Nahilvi, the Silver Banshee Might Have NSFW

[nahisummerhold]

Character Profile: Nahilvi, the Silver Banshee

(Art by @kissfortheelves)

~~Basics~~

Name: Nahilvi Summerhold (surname never used)

Pronunciation: Nah-ill-vee

Nickname: Nahi (nah-ee)

Stage Name: The Silver Banshee

Race: Sin’dorei 

Gender: Female

Birthdate: September 25

Marital Status: Single

~~Physical Appearance~~

Hair: Long, curls, ombré - palest of lilac to a purple so deep it is almost black.

Eye Color: Glowing purple

Height: 5’9”

Build: Willowy (Chrissy Teigan body claim) 

Distinguishing Marks: Six small criss-cross scars between her shoulder blades, right ear scar through upper cartilage

Tattoos: Silver music G clef on her sternum

Piercings: Right ear only, nose, belly button

Face Claim: Chandler Kinney

~~Personal Information~~

Profession: Performer, combat medic/nurse in training

Hobbies: Dancing, running, gardening

Residence: Silvermoon City

Birthplace: Quel’thalas

Fears: Sharks, mice, dementia, becoming a burden, forcing a person away from her by relying on them too much.

Minor Noble: House Summerhold was granted to her grandfather for his service in battle. She holds the lands now, but doesn't use her title or familial name openly.

~~Relationships~~

Spouse: None

Mother: Acenadalia Aerostar (was Summerhold) aka The Diva (Deceased)

Father: Lord Mianos Summerhold (possibly, probably deceased)

Step-Father:  Irenthalas Aerostar

Siblings: None

Other Family: Unknown

~~Sex and Romance~~

Sexual Orientation: Bisexual, leaning towards men

Preferred Sexual Role: Switch, leaning towards sub

Libido: Medium

Turn ons: Independence, confidence, great music, adventurous spirit, dancing, surety of spirit, mutual respect, willingness to show they desire her, care for family.

Turn offs: Braggadocio, overly jealous, loud chewing, bad listeners, laziness, standoffishness, clinging.

Love Language: Touch

Relationship Tendencies: Flirting is part of her job, but with someone she is truly interested in, she does so in less showy ways. Sexy whispers in public, meeting a lover’s eyes in a crowd or when she is singing, small touches in hopes that they know she sees them differently. In private, she enjoys physical connection, cuddling, massage, brushing or braiding a lover’s hair, laying with her legs across someone’s lap, or theirs across hers.

~~Traits~~

(Bold your character’s answer)

Extroverted / In-between / Introverted

Disorganized / In-between / Organized

Close Minded / In-between / Open Minded

Calm / In-Between / Anxious

Disagreeable / In-between / Agreeable

Cautious / In-between / Reckless

Patient / In-between / Impatient

Outspoken / In-between / Reserved

Leader / In-between / Follower

Empathetic / In-between / Apathetic 

Optimistic / In-between / Pessimistic 

Hard Working / In-between / Lazy

Cultured / In-between / Uncultured

Loyal / In-between / Disloyal

Faithful / In-between / Unfaithful 

~~Additional Information~~

Alcohol: Socially

Drugs: Occasionally

Smoking: Never, she has to protect her voice

~~RP Hooks~~

Entertainer: Was a lounge singer in Dalaran, now performing different styles of music at other venues. Will do performances for private events, contact me to discuss details.

Mercenary: Is a mercenary under Commander Talonoa’s company specializing in working with the medical personnel.

Succulent Tart: Belongs to the performing group, the Succulent Tart. She is a greeter, bartender and performer, sometimes she might even be found at a kissing booth.

Tempest Keep: Her family went with their Prince to Tempest Keep as they were loyal followers of Kael’thalas until the keep’s fall.

Famous Mother: Her mother was an opera singer who was a favored performer in Kael’thalas’ court. Nahilvi would occasionally perform with her mother as more of a novelty over a true duet when she was young.

~~How to Contact~~

In Discord, you can contact me at Mirrielyanna, in game Nahilvi on Wyrmrest Accord. 

[nahisummerhold]

New Nahi art by

[siennablaze219]

DWC June 2026 - Day 2 - Vibrant

Elthen had spent his entire life bathed in color, light, and love.

