not even their cuisine as a whole, just their meats, like some carnivorous beast that would tear into a raw flank if presented with one.

He had no culture, and to be forced to spend the day attempting to ingratiate him to Silvermoon that he might bring back good word to their allies in Durotar... It was the single most grating experience of her young life. She had to put on a smile and a curtsy at his every request, no matter how asinine or inane, and she felt as though she might explode at any moment.

But, she was nothing without her poise - she could contain her rage another hour until she could make her way home, and scream into her feathered pillows. That was how an adult handled such stress, after all. Of course, it didn’t help that he kept talking to her. “What’s the matter, Bloodshard? You’ve barely touched your food - this is good eating you’ve got! Nice and hearty. Doesn’t match a good Orcish spit roast - but maybe you’ll see that yourself if you make it to Orgrimmar!”

She felt herself lurch to the side as he nudged her with his elbow, with little regard for his own brute strength and stature against her own. She turned her face towards him with an ever-more-forced grin, nodding a couple of times. “Oh, I’m sure it will be delightful. We will have to hope that I am graced with the opportunity to make my way abroad after our... Success today, hm?”

The Orc gave a boisterous guffaw, which she was pretty sure was a positive response to her own sentiment. Gods, but she couldn’t wait for this day to just be over - she felt exhausted at the effort of pretending to enjoy the Orc’s company, and she couldn’t stand it much longer. Especially when he just wouldn’t shut up. “Come on, take a bite - feasting with our allies is a part of what it means to be Horde! Let this meal bond us as brother and sister in arms, eh?”

He picked up her plate and pushed it somewhat towards her, and Kedine couldn’t help a quick pulling back of her lip at the plate’s contents. A hunk of meat, thrown over a fire for however long, and slathered with a sauce that sat upon it like a layer of tar. Absolute slop, that she was sure would make her wretch were she to take even the slightest bite. “Oh, no, I’m not even a bit peckish - I couldn’t possibly-”

“Hogwash! A full belly is never too full, especially with food like this! Take just a bite!”

He shoved the plate towards her again, tipping it slightly, prompting Kedine to now push it away in response. “Really, I must refuse - it wouldn’t do if I were to become at all sluggish from overeating, when we’ve still-”

He insisted, though, and pushed back at her shoving the food away. They went back and forth at this, each pushing their own side, before finally the Orc gave such a harsh attempt to offer up her own meal that its contents slid forward.

To call Kedine’s scream blood-curdling would be an understatement, as the excessively basted dish fell off the cheap plate and onto her lap. She leapt to her feet and looked down at her ruined dress, pulling at the fabric to ascertain the extent of the damage. She was mortified, and her horror was only turned towards pure fury as her “guest” dared to open his mouth once again. “Damn - waste of good food. Ah, well - can always get another, huh?”

Without so much as a word, Kedine felt something inside her shatter - the final straw had been dropped, as she stared at the dripping stain that could never be remedied. Her gaze snapped up in a glare towards the hulking green diplomat, and she felt the heat of a similarly verdant flame gather at her hands as she held them at her sides. “That is it! I have had it up to here with you, you... You... Savage! You absolute brute, uncultured swine - do you know how frustrating it has been to follow you about as you drifted, brainlessly, from one shiny object to another, all day?! You are worthless, insufferable, and I have suffered enough of your absolutely miserable company!”

She snapped - in that moment, through her emerald eyes, she saw only red. This absolute beast that had wronged her, had caused her nothing but misery, and would laugh and shrug off her misfortune! She raised her hands, and thrust her arms forward - the last thing she remembered seeing before losing herself in her hatred and fury was the blinding glow of Felfire as it leapt off her hands, towards the target of her rage.

                                           --------------------------------

Exile.

She would never see Silvermoon again, and had only been given a cursory amount of time to gather a choice few possessions from her home before she had been escorted to the very edge of Eversong. It was only because of her family’s connections that she had escaped outright execution - a moment of passion, a single fit of rage, and she was being so harshly punished. Who, she wondered, would even miss the waste of breath she’d turned to ash?

It couldn’t be helped, she supposed... But how one day could have ruined her life, stolen all her prospects, she could never have imagined. Yet, one day had - and she had little choice now but to continue South.

Where she would go, she couldn’t say for sure - but all Kedine Bloodshard knew for sure, was that she would never see her home again. To think, it was her love of Silvermoon and the culture of Quel’Thalas that had led her here... She supposed it was ironic - terribly, miserably ironic.

