The Bastard Blade

Ingame toon name: Kurelnth.

[kurel-andiel]

By and down the river...

There were few An’Diels these days. At least those not of the older generation. Kurel and Zelphryin possessed a unique brand of bond as brothers. One that was both loathed and tested as it was tightly clutched and protected. Among the shared grounds of Dead Sun, they gave each other the width of a great wave. Going about their personal lives and dealings, and avoiding personal and professional conflict as necessary. Neither really confided in the other when luck changed or the world turned upside down. They existed. Aware that so too did the other.

Yet once in a distant while, something happened. Something that brought them into sharing the same room. Sometimes for the better. More often than not, for the worse.

It was quiet outside of Zelphryin’s apartment. Kurel even paused to listen for the telling sounds of his brother’s rutting behaviors before finding that the front door opened easily without being locked. Inside, not a single light had been turned on, not that it mattered for the blind Tanari. Only the now late night harbor moon and the surrounding glitter of buildings provided the dimmest of glow. For the last few months Zelphryin had rarely left the sanctuary of his Dead Sun home and he had invited no company to share it with during that time; electing to instead visit other homesteads when he craved companionship or sought it at the harbor’s bustling gaming house and brothel. Even the two girls he paid weekly to clean had been put on hold for the time. His usual sterile, tidy place now in just as much disarray as he.  

Kurel’s arrival was the first to break this cycle of solitude and as he entered, calling Zelphryin’s name neutrally, Zelphryin signaled his location from his couch with a bitter sounding smirk. “You stab me. Almost killed me. Never came to check on me after. To see if I was alright, if I was even alive. But I can assume you hear that the Stormwind Guard plucks my unconscious body from off the street and you no doubt become worried that someone else may have made a run at taking me out of this world before you succeed at it.” There was a soft click as he placed the now still Amaranthine cube and a house key onto his coffee table. “Only an An’Diel can kill an An’Diel, right? Yet who knew that the soul of one could be utterly eviscerated by someone not.” “Eilithe sai’ you looked disheveled. Tha’ you hadn’t slep’. S’no’ really like you to be any of those things.” Kurel moved through the house slowly as he was unfamiliar with it, until he found the same stretch of sofa and sat at the furthest distance from Zelphryin. “Do you wan’ to tell me wha’ happened?” Zelphryin scoffed and looked, almost painfully across the distance to Kurel. “Do you -need- me too?” Kurel’s head shook slightly. The strained sound of Zelphryin’s voice was rare.

“Do you wan’ me to leave then?” Kurel asked and there was a long pause that settled. “Want….” Zelphryin repeated that word. Pausing on it for a minute of heartbeats, before his voice broke the awkward silence again. “Do you know why I resented you for so long?” He looked from the coffee table to the far wall of shelves filled with old books and knick knacks. “Father always needed you. Saudria always needed you. Thelonas always needed you-- everyone -always- needed you… I needed you. “Since I can remember you filled my days with pain and terror. I lived in absolute fear of you barreling around a corner when we were children. Constantly looking over my shoulder before I made the slightest step. Wounded and watching as you took Vekryin under your guidance. As Thelonas and the others followed at your heels. As father paraded you about like the greatest specimen he had ever sired. Saudria worshiped you. The people cheered for you, like you were some sort of god to them. All of you needed each other, but none of you ever needed me.” Zelphryin shrugged, even though Kurel didn’t see the gesture. “That was all I ever wanted. To be needed, by any one of you. All of you fell into a formula that… never had need of me. So I thought I could change it or find a way to fit into the equation of it. “You were all always getting hurt. I convinced myself that if I could mend your broken bones, stop your gashes from bleeding, prevent your life from expiring, then perhaps I would fit into that formula. Not just yours, but everybody's. Somewhere among all of that I would be needed. Just as much as everybody needed you.” Zelphryin sat forward as he continued. Resting his elbows on his knees while gesturing with his hands, though he knew the emphasis was lost to Kurel. “For every life I saved, every death I prevented, I felt one step closer to purpose. One step closer to being needed. It was not exclusive, But it was enough. Until I could find where I might be so invaluable. Irreplaceable, to at least something or someone. Some… cause, even.” Zelphryin looked over and across that distance to Kurel once again. “We are losing, brother. In more wars than you are privy to. I thought I had found what I had always wanted. I believed that and I gave it everything.” Zelphryin swallowed thickly. “Only to be betrayed. Again. Used. Distracted. Misled.  And now I have lost… everything. Each day that passes, this family grows one ounce weaker than it was the day before. I have been feeling it. For months. And it is not just me who knows...”

Kurel looked concerned. Having sat quietly and almost motionless. “Wha’ do you mean, Zelphryin?”

Zelphryin licked his lips with hesitation, “I have to show you something.” Always careful with his verbiage when he was around his brother, Zelphryin had deliberately phrased his statement so. He stood. Plucking the house key from off his coffee table and placing it among the trinkets on the shelves as he passed by them while leading Kurel down the hallway to the bedroom at the end. As the door to the room was opened the smell of decay hit Kurel like a punch to his senses. A hand rose quickly to cover his mouth and nose. “Wha’s tha’ smell?” Kurel asked, though Zelphryin didn’t answer. On the far side of the room was a large oak shipping crate. One large enough to have fit the deconstructed pieces of a bed frame.

Zelphryin laid a hand gently over the center of Kurel’s back where a soft channeling of shadow magic was used to ignite the runes in the back of Kurel’s eye sockets. Giving him a moment of spectral vision to see the lid of the crate drawn back and inside, a body. “Is tha’....” “Mishi.” Zelphryin answered. “I have. Lost control. Both of the sect and of my means to oversee it all.” There was no burst of rage. No accusations. Not even questions. There was just a calm silence between them at that moment. As Zelphryin withdrew his magic from Kurel, casting him back into his world of sightlessness the lid of the crate was restored.

Zelphryin felt the heat of Kurel’s hand move the back of his head. He braced for the worst, but felt only the soft collision of Kurel’s forehead to his own. “I have to tell Eilithe abou’ this, Zelphryin’.” Kurel spoke in as low a tone as he was capable of. “She will excommunicate me from here and then where will I go?” “No.” Kurel replied. “Because I nee’ you. I nee’ you here. Keepin’ people of this harbor alive. You’ll come to the house tonigh’. You can sleep in Karkah’s room. Ge’ some res’. In the mornin’, You can tell us everythin’ tha’ has brough’ you to this poin’. We’ll figure ou’ wha’ to do abou’ the body then too.”

@eilitheandiel 

[pettyelves]

the things that make us

part one

An unspoken rule in Dead Sun was do not steal anything you can’t get away with stealing. Don’t get caught. Don’t get punished. Eilonwy had been told this enough times that it was always bound to back fire. As she sat behind crates, her eyes on Zelphyrin’s abode, the training played over in her mind. 

“Always watch your target for a full week’s time, longer if you have the time,” Eilithe’s voice rang in the girl’s head, as she stalked the streets of Dead Sun, watching her mother. “In my pocket, there is a bell. Take it without my noticing and you will get a prize.” For months it had been the same. She’d sneak, on the balls of her feet up to just behind Eilithe before her mother would say, “Nope.” Or “Not even close.” Or “Don’t rush.” 

Don’t rush. So she waited, for ten minutes after she saw Zelphryin leave out of his apartment. Thanks to the many break-ins by her brothers, father, and mother– every window in Zelphryin’s apartment was static and wouldn’t have opened save for a rock through the glass. “Dahk,” she said to herself, before she knelt by the front door and went to picking. Her mother guided her, unwittingly: 

“House locks are different, listen to the pins,” Eilithe said, letting Eilonwy pick at the never-used lock on An’Diel manor. “It is easier to start over than it is to pick hand-cuffs, so if you hear or think you hear something. Stop. Hide.” 