His grandfather, Camithar Crimsonrune, had been a glazier by trade. He crafted windows that were sturdy, serviceable, and unremarkable, yet true artistry lived in the gifts he fashioned for his beloved wife, Lorince. Their modest home glittered with delicate glass treasures: tiny birds perched upon shelves, flowers that would never wilt, stars suspended from silver threads. Of all his creations, however, none brought him greater pride than the colorful blown-glass pens he made for her. With those pens she filled page after page with tales of love and romance, weaving dreams into ink while holding his craftsmanship in her hand.

Their daughter, Liridrae, was raised in that kaleidoscope of color and wonder, and she fell hopelessly in love with glass. She inherited her father's hands, but where Camithar created glass that was merely good, Liridrae forged glass that was near perfection. Technical excellence was not what made her heart soar, her true passion was stained glass, great radiant mosaics that transformed sunlight into living color. She was passionate about the brilliant way brilliant colors were cast across stone and wood, almost as passionate as she was about Pel’eron, the man who supplied the metallic compounds that lent her creations their brilliance. Together they transformed ordinary light into something breathtaking.

By the time Elthen inherited the family home, every surface seemed touched by colored glass. Sunlight never simply entered a room; it poured through in the rich sades or high windows, or bounced of the smaller pieces and danced on the walls. Every room marked by the legacy of those who had come before him.

Though he earned his livelihood supplying medical-grade glass vials, beakers, bottles, flasks, and every manner of vessel demanded in the medical trade, his soul sought expression elsewhere. His creativity poured into sculptures that showcased sweeping forms of glass that captured movement as beautiful as nature itself. His works found homes in gardens, where they stood among flowers and trees enchanting their beauty without overwhelming it.

It was through one such sculpture that he met the woman who would become his wife. She was a landscape designer searching for the perfect centerpiece for a client's garden. One sculpture became two. Two became three. As the project expanded, so too did their relationship. What emerged was more than a garden, it was a marriage of horticulture and glass. Her designs elevated his art. His sculptures transformed her landscapes.

Together, they made the world more beautiful. Then she left, taking Jovi'drae and Lirise, their daughters, with her, and in their absence the colors seemed to abandon him as well. No longer did he lie on the floor of the playroom beside his daughters, gazing upward as sunlight danced through the flock of suspended glass birds that wheeled across the ceiling, scattering rainbows over delighted faces.

It pained him to enter the office she had occupied and see the grand stained-glass window above her desk. The brilliant reds, golds and blues that had once filled the room with life now felt like a wound in his heart that couldn’t seem to heal.

Worst of all was the garden. Every path, every flower bed, every carefully chosen tree bore the imprint of her artistry. His sleek contemporary sculptures still stood among her plantings, perfectly balanced, each complementing the other exactly as they always had. The garden remained beautiful. It simply no longer brought him joy.

With the dissolution of his marriage, Elthen felt as though he had lost the inheritance of generations. The vibrant legacy of color, beauty, craftsmanship, and love that had defined his family for centuries slipped from his grasp. After that, he made only what was ordered. Perfectly matching glassware for clients. Day after day, year after year. No inspiration, no wonder, only repetition.

Then she walked into the hot shop, in an instant, he remembered what it felt like to be an artist again. The furnace's glow reflected in colored molten glass. The way color could transform something ordinary into something miraculous. Watching her work was witnessing the magic of creation.

The greatest gift was not what she re-awakened in hi, it was who she was,Lirise had come to learn from him. His youngest daughter stood before the furnace, determined to master the craft that had built their family name for generations.

And of all the countless things she could have chosen to create, all she wanted to make were vibrantly colored glass pens. Just like the ones her great-grandfather had made for his wife, the ones that had once carried stories of love into the world.

( @daily-writing-challenge )

[black-white-and-leather]

[tealribbons]

DWC - 01 June - Day II - Disturbance / Vibrant

He wondered how he'd gotten into it all. It had been conversation to begin with. That was all it was. A very simple conversation. The kind of conversation that surely could have happened every day. And now that conversation had gone from words exchanged to an excursion on the horizon.

On an early morning as the sun began to rise and Soryk started his day, he lifted a hand into his hair to shake it about. And to wake himself up a little more. He wouldn't have said he ever slept well. That seemed almost impossible. He didn't give it too much thought, but he was fairly certain he never exactly began a day feeling rested. Most of the time, he felt like he merely existed, and for a man like him, maybe that all he needed.

