My loyalties are personal.

Valeera Sanguinar of World of Warcraft.

[shadowsblades]

WHEN DO YOU GAZE AT YOUR SOULMATE?

When they’re sleeping

It's not just the way they're at rest. It's that they're at rest with you. It's not just that they're safe but that they feel safe enough to let you see them like this. It's trust and it's intimacy. And you're not sure you're ready for them to see the emotions in your eyes right now. They've been through enough. You both have. Sometimes it scares you just how much you love them. It terrifies you that you feel happy as they lay there, eyes closed and hair a little messy. Their features twitch and you know they're dreaming and it scares you because if you fall asleep too you won't have a nightmare tonight. You'll dream of them. Or nothing at all. And either way it will make you need them more. And you're not supposed to need anyone but it's them. You want to hold them in your arms and never let go. You want to protect them but you know they want to protect you to. This is the kind of love you long for and it's the kind which will hurt if you lose it. But here you are anyway. It's too late now. You're glad it's too late to go back.

Tagged by: @warwaged Tagging: @lightsblade

[shadowsblades]

❝ so that’s all life is to you? monsters and money? ❞

THE WITCHER (SHOW) STARTERS ↳ @sunrunners ‹ accepting ›

          Offense leads, bristling hackles instinctively, automatically. So steeped in society inimical to her existence, her place and survival so often challenged by aristocrats and guards, by the ordinary human populace of Stormwind and even by friends, criticism is expected from all corners, hypervigilance against it discerning judgement even where judgement is not. Familiarity with the quel’dorei’s attempts to change her, to condescendingly coddle what does not need coddling, further erodes her acumen and inflames that perception and reaction to it. If there was any chance of their reunion being an affable one, it’s dashed.

          Monsters and money? Is that all her life is? As if she has ever cared overly for gold beyond its affordance of her endurance against the threats of the world, easily gone without and cared for even less now for the abundance she can access. And the monsters she fights only for the protection of others, carcasses not exchanged for gold or reputation or anything else, rarely even thanked or appreciated for risk to her own life, more often castigated for it. Even now, that risk is viewed as inadequate. 

          All life is to her ------ pah!

          Red lips part within her reflex scowl, “It was enough for Lo’Gosh and his son. No surprise it isn’t up to the standards of a priestess too cowardly to remain with her people.”

[shadowsblades]

WHEN DO YOU GET YOUR SOFT, ITALICIZED, “OH.”?

The Emergency

Something goes wrong. There's urgency. Everything gets turned upside down, and you have to grab for the things that matter most ------ Oh. Suddenly, there's perspective, and at the worst possible moment, the moment when there is so much else going on, you realize that you have been breathless with want for so, so long. You want everyone to be safe, but please, please, you want them to be safe. You want everything to be okay so that you can have another chance to get things right. A chance to start over. And everything will be okay, of course, because you've made it through bad moments before, and that foundation of trust is there, even if you've never quite acknowledged it to its full potential. You trust them. You need them. Oh.

Tagged by: pickpocked from @warwaged Tagging: @lightsblade, @sunnrunners, @knightsvows

[shadowsblades]

lightsblade​:

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?     ”

          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.”

[valtsv]

hubris is sexy actually

[valtsv]

being so excessively self-confident that the gods themselves have to intervene to teach you not to be such a smug little bastard??? that’s preddy hot

[shadowsblades]

❝ i love the way you just sit in the corner and brood. ❞

THE WITCHER (SHOW) STARTERS ↳ @lightsblade ‹ accepting ›

          It’s an apt descriptor. Expectation of the company now blithely sauntering towards her and the furnished inns of Dalaran less disreputable than those usually attractive of her patronage propose little prohibition against habit, Valeera established in the farthest corner from the entrance, bearing ------ and daggers laid upon the table ------ eschewing approach for conversation and inspiring wariness both. Hood raised, back straight against the wall and chin tilted towards no particular focal point, her eyes slightly narrowed and long eyebrows drawn as if in thought, suggest forlorn attention snared far away from the nearby patrons and even the drink clasped loosely before her. It’s apperception aided by the cloud of felgreen disguising the true position of once-blue pupils.