There came no sound from the secluded alley behind her uncle’s apartment but the turn of the lock and the opening of the door. She had hoped to be home-free, yet immediately was met with the sound of a snoring Severin. Arcane shimmered over her body with a mental chain of ‘Fuckfuckfuckfuck’, before she realized her Uncle’s steward was sound asleep even with the door wide open now. She sucked into invisibility and looked about. 

Literature, gold, treasures from around the world. There was a small fortune of things inside of Zelphryin’s apartment. She wanted none of it; but she had to make the scene right. 

“No matter your target, you must cover your tracks,” her mother said, in the home office of the manor. “You might want this,” she held up a shining gold ring, “But you take everything from the drawer. And never steal anything you can’t carry out easily.” 

Eilonwy took broaches, pendants, anything she could stuff into her pockets. But none of it was her prize. No, what she sought was a simple stone– hidden inside of something as simple as a cigar box. A box not two feet from the sleeping Severin.

All An’Diels bore the scorpid brand, all of Kurel’s children and the Tanari himself bore the mark on their hip. And so the enchanted stone became the most valuable thing in all of Dead Sun. It was worth the risk. Even as Severin stirred for long enough to grunt, give Eilonwy a small panic attack, and turn over. She closed in on it. 

A lift of the lid a sleight of hand and she was out of there.

She had exactly one hour before she was due on the beach to meet her father for one last fishing trip before he’d set sail. Eilonwy moved to a secluded watery cave which she and the other children had converted into a ‘secret’ club house which stored everything from toys, to a stolen skiff. It was hollow and quiet with only her and her stolen pieces. 

A few times she pressed the stone to the skin of her hip, only for nothing to happen. And so, she took the stone over in her hand, turning it – focusing. The sight was rarely something she could manifest on her own– yet, something in the universe must have known she was desperate for her plan to work.

As she touched the stone, her eyes grew distant as though she saw what once was– not what was in that moment. She saw her brother’s birth. Her uncle holding the baby not even minutes old. Her mother’s voice was weak. In the present, Eilonwy pressed the stone to her skin and repeated in an eldritch and vacant tone:

“Blood of my blood. Bone of my bone.” 

Searing pain shot through the tender flesh as the stone flashed and marred her skin. Marked her as Kurel’s daughter. Marked her as an An’Diel. When it was finished she laid on the cold stone of the cave floor, breathing hard and wiping tears out of her eyes. There was nothing Zelphryin could do now. 

“You’re late,” Kurel said, as she arrived. It was partially a joke, since Kurel’s sense of time was largely based on routine. Eilonwy smiled sheepishly, doing well to hide the aching on her hip. “Yeah, I was getting snacks though!” 

With naught but fishing poles and a box of kabobs, Eilonwy hopped into the skiff with her father and sailed out into the bay.

In three days time, she would stand on the beach, watching her father’s Man of War disappear over the horizon– knowing that he would always come home. 

@kurel-andiel​

[ammon-andiel]

With Regards...

Her scream was so piercing. It sounded like her soul died and it turned the blood of every man in that camp as cold as a Winter’s Veil eve. 

“Crone.” 

Ammon had sent guards to collect her from the sect’s temple. They paraded her through the streets, calling for all denizens of The Black Mirage to congregate at the gladiatorial coliseum known as the Sand Pits. On a dais above the champion’s gate, Ammon watched as Severin walked Mags into the center of  the dirt floor pit. The old woman put up no fight and looked up to the young boy king with conviction and rebellion. 

“Within our walls!” Ammon shouted. His voice ricocheted off of concrete pillars so that the crowded stands could all hear. “Are more than traitors, they are subjugators. What they want, is to dismantle the strength of this sect– the very strength that you,” Ammon pointed out to the crowds.”And I have bled for across two decades to build from the rubble and ash that my father left us all in. 

“I have made it my purpose and my promise to restore the ferocity and power of this nation to what it was when my grandfather ruled and to wipe out of history the era of my father’s reign and the crippling weakness he brought upon us all.” Ammon walked to the edge of the dais and there his body turned to a shadowy rolling mist that swept over the edge and formed back into himself on the floor of the arena. “For longer than we know, the Crone, Mags and Ambassador Dawnseeker have been conspiring to undo all that we have accomplished. Some of our people.” Ammon looked up to the crowds and pointed at them once more. “Some of your family members, have turned turncoats and gather in a cavern to the eastern ridges, with weapons and food and water that they have stolen from you to use against us! They are hundreds, but we are thousands.”

From a hushed silence in the grandstands erupted a roar of support and belief. Beneath this ready for battle chorus, Ammon looked down on Mags as Severin forced her to her knees. “There will be no pyre for you.” Ammon spoke softly and coldly only to her. “No releasing of your soul for Mueh’zala to whisk away for all your years of service and loyalty.”  Mags had all of a second to spit on the ground at Ammon’s feet before he took his sword and cut off her head.

There was a loud silence that ripped through the spectators in the stands above. They all seemed to stare at the bloody scene below. In fear. In awe. In all confusing sense of emotions as witnesses to the execution of a long and high ranking member of their society by their sovereign.  

Ammon looked straight to Severin who seemed himself pensive and uncertain of what had just happened or what was to follow. “Collect your division and a third of the Blades. Bury her body in the sand and put her head on a pike thirty feet outside the opening of their cavern. Once they discover it, kill all the traitors, but bring Eronal, my father, and his trusted to me.”

Ammon walked away.  The crowds dispersed in hushed whispers and full silences, and Severin carried out his order. 

That bone chilling scream ripped from throat of Eronal Dawnseeker who walked outside the cavern entrance, peering at something curious in the distance. As the sun came up that next morning to shed light on the message Ammon had sent, at the behest of Zelphryin, she collapsed to her knees in tears. 

The hundreds of the rebels were roused from their sleep and other doings at the sound and among those in the front Kurel, Saeris, and Mavas all three hurried to Eronal’s side. Saeris helped her up to her feet, only for her to roll into his shoulder and there weep. Mavas, in tempered detail, described the presentation of Mags’ head on the pike.

Rage was what Kurel felt in the place of grief. 

As the sun continued to climb over the mountain ridge, at a greater distance was a wall of men in little armor with hammers, axes, swords and shields. The only warning before their charge was the howl of a bugle horn and Kurel’s hurried command for the rebellion to ready themselves for a war. 

@deadsunharbor

[neckkiss]

Reality Bites (1994)

[pettyelves]

@kurel-andiel

[ammon-andiel]

The Infiltrator

Eronal was not the only one writing letters from inside the old ruins. 

There was still a very archaic belief in the desert born society. They did not put spies into other clans to siphon information. They merely charged and attacked one another when paths crossed. It never crossed Eronal’s mind or even that of Mags’ that they ought to have installed a vetting process to those who came to join the rebellion. They took them at their word and allowed them in. Which allowed for Zelphryin to put someone on the prowl when rumors hit the air about a revolution of the sects echelon. 

Dressed in the pristine yellow sun patterned robe, he sat at the end of a long table alone with a plate of food he had barely touched and the letter in his hand. It detailed the location of the abandoned ruins. The number of watchmen on post during the day, during the night, and at what length they changed. There were a few extra pieces of paper which included the names of those who had defected. But most disappointing on that list was the name ‘Mags’.

“Dahk.” He swore under his breath and tossed the pages forward. The final statements made were a few lengthy paragraphs that described the arrival of Kurel and fifty some other odd men and women with him. 

There was a knock an hour later on Ammon’s door and he called for Zelphryin to enter. The young boy king was stretched out along his mattress, half dressed and in the company of some unimportant maiden whom he had brought to bed with him.

“Uncle.” He greeted jovially as his fingers brushed affectionately through the woman’s hair as her head lay in his lap.

“Nephew.” There was a small bow of his head that Zelphryin gave as he shut the door behind him and stood with hands clasped behind his back. “News has come. Those rumors are not exactly rumors. There is a rebellion forming that has every intention to remove you. It seems the head of this beast is the old Crone, Mags.” He paused. Stopping himself from clearing his throat and instead just waited out those first moments for his tongue to wet itself naturally. “Along with Eronal Dawnseeker.”