It was how he'd approached most of his life, after all. Relatively detached, going through the motions, living on the outside, maybe not living on the inside, assuming the man had ever lived to begin with. And he rarely thought about any of it. Sometimes he wondered when he stopped caring. If he ever had cared.

Sighing, he moved from his makeshift shelter out in the ever-infinite autumn woods, and down by the riverside. Despite the relative increase in foot traffic considering the nature of Quel'Thalas' recent activities, he was still able to find quiet, relatively remote places that he wouldn't be disturbed in. The present being one such, thankfully. Each step felt just as heavy as its predecessor and sweeping his mane of red back, he gave little care to the rest of the world around him.

There was nothing to remove because aside from the simple blankets he slept in, Soryk didn't often wear anything when he slept. Sometimes he did, if it was a place he felt he didn't know well, but in Quel'Thalas, there was nothing that was going to catch him by surprise. And any spiders wanting to share a sleeping space with him would likely find one of his daggers shoved in between some set of impressive eyes.

The water itself was cold, which he expected. Sun hadn't been out long enough for it to warm up and it wouldn't be until the late afternoon that it would feel even remotely passable. By that time, all of his things would be packed and it'd be like he was never there to begin with. Didn't stop him from grimacing before he decided to just get it all over with.

Dunking below the water's surface, he shot up shortly after, whipping his hair back as it slapped into him with a wet plap. As he saw to his skin, trying to scrub layers of dirt that he'd gathered over the recent days, he thought to the trip again.

He still wasn't really sure why Orilyne had asked him to begin with. He didn't even know why he'd agreed. Well, no. That wasn't true. He knew why. From appearance to how she carried herself, how she spoke with him, that sense of humour... She made him think of Ahtay. He didn't like that.

Ahtay was a very firm part of his past. She had, no doubt, moved on. As was her right. As she should have done. Especially after he had undoubtedly yanked her back and forth. He didn't know how much of his feelings involved missing her or being angry with himself for letting things go the way they had, even if he couldn't have controlled all of them. He'd thought it before, that even if he had asked her to marry him, leaving immediately afterwards for so long and nearly dying? That would have been worse, right?

He could have at least told her how he felt. Maybe. If he felt like he could ever put words to it.

How much of him digging into these thoughts had anything to do with Ahtay, though? Wasn't it just that Orilyne was a living, glaring reminder of everything he'd done? Or not done, as the case often seemed to be. Did he think that somehow being nice to her would make up for everything in the past? All of which had absolutely nothing to do with her.

Was it because he wasn't blind? Orilyne was a beautiful woman. A great conversationalist. Dangerous. He... found those traits favourable, even if he didn't really like admitting to it. And she gave him an overabundance of attention that was impossible for him to ignore. Her reasoning for doing so, he couldn't say. He definitely wasn't going to ask.

Couldn't address it. Couldn't pursue it. Couldn't encourage it. Not in good faith.

Scrubbing at his hair with his relatively simple and cheap bar of peacebloom soap, Soryk groaned. What the fuck was he supposed to talk about on their journey, anyway? She wanted to go from one end of the Eastern Kingdoms to the other. How was he supposed to fill that time in with conversation? Soryk was terrible at that. There were so many other people who would have been more suited to it. He'd go and talk about swords or whatever unimportant, trivial nonsense along the way just to fill the space.

She'd probably ask questions. He didn't like that either. Didn't want to answer questions about himself. At least, nothing that was deep or prying. If it had been up to him, he would've made the entire trip in relative quiet and he knew that wasn't going to fly. Why would it? Ori was this saturated force in the universe. She'd made that clear to him. Dull things weren't her style. And she had so much personality packed inside of that body that whilst he wouldn't have thought of her as high maintenance, she was a little intimidating.

He'd been fortunate to remain on her good side. He wondered if she'd still feel the same way after their trip with one another. Of course, if she magically hated him afterwards, maybe that was for the better. He wouldn't have to feel like he was just going to be a living embodiment of disappointment.

Again, though. Why did he even care? That didn't feel like him at all.

He shook his head, as if by doing so, he could shake off every memory he'd ever had of Ahtay. Every time Ori had looked at him with those striking, prying gold-and-green-accented eyes of hers. To think about either would lead him nowhere good.

