“From lowest place when virtuous things proceed, the place is dignified by the doer's deed.” Champion of the Sunsworn
Knight of the Holy Light
Former Blood Knight-Master Wyrmrest Accord || Quel'dorei Paladin Anything tagged "my art" was drawn by me. You may also find me through Sarlien Fil'dorel.
Wyrmrest Accord | Horde & Alliance - All faction friendly!
Open for new relationships, or pre-existing. Always down for in-game interaction as well as RP over Discord.
Also taking for-realsie art commissions through Davoryn, under the @quelity-imports banner. Message me if you’re interested!
Hello friends!
Quelity Imports now has a basic and fairly bare bones catalog that is now linked on the Tumblr. Along with this, a submit page with an order form format guide has been added for any orders not made in game!
Two separate versions of the catalog have been added for use! Pages made by the lovely @ultraviolente-art !
There is a slide variant to keep saved in your google slides you can find by clicking this text.
And a fun magazine variant with page flipping sounds for fun. Other IC businesses will be able to add their own advertisements to this variation of the catalog. It’s nice to have a popping commerce / trade community! This is currently for WRA vendors as Quelity Imports is a WRA Alliance storefront. Click this text for the magazine!
It had all happened so quickly. In one moment he had stood beside her, huddled amongst the other tradespeople shivering behind a barricaded door, & in the next there was only fire. But first there was Light.
Yvelian had first encountered the sun as an announcement to a new day. It painted the sky with warm scarlets & magenta, filtering through the golden leaves of the twisting, light-barked trees of his coastal home. He’d only discovered the light in the way it dappled the evergreen landscape & bursting flora that blanketed the hills before giving way to the wide expanse of the sea. He wondered how the sun reached so far, reflecting a rainbow like prisms against the water & towards the shore. There was warmth in the way it baked the sand & crusted the beach’s surface, only breaking when the crash of a wave gave way to the soft underbelly beneath. He recalled wiggling his toes into that sand as a child, scooping handfuls of the grains around him to bury his legs. No more than a torso he’d raise his voice as loud as he could muster, crying wolf over the noise of the water. By the time his brother would answer the waves would already wash away his hard work, drawing the sand back into the surf & leaving him to dry beneath the sun unencumbered.
By the time he understood the sun as more than just daytime, he was still a child - but old enough to become enraptured by the man who taught him. He would watch his brother with wide, ocean-colored eyes and hang off every word. “Respect,” his brother started, drawing back the curtains to allow the light to shine through the salt-pebbled glass. “Tenacity,” he continued, his steady voice soothing - but commanding attention. “Compassion.” He reached towards the bed where Yvelian sat, pressing the palm of his hand gently to his cheek. “These are the Virtues which you must always abide by. Remember them & you’ll always walk in the Light.”
Telandrian - as he was called then - was his hero. There was no better way to state the way he idolized him, toddling along in his footsteps (though for every stride his infinitely taller brother took equaled three of his own) as he worked. He would clamber onto boxes, willing him to tell him more ‘stories’ of the great warriors of the Light, and of paladins and far-off human bastions dedicated to the magical power. And of course, his brother would succumb to the butterfly-batting of his eyelashes, recalling tales as he ferried various goods from the docks to the boats anchored alongside them.
Everything he knew of the Light came from him. His parents had faith in the Light too, of course - but the kind of faith that was used in greeting & good-byes. ‘Light keep you’, they’d say. ‘Light bless us’, they’d will. But they never spoke of it the way that Telandrian did - and there was never the love in their voices as they orated. Even soaked through with old sweat & sea & fatigued from a long day - even as there seemed not an ounce of energy left in him, Telandrian would always greet his brother’s wonder with an answer. And that answer was always filled with love.
There came a day when Yvelian was young that his brother went away. As Yvelian clung to his mother’s hand, eyes welling with tears and father bolstering him with a grip on his tiny shoulder, Telandrian promised he would be home soon. The past years had tested them all - but none of those storms were so difficult as this. He remembered when his parents fought - raising their voices & spitting at each other in sharp Thalassian about a child he’d heard of but never met, who Telandrian explained was their half-brother, but with a sour expression said nothing more. There were moments when his father’s face reflected that same expression - but aimed towards him. When his mother would shield him behind her skirt & warn his father to look at their child with kinder eyes. When his father would scoff at the wish, dismissing the pair of them with a passing wave. But even through every rebuke he knew a new day would come. He knew the sun would chase away the darkness again, and his brother would share with him more stories.
