MATRIARCH.

THE   ETERNAL   SUN   GUIDES   US .

[lightsblade]

hello !    my  name  is  aimee ,   i’m  25+ ,   and  this  is  a  private  &  selective  roleplay  blog  for  lady  liadrin  of  blizzard’s  world  of  warcraft .

██   ▪ ◞  *   ☼        MOBILE - FRIENDLY  DOC  (  COMING  SOON ) ██   ▪ ◞  *   ☼        QUICK  INFO  ( PLEASE READ ! ) ██   ▪ ◞  *   ☼        INTEREST  TRACKER

* NOTE :   if  you've  made  a  starter  for  me  or  answered  a  meme  from  me  and  i  don't  like  the  post  within  24  hours ,   it  means  tumblr  is  ass  and  i  didn't  see  it   /   it's   not   in  my  tag  or  activity .   please  feel  free  to  drop  a  link  in  my  ims  so  i  can  be  sure  to  check  it  out !    

[lightsblade]

shadowsblades​:

          If exhibition of power and faith both impress —— and they do, evidence of capability a magnitude greater than she had suspected —— Valeera strives to cultivate expression connoting only mild esteem. Clear blue eyes follow the lightshow, ankle and wrist rolling in more thorough appraisal of the endeavor which deems it meticulous, her eyebrows twitching to retain the arrogant countenance with which she had demurred. But her mouth is not so carved from stone, lips pulling at their corners in suppressed awe, admiration in Liadrin and satisfaction that she had deigned to play a salve on the string of the wound to her pride it may otherwise have deepened —— the only wound she now possesses. “Impressive,” she concedes with a dip of her head, “I guess I’ll have to offer my knife lessons to someone else.”

“     mm,     no              i  don’t  think  i’ll  have  that,     ”          the  priestess  demurs,     smug  as  ever  now  that  she’s  gleaned  the  recognition  she  so  rightly  deserves  from  the  stubborn  dragonhawk  rider.     her  previous  protests  simply  a  ruse  to  tease  and  string  the  other  elf  along,     she  finds  herself  quite  bothered  by  the  idea  of  valeera  offering  the  lessons  with  such  potential  for  close     (     .  .  .     and  intimate  ?     )     company  with  her  to  another.     does  she  intend  to  expose  her  humiliating  little  pang  of  jealousy  at  the  thought  ?     hah  !     hardly.     instead,     she  hides  it  behind  another  playful  jab,          “     besides,     i  don’t  know  of  anyone  else  who  would  put  up  with  you  like  i  do.     so                when  do  we  begin  ?     ” 

[lightsblade]

shadowsblades​:

“I haven’t been given reason to think otherwise.” It’s artifice with purpose only to goad further, the indignity that flashes across Liadrin’s visage to tempting to neglect. She’s confident that the priestess could channel the Light much more efficiently than she does —— she’ll allow that it may be willful confidence,  but Valeera has seen her tend to others with more speed, especially when she waits in line for attention, yielding her place over and other to others so that she may land on the right stool ( or is that apperception willful also? ). The denouncement is a risky one too, it’s fulfillment threatening to hurry her from that stool, but the dragonhawk rider has ever been one to laugh in the face of risk.

hand  hovering  palm-down  over  the  middle  of  valeera’s  shin,     the  comforting  warmth  that  always  accompanies   the  light’s  presence   spreads  throughout  liadrin’s  entire  body  and  a  soft  golden  glow  begins  to  emanate  from  her  hand  like  a  shower  of  glimmering  particles.     in  the  blink  of  an  eye,     the  warrior’s  wounds  are  traced  by  the  twinkling  heat  and  mended  shut,     each  scrape  erased  from  her  flesh  as  though  they’d  never  existed  to  begin  with.     without  moving  her  hand  to  the  arm  she’d  previously  tended  to,     two  criss-crossing  streams  of  tiny  coruscating  orbs  wrap  around  it  to  heal  any  small  cuts  that  she  might  have  missed.     blue  eyes  lift  to  lock  with  those  of  her  smug  little  challenger  and  the  priestess  simply  hasn’t  the  willpower  to  stop  herself  from  smirking.          “     you  were  saying?     ”