He'd have to bury himself in thoughts of maps, of torches, of food, of routes, and every other thing they'd need on their trip. No distractions. No deviations.

Maybe it was time to have a talk with Marint about everything. He almost dreaded that more, but if there was a man who knew women, it would surely be him. Or maybe he'd slap some sense into him.

— @daily-writing-challenge ( A mention for @siennablaze219. )

[siennablaze219]

DWC June 2026 - Day 1 - Gloom

The plan for the caravan had never been to stop in Brill, but the rain had carved a pothole into the road, and one of the wagons had hit it hard. Between the fog and the perpetual gloom that hung over the area, the driver hadn't seen it until it was too late. The impact had loosened a wheel, shearing one of the bolts that held it in place.

At least, that was how the caravan leader explained it to Ori.

Not because she had asked, but because he seemed convinced she hadn't understood when the driver had discussed the problem right in front of her. She always enjoyed it when someone she was paying decided to speak to her as though she were a bit dim.

While the smith worked on the damaged wheel, Ori wandered through town, thoroughly unimpressed, not that she had expected to be impressed in the first place. She didn't mind the Forsaken or their undead allies, but she certainly didn't enjoy prolonged time with them.

When an alarm bell rang from one of the towers, she stopped and turned on her heel. Guards rushed toward the gates. Shouts echoed through the streets in both Orcish and Common. There was a raid on the town. She could have sworn all of that had settled down by now, why were the Alliance still even bothering with such things? Her thoughts on the matter were irrelevant. It was happening regardless.

Ori was a jewel thief, not a combatant. In hundreds of years, she had never been one and had never wanted to be. Her last partner had been a gifted fighter, and he had often told her stories of battles and campaigns. She had listened dutifully. None of it had ever inspired her to take up arms herself.

Stepping away from the center of the street, she watched the town swirl into eddies of activity. Green and golden eyes flicked toward the inn, but it sat all the way across town further than she wanted to go in this instability. Instead, she edged closer to a nearby building, hoping to remain unnoticed and out of everyone's way.

When a human woman emerged from the shadows, Ori continued backing away quietly. Years spent slipping through noble estates during lavish parties and relieving jewelry boxes of treasured family heirlooms had honed her stealth. In this case, the skill served her well. The woman never noticed her.

Hidden from view, Ori watched as the stranger produced a bomb, lit the fuse, and tossed it behind the defenders at the nearest gate. Had Ori felt any particular patriotism toward her people's place in the Horde, she might have intervened. Instead, she retreated another few steps.

A furious bellow sounded from the direction of the gates, followed by heavy, thunderous footfalls. An abomination lumbered into view. Part of its shoulder was missing, the flesh around the wound blackened and burned. A few stubborn flames still clung to the damaged tissue as it advanced toward the human woman.

Ori didn't even think to move farther away.

The construct had found its target. One of them would be dead soon enough. Fascinated despite herself, she remained where she was as the pair began to fight. It followed the familiar pattern: the quicker combatant maintaining the advantage so long as the larger one couldn't get its hands on them.

That remained true right up until the undead monstrosity employed another weapon in its arsenal and vomited a torrent of plague-ridden gore over the human.

And over Ori.

Who had not moved nearly far enough away.

"I was stuck in an infirmary in that gloomy forest for over a week," Ori said, a warm laugh carrying across the small table between two cups of coffee. "Between the cleansing and the monitoring, they wanted to make absolutely certain I was safe."

She shook her head.

"Which is why I'd rather not travel through Tirisfal if we can avoid it."

( @daily-writing-challenge )

[xylaes]

June DWC 2026 Day 1 - Allure

The apartment still occasionally surprised him with just how quiet it could be. Not because silence was rare in Silvermoon, but because for most of his life it had been temporary. There had always been another deployment waiting, another assignment, another fight. Even prison had its own constant noise. These days, Xylaes could sit in his small apartment in Murder Row and listen to little more than the distant sounds of the city outside his window.

A book rested open in his lap, though he had been staring at the same page for several minutes without reading a word. His attention had drifted elsewhere. Outside, someone laughed. A pair of voices carried briefly through the night air before disappearing around a corner. Music drifted from an open door. None of it demanded his attention or required him to react. It was simply life continuing around him, indifferent to whether he participated or not. 