          If there’s some truth hidden beneath the contrived mask of her so-called brooding, in actuality she stares intently at a chattering band captured in her periphery, her ears, too, subtly angled to detect every whisper and rustle of folded paper hiding coded messages from their direction, frown resting on her ruby lips pursing just a fraction tighter at what her senses behold ------ until they snap to Liadrin and her expression dissolves instantaneously into a playfully-affronted smirk, “Me? Brood? Hardly.”

          Visage morphs again as the paladin sidles onto the bench beside her, sharp but minute cant of her head wordlessly biding her sit where she will not block her view, her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper that loses none of its arrogant sibilance, “It’s like you’ve never seen a spy work before.” She shouldn’t have, if those of her avocation were any good at their craft. “I’m watching.”

[edenmemes]

the witcher (show) starters

❝ victimhood is not your colour. ❞

❝ you can’t outrun destiny just because you’re terrified of it. ❞

❝ your job is to control chaos, not to succumb to it. ❞

❝ you don’t deserve the air you breathe. ❞

❝ not a single person alive looks in the mirror and doesn’t see some form of deformity. ❞

❝ you lie, you keep secrets. you succumb to emotion and weakness. ❞

❝ not answering questions is part of your brooding pillar of charm. ❞

❝ you’re just mad because you lost your chance to be beautiful. ❞

❝ you smell of death and destiny, heroics and heartbreak. ❞

❝ there’s no power in puppeting fools. ❞

❝ i’ll leave that for someone who gives a shit. ❞

❝ i need to get back to my horse. ❞

❝ your will to live is strong. ❞

❝ i’m still not enough. even for you. ❞

❝ need a hand? i’ve got two. ❞

❝ my men will kill you. ❞

❝ i’m here to drink alone. ❞

❝ go. on your own or at the end of a rope, your choice. ❞

❝ do you know how many people wouldn’t blink if you died? ❞

❝ you weren’t taking control. you were losing it. ❞

❝ people call you a monster too. ❞

❝ i’ve waited all these years for you to admit we’re made for each other. ❞

❝ if only you could tell between friend or threat. do you even know the difference anymore? ❞