[lightsblade]

shadowsblades​:

          Even absent the derogation it could hold, the tease scratches at her pride like nettle, the thorn of it hooking into her flesh and pricking open a wound that stings in spite of its diminutive size. Valeera comes to the priestess scabbed and bruised, yes, but it’s only because she courageously ( recklessly ) dares what other riders do not! And to ensnare some of Liadrin’s attention. “I’m preserved, aren’t I?” she replies, yielding of her arm permitting her lean back in exaggeration of the haughtiness infused into her tone, back arched as if to accentuate that preservation —— and perhaps more. Point of her toes flexes her calf for the healer, tensing honed muscle for her appreciation, too, even as she stings back, “If you’re as slow in battle as you are healing, a well-placed blade might just save your life.”

the  arch  of  the  other  elf’s  back,    the  completely  conspicuous     ——     borderline  shameless,     she  dares  to  say!     ——     accentuation  of  her  chest  does  not  go  unnoticed  by  the  priestess,     but  in  the  name  of  what  professionalism  remains  between  the  two  of  them       (     most  has  dissolved  over  the  course  of  these  countless  visits     )       she  averts  her  gaze  back  to  the  beautifully  sculpted  leg  flexed  out  before  her  instead.          oh,     stop  it,          she  chides,     trying  her  damnedest  to  focus  on  the  superficial  wounds  instead  of  the  impressively  honed  muscle  so  tauntingly  on  display.          don’t  be  so  juvenile!     you’ve  seen  women  like  this  many  times  before,     this  is  no  different!          brought  back  to  the  task  at  hand  only  by  valeera’s  quite  ungrateful  stab,     she  graciously  accepts  the  challenge.          “     oh?     is  that  what  you  think?     ”

[lightsblade]

shadowsblades​:

          Under the light touch of Liadrin’s fingers against the delicate skin inside of her wrist, her pulse thrums. If her heart soars on the back of her dragonhawk, while diving and wheeling and twisting through the air above Quel’Thalas’ forests, if it thunders in her ears with the ring and clash of her blades against another’s, it’s excitability now can be attributed to something else entirely, something at once softer and more fearsome. “There’s always a good reason to learn to defend yourself,” Valeera reasons, conviction in that belief eclipsed by the desire to be the one to teach her, to test like she would the deadly edge of her daggers the depth of the fondness she thinks she detects in the priestess, “The trolls test our borders daily.”

this  time,     both  of  the  priestess’s  eyebrows  lift  at  such  an  audacious  statement  coming  from  the  only  one  of  quel’thalas’s  elite  guard  that  she  treats  regularly.     AND  OFF  THE  BATTLEFIELD,     AT  THAT!          “     says  the  one  with  no  self-preservation  instinct  to  speak  of,     ”          she  chastises,     though  it  lacks  any  kind  of  sincerity.     ever  diligent,     liadrin  gently  rotates  valeera’s  arm  in  both  directions  to  ensure  each  little  cut  and  scrape  has  been  taken  care  of  and,     satisfied  that  they  have  been,     she  turns  her  attention  to  the  blonde  elf’s  bare  shin.          “     you  have  obviously  never  seen  me  in  battle,     ”          she  continues,     deftly  peeling  away  the  protective  wrapping  that  obstructs  her  view  of  the  damage  done,          “     what  use  are  blades  when  i  have  the  light  on  my  side?     ”

[lightsblade]

shadowsblades​:

          “If it’s a new hobby you’re interested in…” Gaze finally falls from the face of the priestess to the injury that had excused her to her tending. The pain wreathing the wound has ebbed, replaced by a revivifying warmth almost as agreeable as its source, but the savage rent in her skin visible beneath the water-thinned blood appears not quite sealed. For someone with such an affinity for the Light, Liadrin is making slow progress —— not that Valeera’s complaining. “I could make some suggestions. Have you ever tried throwing knives?”