Ammon sat forward now at her name with a look of anger starting to form. 

“And your father.” Zelphryin added heavily at the end. “Along with fifty of his men.”

That anger on Ammon’s face slowly transitioned into a smile and then a laugh. He shooed the girl out of his bed then climbed out of it himself. “Fifty men.” He repeated through an airy chuckle. He moved about his quarters to find a more suitable garment and changed while he spoke. “Is that all I am worth to him? You tell me that he has an island devoted to him, full of ships and gunpowder, and magical trinkets of unfathomable powers and all he brings is fifty men?” There was clear insult in Ammon’s tone, even through his smile. “He must think I’m weak. Frail. Broken. Unimportant” He added as he walked to Zelphryin. His grin gone. “Maybe had he been here. He would know otherwise.”

“Yes.” Zelphryin said slowly with a hard stare that watched Ammon move and even as he approached, remained fixed on him. “In addition to his fifty are almost four hundred more– some trained, some not, from this sect. You can try to salvage their loyalty by taking the merciful wa–”

“No mercy.” Ammon interjected. He moved past Zelphryin, throwing open his doors and started to walk briskly down the hallway; the bottom hem of his gold and blue robe billowing behind him. Zelprhyin followed. “Those who have defected are now traitors. Them and their families. Round up their wives, their husbands, their children, uncles, cousins, aunts, parents, grandparents. All of them.”

“Bloodline genocide is not the most effective response to this coupe still in its infancy, Ammon. I have witnessed your father do more with fewer men at his back.” Countered Zelphryin.

“Are you suggesting that I do nothing and wait?” Ammon gave him a confused and almost hateful look with the question.

“No.” Zelphryin stated clearly. “Waiting affords your father time to consider all outcomes of any action he may take. It also affords him time–  as we can’t be for certain – for any oceanside allies who may be in route to arrive.”

“Then what are you suggesting, Uncle.” Ammon demanded in a questioning tone. One that was verging on a short temper. 

“Get him to make a compulsive reaction. One done out of emotion, rather than logic.”

Ammon slowed his brisk walk as they reached the bottom of a grand set of stairs where he came to a full stop and turned fully to look up at Zelphryin, who lingered a few steps higher still.

“How?” Ammon asked him.

Zelphryin smiled. “Send him a message. Let him know. That you know. That they are there and what they are up to. And use Mags to do it.”

@deadsunharbor​

[pettyelves]

the desert star

[ in response to Pen Pals ]

He had not died. That was all Eilithe knew. She could feel him– or at least she thought, when she laid down on the chaise of their balcony. In each star, she imagined she might see down on the desert sands which Kurel traveled. The temptation to run to him – to die with him was torture. 

She was living out of her body. 

The letter reached her and she dropped everything to attend to it and write back: 

Kallah,

This letter is addressed to ‘kallah’, I wanted you to know why. In my village, your children– your nieces and nephews and little cousins, we call them ‘kal’ or ‘kallah’ for girls. It means ‘bright star’, our people are children of the stars the way you are a child of the desert. You are a star in the sand, Eronal.

 If you learn nothing else before you die– learn to let go of obligation. When you do, you will find happiness. You will never be able to let go completely, but you can find a looser grip in some places. 

I found mine with Kurel. You see, he freed me of many obligations–of expectations. It is powerful to love someone without expecting anything back– it took me many years to understand it. Anyway, I am saying that do not write to me for obligation. Write if it is what you want. Write if it what you need to get through this. 

I have heard of the woman call Mags– from my son, Xavier. The boy you saved from the sand. The girl is Karkah. Though I did not birth either of them, I love them as my own. I do not know what the desert says about that– but where I am from we do not damn children because they are not our own. I am thankful for Mags–Xavier said that she wept when she recognized him. I can only hope that she still holds Kurel dear. 

My husband believes that I am paranoid, and honestly, he is right. If Ammon is like Vishak– there is no string he will not pull, no line he will not cross to ensure Kurel is dead. Mags may not be his mother– but she loves him like one. I know you may not understand, but there is something about loving a child– even if it isn’t yours. It is inexplicable. 

All I can say is that I would die and have my soul ripped and devoured by the creatures of the Other Side before I ever let pain befall any of my children. I pray Mags feels the same about Kurel.

As for asking about pasts, your father was mostly right. Asking for what you want directly seldom leads to what we want. In time you will learn the way– the questions to ask, the actions to take to get men– even as hardened as Kur’elnth An’diel to open up to you. 

Ya’til-anath,

Ei’lithene An’diel

One last thing, if ever you are desperate and something happens to Kurel rub the stone he carries and say my name aloud. 

It was sealed and sent before day’s end. 

Eilithe was not the sort of woman that sat at home while there was a war on. Whether Kurel believed her a part of the desert or not– she was. In loving him, in loving his children, and in suffering. The first letter she wrote was to him, never to be sent. 

Surfal, 

If I have my way– you will never read this, but I have to write to quell the overwhelming desire to run to you. 

You don’t have enough men.  You don’t have enough time.  You don’t have me. 

I cannot let go. When I read your letter, I was ready to let go but I think of you day and night. Now? Now I am angry not because you left me, but because you thought that I could so easily pry your rough fingers from around my heart. 

I am not done.

I want a thousand more ‘right nows’. I want a thousand more nights in the bath. I want feel your weight against me and hear the way you inhale my scent at the nape of my neck. One more time.

So don’t you dare die in that desert, and I pray to whatever gods there are that you forgive me for what I am about to do. Remember what I told you; you can die when I’m good and fucking ready for you to. 

-E

Two more letters went to the land-dwelling Shans of the North and Western pieces of Kalimdor. 

Ur’Sen and Fadrina,

I write to petition you both. I admit fully that I only stand to gain, should you both agree. 

Right now, somewhere in the desert, my husband is on his way to murder his son, a sol’den. I know you have both renounced my choice to marry an outsider that is unwilling to take the Mark– but he is doing what he believe is right. He is keeping to our code.

In a matter of days, my mother– under my order and her own free will, shall arrive at the last known location of the resistance caravan Kurel is leading. With her she carries a ley beacon.

I need forces ready to go through at a moment’s notice. Do this and I will concede to Fadrina my stakes to the Shan’di. I beg of you. There are reasons that our people never crossed into the desert. If we do nothing– if we do not even prepare many innocent people will die.

Remember the creed. 

Ya’til-anath,

Eilithe Duskbringer, Shan’Min of the Thal’ana

@eronaldawnseeker​ @kurel-andiel​ @theshalthera​

[kurel-andiel]

The Crone

took the whole of a week to cross half of Uldum to Ramkahen and then back to The Cursed Landing shoreline. Getting over the mountain ridge undetected by the the Shafise was not the real test for Saeris, Mavas and Kurel. It was getting their sum of seventy crewmen over it. Men who had never scaled a mountain in their lives. Men who had never known long and endless days of hiking. Men who had never known anything but the burn of a rope between their hands and the sting of moisture in the air. The mountain peaks that divided Tanaris for Uldum presented a wind more violent than any storm on the water could conjure and not all seventy of The Queen’s Gambit crew made it safely to the other side.

A handful deemed the task too risky. Too risky for the pay. Too risky for the loyalty. They had not joined a ship to traverse sand and soil with no promise that in the end they would find their feet back on a deck. They were sailors. Not soldiers. A few others suffered unfortunate mishaps. One red shirt hadn’t secured his safety rope and plummeted to his death. Another, due to a faulty quickdraw. 

On the opposite side of the mountain and safely on the ground their crew of seventy had been narrowed down to a sum just barely over fifty. 

It was another two days, this time traveling only during the dark. During the day they remained huddled. Eyes out in every direction, attempting to spot any potential threat before it or they spotted them. While Tanaris was home to no oases, it did have various patches of natural overgrown cacti gardens to use as cover during the day. “How much further, Eronal?”