A sigh passed her lips, and she adjusted the straps of her bag as she set out. All she could do now was keep moving... Always holding her chin high, and putting her best foot forward.

[garverdracaren]

From Rags to... Nicer Rags

It was nice being in charge. Garver contributed to the day-to-day work aboard his ship, but when it suited him, he was also able to lay back in his bed and relax.

Of course, his crew had a knack for disturbing his peaceful times, one way or another. Today, it was with a knock at his soon-opened door, Garver opening an eye to peer ahead at Kedine. The Sin'Dorei grinned with wicked intent, and wagged a finely packaged box in one hand towards the Captain.

For a moment, Garver was confused by the gesture, unaccompanied by any sort of explanation from his boatswain. But then, recollection came to him of a project he'd indulged the woman in, and he shut his eye again. "Fuck.."

It was quick enough to put the getup on, especially with Kedine’s overeager assistance. She was keen to see her handiwork upon the canvas that was her Captain’s body. When all was said and done, and Garver looked on at his own reflection, well... It wasn't bad. But, of course, some changes needed to be made. "No' wearin' this thing 'round my neck, Key. Need t'breathe, y'know?"

He pulled at a red ascot the Elf had carefully tucked into place. Kedine winced, and even lifted a hand as if to try and save the garment. "B-But..."

Garver lifted a finger to hush her, smirking a bit as he tossed the scarlet fabric aside. "'As a mouse,' Key, remember? Yer lucky I even let ya' pull th'makeover treatment t'start with."

The Sin'Dorei scoffed, pouting, before waving her hand for Garver to continue mauling her masterpiece. She looked away, though, to spare herself having to watch the carnage unfold.

Garver raised a brow at her, but turned back to the mirror to continue. Gloves were discarded, buttons unbuttoned, unnecessary frills and accessories pulled away. Kedine flinched and gave small gasps as each extra bit of metal clattered on the wood floors, and to some extent, Garver felt guilty for inflicting such pain on his valued boatswain.

In the end, though, he was able to adjust Kedine’s work into something more suited for his day-to-day activities, and his own style. The jacket remained, and so did the shirt beneath it, though Garver left most of the top buttons undone. There was gold accenting to it, but nothing too obnoxious or fancy - just enough to be eye-catching. “I’ll have t’see abou’ gettin’ it properly padded t’actually provide protection in a fight, but otherwise... I’d say fine work, Key.”

Finally, she looked back, and rubbed her chin at the adjustments made to what she had been so proud of when she arrived. She smirked, though, and flicked her Fel-colored eyes up to Garver’s own. “If you’d indulge me a single, uncontested addition, Captain?”

Garver peered at her, but the hopeful look in her face just couldn’t be denied, especially after what pain he’d caused her already. “Fine. One, but nothin’ too... Stuck-up.”

Key clapped a little clap, reaching to her back pocket for something Garver could only imagine she’d kept hidden for this very purpose. Clever. She fiddled with his lapel a moment, and pulled back, having elegantly pinned a rose to the jacket. “Something for just a bit of class. A little splash of red that will stand out against all the dark blue and gold. Thank you for indulging me, Captain - now, I’m off to make sure our inventory’s in order. Don’t be afraid to show off my work to the crew, hm?”

Garver nodded, waving her off as he looked back on himself in the mirror. It was better than the beat-up leathers he’d been sporting before. The fabric felt pretty good against his skin, too. Of course, as Key’d intended from the get-go, it gave him a bit more of a respectable look, as well.

He shook his head, laughing at his own inner thoughts before he turned to the door of his cabin. Fancy clothes or not, there was still more work to be done... And how could a Captain ignore his own ship for too long?

[garverdracaren]

A Change of Style

Garver set down a crate of his crew's latest cargo, leaving it for Dee and Dom to take down to the hold properly. With the war done, there wasn't much in the way of privateer work, so his focus shifted back to cargo-ferrying. Whether that cargo be given to him to ferry, or he were to liberate it from its previous owners, such goods were always in demand.

As he worked, though, a pair of eyes bored into him. Fel Green eyes burned, as Kedine Bloodshard rubbed her chin idly with a slender finger. The Sin'Dorei let out a thoughtful hum as she observed her Captain, who soon caught her gaze, straightening and raising a brow at the inspection. "Key, yer starin'. I bleedin' somewhere I oughtn't be?"