            “     what  use  would  i  have  for  throwing  knives?     ”        she  asks,     incredulous  yet  steeped  with  a  playfulness  seen  also  in  the  uptick  of  one  long,     auburn  brow.     her  fingers  gently  cease  valeera’s  wrist,     holding  her  arm  still,     and  ignoring  the  subtle  shiver  up  her  spine  that  comes  with  such  an  intimate  touch     ------     notably  absent  in  the  presence  of  any  other  patient,     reserved  only  for  this  mess  of  a  warrior  before  her.     still,     though  internally  chastising  herself  for  the  way  her  skin  feels  like  it’s  buzzing,     liadrin  continues:        “     perhaps  you  should  take  up  a  less  hazardous  hobby.     have  you  considered  baking?     ”

[arrowsmusings]

        ——– but in a twist of fate ,

                                                        i fell in love with you .

[lightsblade]

shadowsblades​:

STARTER CALL ↳ @lightsblade      ‹ accepting ›

          It’s been some time since she’s strode the pavement of a city as majestic as Dalaran, that majesty visible not only through the sight shared among the species native and foreign to Azeroth, but also through that shared more exclusively by its returned children. The opulent spires and glittering domes of the mage city, bisected by orderly, carmine streets, become luminous founts of arcane power with a blink, proof ( as if any is required ) of the magic saturating the rock floating over the Broken Shore. The pleasure den of the Black Temple, contrived to cater to the decadent taste of Kael’Thas’ sin’dorei, cannot compare, the greenery of the capital, scant though it may be, perhaps the among the most striking of the differences to the asperous terrain far below, and far behind in Outland.

          It is not only the sights that enrapture, however, but the humanity enmeshed within them. The manifold races, accents, and languages, the tidy dresses, the mirth. All reveal fragments of existence consigned to the past, to before, to a reality without the Burning Legion, to life with motive other than the avoidance of annihilation —— even now, with Sargeras’ army here. Abrupt yearning nigh eclipses thought of her purpose here, of the Illidari’s mission, but falls short, galvanizing instead, until——

          Her mind stutters with her steps, throat constricting even before a cohesive thought is formed. It can’t —— the armor, the thickness of her limbs… But the face, the hair, her voice, somehow elevated above those of the others she converses with…

          Liadrin. It is Liadrin, standing as if she belongs in the streets of Dalaran, her features wrought in determination harder than Valeera recalls on her, which extinguishes the demon hunter’s own instantaneously. 

          Her lifemate stands as if she belongs in the streets of Dalaran, and shock prohibits Valeera do anything but gawk, slack-jawed and ears drooping, eyebrows drawn above her blindfold in hopeful consternation, guilt and shame and apprehension blooming in her chest and longing antithetically rooting her boots to the ground.

          never  has  she  imagined  she’d  find  herself  in  dalaran,     much  less  conversing  with  paladins  of  the  alliance  who,     until  this  point,     have  looked  down  their  noses  at  her  and  her  people  as  though  they  are  somehow  less  worthy  of  their  relationship  with  the  light.     she  can  tell  some  of  them  still  feel  as  much,     the  icy  chill  of  their  judgmental  gazes  laid  upon  her  as  though  their  disdain  alone  can  drive  her  away.     were  the  circumstances  different,     she  would  simply  laugh  in  their  faces  as  she  has  in  the  past,     but  with  azeroth  endangered  by  the  forces  of  the  burning  legion  once  again,     she  chooses  to  rise  above  it  and  simply  ignores  them.     she  opens  her  mouth  to  offer  her  expertise  to  the  conversation  at  hand,     a  challenge  of  where  they  should  convene  and  accept  new  members  into  their  combined  ranks  for  the  war  ahead,     but  a  peculiar  sight  caught  in  the  corner  of  one  golden  eye  cuts  her  off.     she  turns  her  head  to  find  one  of  the  . . .     illidari    starring  at  her,     slack - jawed  and  dumbstruck.     at  first,     she’s  confused ;     but  there’s  something       (     . . .     )       SOMETHING  FAMILIAR  ABOUT  HER  THAT                    