“Half a day east a’ most.” She was guessing. Although certain they were traveling in the right direction, she still worried. Worried what might have happened in the two months it took to retrieve Kurel and bring him back here. There was no certainty that the defected desert dwellers hadn’t been found out and dealt with. For all Eronal knew they could arrive to an empty ruin or worse, a trap. 

Neither was the case and it was to Eronal’s great relief when they did arrive that the caravan was greeted by a number of armed allies who were quick to help the struggling and tired crew of The Gambit take refuge inside, be fed, and watered. 

The interior of the ruins had been divided into a very well choreographed facility. A portion set aside for ‘housing’, which was nothing more than small cubicle spaces divided by sheets hung from various strung cords and crudely carved wooden stakes. There was an essential ‘war room’ and an armory, along with a small training ring and an even smaller kitchen. Yet all three, Saeris, Mavas, and Kurel had the very same thought upon their arrival-- it wasn’t even remotely safe. It would take only a few well placed explosives or a heavy hit from the front and the whole thing would cave in.

The night passed uneventful and in the morning, after Kurel had woke and began to try and piece some sort of survivable plan together, one of the desert born entered the sanctioned ‘war room’.

“Sire.” The man said almost nervously. “Visitor.”

There was a sharp anger that flicked through Kurel’s mind. He didn’t see her, smell her, hear her or even feel her. He just assumed it was Eilithe and braced himself for unleashing that might have rivaled the Maelstrom itself. But when the tattered curtain parted and an old elven woman with wrinkles under her eyes and peppering in her air stepped into the room there was just a name that he breathed out.

“Mags.”

The old woman smiled warmly and as he stood there in disbelief and awestruck, she stepped forward, opened her arms and embraced him. Her voice was smooth and motherly when she spoke.

“I cannot stay for long, but it is so good to see you.”

@deadsunharbor​ | @eilitheduskbringer​

[pettyelves]

Send my muse a name - Zelphryin An'Diel

What song they associate with them: [ The Devil Wears a Suit and Tie- Colter Wall ]

The farthest length they’d travel for them: If it was to kill her dearest brother-in-law? Probably start up into Ammon’s palace. If he was bleeding three feet from her she’d grip about helping him. 

How comfortable they are with them: Not at all. 

Would they take a beating for them: Probably the ONLY circumstance she would, would be in front of the kids. Specifically Karkah. But even then, probably not. 

Would they give a beating for them: No, she’d say something like, “Come on, gaezo– are your fingers too delicate to make a fist?”

Would they date them: Zelphryin is a lot like Threshad’s father– so under the right circumstances, yes– he probably could have manipulated her into bed at the very least.

Full honest opinion: “Like all An’Diels, Zelphryin is a stubborn, arrogant, son of a bitch. There is no love in my heart for my brother-in-law and the only reason I tolerate him is because my husband asked me not to kill him.”

[pettyelves]

teach them hope

There were rare times when Karkah An’Diel showed she was but a ten year old girl, with softness in her heart for not only her adoptive mother but for her father, for whom the girl claimed some loathe. As Eilithe sat at the dinner table of The Golden Keg, she watched as the little girl turned– hopeful, at the mention of pirates on the water. 

Eilithe felt her daughter’s pain in the pit of her stomach. Yes, he’s gone again would have been the cruelest admittance. Yes, he’s gone to die. Yes, he went for you, for your brothers, your sister, and for Dead Sun. None of this did Eilithe speak aloud for the girl who pushed her food around with a sinking lack of hope.

Despite Eilithe’s efforts the girl was swayed to that painful silence that Eilithe recognized from her own body. She might not have been Karkah’s birth mother– but they were certainly similar in loneliness and rage. 

“Anha zhilak yera,” Eilithe said as they walked, her voice soft and barely above a whisper. She withheld those words from Kurel for years, and could not withhold from their children. 

“I know,” Karkah offered in the same fashion her father did.

In that brief moment, she thought she felt hate for her husband– or at the very least rage. You have taught our daughter to hide her love. You have taught her not to hope. 

Eilithe swallowed it all down and merely nodded, walking the girl all the way back home and to their home at the top of the incline, looking out over the harbor. A single light on the porch burned.

At home, only Threshad was up– lounged on the couch. His dark eyes moved from Karkah to his mother, knowing the melancholy look in her eyes well. “You sleep some tonight, okay?” he stated it as a question, but it was more a command. 

“I will,” Eilithe said, following Karkah with her eyes as the girl went to get ready for bed.

Threshad got himself up and stalked over to put his arm around Eilithe. “Waited for father to come home two moon cycles,” the boy began with a lump in his throat. “He did not come but waited for you for ten moon cycles. You come and Ugly was with you then. He’ll be with you again…even if it takes many cycles.”

Eilithe hugged her son close to her and kissed his head, which Threshad did not resist this one time. “Get some sleep, son.” She muttered this before she went off to check Eilonwy, then slip into Karkah’s room. On a strip of the bed Eilithe lay until, and long after, Karkah was asleep. 

@kurel-andiel​

[pettyelves]

you will know

[ source of letter ]

Between her thumb and pointer finger, Eilithe smoothed the length of her left ring finger. Special attention was given to the scarab beetle that rested, more precious than a diamond, in between her first and second knuckle. 

“This wasn’t here.” His voice echoed against her ear and for a moment she felt the way he had held her until dawn. Soon after, they were married. Missus An’diel was like a slap to the face now, as much as it made her feel, for the brief moment it was uttered– whole.

For years she had looked at the missing ring finger on Kurel’s own left hand with malice– as it symbolized what she thought she could not have. At present, she considered nightly removing her own ring finger.

“A letter, ma’am,” came the utterance from the crack of her office door. If it was Clarcius or Den, she didn’t look. Eilithe did not look at most people these days, she looked through them as though they were a shadow obscuring her view of something behind them, and how she hoped that behind every shadow she might find Kurel there. 

She read the letter three times.

Mother Mirage,

I wish I had more time to know you. If we survive, I would still like to. If we don’t. I am so sorry. I wish I had something better to offer you. A promise. My loyalty. My life.

Maybe one day, in the distant future we can sit across from each other and share a meal. I can share with all your children the stories my father shared with me. If ever this sect is whole again, you can see it. And I can walk you down the streets. And you can reach out and feel the silks on the vendors carts, drink the crisp water of the oasis wells, and breath in the strength of the strongest army you have not yet known.

He walks at the front of our caravan alone and sits through the night the same, awake, with a pendant in his hand and conflict on his shoulders. He eats only with his two most trusted and only the one with red hair delivers his commands.

If I have done wrong, I did not realize I was doing so.

 ~ Eronal Dawnseeker  

It did not occur to her until she made her last pass over the letter. Kur’elnth An’Diel, first son of Vishak An’Diel, King of the Black Mirage. In marriage, by the desert standard, she was Mother Mirage– yet Eilithe wondered how she could even claim such a title thousands of miles from the sands. How could she do anything when it all– when he felt so far. 

All she could do was write. Who knew how letters got to where they were supposed to– but when it arrived somewhere in the desert it read in Eilithe’s looping handwriting:

Eronal Dawnseeker, 

My husband is a lonely man. I think that I am a lonely woman and by fate– cruel or otherwise, we found one another in the dark and lonely space that thousands of years of living creates. 

The red head is called Saeris. Did you know that he is the reason Kur’elnth and I ended up together? He once told me that Kurel was like Fire and Air– that I was like Water and Air. You see Air fuels Fire and Water soothes it. If ever you are given the chance to find love, I pray that you are like Air and Water too, Eronal. That is a wife’s real power– to fuel and soothe her husband’s Fire. 

The other is Mavas– he is how I learned to speak the desert’s tongue. I know he can be rough and haughty, but understand that there are few men on Azeroth I respect more than Mavas Hawke. He is what held Kur’elnth together long before I came along and I hold onto hope that he will hold him together as I cannot now.