The one eye that wasn't hidden behind raven hair held its gaze, that green glow contrasting against dark circles that were ever-present under her eyes. Kedine let her hand drop, sauntering over and picking at the worn leathers Garver had so long adorned himself in. "No, not bleeding... But you look like a mess. I've noticed it more and more... You don't look like a Captain, Captain."

Garver peered at her, as she circled him like a lioness about to go in for the kill. "M'gear is functional, Key. Keeps me alive, let's me move-"

"Makes you appear as though you were a common grunt among your own crew."

"Now, hang on - none o' ya' are grunts, y'know tha'. I look fine."

She scoffed at that last assertion, that sort of scoff that only Blood Elves seemed to be able to manage. "You've taken too many hits, stripped this hide off one too many times. It's ratty, damaged - unbecoming a position of command."

A sigh escaped the Gilnean, as he tilted his head, realizing of course that there was likely no winning this argument. Or, at least, no escaping it indefinitely. "What're ya' suggestin', Key?"

The boatswain circled back to his front, hands raised as if ready to rearrange his entire appearance on the spot. "Let me take your measurements later. I know people who could help make you look the part of our oh-so-fearless Captain. Myself included, of course."

Another sigh escaped him, as his tongue ran along his teeth while he thought. "O'course... Fine, once th'work is done, ya' can measure all ya' like. An' you'll keep quiet if I don't care t'wear wotevah costume ya' an' yer 'people' dream up for me."

Kedine dragged an invisible zipper along her lips, tugging it off and dangling it in the air beside her. "As a mouse, Captain. You won't regret this, I promise you."

She turned, and went back to her usual duties. Garver shook his head, sighing. The things he did to keep his people happy.

[garverdracaren]

Change Upon The Tides

Whiskey. Amber liquid swirled in a square glass that was cold to the touch. It was a clean drink, Garver could hold it up to his eye and view his cabin aboard the Black Dawn in its golden hues.

But whiskey wasn’t for making the world look pretty... It was for dulling the discomfort that the ugliness of the world left. Garver threw his head back, pulling his glass with him as he downed a shot quickly. The golden liquid moved smoothly down Garver’s throat, but left fire in its wake. Not a nice feeling, but what came later would be better.

It wasn’t that Garver was still hung up on his losses. Time spent with his sister, reconnecting with his family, it helped him process his grief without drowning himself in liquor. Still, though, with the world seemingly on fire, and Garver still finding himself coming back to his personal problems, he wasn’t quite sure what his place was in all that was happening. But there had to be something...

Footsteps came from above - Zin’Ara was at the helm while they were in port. She was in charge while he shuttered himself away from his crew, not sure what to tell them. This life they’d chosen for themselves, as outlaws upon the high seas... Garver grew ever more dissatisfied with it. The freedom, he relished, but he shuddered at the thought of these people he cared for being struck down, with nothing but violence for their own gain as their legacy.

These people... His crew... They were good people. Loyal to their core but principled enough not to bend over at every order. If they should fall, if they should be lost from this world and not get to present themselves, then they at least deserved to be remembered for something worth a damn.

A pounding from his door - no anger behind it, but intent to get his attention. Garver poured another glass of whiskey, quickly thrown back into his gullet before he stood, shoving his chair aside as he moved to open the door.

Bright sunlight silhouetted his visitor, but a glowing eye and his build made clear who it was. Garver smiled as his eyes adjusted, and he saw that Adisor had adopted some new armor. Pearlescent whites framed in gold, both of which caught the light well, but were mostly hidden under a deep blue cloak that draped over the Death Knight’s torso and shoulder. “Pop... Ceremonial armor jus’ t’visit me?”

He turned away, going to take his seat once more, as a clanging sounded out behind him. Adisor knocked on his own chestplate, making a point to have the solid metal be presented as such. His voice, as always, echoed when he spoke - deep, demanding of authority, but with a warmth unbecoming of the undead. “It’s practical. Can’t be just for show on the warfront, after all...”

Heavy footsteps carried Adisor into Garver’s cabin as he shut the door behind him. His son, meanwhile, lowered himself quickly back into his chair, and grabbed his bottle of whiskey again. “S’pose yer here t’ask me t’take my ship North, then?”

Adisor shook his head, leaning against a beam and crossing his arms, his attention fully on the man he’d long considered a son. “Arathi can’t much benefit from naval support. But I’m mostly here to... To see how you’re doing. You do remember I care about you, aye?”

