Steven Patrick Gaeler

In-character blog for Steven Patrick Gaeler, roleplay character on Moon Guard & Wyrmrest Accord. Stories, poetry, art, and quotes. +18, LGBTQ+ friendly blog.

[privateersandpoems]

Sonnet 29

When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes, I all alone beweep my outcast state, And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries, And look upon myself and curse my fate, Wishing me to like one more rich in hope, Featured like him, like him with friends possessed, Desiring this man's art and that man's scope, With what I most enjoy contented least; Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising, Haply I think on thee, and then my state, (Like to the lark at break of day arising From sullen earth) sings hymns at heaven's gate; For thy sweet love rememberered such wealth brings That then I scorn to change my state with kings.

[privateersandpoems]

It has been many years Since Gilnean merchants  Crossed the sea And conquered peoples there; The Drust and other ones. Celebrate Our wars and rage, wanton; Turning seas black and red With their blood. Salute the admirals Bathed in our Lady’s words. Kul Tiras, Wrap yourself in green flags; Golden anchor, flashed bright ‘Cross oceans Over the west and east, A new wake of our sea. Speak the words: It is Kul Tiran pride. Celebrate and speak them, Kul Tiras.

-- Privateer Portrait by Soleilloo (https://www.deviantart.com/soleilloo)

-- Original poem Kul Tiras Pride, credited to Steven Patrick Gaeler, written by his player.

[privateersandpoems]

Skinning

I watched my father break the wood Of the trees that secured our forms. That night, moon abright, the cries Of our quarry howled like a wind Past the trees and to a free meadow Blanketed by a crisp, white snow. My father dug his hands into its body; What’s left of its life flowed warmly  Out onto the ground onto my cold feet. He kneeled with his knife, toes arched In his heavy boots. The knife glided Like a kite all along the deer’s fur And the last of its blood spilled, boiling  Away the snow beneath. He told me then, “Watch, boy.” I was only a child. “The blade does not drag. It runs  Along the flesh of the animal Like shears across a paper.” I stood distantly. The deer’s blood Flowed from underneath its body To my shoes yet again, as I watched My father’s work. Skinning was not Beautiful, but like a seamstress  Stitching the sides of a extravagant Dress, it was necessary; a way Of life and love. Some danced, Some wrote poetry, but we  Skinned with a knife.

-- Steven Patrick grew up in the town of Bridgeport in the Tiragarde Sound with his father, Thomas Patrick, and grandfather Sean Patrick. The Gaelers worked as trappers, selling meats, furs, and fish for a living, often making rivals of local Roughnecks in the process. From his grandfather, Steven Patrick learned to sing, write, and fight. From his father, Steven Patrick learned to live. -- Original poem credited to Steven Patrick Gaeler, written by his player.

[privateersandpoems]

This blade is drawing a sequence In the air as it comes unsheathed.

The steel after it all is sheathed Into home at my bleeding hip.

-- Side-Portrait by Lulu

-- Excerpt from original poem The Blade, credited to Steven Patrick, written by his player.

[privateersandpoems]

The Monument

I look there to the fire on the hillside That burns a core and chars the earth; A monument Buried in iron tectonics, exceptional. Silence is broken by laughter. Its eyes glow red.

I hear from the continental shelf; water drains To a ring of ice in the sky. Cracking rime, The monument touches the cold water, breaching Backwards towards the blue horizon Chilling and sharp.

An old sailor sings of a monument, grating Against sand, baking in the sun. The sandstorms rise Around it, and its shy silver skin turns to gold. After long, it becomes buried  And lost again.

Some watcher of the water surveys the dark sea And notices a monument guarded By a monster. It wraps its long tendrils tightly around it; None may come near it; it is claimed. There it remains.