I am not the type of woman who believes it is her duty to obey her husband, Kaldorei do not understand such a thing. However, this time I know that I cannot do as I please and march across the sands to aid you or Kur’elnth. I hope you know that if I could find it in my heart to go against him on this– this one thing, I would. But I cannot. 

The first story he ever told me was of the Fire Maiden, weaving her crown of bramble. I must say that I think I fell in love with him– or maybe the Desert in that moment. This is to say that while I cannot stand beside you now, I can and will read every letter you can write. Tell me your stories until the day which we can walk hand in hand through a desert that knows peace. 

You said that you wished you had something to give to me. I do not want your life– I want you to live.  You said that you wished you had time to know me– you will and you do. 

You will know me in the way he caresses that stone, knowing that in seconds I could be at his side. You will know me in the way he marches forward to do what he must for us. You will know me in the small light that twists with his soul. You will know me because every piece, every part of me I have given to him. He carries them with him and that is why his shoulders sag and he drags from the weight. With every step, he is carrying me with him.

Stay safe. Stay strong. 

Ei’Lithene An’Diel

@kurel-andiel​  @eronaldawnseeker​ @shaded-hawke​ @crymsynlotus​

[kurel-andiel]

Beginnings

“Gaezo. We apologize for being late. What’s the plan?” 

Mavas’ voice was always quick and it was always precise. On the edges of Uldum a small tent city had been erected and for a week a collection of less than seventy men of the sea had lived while awaiting further orders. Every day that tent city was broken down and carried twenty miles in a different direction. Erected in a new location.  Kurel didn’t trust the sands, he didn’t trust the people who called it home, and there were more enemies scattered across its vast and seemingly endless dunes than any of the domestic or foreign conflicts he had in Deadsun. To hear Mavas’ arrive, supported by that of Saeris, was the first sense of ease he had felt since the docks of Deadsun had vanished behind a horizon.

“We leave for Ramkahen. We abandon the tents. Everythin’. Perry an’ Mugara have stayed behin’ with some crew an’ will sail The Queen’s Gambi’ back to Sunspire… for storage.” That last part was hard to force out and Saeris’ face twisted with his own brand of hurt. 

“Ramkahen, the men will need clothes. Ones better suited for this climate. We’ll ge’ canteens. Water. Rations. Then hope for the bes’ as we cross the border.” He gestured for the pair of them to follow as he turned and stalked across the micro encampment to a specific tent. A finger pointed at Eronal harshly, but no words with it, as a gesture to follow. Under the tattered salt watered canopy was a table and on that table, a fading map. 

“Tell them.” Kurel snapped at Eronal who winced and stepped forward to move her fingers among different points of the mountain border that divided the territory of Uldum and Tanaris. 

“The Shafise typically keep watchers up in these here portions. They’ve a long standin’ accord with The Mirage and Ammon’s upheld that truce so long as they’ve been useful an’... useful they have been. Nothin’ and no one really ever gets through without them bein’ aware and alertin’ those needin’ alertin’.”

“So we can’t take the easy way.” Kurel said flatly. 

“So we take the hard way.” Said Mavas, in a manner that was almost expectant and not at all laced with complaint.

“The Jackle Clan’s got two mobile caravans that patrol the base edges on the Tanaris side and then there’s of course The Harlequin Suns.” “The Harle-queen who’?” Saeris asked, fumbling the word.

“Harlequin Suns.” Kurel repeated for him. “Ligh’ an’ shadow weildin’ marauders, led by my once frien’, Surresh.”

“Once friend?” Mavas inquired and Kurel’s lips turned even further downwards in a scowl. 

“Surresh has spen’ the length of his life tryin’ to topple the Mirage an’ he’s come close a few dozen times or so. He doesn’t wan’ to conquer i’. He simply wants to eradicate it. He foun’ belief in the human’s Holy Light.” Kurel snorted.

Saeris just stared while Mavas gave a slow, but understanding nod as Eronal continued.

“It’s a lot of back trackin’ but the back trackin’ might and may slow any trackers we already got on us or lose them completely. So we go to Ramkahen and get what’s needed. Come back down here to The Cursed Landin’ and climb these mountains here.” She pointed towards the peaks of the eastern line.

“Why there?” Inquired Mavas.

“Largest mountain stretch.” She continued. “Shafise can’t watch’em all. There’s a cave on the other side. Some ol’ collapsin’ ruins in there that’s mostly ignored. Those wantin’ to fight have worked to smuggle supplies and’ materials into there. I ain’t the only one belivin’ in Kurel. Two, maybe three hundred more want Ammon ursurped and want Kurel back on the throne.”

Kurel’s head shifted sharply to her in a glare and both Saeris and Mavas’ eyes widened in disbelief of that very last statement. 

“I ain’t stayin’ when this is done.” Kurel snarled. 

“Two… maybe three hundred against how many?” Mavas asked calmly.

“A few several thousand.” She said, looking warily between Mavas and Kurel as she did. And in unison both Saeris and Mavas’ heads turned to regard Kurel who seemed to have taken a prefered blind stare at the ground. 

“We’ll worry abou’ the numbers later. For now. We worry abou’ gettin’ to Ramkahen an’ then gettin’ up over those mountains-- withou’ alertin’ the Shafise. Ain’t afraid they’ll attack, jus’ concerned they’ll snitch. Saeris.”

“Cap’n?”

“Ge’ the men mobile. Single packs only. Everythin’ else stays.”

@crymsynlotus​ | @shaded-hawke​

[xavier-sunshadow]

Until Then

The night’s breeze of Dead Sun washed over him as he lay in bed, curled on his side before rolling over on his back. Blankets had been long since kicked down, tangled around his strong legs as Xavier whimpered softly, face contorting in lines of concern even as he remained asleep. Exposed, the black scorpid that rested on his left hip just about his pant line glowed faintly in gold, the glittering apparition seeping upwards as the youth twisted and turned, sweat beading on his golden skin. 

The desert was hot, the cries of a crowd echoed deep in his chest as he watched them. He was not his father this time, he was different…a ghost, something there yet not seen. There was smoke in the air, fire. He felt it in his bones, something had happened. His father stood proud, speaking but he couldn’t hear the muffled words coming from the man’s mouth. Suddenly…suddenly everything broke loose.  Another Tanari, so like his father but younger, fitter maybe, standing shirtless as his father did but he wore pants that had metal trim, there were symbols and shows of wealth there…of power. He could see the other youth’s face, so much like his own, but darker…and those eyes. They turned and peered at him, the only one who seemed to notice he was there. A smirk crossed the Tanari’s face and Xavier snarled at him, everything in his body demanding he stand, and fight against those shadowy black pools, they were not eyes…they were voids.  With the sound of thunder suddenly the scene shifted, there was blood on the sand…so much blood. A clash of two titans, of swinging swords and magic permeating the air. He remembered when his father and he had fought in the Scion’s den, when he had pinned his father down and nearly drove a dagger into the older man’s throat. He remembered when Kurel had called him weak for letting him live…he had remembered the desert was not allowed to love, he was supposed to survive…to survive through hate. 

This one hated his father.  Another cry echoed through him, and he was suddenly in front of his father, once again words not reaching his ears, but he saw his uncles there too. The gates of the Mirage a small speck on the desert horizon. He smelled the sand and felt the sun blistering over his tanned skin. He felt his own heart beat, but also the three he stood before. Soft and calm: Mavas, heavy and elevated: his father, and fast with adrenaline: Saeris.  There were symbols around them he did not understand, a golden line connected all three, a seeming thread of fate that would not break…did not break. He watched them turn towards the gate, and he was thrown back towards the fight.  This time he could see the threads again, stretching far but there. He saw the tarnished strand that connected Kurel with his opponent. He saw the glowing thread that connected himself to his father. Family…this Tanari was family.  “Ammon.”  The voice came from somewhere, a whispered hiss, and another memory of a cage, of the warning cries, of finding his sister and of escaping the Mirage before he had been killed for being an An’Diel. The desert did not love, and the desert would not be usurped. His father though…his father had loved. His father had loved his biological mother. His father loved Eilithe, his adopted mother. His father, who was desert, had loved…and that love would carry, wouldn’t it? Strength in fighting, strength in loyalty…the others would not let him die…right?  Another scream of anger, a slamming of two bodies together as he watched his father and his brother fight. The sky turned violet, and then gold, the symbols burned into his eyes and he was blinded just as they clashed again, Kurel’s grunt and snarling cry of pain echoing in his ears as darkness claimed him. 