❝ when you live as long as i do, all the names sound the same. ❞

❝ were you in love? ❞

❝ this place isn’t safe when you’re alone. ❞

❝ the only thing you do quickly is flee. ❞

❝ even if you were a beauty, still, no one would love you. ❞

❝ not a happily ever after after all. ❞

❝ hm, doesn’t rhyme. all good predictions rhyme. ❞

❝ you are making me uncomfortable. ❞

❝ unchecked kings and queens start massacres. ❞

❝ i just want some damn peace. ❞

❝ i dreamed of becoming important to someone someday. ❞

❝ the only thing special about you is the crown on your head. ❞

❝ what do you long for? fame? money? power? ❞

❝ what? no one mentioned the impending doom part. ❞

❝ true words are rare words. ❞

❝ i want more. i have to be more. ❞

❝ do other women find this coarseness charming? ❞

❝ love casts long shadows. ❞

❝ if she runs, kill her. ❞

❝ don’t give me that look, shitling. ❞

❝ today isn’t your day, is it? ❞

❝ how come when my life comes to shit you’re the one shoveling it? ❞

❝ i know who you are. what you are. ❞

❝ i envy you. to live, and to have no love. ❞

❝ you’d leave a man bound to die in such a dignity? ❞

❝ i loved your mother. ❞

❝ don’t you know who i am? ❞

❝ so that’s all life is to you? monsters and money? ❞

❝ there’s a vortex of fate around us. ❞

❝ is history a wheel doomed to repeat? ❞

❝ the sword of destiny has two edges. ❞

❝ i’ve considered your company and conversation payment enough. ❞

❝ this isn’t who you are. ❞

❝ no amount of power or beauty will make you feel worthy of either. ❞

❝ i don’t believe anyone has that power. ❞

❝ nobody smart plays fair. ❞

❝ i won’t listen to a man who pimps the world as some romantic adventure. ❞

❝ a true man would state his desires. ❞

❝ don’t turn this on me. ❞

❝ i want to be powerful. it’s what i’m owed. ❞

❝ that makes sense just as much as it doesn’t. ❞ 

❝ you’re smart, aren’t you? you know everything. ❞

❝ i feel something out there waits for you. ❞ 

❝ please don’t hurt me. i’m lost. ❞ 

❝ i won’t kill you…but you cant stay here. ❞ 

❝ there’s no ‘us’. there’s only me. ❞ 

❝ i’m asking for a teeny-weeny little favor. ❞ 

❝ yeah, you’re probably right. but what if you’re not? ❞

❝ i’m not your friend. ❞ 

❝ you and destiny can both fuck right off. ❞ 

❝ i love the way you just sit in the corner and brood. ❞

❝ i will not suffer tonight sober. ❞ 

❝ pretty ballads hide bastard truths. ❞

❝ i will not involve myself to petty men’s squabbles. ❞

❝ happy childhood makes for dull company. ❞

❝ it’s impossible to be prepared for every battle. keep your sword close, and keep moving. ❞

❝ i see a lot of myself in you. ❞

❝ you can’t change the world this way. ❞

❝ i don’t need anyone. & the last thing i want is someone needing me. ❞

❝ alright, stand close to me and pretend you’re mean. ❞

❝ why are you dressed like a sad silk trader? ❞ 

❝ only one of us will be alive to find out. ❞ 

❝ i stole rather than starve. i killed rather than be killed. ❞ 

❝ i have’t only done good in my life either. ❞ 

❝ it’s like ordering a pie and finding out it has no filling. ❞ 

❝ when i cut my finger i bleed. that’s human, right? ❞ 

❝ they’re rough around the edges but they’re earthling like me. ❞ 

❝ royalty is best endured in small doses. ❞ 

❝ i thought the world needed me too. ❞ 

❝ sometimes, the best thing a flower can do for us is die. ❞ 

❝ handy with a blade. handy with women too. ❞

❝ are you trying to hurt my feelings? ❞

❝ you look like you’ve been through hell. ❞

❝ i can’t do this without you. ❞

❝ you know cautionary tales won’t work on me. ❞

❝ you talk nonsense while making wise and meaningful faces. ❞

❝ the apple never falls far from the tree. ❞

❝ when i go it will be far more dramatic than this. ❞

❝ try not to get any daggers in your back before dawn. ❞

❝ you have your mother’s blood. you’ll be alright. ❞

❝ a great ruler always chooses mercy. ❞

❝ it took two strikes to kill him. they weren’t clean. but they were spectacular. ❞

❝ if i have to choose between one evil and another, i’d rather not choose. ❞

❝ i would do anything to forget who i was. ❞

❝ i have no doubt blood will be spilled here tonight. ❞

❝ there’s a grain of truth in every fairy tale. ❞

❝ people look at you for who you are, not what you can give them. ❞

❝ do you believe in destiny now? ❞

❝ we can leave. we can find a way out. ❞

❝ lovers? fun for a bit, i’ll admit, but all eventually disappoint. ❞

❝ let’s face it, you’re a girl. we’re just vessels. and even when we’re told we’re special, we’re still just vessels…for them to take…and take…until we’re empty…and alone. ❞

❝ people like to invent monsters and monstrosities. then they seem less monstrous themselves. ❞

❝ every time i’m around you i say more in five minutes than i’ve said in weeks. ❞

❝ maybe someone out there will want you. ❞

❝ if you must kill me, i’m ready. ❞

❝ people linked by destiny always find each other. ❞

❝ thank the gods. i might live to see another day. ❞

❝ i was having a rather lovely dream which then turned into a nightmare. ❞

❝ you desperately need money for new clothes.  ❞

❝ more and more, i find monsters where i go. ❞

[shadowsblades]

lightsblade​:

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?     ”

“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 too 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 over 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.