-- While privateering aboard the Green Galley, Steven Patrick's third voyage there sent him into Nazmir to recover an old blood troll artifact. While he saw no blood trolls, he was haunted by what he saw in one of the villages: an ancient bronze statue of a Titan creator buried in years of fungal overgrowth with glowing red eyes. The Monument was then written, with some influence from sailors' tales, for Steven Patrick to shake those eyes from his mind.

-- Original poem credited to Steven Patrick Gaeler, written by his player.

[privateersandpoems]

Poem for Aylais II

I tended to the breeze With the beautiful god Who showed me what I need

I was lain in its arms With a heart that was warm That had not felt the cold 

The hate was so easy The lies simple as salt But the warmth felt right there Struggled on the shoulders Of a thousand tired men 

But the smoke whence we came With a captured moment  Of the breeze I tended  Could not move me away From these arms around me And would not ‘til I die

-- Original poem credited to Steven Patrick Gaeler, written by his player.

[privateersandpoems]

Everything That's Done Right

A man throws away his life And the life of the earth; he drinks Its life, steals its life, but gives life To the two things that remind him That everything he’s done in his life Has been right.

He grows like a tree, sappy and sovereign, Until each drop of blood falls from his fingertips Onto earth he doesn’t own. But it’s the two faces He makes and wakes that ensure he’s  Done everything in his life right with  No mistakes along the way. 

The man calls them, and in peace they  Come; he greets with his lips and arms and feeds  Them the life of the world. And when they grow, Learn to tell jokes, stories, and keep one another safe, It’s the fabric of knowing that everything he’s done  In his life has been right.

-- Original poem credited to Steven Patrick Gaeler, written by his player.

[privateersandpoems]

Poem for Aylais

This little light is what you can give me  And the little dark is what I can see Your feet are rooted And mine are free

These old melodies are what I can sing And this line of bells are what I can ring  My song is the heart And yours is the wing

This gorgeous dream is what I can send you And a series of little whispers too Your dreams are clouded And mine are too

This world in my hands is what I can take And the coming end is what I can make  Your world is grounded  And mine is fake

These oceans of time are what is between And these fields of grass to color us green My water is dirty And yours is clean

-- Original poem credited to Steven Patrick Gaeler, written by his player.

[zeehva]

Reblog this if you are an active Alliance WRA/MG  or Horde WRA/MG Character Blog!

My dashboard has been a little quiet lately so I’m looking to find more WoW RP blogs to follow, support and interact with! Let me see those amazing OCs!

[privateersandpoems]

 '“Next time we play, we’re knife-fighting afterwards,” Sciena said, resting her head on her arm.'

'“Yeah? Why’s that?” the sharp-jawed Kul Tiran asked, rubbing his stubbly chin.'

'“Because you’re a fucking cheat, that’s why.”'

'“I’m a cheat? Gwideon, do you hear her?”'

'The dark-skinned sailor laughed, his belly rumbling like an earthquake as he too settled for sleep. “I never saw anything of the sort. I’m not sure how someone with a face such as Steven Patrick’s could ever cheat.”'

'The first time he had ever boarded a vessel was only three years ago. Gwideon had been sailing for ten years, and Sciena for six, but they were welcoming enough to the woodsman once he proved his worth on deck.... He remembered those first few months, picking fights with other privateers when they mocked him as Pretty-Boy Gaeler until he’d proven his usefulness on deck—and efficiency with a knife. The months beyond that were easy.'

Sketch Portrait by @afoolarts

Excerpts from The Privateer short story, written by me

[privateersandpoems]

As if anything would keep us apart.

There's a lighthouse in the dark, a garden in the past Under bruisings of a night sky Be like water, when I rise, Plant a jasmine in the night

There's a serpent on the beach If I'm out of reach, Place a garland in the sea for me

When the tide comes rolling in Please be sure to send A blood moon for me A garland in the sea And if I don't make it home Wrap the jasmine 'round my bones Into the Surf, Foals (2019)

[privateersandpoems]

"You good-looking?"

art by @needlesslycryptic