His gaze eventually lifted from the pages and settled on the reflection staring back at him from the darkened window. The purple glow in his eyes remained impossible to ignore. Months had passed since the void powers first emerged, yet seeing them reflected unexpectedly still gave him pause. Not because he feared them anymore, that fear had faded long ago. Instead, they served as a reminder that he was no longer entirely the man he had once been. The military, prison, and loss had all changed him, as it does anyone. Now the void was changing him too, and he wasn't entirely certain where that road ended.

His thoughts drifted toward war, as they often did when left unattended. Not a specific battle, but all of them. The military, the undercover assignments, the mercenary and personal contracts, the endless conflicts that seemed to define his life. Looking back, he realized that some of his clearest memories existed on battlefields, and that realization had become increasingly uncomfortable with age.

The older he became, the harder it was to ignore the truth. He understood violence and war extremely well, and in many ways, he found them easier to navigate than ordinary life. Everything else was complicated: relationships, family, and especially trust. At least on a battlefield, objectives became clear and priorities became obvious. There was rarely time to second-guess yourself when lives depended on immediate action. 

That was what unsettled him about the void. The problem wasn't the destruction it could cause, the problem was how natural it felt. Whenever he allowed himself to fully embrace it, doubt disappeared and all hesitation vanished. Every instinct sharpened until action felt effortless. He thought back to recent battles and the moments he had surrendered to that power completely. Those memories should have frightened him, but what remained was the certainty he had felt. That certainty was alluring.

It had nothing to do with bloodshed, there was no thrill left in killing or death for him. What appealed to him was the simplicity. The enemy stood in front of you, the objective was clear, and the path forward existed whether you liked it or not. The void amplified that feeling until everything else seemed irrelevant. There were no complicated conversations waiting for him. No strained relationships to navigate. No questions without answers. There was only action. 

Perhaps that was why peace often felt more difficult than war. Peace required patience and vulnerability. War demanded competence. Xylaes had spent most of his life learning how to survive conflict. Learning how to live afterward had proven significantly harder. The irony wasn't lost on him. He had survived undercover operations, imprisonment, assassins, monsters, and enough battles to fill history books. Yet some days a conversation with someone he cared about felt far more daunting than facing an armed opponent. 

His gaze drifted around the apartment toward the record player, the framed photograph of Garren and he, and the weapons stored neatly where they belonged. None of it was particularly impressive, but every item represented something he once believed he would never possess again. Prison had convinced him his future was already written. It had been easier then to think of himself as a weapon, and weapons didn't need homes or families. But the years after his release had proven otherwise.

Outside, another burst of laughter rose from the street and faded into the night. Xylaes listened for a moment before looking back down at the book in his lap. The void remained where it always was, waiting patiently beneath the surface of his thoughts. He knew it would answer if he called upon it. The allure of certainty, power, and becoming exactly what he had been trained to be. 

Tonight, he left it alone. Instead, he turned the page and forced himself to focus on the words. Tomorrow would eventually bring another problem. For now, he had a home, people worth returning to, and a life that existed beyond violence. Those things were infinitely more complicated than war had ever been, but as he settled back into his chair and turned the page, he found that he enjoyed the complexity. 

@daily-writing-challenge

[rylandfalkov]

June DWC 2026 Day 1 - Allure

There were nights when Ryland could feel the exact moment a room took notice of him. There was no sudden silence sweeping across the crowd, no collective gasp rippling through the theater or nightclub. Instead, it happened in more subtle ways. A glance staying a second too long, a conversation faltering for half a beat, someone turning to watch him pass, and then another doing the same. The atmosphere shifted almost imperceptibly, yet he had spent enough years in the spotlight to recognize it.

More importantly, he had learned how to use it.

Many people treated allure as a form of magic, a gift bestowed at birth upon a lucky few. Ryland had never really bought that. He had a natural charisma, but what most people saw when they looked at him was the result of years of hard work. He had spent hours observing people with the same patience professionals devoted to mastering a craft. He learned how movement and body language could alter perception, how confidence transformed a room, and how to hold eye contact just long enough to make someone feel seen. He learned how to command attention without ever appearing to demand it.

Dance had refined those lessons further. Every performance taught him something new about human nature, and every audience reminded him that people were far more alike than they preferred to believe. Over time, he became fluent in that language.

And he loved it.