          liadrin’s  eyes  narrow,     not  in  anger  or  irritation,     but  rather  . . .     is  that?     could  it  . . .     could  it  be?     surely  not,     not  after  all  these  years.     but  . . .     the  sin’dorei  among  them  were  once  the  followers  of  their  traitorous  prince  into  the  outland.     it  is  possible.     there’s  a  tightness  in  her  chest,     an  iron  fist  seizing  her  heart  in  its  grasp  as  the  conflict  between  desperate  hope  and  the  fear  of  wishful  thinking  bring  rise  to  a  suffocating  lump  in  her  throat.        “     excuse  me,     ”        she  manages,     so  used  to  masking  her  own  inner  turmoil  from  others  that  hiding  the  fact  that     her  blood  washes  through  her  in  waves  of  boiling  hot  and  freezing  cold     comes  as  second  nature.     she  gives  no  one  a  chance  to  protest  her  departure  as  she  turns  away  from  the  congregation  of  paladins  to  approach  the  demon  hunter  instead.

          her  armor  feels  heavier  with  every  step,     with  every  feature  her  eyes  find  on  the  illidari  that  matches  what  she  remembers  of  her  lifemate ;     her  boots  like  lead  and  her  pauldrons  likening  themselves  to  an  entire  world  placed  upon  her  shoulders.     it  feels  like  the  first  time  she  ever  suited  herself  up  in  leather  and  plate,     back  when  the  heaviest  thing  she’d  ever  carried  was  a  truesilver  mace  made  for  someone  much  bigger  than  she.     when  she  finally  reaches  her,     liadrin  feels  as  though  she’s  walked  across  the  whole  of  the  eastern  kingdoms  and  all  she  can  muster  with  a  gasping  breath,     hoping  against  hope,     is :        “     VALEERA?     ”

[lightsblade]

shadowsblades​:

          Herb butter lynx steak. It sounds good —— Liadrin’s self-assured Thalassian leaves little room to doubt its quality, and the label is somehow different from those that humans attach to their food, lynx steak too not something Valeera has alighted upon even in the high elven quarter of Stormwind, though she does recall it from her childhood…… she thinks, the memory so nebulous and vague to bleed the certainty from the thought even as it occurs to her ( perhaps she only wants to remember, to seize upon every cultural artifact she can to prove her belonging in Quel’Thalas, among the sin’dorei ). The interior of the tavern, though, the arcane lanterns floating inexplicably over each elegant table, the enchanted brooms and mageweave cloths cleaning unguided by a single hand, the magic trilling at the end of her nerves, are so familiar as to deflate the deep, eager inhale attempting to imbibe the aroma of cooking food, more potent at the source than it had been outside.

          The tavern caters to only a few sin’dorei other than themselves, those couples already seated and drinking from fine crystal goblets, bestowing on the new arrivals cursory, golden glances that immediately constrain the conspicuous ravenousness with which Valeera devours the sights. Her head stills, posture stiffening and green eyes locking forward, the décor venerated only in her periphery. She lets her escort order while she stands behind, squared shoulders and straight back throwing a veil of confidence over her apprehension. Discreetly does her gaze rake the dignified inscription of the menu, her brow inappreciably furrowed and tongue shrewdly and silently probing the name of a few less-familiar offerings in the event she’s asked to choose a drink, too. She isn’t, assumptions that would ordinarily bristle readily embraced as Liadrin leads her back into the courtyard, to the relative privacy second of the gazebos.