Xavier jerked awake with a roaring shout, the golden glow of his eyes burning as he saw  his father lying on his floor. Then it switched to his brother’s still form, a brother who he did not know. Finally like sands blowing in the breeze the visions left him, leaving him cold and shaking in his bed. He tried to calm himself, quickly untangling his legs and stumbling to get a glass of water and to splash his face.  When the youth looked in the mirror he could see the gold in his eyes, the remainder of the power that he was trying to control sparkling accusingly at him before it faded back to his regular blue. Xavier took a shaky breath, closing his eyes as he tried to make sense of the assault of visions that had come to him. He had no idea what any of it meant, but it left him hollow, a worry deep in his gut for his father.  Speaking softly to himself, the language of his father rolled off his tongue. “Qafat allow mae tikh sandi.  Allow mae jadat irge..” Let him be safe…let him come home.   

@eilitheduskbringer​ @kurel-andiel​

[shaded-hawke]

The Unknown

There were many things he did not know. 

He did not know why the sun rose and set in the East and West. He did not know how exactly the magicks of their land worked. He did not even know sometimes how the magic within himself worked, though it always came to his call when he wielded it. There was, however one thing, Mavas Hawke was very sure of above all things. 

Kurel An’Diel was going to get himself killed. 

The reports had come in even as he had been tidying his office, reports that unnerved the raven haired Sin’dorei. He became distracted, mind working in overdrive as he began to prepare. He had laid the bricks for this particular foundation from his very first day, knowing one day he may have to vanish for long periods of time, and Sunspire had to hold, it had to survive without his presence. After all, what would they return to when they came home? 

When…not if.  Each business was visited, each proprietor informed of his absence. Each given a communicator to use only in emergencies, and each given the hierarchy of listening to the small council he had created. Each knew where they fell, and each knew to listen to the one above them. It had taken time, some blood, and a bit of fear, but he had gotten the strong headed savvy businesses in line, and it had worked wonders for his Port.  The next step was the defenses, and with the arcane cannons installed in the harbor, the generator field keeping aerial attacks away, and the guards he had trained himself protecting the borders, Mavas was sure that his home was protected…Kurel would demand nothing less, and Mavas was nothing if not working to please the volatile Captain.  It took two days from the report of the Gambit heading for the desert until he was packed and leaving his home. Another day to get to Stormwind and four hours to figure out where Saeris had gone. He had been concerned the elf was in Dead Sun, it would have been harder to extricate them both without alerting Eilithe, or one of the children. Thankfully, the Quartermaster had yet to return to their second home, and he quickly found them passage to the desert, and then collected the crimson haired Sin’dorei for the journey.  As they traveled across the sea, Mavas silently watched, waiting for that speck of horizon to shift, to become mountainous and tan. He was like a statue, never moving while around him the cutter bustled with activity. He was calculating, coming up with different scenarios, what he knew about Kurel, and where the Tanari would go. He had come up with a rough idea of what Kurel might be doing, but how he was planning to accomplish it…Mav put that into another pile of unknown. Too many variables all around, really. He shook his head, sighing softly.  As his feet touched the sand, the warmth soaking into his leather boots, Mavas closed his eyes. The last time he had been here, he had taken down one of his oldest colleagues. He was buried in the dunes not far from the sea. He let himself reminisce…the first time he had met Kurel, the Vengeance, the Gambit, and what exactly having a family meant to him.  “You ready for this?” Saeris’s voice cut into his musings, and his fel eyes snapped open, looking over at the elf he had saved from slavery, whom he had then basically conscripted to work for the man he was most loyal to. He still remembered when Saeris had beaten him to a pulp for it…and he was proud, fond of the other elf and what they had accomplished even separated. 

“Let’s go find our Captain.” He said, deep voice rumbling from his chest. 

Let’s go find our family.   @kurel-andiel

[crymsynlotus]

A Call to Arms

Saeris heard a faint scratching at his window, groaning as he rolled over to ignore it. Whatever weird bird, angry rat, or overzealous tree branch that was irking him into waking could wait until at least the sun was out. He had finally reached Stormwind after spending time in Silvermoon, his enchantments returned and buzzing over his flesh, and he was spending one night in the Blue Recluse until he could get a ship to Dead Sun the following day.  At last the scratching ended, and he sighed as he went almost back to sleep, until quite suddenly their was a weight on top of him, pinning his arms to the bed and a hand went over his mouth. Green eyes snapped open as he immediately struggled, a shout muffled in anger and surprise turning to confusion when he realized who was on top of him.  “Mvs?” he said in shock, staring up at the dark haired assassin.  “Shh.” Mavas put a finger to his lips, eyeing the room before he finally let his grip on Saeris’s mouth up.  “Ge’ off me.” Saeris immediately snapped, wiggling even though he wasn’t trying too hard to dislodge the other Sin’dorei. 

“Usually when someone says for you to shush it means don’t talk. Are you alone?” Mavas asked, not at all obeying the order to remove his weight off the bulkier elf. 

“Yes! Fuck’s sake I was headin’ t’ Dea’ Sun tomorrow!” The crimson haired male snarled. “Wha’ are you doin’ here?”  “Kurel needs us.”  Those simple words stilled the Quartermaster, eyes narrowing. He suddenly took in Mav’s appearance. The Sin’dorei was not dressed in his normal attire, no…it was his black dragon leather armor, the enchanted assassin’s gear he had long since hung up when he became Purveyor of Sunspire. He was armed to the teeth, and not only that, Saeris recognized the bag on his back…long term then. 

“Where do we nee’ t’ go?” He asked as Mav finally let him up, sitting up and immediately starting to gather his things.  “Tanaris. I am unsure what he is planning, but it is dangerous, and he may not survive it.” Mav turned his fel green eyes towards the crimson haired elf. “I intend to make sure he has the best chance he can.”  Saeris paused mid-pant leg, frowning in thought. He had separated to get their money from the coffers in Silvermoon, intent on moving them to a safer more neutral location, and had expected to find the Gambit at Dead Sun, or at least instruction on where to go. Slowly pulling on his other pant leg, he tied them up and moved to get his shirt. 

“Wha’ abou’ Eilithe? An’ th’ kids? Crew?” He asked carefully. 

“Eilithe is where she is supposed to be right now. The children are also with her. As for his crew…well.” Mav shrugged. “It seems they are going with him…and we are too. Unless you wish to return to Dead Sun, I would not be angry with you for protecting his other assets while he marches off to death unknown.” 

Saeris snorted, flashing the assassin a grin. “As if I’d le’ you two have all th’ fun. Le’s go, Shade.” 

Mavas smirked, nodding as he moved to lead the way out of the room. Saeris closed the door behind him, heading out into the cool Stormwind night. He wasn’t surprised when the dark haired elf lead them directly to a waiting cutter, stepping on the deck and breathing out slowly, inhaling deep of the sea air. 