He loved the anticipation that settled over a crowd before a show, and the energy that surged through a room when hundreds of strangers were united in this shared experience. He loved making people laugh, making them blush, and making them forget their troubles for a little while. There was something deeply satisfying about knowing he could create a moment that remained in someone's memory long after the music stopped.

Performers were often assumed to be motivated by vanity, but Ryland had always thought that was an oversimplification. The best performances were not about taking attention from an audience, but about giving something back; like a story, a memory or a feeling.

When patrons returned to the Tart performances year after year, when nightclub guests stayed longer than they intended because they wanted to watch one more set, when strangers recognized him months later and recalled a particular dance, he preferred to think it wasn't because they found him attractive. He wanted to believe it was because he had made them feel something.

Yet allure had always been a double-edged sword.

The same qualities that drew people toward him often prevented them from seeing anything beneath the surface. Over the years, he had lost count of the conversations that began and ended with his appearance. Compliments that never progressed beyond his body. Interactions with people who knew exactly how he looked beneath stage lights, but couldn't tell you a single meaningful thing about him.

It wasn't always frustrating. Sometimes it was amusing, and sometimes it was even flattering. Occasionally, it felt lonely. There were some who had talked with him all evening and learned shockingly little about who he really was. They knew the act. The tease. The dream. They knew the Ryland that existed under flashing lights and adoring stares.

What they didn't know was the navigator who could spend hours studying stars, maps, and currents. They didn't know the performer who obsessed over choreography, rehearsing the same sequence until his muscles gave out from exhaustion. They didn't know the illusionist who lost himself in perfecting his craft, chasing the perfect moment of surprise. They certainly didn't know the half-elf who had once spent much of his youth feeling caught between worlds, uncertain where he belonged.

Most people met Ryland the idea before they ever met Ryland the person. If he were to be honest with himself, he knew he had played a big role in creating that distinction. He understood attraction and attention. He enjoyed making people feel desired and important. Charm came naturally to him now, and there were moments when it felt easier to offer that polished version of himself rather than something more vulnerable. A smile was more simple than honesty, and a flirtatious remark was safer than exposing a deeper truth.

Because of that, assigning blame felt impossible. If he willingly stepped into the spotlight, could he truly fault people for watching the performance?

The problem, he had come to realize, was never admiration itself. The problem was when admiration replaced curiosity. When people became so captivated by the glow and sparkle surrounding someone that they never bothered stepping closer to see what existed within it. That was where loneliness existed.

Fortunately, not everyone stopped at the surface, the people who mattered most rarely did. His crew aboard the Lady Lillium certainly didn't. They had seen far too much for that. They had seen him exhausted after long nights, limping after difficult rehearsals, frustrated over navigation routes, and distracted by worries he wasn't ready to discuss. They had seen him fail, seen him grieve, seen him at his least glamorous, and cared for him anyway.

There was a comfort in being around people who were no longer impressed. People who could watch strangers lose their minds over him one evening and then spend the next morning teasing him mercilessly over breakfast. People who remembered he was more than the reaction he inspired when he finished a performance.

Perhaps that was why he had never grown resentful of his allure despite its complications, it had brought him too much joy. It had allowed him to connect with people he never otherwise would have met. It had also opened doors, created opportunities, and helped him build a life he genuinely loved. It was woven into who he was as surely as dance, music, and the sea.

The issue was never the allure itself; the issue was that some people mistook it for the entirety of him. For some people, it was merely the beginning of a story. For others, it was where the story ended. They admired the surface and never looked deeper; they fell in love with the idea of a person rather than the person themself.

The people who stayed were different. They looked beyond the performance, beyond the charm, and the carefully crafted image. They discovered that beneath the spectacle and the flirt, there was a man trying his best to move through the world, care for the people he loved, and leave things a little brighter than he found them. For all the power allure possessed, for all the attention it could command and all the hearts it could captivate, nothing had ever felt quite as meaningful as being known by someone who remembered that.

@daily-writing-challenge

[nahisummerhold]

Really well done, and from Nahi's point of view, understandable

[nahisummerhold]

Come and see Nahi perform tonight at the Hearts of Tenacity Festival!

WHEN: Thursday, May 28th - Sunday, May 31st, 2026 WHERE: Tenacity Isle, Kun Lai Summit - Pandaria TIMES: Doors open at 4:30pm WRA/ 6:30pm MG Performances start at 5:30pm WRA / 7:30pm MG Join the Hearts of Tenacity Discord for more information.