Garver paused, eyes dodging his father’s gaze and looking for anything else to focus on as the bottle was brought to his lips. More fire down his throat, more pain meant to dull a different kind of pain later. A pause to think, but on a question he knew the answer to. “Aye, I do. Times’re tryin’, though - everyone’s lookin’ fer a leg up. Dunno wot my place is in it all...”

The noble Death Knight raised a brow, stepping forward and pulling a package wrapped in parchment from under his cloak, laying it on Garver’s desk. “Your place is entirely yours to decide, son. You’re whatever kind of man you choose to be that day, and the next, and the next after that.”

Garver nodded, staring at the floorboards, not sure how to respond. What sort of man did he want to be? A better man than he was now, he knew that, but... He didn’t want to give up the freedom the life he’d chosen had afforded him, either. And he couldn’t abandon his crew to the sort of life where they couldn’t follow.

They deserved better... But how could they be better, and still stay the same?

Adisor took note of the silence, and decided to move the conversation along himself. “I’ve heard rumblings of a counterattack on Darkshore. The Kaldorei are a proud people, and defend their lands fiercely. Losing it to the Horde won’t change that.”

Garver turned his gaze back up to Adisor, who smiled back at him. The man who’d become his father stepped forward, placing his hand on Garver’s shoulder and giving a simple shake as if to remind the Captain he was here. “Tomorrow is a new day, Garver. It’s up to you how you’ll spend it...”

With that, the Death Knight turned, drawing his cloak back around his arm and disappearing into the daylight beyond the doorframe. Garver was left, knowing why Adisor had mentioned Darkshore. Ever the diplomat, Adi left the matter as a choice for Garver to make on his own - not a command or a nudging one way or another.

He looked up, knowing - rightly - that his first mate would be waiting in the doorway. 

[acecroft]

Skull and Bones | E3 2018

[garverdracaren]

Dragonblade Divided, 3

PART 1 PART 2

The ship creaked and clicked quietly as the sea ever threatened to push passed the sturdiness of the hull. The water would always want to push through that which blocked it from its natural course, always press to break through without success.

Garver stared at his hand - a four of clubs, three of spades, a pair of two's, and a lucky seven. He sighed, running his free hand over the rough beard he hadn't bothered to shave in weeks - months now - before laying his cards down face-up, and looking across the table at his sister.

Raura wasn't blood, if one couldn't tell from the fact that she stood a bit taller than him, as well as having hooves, ivory-colored skin, and horns that curved back over her raven-black hair like gentle waves. A Draenei and a Worgen sat playing cards on a ship - interesting setup for a joke.

The huntress pouted, setting her own cards down quickly and crossing her arms. "I fold..."

Garver glanced at her hand: three Aces and two Kings. He shook his head, tempted to laugh but not feeling it enough. "S'too late t'fold. Besides, yer hand blows mine out o’ th’water."

The woman raised a brow. "But I thought the Aces were ones? And the King was worth five... Whatever, you're the one who gambles."

He let out a short breath that was as close to a laugh as he'd come the whole time they were sitting there. "Aye, guess I am..."

Raura stared at Garver, idly scratching the top of her light-blue fox Spectre's head. "When are you going to talk about it?"

Garver stood, grabbing the cards off the table and shuffling them back into the deck as he walked away idly. "What's there t'fuckin' talk abou'?"

Raura stood and followed after Garver, staying close. "There's a lot to talk about, and you wallowing here isn't going to get it out."

Her brother turned to stare her down, expression intense but not angry - not at her, at least. "No, there ain't. I loved somebody an' she's dead, that's all there fuckin' is to talk about. What good's it gonna do now?"

Raura crossed her arms, staring him down. “What good is sitting around, hating yourself going to do? Garver, I know you - I know the kind of people you surround yourself with. Leona wouldn't want you to just... Fade away without her.”

Garver kept his eyes locked with Raura's a moment longer before turning away with a scoff. "Ya' never even met 'er."

Her hand was on his shoulder before he even realized she was moving - was he that in his head, or had she gotten better at moving quietly? "I would have liked to... Dad and Aunt Odessii would have, too."

Garver turned to see her smiling sympathetically at him. Her eyes darted away from his for a moment before turning back. "You aren't as alone as you try to make yourself, Garver. Try and stay away, but you can't stop your family from loving you."