Standing beside the other elf, watching the sun slowly make the eastern sky a light grey, he gripped his bag tightly, feeling the heavy weight of his swords on his hips. They would be there by nightfall, and in the desert as the stars lit up the sky in the deepest part of the night.  Mavas seemed sure of where he was going, though the endless sand never seemed to give Saeris any idea where they were. Finally though…finally he saw them. A small group of tents, a smoldering fire and watchful eyes that he could feel over his pale scarred flesh. No more enchantments, no more hiding. He felt free in the sands, and he knew this place…no these people were where he was meant to be.  Mavas spoke first as Saeris caught sight of a familiar head of dark hair, scarred dark skin and a serious snarling face that spoke of familiarity and home.  He grinned as the assassin spoke in his ridiculously formal way, only knowing him for so long could he hear the warmth under those even robotic tones. “Gaezo. We apologize for being late. What’s the plan?”  @kurel-andiel @eilitheduskbringer

[kurel-andiel]

[Not good bye, just see you later. <3]

[pettyelves]

keener

[ The Letter’s Source ]

keen·er/ˈkēnər/ noun 1.a person who wails or sings in grief for a dead person.

“I will remind this Council that Kurel An'Diel’s removal is not yet up for debate as he has yet to fully violate the terms of his admiralty promotion. This is also not a character hearing–nor is it a platform for I-told-you-sos. I reject, at this time, Speaker Duskbringer’s motion.” She was on her fifth cigarette and surprisingly keeping her calm, “Kurel An'Diel’s role as a husband and father is ,frankly, no one in this room’s business but my own– …I will also remind this council that Kurel, aside from myself, is the oldest Councilor– and did, help build this place.”

The afternoon breeze shifted through the Starset Reach’s courtroom, a place they had called the Free Man’s Court. It felt hostile today, and Eilithe had readily blamed Reveria’s emotion-ruled judgement for such– though she never said it aloud. Kur’elnth An’Diel’s name was a wired bomb as much as it was a ghost in the corner of the room. It made people angry– it made her defensive. It was logical for people who loved her, people like Reveria, Feril, Hillier, and Clarcius to ask her why she was so vehement in her defense of a man that not two months after their marriage had wandered off somewhere into the world without a word to her. That is to say, Eilithe Duskbringer-An’Diel was well aware of how hopeless and pathetically in-love she was with her husband.

There was no justification beyond that. She loved him more completely than any man before him. Perhaps it was his unique brand of love that kept her hanging on. She was as attracted to his arrogance as she was his ambition. Kurel loved quietly, viscerally, and most importantly without expectation. 

“Arbiter, Admiral An’Diel’s vulture has just flown in. I thought you’d want to know.” 

When she left Stormwind, she had been excited or at the very least anxious. Croaks’ arrival meant news from Kurel and even if it was news that he wouldn’t be home for another month, she had opened the letter under the presence of the one and only promise he had ever made her: “I will always come home”  Every letter she ever wrote, Eilithe read three times. But not his. 

Eilithe,

The greatest and the worst secrets of my life have only ever been shared with three people in this world. Severin, Mavas and you. Lately, my list of regrets and mistakes expands by the creeping of every hour that moves beyond me. Of them all, only one do I have control over in some capacity to lighten.

When I told you about The Gate, about Archerous, and about what happened during those months. I did not tell you everything.

When Archerous demanded for its location and I refused, penance had to be paid for another hundred years. He did not choose to take Tailon, I gave Tailon to him and my sister was returned, dead.

In Severin’s devastation at the loss of his brother and his feeling that I had betrayed him, he left. For longer than I can remember, he and those of his lineage preceding him have served and sworn themselves to my family and its successors. There is more than expectation and tradition that holds him to this, so when he left me he returned to Tanaris. To serve Ammon.

By now I suspect you better realize that I did not simply vanish without cause or meaning and reading this far, you are outraged. That I would say nothing. That I would take no one.

“You can take the man out of the desert, but you can not take the desert out of the man.” A truth spoken by both my brother and lovers alike. Reveria understood that afternoon out on the pier while Eronal pleaded her case to me. Ammon’s tyranny was and never will be Deadsun’s problem. It is my problem and only mine. No argument or devotion will ever change that.

There is no good I do this world and there is no good I perhaps ever intend to do. Xavier may be the only thing of any -good- having come from me and you may have been the only thing good to have ever happened to me.

But I warned you. All those years ago. With me, there would only ever be misery and suffering. And that in the end, I would only ever disappoint you. No one survives me and writing to you, I am uncertain if I can survive myself.  You could be right, that the problem and this record of repeated misfortune is me and not the threads that puppet us. If that is true, I am too old to be changed.

I love you. I will until this body finally gives out or something takes it out. And perhaps there is some solace that I can feel the piece of you that you bound to me and know you are alive. I do not know if or even when I might return. In the event of never, raise our children with ferocity and fire.

Whatever happens. Whatever you feel.  Do not come for me. Do not wait for me.

Stay Alive.

   Kur’elnth An’Diel

She was not angry– she was devastated. It must have been fate looking out for her that her children were not home when the first wail came from the deepest part of her stomach. Her body hit the floor their bedroom and she gave herself to crying that buckled her chest. The only thanks she might have mustered for that moment was that she could feel in those moments of anguish vast and numbing loneliness, sobbing on the floor was the most present she had been in months. 

Hours passed before she could breathe again, before she could uncoil and relax her muscles. Staring out the open balcony, she could swear she felt her soul twisting in his chest. And would it be that way, until one day he died and all at once the piece of her he took came rushing back to her?

Eilithe inhaled and sat up.

“What now?” She asked the room which accosted her with silence. Eilithe’s instinct, always, first and foremost was to run. But she had already run–she’d already kissed Death’s cheek and been pulled away. No safe house– nor tree deep in the jungle was going to be her shelter. Her shelter was walking the sands alone to face all that he had done wrong in the world.

Would she be like her mother? 

Dear Reveria, Before I ever met Kurel–before he and I ever gave in to lust or love, before a lot of things actually I used to write letters. Some of them I thought I people would read after I was dead and it’d give them closure or comfort or maybe a final fuck you.

I stopped, eventually. It got too painful writing for forgiveness from people that were long dead and didn’t need to forgive me anyway. Anyway, it used to give me peace writing them every night– usually to Lucia, sometimes to my children though at the time it was just Eilonwy and I. 

Right now, there is a hole in my chest and pieces keep falling out of it. It’s not just Kurel, who.. I’m sure you’ll figure out is gone before you ever read this letter. That is to say– I hope you never read this, not until we’re old and my hair goes stark white like Endessa’s and we’re both raising grandchildren like our grandmothers.

But if you do, it means that I was out of options. It means that the ache– not just from Kurel, but from thousands of years of disappointment, of loss of hope has finally gotten me.

I think I finally understand why my mother left after my father died, I started to understand it when I went to the jungle to die months ago but now with this finality– I get it because as lonely as I was before, now I feel it in a sort of cosmic sense. I cannot help thinking that he was my ‘person’ – you know, how Dianesh and Velerodra talk. 

What if he was my person and that was it?

As stupid as it must sound to you, I wouldn’t take it back. I hope that I am strong enough to stay, Reveria. I hope that you and I can be as close as we used to be. I hope that I do not run. But if I do, know that above everything. I love you. 

Eilithe

Kur’elnth An’Diel,

I bet you thought I’d be angry– that I’d shred your letter and I would rip up all your clothes, throw the vanity off the balcony. Maybe even march an army to face Ammon and drag you back here to your home. 

I want to be angry at you. I want to spit your name the way I always do– act like you forced me into loving you for some sick and manipulative reason. But I can’t because you tried at every turn to stop this.

One day, when we’re both dead– I imagine yours is the soul I will gravitate to. As warped, twisted, and rotten as you were– there is a piece of you that I know I will feel entangled with me beyond Bwonsamdi’s gate. 

I will not not rush there. Though while I write this I can think of little more than ending this pain, I know that our children need me. That Reveria and Velerodra need me. That Dead Sun needs me. You reminded me of that the last time, Kurel. 

For all the shit. The pain and rage. I want you to know, in true me-fashion, you were wrong. You promised me misery and nothing else, but that’s not what I got at all. No, I got two more beautiful children. I got confidence and strength. I got so many laughs and stories. 

You know I fell in love with you because of your stories, right?