          Ignorant of decorum, her daggers, still stained with the remains of the undead, are laid on the table, Valeera shimmying between the cushioned chair and table to sit opposite the paladin, face-to-face like they have hardly been in either of their expeditions together. In all her plate, the Blood Knight matriarch cuts an formidable figure, her straight nose and strong jaw hinting at the authority she commands, but softened by the amiability of her expression —— not quite relaxed, but not vigilant against a potential threat, either, not mistrustful or impatient as the rogue might have been if she were to be compelled into an impromptu tour. The hesitancy that had gripped her inside shed, Valeera reaches to pour the deep red wine brought with them, herself first, then Liadrin, generous portions that nearly fill each glass, and which she downs half of before she speaks, driven to fill the stretching silence, “It smells better than Stormwind. I hope it tastes as good. Do you come here often?”

          an  inward  grimace  tightens  the  muscles  of  her  jaw,     aureate  eyes  flitting  from  the  gore - caked  daggers  sitting  on  the  otherwise  pristine  marble  table  top  to  the  woman  clad  in  red  before  her.     the  only  thing  that  saves  her  from  a  quick,     incredulous  reprimand  is  the  fact  that  she  truthfully  cannot  be  blamed  for  her  manners                    or,     rather,     lack  thereof.     after  all,     gods  know  the  humans  hardly  have  any  to  speak  of  and  she  can’t  imagine  what  kind  of  degeneracy  is  taught  within  the  walls  of  stormwind.     still,     she  does  gracefully  accept  the  goblet  of  wine  from  the  younger  elf  and  while  she’s  hardly  as  eager  to  down  her  drink,     she  does  take  quite  the  generous  sip.

          “     fairly  often,     yes,     ”       she  admits,     setting  her  glass  on  the  table  and  beginning  to  unfasten  her  metal  gauntlets.     as  she  sets  them  on  the  bench  beside  her,     she  nods  to  valeera’s  daggers  still  discourteously  resting  where  they  shouldn’t.     however,     rather  than  make  a  scene  of  it,     she  simply  makes  the  comment  offhandedly  as  she  peels  off  her  leather  gloves,       “     you  should  set  those  to  your  side,     it’s  considered  rude  to  put  your  weapons  where  you  dine.     ”

          with  gloves  now  discarded  with  her  gauntlets,     liadrin  smiles  more  easily.       “     there,     ”       she  says,     flexing  her  fingers  in  the  cool  night  air  and  relishing  in  the  fact  that  they  can  finally  breathe.     leather  is  warm  and  offers  good  protection  under  the  armor,     but  it  can  be  quite  stifling.       “     i  always  drop  by  when  i’m  in  the  area  and  on  special  occasions.     we  have  plenty  of  wonderful  places  to  eat  in  silvermoon,     of  course,     but  this  tavern  has  become  a  favorite  of  mine  over  the  years.     ”

          the  paladin  takes  another  long  sip  of  her  wine  and  as  she  lowers  the  glass  again,     she  asks,       “     have  you  been  in  stormwind  since  you  left  quel’thalas?     ”

[lightsblade]

shadowsblades​:

          So quickly does Liadrin assume her convinced —— barely has Valeera stolen one last swallow of cider and stashed her mug on the single rickety table beside the bed before the paladin’s body is pressing in, wordlessly imploring her to scoot across and down the mattress to make room. If she hadn’t really needed convincing ( proved by the exultant grin shared in their kiss as she shifts ), and if the avidity with which her lover crowds her and grinds down against her hips echoes her own ( fanned into a faint thrum between her legs ), she nevertheless has some objections —— the presumption of the position chief among them, but Liadrin’s state of dress a close second on the list, an obstacle against which she would rather not have contended to feel the familiar, luxurious heat of her skin against hers.

          Those objections are broadcast in a blunt, petulantly grumble into the other woman’s mouth even as Valeera parts her lips in acquiesce to the tongue smoothing across them, expressed as well in the fingers bunching in the back of her shirt to tug it from her pants. She manages to maneuver the tightness of the wool up to Liadrin’s underarms without breaking their lip lock, nudges it further until the paladin takes the hint to remove it the rest of the way herself —— and allow the blonde to begin on the second half of that grievance. Her trews are shoved down with her hands first, just surmounting the arresting curve of her lover’s rear ( playfully acknowledged by nails skimmed up the bared flesh ) before the stretch becomes too arduous and, not to be stopped, her legs must replace them, calves, heels, and feet working the material determinedly, if awkwardly, down Liadrin’s body until they’re finally free, uncaringly lost within the bedding.