[shadowsblades]

ladywindrunner​:

Logically, navigating the Alterac Mountains was the correct choice. The undead hadn’t paid the range much mind. There were no direct routes to anything they couldn’t reach already, and the strategic importance of the mountains could be ignored if you already dominated most of the surrounding landscape. Only the living would benefit from the route, avoiding the Scourge.

That being said, the logical choice wasn’t welcoming. They hadn’t reached even the snowy portions and the temperature was dropping. The trees, which had been withered and tainted down in the valley, became healthier – free of the Scourge, but also sparser. The farther they climbed, the less and less they saw of the woods. Rock, gravel, and slate became their surroundings.

The going was slow. Sylvanas had put Valeera on Squirrel, saving the child’s feet from the brunt of the climb. There was no need to make her suffer needlessly. She’d given the girl her cloak as well, a barrier against the growing winds and chill that was beginning to harass them.   

A long day dragged onto to a cold evening. Sylvanas found them a cave for shelter. It wasn’t large, but it was adequate to keep them out of the cold. She scavenged twigs and branches, and made a fire quickly to help keep them warm. Squirrel had settled in, standing quietly as the fire crackled and evening drifted to night.

Supper was mountain hare stew, with some wild herbs and vegetables. Nothing fancy, but it was hot and filling. Sylvanas offered Valeera a bowl and then leaned against the cave wall, gazing out into the night in silence. There’d been an old hunter’s cabin years ago, not too far from where they were. If they could reach it, there was probably better gear for the cold then what they had.

This was assuming no one had raided it during the Scourge invasion. She couldn’t have been the only one to realize that this pass offered some safety.

“In the morning we’ll continue up the ridge,” she said, breaking the silence that had hung between them. Valeera looked tired, slowly eating her soup. “There was a cabin we should be able to reach tomorrow; it should have supplies for our journey.”

Should be the very key word. She was relying an awful amount on hope, something she hadn’t possessed in a while.

Sylvanas vaguely smirked, but her voice sounded distant as she spoke – she was mulling over the challenges before. Making the journey as an adult would be rough, but as a child?

“We’ll find you a coat.”

She had thought Quel’Thalas cold. The refreshing breeze borne from the western coast, which had cooled the pleasant springtime warmth of the day and heralded a brisker evening, had turned crisp with the destruction of the Sunwell and the depletion of the magic that had sustained the environment, the warm temperatures catering to the comfort of the quel’dorei sinking like a stone through water. A period of cool which would have been cause for conversation but not alarm had stretched on then worsened, demanding robes and trews be layered like they never had before, and for blankets to be piled for sleep ------ especially in the rubble-strewn streets in which Valeera had slept without cover.

The mountains of Alterac are worse by a degree unanticipated, the craggy region so frigid as to sap even the pleasure Valeera may have taken in being right in her argument against the route. Deficient in trees to stymie the frigid wind cascading down from the frozen peaks, even the still, sunlit air so bitter as to sear her nostrils with each inhale and set her teeth to chattering even beneath the meagre shield offered by the hood of Sylvanas’ cloak, Valeera’s hands had petrified around Squirrel’s reins, her cheeks, nose, ears, and eyes burning then numb to it. Even now, sheltered within the cave and angled away from its mouth, the cloak carefully arranged over her limbs and stew warming her lap, enervated features lit by the orange glow of a fire she cannot get near enough to and which cannot hope to penetrate deeply enough into her flesh to thaw, the sin’dorei can feel the vicious bite of the cold.