Garver's expression softened somewhat, although he shrugged off her shoulder. Another drawn out sigh escaped him, as he moved to lean against his desk, rubbing his face with both hands. "Poachers. Couple of selfish pricks stealin' game shot 'er, an' left 'er fer dead rather'n fess up. I tracked 'em down and..."

He looked up, a settled rage on his face. "An' I took care of it. But I can't help but wonder how I'm much different... Raidin' ships, killin' folks that attack us."

Raura was apprehensive - it wasn't often Garver spoke so openly with her about these things. One of her hands wrapped around her opposite arm, rubbing up and down as she thought. "Because you care... Obviously. And that's all you need to do to start making a change."

Raura shrugged, kneeling down to tangle her fingers in Spectre's fur. "You don't have to keep doing what you are if it's going to bother you like that. You always talk about how you like making your own decisions."

Garver lingered on the words, before being brought back to reality when Raura stood and patted her hip for Spectre to follow her. "I should go... But you know, it's not too late for you to change course. Ode wanted me to come convince you to meet with us, but... Well, it’s your decision. Stay safe, okay?"

She disappeared through the door out of his cabin, and within moments was replaced by Garver's first mate. Zin'ara had her hands on her hips, quirking a bright red brow that contrasted against blue skin. Garver peered at the Troll. "Listenin' in on me, Zin?"

“I don’t usually hafta try so hard, Captain. But ya been doin’ just like the girl says ya been: mopin’ about, in ya’ own head. Maybe it’s about time ya’ got out?”

Garver sighed, burying his face in one hand and rubbing idly just so he wasn’t standing still. “Maybe... Ya’ heard me talkin’, aye? Things’ve gotta change. I won’t ‘ave my people dyin’, only t’have folks thinkin’ they deserved it.”

Zin’ara was quiet - of all his crew, she’d known him perhaps not the longest, but the most intimately. She could tell when he wasn’t done talking. “Let folks know I got some things t’go over with ‘em when I get back.”

Zin nodded, her arms crossed over her chest. “Aye, Captain. How long ya’ think you’ll be gone?”

“I’m goin’ t’see my family fer th’first time in about a year, Zin. An’ with them?” He turned to raise a brow and smirk at her as he ducked out the door. “It might be a while.”

[garverdracaren]

Tales of the Crew: Ron'Agar

The drums of war beat within his chest.

It was their destiny not to be slaves, not to bow and be submissive, but to be conquerors. The war cries that filled the air echoed this, but Ron'Agar Warscream found himself at an impasse. He gripped his axe and flared his nostrils, staring down at a Draenei woman and her whelp.

They shed tears, and Ron'Agar couldn't help but question what the honor was in all of this. The village burned around him, filling the skies of the world with ash and smoke, and making the sky seem to turn orange. His grip tightened as he snarled, more to himself than anything outward.

"Warscream! Why are you hesitating?" The voice was rough, and familiar. The grizzled tone of the raid leader, A'tevur. "Finish the Draenei so we can move on!"

There was a moment of anger, of instinct, but Ron'Agar hesitated. He knew in his heart what he had to do. "No."

The venerated Orc behind him snarled, and gave a low, threatening rumble. "You would defy me?"

Ron'Agar whirled about, jabbing the top of his axe towards A'tevur's crooked nose. "I would challenge you, old man. Will you refuse my right to Mak'Gora?"

A'tevur scoffed, spitting on the ground between them before nodding, readying his weapon. "Here and now, whelp - the Iron Horde is not done with me."

Ron'Agar nodded in return, readying his axe and circling his opponent a moment... Before charging.

The fight was not short, but not overly long... Ron'Agar stood over his former commander's limp corpse, breathing heavily. One of the grunts looked to him, without fear. "What would you have us do?"

Ron'Agar thought a moment, snarling even as his panting continued. He shook his head, turning away from the raiding party, and starting to walk away. "Do as you will. I am done here..."

"Done? The Warchief has promised us conquest unlike anything our people have achieved! You would throw away your honor out of spite?!"

Ron'Agar stopped, tightening the cloth he had been wrapping around the spot his left hand had occupied before the duel. He looked over his shoulder, a burning glare shot towards the source of dissent. "There is no honor here worth having."

With that, he walked away, and never looked back.

[garverdracaren]

Tales of the Crew: Haidene

This was not her fault.

How could it be, anyway? She was just being herself, and why should she do anything less? It wasn't her fault that she wasn't like other Night Elves... Not anymore, anyway.