          “Much better,” Valeera finally gasps, bruised lips curving into a triumphant, breathless smile up at the rough ceiling as she turns her head aside, directing the paladin’s mouth to sensitive skin of her neck while she worships the rest of her. Beneath the blankets, slender legs wrap fully around her waist, thighs sliding appreciatively, hungrily over her naked hips and against the smoothness of her sides while arms clasp Liadrin to her, hands repeatedly mapping the exquisite muscles from her lower back to her shoulders to her biceps, squeezing and kneading with her fingertips.

                    pearl - white  fangs  nip  the  soft,   pale  flesh  of  her  lover’s  neck  between  the  gentle,   open - mouthed  caresses  of  well - practiced  lips.   

soft  hums  vibrate  in  her  throat,   appreciative  of  the  attention  lavished  upon  the  parts  of  her  usually  hidden  away  by  leather  and  plate,   instruments  of  war  and  little  else  in  most  recent  times.    the  kneading  and  squeezing  a  reminder  that  while  a  warrior  she  is,   above  all else  she  is  sin’dorei  just  as  those  she  fights  for  and  she  has  the  same  needs,   the  same  wants  and  desires                      to  be  loved,   to  be  touched,   to  be  treated  as  gently    (   as  much  as  one  could  call  it  that,   given  her  lover’s  tendencies  in  the  bed  chamber   )    as  valeera  does  so  now.

                    “    you  never  cease  to  amaze  me,    ”        the  paladin  breathes  into  the  slope  where  the  blonde’s  neck  meets  her  shoulder,   the  amusement  spread  across  her  lips  felt  as  much  as  it’s  heard.    had  she  simply  asked,   liadrin  would  have  indulged  her  without  question  and  stripped  herself  of  her  under  armor  garments.     nevertheless,   the  absurdity  with  which  valeera  got  the  task  done  herself  was  quite  entertaining.    tongue,   lips  and  teeth  still  kissing  and  licking  and  biting  at  her  throat,   the  matriarch’s  calloused  fingers  trail  their  way  down  her  lover’s  side,   skimming  over  her  hip  and  nails  dragging  lightly  across  the  flesh  of  her  rear  as  they  make  their  way  down  to  the  back  of  her  thigh.    liadrin  grips  it  firmly  as  her  hips  thrust  against  the  younger  elf’s,   forceful  and  wanting,   over  and  over,   lingering  with  each  inward  push  to  relish  in  the  friction  of  their  bodies  grinding  together.

[lightsblade]

shadowsblades​:

          Valeera’s smirk only grows, infused with a smugness unfounded in Liadrin’s words but surmised ( perhaps ambitiously ) from her expression, from the fixation of her eyes upon her latest injury in a deceptively accidental catalogue of them, to the slight, amused purse of her burgundy lips. Hair loose about her collarbone is flipped over the warrior’s shoulder, “I think you’d miss me. What else do you have to do around here?”

                   despite  herself  and  her  otherwise  nonchalant  façade,   the  sheer  audacity  of  the  other  elf  has  her  smile  widening.    were  it  anyone  else,   liadrin  would  have  thrown  them  right  out  on  their  arrogant  ass   ---   but  with  valeera,   it’s  always  been  somehow   .  .  .   endearing.    still,   she  carries  on.        “     read,   perhaps.    or  learn  a  new  hobby.    there’s  plenty  i  could  do.    ”

[lightsblade]

shadowsblades​:

          Smirk supplants the grimace on her face with the priestess’ tease, eyes straying from the bloody graze down the bone of her forearm to lovely —— and increasingly familiar —— face of the woman healing it, “I’ve made it this far on my own, haven’t I? I think I’ll be all right. Physically, at least. I’m more concerned about what you’d do without me.”