Skin exposed to the air blasted to raw pink, the tips of her ears frozen stiff and aching, and her fingers arthritic around the spoon dangling between them, extended only far enough from the fold of Sylvanas’ cloak to maneuver, she moves lethargically, exhaustion and disinterest in the food before her rendering the heat it offers not sufficiently motivating to expel the energy to lift it to her chapped lips. If fatigue and discomfort keep her acrimony from rising, drowning anger that could have injected her with energy, withdrawal smothers it further. She stares at Sylvanas as if not comprehending her speech, then pushes the still-full bowl away, shifting haltingly to lay on her side for sleep. What will a coat do but delay her death?

The morning brings not much more vitality, until they find the cabin the quel’dorei had spoken of. Constructed not in the smooth, pristine materials of the chalets of Quel’Thalas but solid timber on foundations raised above the stony ground and layered to keep the wind from howling through the gaps in the beams, alike in aspect to Sylvanas’ cabin and untouched by the Scourge, the sight is not initially inspiring. Too far from anything, they would not be able to stay, and the magic that had once empowered the food stores had faded with disuse, allowing frost to ravage what may have been edible ------ burned, the former Ranger-General had said, though that didn’t make much sense in the freezing terrain, when the meat was still clearly uncooked ------  but what it lacked in sustenance, it made up for in gear connoting possible fulfillment of Valeera’s imagined warrior status, and much-needed warmth. Knives, swords, bows and arrows, staves, shields, and clothing designed specifically for the weather crack her obdurate façade and the silence it had foisted upon them, allowing a sliver of excitement entrance.

“I’ll never have to sharpen a blade again,” she declares, bolding gripping the handle of knife after knife in the array as if she owns them already, bundling them into a mass ready to deposit in a sturdy bag claimed from the horde of Farstrider treasures ------ steeped within the need to steal, no thought is given to leaving any behind, or to Sylvanas not allowing her to possess them all. Her swords too, appropriated from human bandits, are quickly discarded for a matching slender and gleaming pair more suited to elven stature, her fingers caressing the ornately carved hilts with undisguised avidity, “They’re perfect. So much better than human swords. Any who try us will bow before my blades.”

Wonderment drags her from the weaponry to the accouterment ------ thick leather trews and fitted tunics and tabards, heavy knee-high boots, and cloaks dense with woolen insulation from the cuffs of their sleeves to the edge of their hoods. Designed for function rather than style, the things are nevertheless finer than any Valeera has spied in some time, and the comfort they augur in spite of their size banish any hesitation, that inspired by either Sylvanas’ presence or the cold, from her as she strips from the relative rags of her own ensemble to bedeck herself.

[shadowsblades]

hi its lime again

UNSOLICITED ASKS ↳ @sunnrunners ‹ accepting ›

"They always come back for me."

[shadowsblades]

lightsblade​:

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?     ”

          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.”

[shadowsblades]

soulescence​:

❝ 𝐀 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋 𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃𝐍'𝐓 𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑 𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐁𝐀𝐃𝐋𝐘. ❞ Willa was rarely short a retort, and this was no exception. Yet there was little annoyance in her voice, maybe even a hint of humor (at the very least, her rangers found it humorous enough to chuckle). It was clear this woman wasn’t going to hand over anything resembling appreciation to the aid she was freely given – and maybe Willa took it in stride because there was something about her that reminded her of her own younger (more stubborn more prideful) self.

It really didn’t matter much how Valeera acted verbally (to a point). Willa had meant what she said, as long as she made no effort to harm her rangers, she’d be given what help she needed. As Farstriders, yes, their ultimate duty had been the protection of Quel’thalas, but they had also helped their people when they’d found them injured or in danger. Fractured and bitter as the elves may have been; Quel’dorei or Sin’dorei, Willa would protect all of them with her life. Right now, that included Valeera.