And so this is ours. When our children ask of you– I will not tell them you are the bastard son of Vishak An’Diel, True King of the Black Mirage. I will not tell them you were a coward who left us. I will not tell them about the fights or the leaving. 

I will tell them that we had fun. I will tell them that you were stubborn, and that you were grouchy. But that you smirked when I said something funny. And sometimes you even laughed– deep from your belly.

I will tell them that we loved each other as hard and for as long as we could. I will tell them you are a good man. 

Until the gate,

Ei’lithene An’Diel

The letters found a home in a box buried in the back of their closest, sealed up, never to be seen. An inhale brought a final breath of his scent that lingered on his clothes throughout the space and Eilithe stood in it for only a moment longer before she pulled on a coat and headed out the door. 

@kurel-andiel​ @revthepunchbear​ @velerodra-valesinger​ [this was painful to write, but Kurel is one of my best friends oocly and I mean this from the bottom of my heart, @deadsunharbor​ would not exist without her support over these last four years. Thank you for all the stories.]

[kurel-andiel]

[Told myself I wouldn't cry. But I lied.]

[kurel-andiel]

Family Collateral Damage

“What will you tell her?” 

Kurel’s chewing slowed when the soft and gentle voice of young Eronal disrupted the dull stale air below the ship’s deck. The mess hall was empty. The pot of stew Saeris had prepared that morning for the day, was already cold. The evening crew was busy above while the day shift had already retired to their hammocks. Though he was Captain he had evaded and avoided holding communion with them all. For he was aware of some untold truth or yet to be given order that would inevitably lead to more of their deaths than anything. 

He said nothing in response to her, but lifted his spoon up out of the bowl to his mouth while she took a slow sit on the bench across from him.

In most situations, even those dire, Eronal was a chipper and optimistic elf, but in this moment she was sullen, wounded and reclusive. Kurel’s unpredictable and unannounced abandonment of what he had accepted was his ‘home’ had come without letter, warning, or outreach. As any number of times before he was just gone in what was often selfishly excused as off doing Kurel things. Only this time it wasn’t exactly that excusable. 

This wasn’t some restless need to escape an idealistic life of contentment with a wife, children, business, coin and infamy. Eronal turning up in Deadsun was a greater catastrophe than Kurel could have ever predicted. His original refusal to help her start a revolution had likely been given in a spur of the moment in an effort to redirect any concept that Deadsun should launch a full assault brigade against his desert birthplace, when Eilithe had unexpectedly walked up into the conversation. A more thoughtful consideration of Eronal’s predicament had been given time later that same evening. Privately, to no one but himself.

He had instructed Eronal to leave Deadsun that next morning on whatever ship was sailing out before dawn and then had carefully followed through to make sure that it was his ship, The Queen’s Gambit, that was the first to leave. 

“I know it likely doesn’t mean anythin’ to you, but.  I am sorry. To come to your new home with all the mess.” Eronal so barely managed to squeak out, attempting but failing to draw her eyes up from off the grain of the wood table he sat eating at and look at him. 

“Severin has knowledge.” With intermittent pauses to slowly swallow and not taste his food Kurel outlined his reasons as he continued to eat, unlikely for her and more so to justify for himself what he was forfeiting and why. “Of my family. Of Deadsun. Of my routine.  I’ ain’t the scorpid, it’s the scorpid’s venom tha’ kills. If he intends to use Ammon, somehow agains’ me. If I’m there, on Tanaris, takes everyone else ou’ of his line of sigh’ to get to me.

“Ammon has established old rule. Vishak’s old ancien’ rule. Rule my sister did away with when she assumed Mother Mirage. Sooner or later he’s boun’ to deem me a threa’. No matter how far away I am an’ he’d likely take ou’ anythin’ in his way. So again. If I’m on tha’ san’, takes away everyone else from his sight.” He placed his empty bowl in the center of the swinging table and stood, looking at her pointedly. “While your father an’ I were hazardous allies, Dawnseekers an’ An’Diels do no’ belong together. Bu’ this is the las’ time I give up -everythin’- for this wasteland. When this is done, Eronal, an’ by some great divine power of shadow or light I survive this, you don’t ever come fin’ me. Ever. The whole sect can be plague stricken an’ on fire. You” He pointed at her. “Stay the fuck away from me. I am no’ The Omen you want to believe was created for the people.” He shoved as much guilt and blame onto her as he could. For no other reason beyond needing to lessen himself of it or be crushed by it. 

Kurel retired to his quarters. By daylight they would arrive at the southeastern edge of Uldum and from there it would be a long trip on foot across the sands to reach the desert sect of The Black Mirage tucked into the jagged mountains of Tanaris.

As he brought out his enchanted quill and parchment, he set the pendant from his pocket out on the surface of his desk beside it all and stared down at it. A hundred times he must have restarted that letter. Every new paragraph felt like a knife through his chest and before he stepped off that ship the next day, that old decrepit mean vulture was cast off on a mission to Deadsun to deliver. 

Eilithe,

The greatest and the worst secrets of my life have only ever been shared with three people in this world. Severin, Mavas and you. Lately, my list of regrets and mistakes expands by the creeping of every hour that moves beyond me. Of them all, only one do I have control over in some capacity to lighten.

When I told you about The Gate, about Archerous, and about what happened during those months. I did not tell you everything. 

When Archerous demanded for its location and I refused, penance had to be paid for another hundred years. He did not choose to take Tailon, I gave Tailon to him and my sister was returned, dead.

In Severin’s devastation at the loss of his brother and his feeling that I had betrayed him, he left. For longer than I can remember, he and those of his lineage preceding him have served and sworn themselves to my family and its successors. There is more than expectation and tradition that holds him to this, so when he left me he returned to Tanaris. To serve Ammon. 

By now I suspect you better realize that I did not simply vanish without cause or meaning and reading this far, you are outraged. That I would say nothing. That I would take no one. 

“You can take the man out of the desert, but you can not take the desert out of the man.” A truth spoken by both my brother and lovers alike. Reveria understood that afternoon out on the pier while Eronal pleaded her case to me. Ammon’s tyranny was and never will be Deadsun’s problem. It is my problem and only mine. No argument or devotion will ever change that. 

There is no good I do this world and there is no good I perhaps ever intend to do. Xavier may be the only thing of any -good- having come from me and you may have been the only thing good to have ever happened to me.

But I warned you. All those years ago. With me, there would only ever be misery and suffering. And that in the end, I would only ever disappoint you. No one survives me and writing to you, I am uncertain if I can survive myself.  You could be right, that the problem and this record of repeated misfortune is me and not the threads that puppet us. If that is true, I am too old to be changed. 

I love you. I will until this body finally gives out or something takes it out. And perhaps there is some solace that I can feel the piece of you that you bound to me and know you are alive. I do not know if or even when I might return. In the event of never, raise our children with ferocity and fire. 

Whatever happens. Whatever you feel.  Do not come for me. Do not wait for me.

Stay Alive.

    Kur’elnth An’Diel

@eilitheduskbringer​

[ I’ve spent more than 12 years playing Warcraft. 6 or more of those writing and growing Kurel on Wyrmrest Accord. I’ve shelved him twice for some extended periods due to boredom of game content . Restarted any half a dozen times. Life eventually takes precedence, activities outside the game and medical conditions consuming what is already a limited sum of time.  I don’t know if I’ll resub to the game, if I do when or even for how long. Kurel’s story is always continuing quietly at the back of my thoughts and maybe someday I’ll find that small window of availability to put it all into readable scripture.  Until then, have fun. Be creative. And I’m really fucking bad about keeping up with stories and people in general outside of the game, so just DM me on Discord and make sure I haven’t tripped over the edge of this flat Earth and fallen into obscurity. ]

[loveexpelrevolt]

#married

[ferilclawmane]

@eilitheduskbringer

[pettyelves]

@kurel-andiel

[kurel-andiel]

*May be considering new FC for an aging Kurel-Dad*