How would he do that when he was gone?
Those years passed slowly, with Yvelian hiding away in the workshop of his mother’s jewelry-making business. He learned her trade because it was the only option. The stoic setting of every pin, the mechanical faceting of every gem, was done in the dim light of covered windows & flickering candles. It pained him to look outside, the expectation that his brother would crest the pathway of their home & return to them fading with each passing season until he closed himself off to the idea altogether.
Still, he became skilled at the craft his mother shared, and as the years of his childhood faded, too, he started to travel across the sea to the mainland, delivering their work to the denizens of the shining capital of their nation and the villages which encircled it. When Telandrian returned things went unchanged. Instead of returning home, his brother returned to Silvermoon. He lived on. He ventured forth. He visited, but to Yvelian it felt more an insult than if he had just stayed away.
---
The noise came on like crashing waves against buildings too near the shore. It rumbled and roared as it drew nearer, the cacophony becoming more distinct with each shaky breath he took. He pressed his forehead against his mother’s arm & she instinctively held him closer, her worry apparent in the tension of the muscles beneath the linen sleeves of her dress. There were screams of soldiers that earned cries from the collected Quel’dorei, and there were monstrous snarls, the cracking of bones, or metal - or both. There were noises of straining wood and crumbling stone that shook the building of the shop where they were hidden. But they were safe here in the dark, shielded from the battle that they were warned of marching from the human lands to the south.
And then there was cold. It hit like cannon fire, snaking through the shuttered door & blasting it from its hinges back into the people within. What he experienced thereafter could only be described as chaos. Certainly, he remembered the smell of blood and death - that sickly mixture of metal and bile that spelled oncoming demise. The group shattered, individuals splintering left and right - exposing him and his mother to whatever had found their safehouse. He kept a vice-like grip to his mother’s hand as she pressed him further into the back wall, and he remembered the way the smoky daylight flashed against her wild, fear-stricken eyes. They were battered side to side, and Yvelian tried desperately to drag her towards safety - or, away. Just get away from the door, away from the beasts that clambered through the opening & had begun to cut through those that had drawn breaths moments before. Now they were bodies - or, perhaps just parts. These creatures rent so many, ripping, tearing - and he closed his eyes against a splatter of warm liquid that painted his face. He felt his mother being torn away from him before he could manage to really open them again, and by the time he had wiped that warmth from his face - she was a quickly disappearing body within the storm.
Yvelian jolted forwards, bumped & battered on every side as he sprinted out the remains of the doorway and out into the square. He couldn’t even register the sights that he was met with - his focus pinned to his mother, watching her being dragged bodily across the cracked stones by a hulking figure. “Minn’da!” He cried, reaching forwards as he began to try to close their distance, when a sickening crunch registered in his left ear - far too close for comfort. And then there was the pain.
It washed over him in a flurry of waves, one after the other as his other hand mechanically reached for the foreign objects that caused it. Talons tore through his shirt, lodging into the space of his shoulder just above his collarbone. The shock and horror of the moment spurned him to seek the assailant properly, & he struggled backwards away from the ghoul that snapped towards his face just a moment too slow. “Minn’da!” He called again, more a sob than a word as his knees buckled against the weight of the creature and he fell backwards, cracking his head against the ground, a wall of white blanketing his vision.
And then he felt the fire.
The guttural wail that bubbled from his throat was wordless, a noise that came from his core. Somehow he had thrown his attacker to the side, and as he rose to his feet and his vision cleared he saw that the square had taken on an ethereal glow, painting the lifeless bodies that laid around him. They were grouped as though falling mid action, the geists still arms deep in their prey, the elves still holding expressions of horror. But nothing moved. Yvelian fell to his knees, the searing, white-hot fire still lingering in pulses of pain that radiated across every inch of his skin. He found himself squinting, eyes searching for some sign of his mother, still.
But he found nothing. No movement save for the tentative, shivering shadows that crept along the edges of the consecrated ground. So he fell forwards, once again sightless - but this time his eyes shut to black. It felt to him as though time had stopped, that the rise and fall of his chest was a farce. Once upon a time Yvelian had dreamt of becoming a great paladin - like from his brother’s stories. He had imagined himself on an ivory warhorse, wearing glittering armor in silver and blue. As the city fell and the survivors were hurried to the safe bastions within the eastern walls of the city, one could assume those dreams had twisted, tempered by an awakening fire & spurned by a singular, burning premonition: justice.