❝ We’re nomadic; we set up a camp when we need to and don’t stray far from it until we’re ready to move on. Otherwise, yes, a real ranger would have everything they need on them. ❞ What would a rogue know about a ranger lifestyle anyway. They had their similarities, sure, but at the end of it, they lived in two different worlds. Valeera was ushered to sit as a medic was fetched to tend to her wounds. A passing ranger handed off a canteen to the Ranger General, only for Willa to offer it instead to the injured elf, ❝ You can stay until you’re healed, if you want. Or we can offer what supplies we can spare to send you off. If your attitude is any indication, I imagine you’ll turn down the offer of an escort. ❞

          ‘Only because you’re too cowardly to face anyone on your own.’ Caustic dig teases the tip of her tongue, bruise upon bruise upon bruise to her dignity kindling anew the warm coals of her bluster, that each wound has been inflicted chiefly by her own misjudgments and observed by quel’dorei rangers rendering them even more disagreeable. But though the counter adds to the humiliation already reckoned, added to again by the smug chuckles that emit from around the camp, Valeera manages to bridle her outrage ------ not biting the hand that feeds her ( or in this case, heals ) has been a lesson arduous to ingest, but which she may finally have capitulated to.

          Or perhaps she is more sensitive than she recognises to the softer contempt on the leader’s visage.

          “You should see the other guy,” she replies instead, the haughtiness of the response underlined by only hint of a grumble, tacit acceptance that she is in bad shape, even if she wouldn’t go as far as to admit that her ass had been handed to her. She had survived, after all, more than could be said for her opponent, now just a husk of malevolent energy.

          A slight shake of her head declines the proffered drink ------ that supply she hadn’t forgotten ------ and offer of further aid simultaneously, her head turned into her shoulder and strap clamped between her teeth as resistance against the tug of her other hand unclasping her pauldron, temporarily muting her. The intricate plate edifice is drawn away from the damage there as she speaks, her leg too extended to allow a closer look at the bloody mess made of her unarmoured thigh, where her life still seeps out from beneath the drying ruby crust on top, “A real rogue doesn’t need an escort.” This time offered with a facetious cant of her head and subtle, vanishing, smirk. “You should be careful where you set your camp. The Black Empire is everywhere. N’Zoth’s followers shouldn’t be underestimated and truce or not, not all those in the Horde who scour for the Old God would take kindly to quel’dorei.”

[shadowsblades]

lightsblade​:

            “     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?     ”

          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.”

[shadowsblades]

lightsblade​:

          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?     ”

          Liadrin beholds her before she can so much as close her mouth, that turn of her head at once arduously slow, revealing in heart-stopping inches more and more of a face that had been reduced to a mere specter in her dreams, and preternaturally fast, as if she had somehow sensed Valeera’s presence there. Her golden gaze ------ startlingly not the visage the blonde had left behind, and which lances an icy dagger of shattered hope through her chest that melts as quickly as it pierced with apperception of the rest of those unmistakable features ------ magnetises to her own, her expression a mirror to that which the demon hunter would feel upon her own face were her attention not contracted to the distance rapidly depleting between them, to the moment long coveted and long repudiated.

          Her lifemate says her name in a wavering whisper, and Valeera’s boots come abruptly unglued. Without a moment of consideration, the blonde launches herself forward and upward, uncaring that she, in worn, torn, and unwashed leather, collides with a formidable tower of bruising plate. Arms encompass Liadrin’s neck and shoulders, face pressed so zealously into her jaw and cheek as if to imprint upon them an impression of her ridges of her ear and the creases of the blindfold covering her eyes, just as the hard lines of paladin’s armored figure engrave themselves on her.

          Her augmented senses make even more pronounced the staggeringly reminiscent scent of her, and the sob lodged within her throat, near choking, deflates as a quiet, trembling whine, spasming in her chest and stomach. Her empty eye sockets eschew tears, but a phantom of the stinging heat that might conjure prickles in their place. “Liadrin,” her reply comes quietly, that single word as much as affirmation of her own identity, ambiguous as she knows the corruption appearance may make that now, as it is of the woman’s she embraces, astonishment at the latter saturating her tone, “It’s me; I’m back. I know I look a little different...”

[slackergami]

[ko-fi]

[shadowsblades]

          Reunion by @lightsblade

[perfectfeelings]

“I saw you in my dreams again. It felt so real.”

—