[foodffs]

[foodffs]

CANDIED WALNUTS AND BACON BAKED BRIE BREAD BOWL

Follow for recipes

Get your FoodFfs stuff here

[thoughtcascades]

i like calm people with dirty thoughts and honest intentions

[nahisummerhold]

TMIT: She has been very busy performing lately. Summer seems like it will only make that schedule more intense. What is she doing to take care of herself in this stressful, but less dangerous, time?

Nahi’s hair had begun to come loose, a few curls clinging to her face and the bare skin of her arms. She had collapsed into a loose heap, her back rising and falling with deep breaths. 

Soft applause drew her head up, and she looked around for the source of it. Talthorn, one of her dearest friends, stood at the side of the stage on Tenacity Isle.

Nahi smiled warmly. “I didn’t think anyone would be around this time of night.”

“Did you not want your performance observed?” he asked, his warm voice carrying that gentle concern he had when he knew she was dealing with a full schedule.

Pushing herself upright, she crossed to where her water bottle and towel sat. “You know you are always welcome to watch my practices, dearheart.” Bare feet silent against the stage, she padded over and leaned lightly against his much larger frame.

He bent and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. His white hair caught the sea breeze, brushing around her, bright against the emerald of her bodysuit. “I heard the music and wondered who was out here this late,” he said softly. “Are you feeling alright?”

Nahi tipped her head back to smile up at him. “Terrific, actually. I should have done a dance like this here long ago.” She glanced out toward the dark water and distant lights. “The setting is beautiful, and the music carries so lightly. It fits the flow I’m trying to create.”

She looked around the quiet stage and smiled faintly. “Sorry if I interrupted you. I like practicing this late. I’m not stealing the stage from anyone while they get ready for the weekend, and I can listen to the sea while I cool down.”

“It looked lovely,” he said, his hands moving slowly along her arms, keeping the chill night air from settling into her skin. “You are graceful on an ordinary day. I’m not surprised you practically float in this style of dance.” He studied her for a moment. “I know you hadn’t planned on a second performance. I’m glad you did, though.” His expression softened. “Are you taking care of yourself? I know you’ve been busy.”

She gestured toward the stage. “There are not many things I do that make me feel more like myself than performing.” Her voice grew quieter, more thoughtful. “Singing is wonderful, but there’s a freedom in dancing like this. Really, this dance might be the best thing I have done for my mind in a little while.”

Tal’s hands slowed against her arms and the night settled around the  for a while after that, filled only by waves and distant wind.

Finally, Nahi drew in a deep breath. “One more time through, then I’m going to soak in the springs with a nice glass of wine.” She smiled, already sounding content with the idea. “After that, I think I’ll sleep on one of the divans under the stars.”

Tal kissed the top of her head again. “You know where everything is, lovely. Our home, as always, is yours.” He smiled down at her. “Come have brunch with us in the morning?”

“If I’m awake, I will.”

(Thank you for the question @kharrisdawndancer . After this weekend she has Fire Fest, then the Gala and nothing set that she is sure she wants to do until After Dark, so a fairly simple schedule for performances this summer as her player is busy IRL) (Thank you for being part of the story and for trusting me with your character. You are such a terrific friend! @talthorn-sylvoran )

[black-white-and-leather]

[nahisummerhold]

TMIT —

Has Nahi ever considered working at a bordello or in that field? (Not as a songstress, but as a courtesan or escort.)

Nahi actually considers herself a bit of an escort for Jes’champe, she is just,paid in beautiful gowns, jewelry and accessories. He refuses to allow a woman on his arm not fit the image he wants when she is on his arm, it is a wonder he puts up with Nahi as she is always changing up something he wants her to wear, or how he wants her to do makeup or hair. 

At one point she would have felt insulted that anyone would think of her in that way, but she has become more of a realist and would have no problem working in that manner if she couldn’t entertain any longer. In fact, when she sang at the Red Moon, a thought or two of how much time she would have to herself if she worked there. 

Then she thought about how much time she would have to herself and how that would probably cause her more stress than doing too much at this point in her life. 

(Thank you for the question @lilyofporcelain)

(Mention of @jeschampe-vidroth and @theredmoon)

[nahisummerhold]

You find yourself in a horror movie! Who in your life would survive and who absolutely wouldn’t? Who has final girl/guy energy? Who’s the first to die? Who would sacrifice themself for others? What role would you play?