Maybe she never was - for a long time, she'd done like all the others. She learned tradition, studied Elune and listened to the Druids talk about the Emerald Dream. She'd planted new trees, watered flowers, and it all felt so incredibly, overwhelmingly... Mundane.

It never felt bad, of course, and Haidene had always appreciated the natural beauty of things. But... Fire was natural, too. There was something about the way it warmed her skin, how it danced all on its own. She could lose herself staring into the braziers near the temple.

Then, one day, the Gnomes arrived - their allies and equals, come for a summit of the Alliance that had eventually lead to the Worgen joining them as true equals. It was with some of these tiny, friendly people that Haidene had discovered her true passion, and she knew: she was never an herbalist, or a naturalist of any sort. She was a tinkerer born. Darnassus had just never had much material for tinkering.

But that was what traders were for; now that she knew what she wanted, it was easy enough to get. But people judged, and Night Elves could be judgier than some of the other races at times. It had never bothered her much, until this latest judgement.

One fire, one measly inferno... Or, rather, a repeated series of tiny, insignificant fires, and suddenly she was some "danger to the city and its citizens." Frankly it felt like an overreaction, but the Sentinels weren't hearing that reasoning whatsoever.

They were at least kind enough to let her gather up her various gadgets and gizmos, as well as her blueprints, before a pair of the female furies escorted Haidene down to the docks. A harsh shove towards the ship to Stormwind was what she got in place of a hug, or a sisterly handshake. "Try not to set the ship ablaze before you reach port, Nightbloom."

The pale-skinned elf turned, eyes obscured by green tinted goggles to match her emerald hair, and with a wide grin. "Never ask someone to make a promise they can't keep, ladies. I'll make sure to tell Stormwind all about the Sentinels and how stiff you all are!"

She stuck her tongue out at the pair of guards, who only returned stern stares, before she turned to make for the ship. Stormwind was nice, she heard, but the humans probably wouldn't appreciate her tinkering results any more than her own people. But the Gnomes she'd met had told her about where to go if she ever did leave Darnassus to explore her talents.

Gadgetzan would be easy enough to reach, or maybe she'd kick up her feet in Booty Bay a while. Life was an adventure, so who could say for sure? All she really knew for sure, was that this was not her fault.

After all, she was just doing what came... Naturally.

[garverdracaren]

Tales of the Crew: Roberick

It was a bright day out, but Roberick Danforth was content to wile away hours in his office. The small room in the back of his surgical suite was easily illuminated by a single candle, and let Roberick put his thoughts to parchment in peace. The crowds of the city, while he loved his city and kingdom well, always made him uneasy. He had always found speaking to others quite difficult - he was much better at repairing people than relating to them.

Ideas for new methods to streamline the surgical process, to lessen the risk of death, spilled out from his mind, down his arm and through the quill. Ink on the pointed tip of his instrument translated his thoughts in fine, artistic handwriting onto the page before him. As his head was downturned, he found himself repeatedly pushing wire-frame, round glasses back up his hooked nose to correct his vision.

He glanced up towards a mirror that was hung above a basin in which he washed his hands before treating each patient. He had no ego about his looks, and felt he could not - his long, rectangular face, was somewhat gaunt and pale from the time he spent indoors. Though, it was framed by perhaps his one less-than-plain feature: his fair hair, which hung down to his shoulders.

The long hair was parted down the middle, and methodically kept, as were all things in his office and on his person. His simple shirt was tied shut with a perfect, even knot. His books were lined up so that they had a smooth transition in size, rather than in any sort of alphabetical order that might result in a jagged, misshapen pattern. It all gave him comfort - ironic, he thought, that he should be so bothered by clutter and mess, and yet be comfortable with the profession he'd chosen. But there was a certain satisfaction, in aiding the broken people who came to him - in helping them be right again. He would help the sick and injured, and commit no harm unto others... A worthy path.

A soft, yet excited knocking came from his door, before it opened and a familiar, perfect face poked through.

Mia, dear Mia - she and Roberick had been friends since their youth. To each other they were constant companions, confidants, and comforts. And to Roberick, she was... Oh so much more. His inspiration in all things, his will to be braver than in truth he was; perhaps a day as perfect as this would provide the chance to finally admit his feelings to her.

"Roberick, come and see! There's a celebration in the streets! It’s all so grand!" She said, in a melodic tone that sounded of the finest tuned instrument imaginable. A celebration would mean a crowd... But for Mia, he would swim the very sea itself.