                    the  truth  is  that  she  could  heal  her  a  lot  faster.    warm  light  emanates  from  her  palm  as  she  slowly  drags  it  along  her  wound,   taking  her  time  as  to  keep  the  dragonhawk  rider  in  her  presence  just  a  little  longer.    she  won’t  admit  to  that,   of  course,   and  should  suspicion  arise  there’s  already  a  little  white  lie  waiting  on  the  bed  of  her  tongue.     “     i  would  have  far  less  to  worry  about,   that’s  for  sure.    ”

[lightsblade]

                    “    you  really  ought  to  be  more  careful.    one  of  these  days,   i  won’t  be  here  to  help  you  and  what  will  you  do  then?    ”

██   ▪ ◞  *   ☼          @shadowsblades​ !   //    just  bc  i  love  her

[knightsvowsarchive-deactivated2]

BARE YOUR BLADE AND RAISE IT HIGH - 𝕜𝕟𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕤𝕧𝕠𝕨𝕤 - a multi-fandom multi-muse featuring characters from BIOWARE’S DRAGON AGE.written by dj

[biovaliant]

[  !  ]     YOU  MIGHT  WANNA  STICK  YOUR  EGO  UP  YOUR  ASS !        *                          independent    &    private   claire  redfield   of   𝙲𝙰𝙿𝙲𝙾𝙼'𝚂   𝙱𝙸𝙾𝙷𝙰𝚉𝙰𝚁𝙳    /    𝚁𝙴𝚂𝙸𝙳𝙴𝙽𝚃   𝙴𝚅𝙸𝙻   𝚂𝙴𝚁𝙸𝙴𝚂 .     [ 　 written  by  aimee .  　 ]      █████████ ██ ███ ████████      personals  do  not  interact !    ©

[lightsblade]

hi  i’m  not  dead  i’ve  just  been  focusing  on  @biovaliant  for  a  bit ,    doing  school  stuff  and  learning  blender .  😩

[lightsblade]

            exhaustion  and  stress  weight  heavily  upon  the  paladin’s  stiff ,    broad  shoulders .     this  supply  caravan  should  have  departed  hours  ago  and  yet  here  it  sits ,    unmanned  and  not  even  a  quarter  filled  with  the  medical ,    food  and  weapon  supply  she  had  promised  the  auchenai  at  shattrath  city .     had  it  been  the  incompetence  of  her  own  camp    (   and  it  never  is ,    for  she  doesn’t  suffer  the  kind  of  fools  who  allow  this  to  happen   ) ,    she  could  have  loaded  it  herself  and  sent  it  off  with  a  small  patrol  of  her  knights .     but  no ,    this  grievous  error  comes  from  the  unorganized  lot  at  vol’jin’s  pride  and  as  such ,    the  gods - damned  supplies  haven’t  even  arrived  at  her  camp !     the  thin  line  between  vexation  and  boiling  anger  dissolved  long  ago ,    the  evidence  found  in  the  tense  backward  jut  of  her  ears  as  she  wears  a  dip  into  the  path  with  her  pacing .     she  has  to  direct  the  anxious  energy  somewhere ,    else  she  unfairly  aims  it  at  one  of  her  own  that  deserves  no  part  in  the  blame .

            more  time  passes  and  with  no  sign ,    no  word  at  all  from  the  other  camp ,    she  has  no  choice  but  to  take  this  into  her  own  hands .     light  help  every  soul  at  vol’jin’s  pride ,    for  her  wrath  will  not  be  forgiving .     she  snarls  as  she  rips  an  arcane - lit  lantern  from  a  post  and  makes  her  way  down  the  small  path  to  the  stables  where  redemption ,    ol’  reliable  red ,    awaits  her  and  on  her  way ,    she  snatches  the  nearest  champion  by  the  back  plate  of  their  armor  as  she  passes  by  and  drags  them  with  her .

            ❝     you ,    grab  your  steed .     you’re  coming  with  me  to  vol’jin’s  pride .     ❞

██   ▪ ◞  *   ☼          @sunrunnerrs​ :   for  nera !   //    s . c .