“Oh, what a delightful trip down the light fantastic this will be. Let’s see, who would survive? My step-father for sure as he will be the parent that is away long distance and has no idea about the trouble my friends and I are in.” “Others to survive for sure? Stellan, he is very wily and he would be one of the ones creating the plan to save us from the seemingly immortal, masked axe murderer that was hunting us because we went into its for…” She paused with a frown and reconsidered, “... an out of the way abandoned keep that we went into for shelter from a horrendous storm.” “Surviving list, Talon, not only is he smart, but I honestly feel he is near unkillable. Kai because, even though she gets hurt, she seems to have indomitable luck. Tinn, because I think deep down she is wily too and would be in on planning our survival. “Keranna, she would be on that planning committee, but she might get hurt because one of the smart crew has to. Oh and Rynga, because she is who we always count on to keep us alive and knows that to do that, she has to survive.” “Add Zenith in there, don’t know a lot about him, but I just can’t see him dying in a horror movie. Last but not least, Braedyn, no one will let her die because we all love Fancy Cakes.” Nahi was really buying into this now. “Dying, have to say Xylaes, he is a survivor, yes, but he also has a BDH, big damn hero, complex and is sure to just get caught as one of the last people in the small tunnel covering our retreat. Fio because she is one of those fearless take on the world types, plus we all know the posh ones always die.” “Ry would die, because he is too sexy and cheeky, those types don’t seem to last long in the movies. Dice, for much the same reason Xy would, but he would be one of the earlier ones to die because he didn’t realize that the man attacking us is nigh unkillable, he probably saves Kai in that moment though, so go him, not a wasted effort.” 

“Nara would be the type to cover a retreat too, and might use all of her Light in one last strike, but the killer has luck like Kai. Garren because the younger ones always seem to die just to lure the audience into empathy, Ema and Andi are right there too because they are so sweet.” “Veilos and Altherei are the first to die, new couples looking to find some time alone seem to be very vulnerable, he would also almost kill the guy. Same with Andaeros and Laeynna, but because they are a couple that have been together for a while. Couples usually have bad luck in these movies, makes one almost glad to be single for this perk alone.”  It seemed she had come to the list of people she was thinking of off hand, “That leaves me I suppose.” Taking her time as she pondered her fate, “I would live for a while, because I am friendly but not overly sweet, and while I care about people I am not that skilled. Maybe I would be someone trying to pull Dice out off danger because he just doesn’t see the killer who has moved around behind him while he checked on Kai, thus we both will die but it gives Kai time to run from danger.”

Biting her bottom lip then adding, “Or I could be styled as one of those social queen bees who always last longer than they should because certain people see beyond that, but the audience would be upset that I survive after the sweeter ones have fallen.”

(One of the prompts I have had the most fun puzzling out, thank you @turning-through-the-never Clearly my original movie would need sequels)

(Congrats to all that survived @inistellan, @talonoa @kaisinasunblade, @kharrisdawndancer (Tinn and Braedyn), @keranna-zerine, @zenithnightbane ) (And to the unlucky ones @xylaes my favorite BDH, @fio-renze, @rylandfalkov, @dicenne, @themadamelioness, @garrennorassin, @emaisynstarsorrow, @hopebringerpriestess, @veilosdaigoa, @altherei, @webbedwine and @andaerosdawnflare)

[turning-through-the-never]

TMI Tuesday!

Ask my characters anything, no matter how invasive! Ask for advice on any matter! Confess anything to them! Nothing is off-limits on TMI Tuesday! Practice good question karma! Send an ask to the person you reblog this from!

Anon in ON!

[rylandfalkov]

For @rylandfalkov and @zenithnightbane (And whoever else if you know ‘em!)

[nahisummerhold]

Jumping in with @nahisummerhold, @alaedrelleoynorel and @vasandereu

[nahisummerhold]

What kind of person could make you completely lose your composure?

“It is as much about the situation as the person. I like to think I am pretty good at keeping it all together, which means catching me off guard is the key. Being a bit of a control freak, someone that can surprise me is going to have a good chance at seeing me come undone. Confidence with a little unpredictability is a dangerous combination.”

(Thank you for the question @theconstructsworld)