He swallowed back a lump in his throat, nodding with a meek smile and pushing up from his desk, smoothing out the wrinkles in his clothes as he rounded the seemingly unweathered piece of furniture. Before he had even seen her get close, Mia had a grip on his wrist that would not be loosed, even if he had tried.

Though he stumbled here and there, the pair of them ran through streets that were mostly empty of the average citizen, as all gathered for the spectacle. Mia pushed through the crowd, with Roberick ever in-tow, until the pair of them were at the very forefront, and able to view the whole event.

Roberick’s heart skipped a beat as Mia’s arm went around his waist, and he found his arm draping her shoulders. He couldn’t help but stare at her in the sunlight, though her focus was elsewhere; couldn’t help but admire her small, pointed nose, the dimples of her smile, or the fiery red bob of hair on her head. In that moment he knew - when all had calmed, and they were away from the crowds... He would tell her. With luck, they would begin a new life together, as more than simply friends.

Roberick turned to admire the crowds, all waving and cheering towards the focus of their attention. There was a beauty in this day, the way the light shined upon the masonry of the city, and illuminated the rose petals that fluttered through the air and down to the place the citizens bordered.

He couldn’t help but follow one such petal as a man below caught it in his hand, in a heavy, leather glove. The joy they all felt echoed through Roberick in that moment - the sight was one to behold and be glad for. Even with his hood drawn, everyone could tell just by looking who they were here to celebrate...

Prince Arthas had returned.

He and his retinue made their way further down the path, towards the King’s Throne room. Mia rested her head on Roberick’s shoulder, and he smiled like he had never smiled before.

Today... Today would be such a perfect day.

(( Inspiration struck today and I just had to write this! A small story about one of the main characters of Garver’s crew. Thank you to anyone who took the time to read! ))

[garverdracaren]

@leonareede @zexxcandell @wiedaashcroft @venreenaholt One day, all the current and former pirates/ship captains are gonna disappear to some island paradise.

[grab-an-idea]

When your muse makes so many sassy comments you're surprised someone hasn't just killed them yet

[skull-girl-anne]

[[How is Annest still alive?!]]

[the-archives-of-garren-nishan-d]

[ Garren. ]

[faelinerdavington]

[FaeFae, tho]

[garverdracaren]

(( For a living, basically. ))

[rocincnte]

You should be on the stage, sir. This way.

[odessii-dragonblade]

Glad I found this quickly, because it basically sums up my alt @garverdragonblade ’s attitude about anything. Dry sarcasm, always.

[garverdracaren]

Reblog because I thought of it and found it and it Garver.

[blackfyrematriarch]

A Family Portrait

The Matriarch, Countess Rene Elizabeth Blackfyre and her husband Count Unwine Abel Seabright of Saltcliffe:

The Firstborn, Viscountess Darina Mercy Blackfyre and her husband Viscount Laurence Christian Tyndall of Saltcliffe:

The Twins, Lady Ferina and Lord Telford Blackfyre, Heirs to Saltcliffe:

And, as a bonus, Lord Cyrus Phineas Whitaker, a.k.a. Lord ‘Wit’, the Matriarch’s advisor:

(( relevant  / family / etc.: @legacy-of-blackfyre @from-the-serpents-mouth @warlund-blackfyre @eveshadows @elena-blackfyre @kimberlyducayne @farahblackfyre @salomeblackfyre @leonareede @baronofborhswald goodness, there’s a lot of us! ))

[leona-reede-archives]

[garverdracaren]

[garverdracaren]

Garver tapped a finger against his temple restlessly. The Courier article sat on his desk next to a piece of parchment, blank save one word: "Leona."

What could he say? What should he say? Should he say anything? A part of him urged him towards silence; as soon as Odessii was back, he could board his ship, set sail and leave all this behind him forever. But then his thoughts drifted to Leona once more, and his heart beat faster. He could think of little else, and he knew he couldn't stay silent, and couldn't run.

"Leona,

Words don't often fail me, but they do now. All I can say is I'm sorry, immensely, for what you must be enduring. I can be in Redcliffe soon, but I understand if you'd rather I stayed away. Whatever you need, just ask.

Yours,

Garver"

He ran a hand over his face before tying the letter with a string, and passing it off with instructions to be delivered, and where. He breathed a sigh as the courier left on horseback. He'd get an answer - and until then, he'd work, just like always.

@leonareede