#aenlanin

[aenlanin]

"What if" his family was still alive?

The markets were especially busy that day. Everywhere you looked there were people coming and going, from the various races and factions. Though he’d never been much for the green or fur-skinned of their allies, there was a certain charm about the way they favored Silvermoon and her venues. Wares and services were plied and sold at relatively fair prices, though Aenlanin could swear one of the tailors was shipping discount cloth from one of the goblin suppliers that just happened to be bidding on his newest creation. A man after his own heart, he surmised, even as his hand was tugged. “Father, could we...could we?!”

A boy of barely fifteen with raven hair peered forward and pointed, his face lit with expectation and wonder. He could see the swirling mana wyrms tumbling endlessly in beautiful patterns, and his want was clear. With an exaggerated roll of his gaze, and a smile that lifted anyone’s spirit he gave a nod and they bounded off. It was barely a moment later that they were strolling through the Walk, a newly minted wyrmling already twirling across the boy’s arms and into the locks of his hair. The laughter that touched the air was the very breath of innocence, a child who would never understand the horrors that’d nearly taken him from the world. Though his father watched in understanding, his son was as carefree as the summer breeze.“I thought we agreed -no- new pets?”Like a cat with his paw in the jar he turned, a look twisting his face in an almost comical fashion as he peered upon the elegant face of his beloved. A woman cast in her middling years, her scarlet tresses were drawn to impossibly straight lengths with the faintest curl in a set of bangs that framed her brow perfectly. With enough shadow cast across her face to accentuate the natural beauty she held, he found himself lost in the sight of her. Almost enough to remedy his folly.“Basking in the vision of your wife will not save you from her, My Lord.”

A laughter echoed between them before a kiss rested against her brow, and their linked arms brought them to chase after their son. With a toddler tucked against her other shoulder already clinging to her neck and fast asleep, they were a vision to behold. They strolled for hours until the sun waned, and the shadows of the evening began to creep in among the city streets. Leaving her side for but a moment a detour was made to the local ink trader. He watched as she took both their sons in hand and strolled onward to a small bench, and rested. As he passed through the door, the soft ring of the bell above him didn’t sound. A look up found it’d been bent aside.“Overzealous Orc again, Lelorian?”When no answer came he peered about, and caught a strange odor. Stepping further in the door began to slowly creep shut as his steps brushed along the dusty wood. For once he found himself in an almost uncomfortable silence, like the air was charged with some veiled force. His fingers idly brushed together as though a film had taken hold, and at once he jumped. The poignant quiet meant the door slipping shut was more crash than idle clatter of joints and locks, and he swept back around to watch the motes of dust settle back onto the floor.“...Lelorian..?”There was an odd lump in his throat, and already he could feel the pace of his heart steadily quickening. Again no answer touched his ears, and he made his way towards the counter. There he found an odd thing, a single golden coin etched in an elegant carving. He found himself drawn to pick it up, already taking the token in hand before he really knew why. Sliced into the precious metal were lines and shapes that, as he turned it over to catch the fading light of the sun drew a very clear picture even as the spindled legs took form, and the body formed.“What an odd coin...a-”He barely felt the dagger slip into his back at first, until the hilt pressed in against the folds of cloth and skin and he could feel the tip strike bone.“Spider.”A jolt struck him as the coin fell and struck the counter, falling into a lazy spiral as he gripped the wood. The blade was turned, and the uneven curve of the steel left a ragged gaping wound that quickly stained a deep shade of red. Already he could feel the warmth rushing down across the space between his robes, and breath failed him. He choked on a word, struggling to keep his balance before the weight of the world crashed in and he collapsed to his knee. A last ounce of strength expended itself before he struck the floor, and rolled onto his back. “It really is a shame...you seem an upright gentleman, and I hate to leave your beautiful wife a widow, but...business you know?”

A weapon clad in flesh and blood, and leather the color of midnight set her feet to either side of his waist. The formfitting leather clung to her like a second skin, the dull creak a whisper as she snatched up the coin. Eyes that seemed both feral and intelligent peered down at him, silk and throaty tones on her voice while she peeled the mask away. He might have found her beautiful, hauntingly so even, were it not for the way his body was quickly losing the battle to live. All thought turned to the steadily growing pool of blood around him, a hand brushing through it before he gripped her leg.“Some fight in you yet...even more disappointing. Who knows...in another life maybe we could have been acquaintances...a pretty face like yours deserved better. Just close your eyes, think of your pretty wife’s face. You’ll want that to be the last thing you think of, not me.”Her words were like a dull echo, like someone trying to talk to you through the press of a pillow. His hand fell away and he watched the stain of his blood soaking into the leather across her leg. With the passing of every breath the weight drew heavier, and his eyes began to slip shut. The last thing he saw was the door to the shop opening and his wife peering in. The last thing he heard was her howling scream at the sight of her dead husband.Another life.

@knife-in-the-shadows (her WoW counterpart) for mentions.

[redline1221]

😴 - have you ever given up on a blog and regretted it?

If you mean like one of my characters? No because I didn’t even really Tumblr till I started back on WRA and all of those blogs are now active. I think the only one that comes close was Raulstein, one of my other rogue characters. He eventually became Dorian, but he was a really interesting OC. Played the part of a “royal cartographer” drifter type that always was quick with a smile and a joke, but secretly was a fixer for SI:7, and other nefarious entities. I ended up kinda leaving him behind after a while just because at the time alliance RP was kinda...I dunno just not appealing. I sometimes miss the character, but he’s going to be making an appearance in some storylines for @redoriantherogue and @aenlanin very soon so I can’t be too upset. :) Thank you for the ask!

[aenlandrin]

Among the Boughs

A passing rain had left the verdant forest bed covered in a fine mist. The air was thick, but the smell pleasant. Like always the aroma of rain mingling with the earthy notes of Val’sharah created a sort of heady nostalgia. It was the sort of air one could lose themselves in, wasting hours putting paint to canvas or ink to parchment. The druids had built themselves a sliver of the Dream within its borders, and while corruption plagued its northern territories it lived on. Steadfast and beautiful, it was the perfect image of life refusing to succumb to the whim of the dark and terrible.

His footsteps were careful as he navigated the winding pathways, amid brush and shifting fog alike. The way ahead was hazy at best, the cobbles shrouded by a thin grey veil. While the sun overhead began to shine its light through a few breaks in the trees, the forest itself was cast in a layer of shadow. It was an eerie sort of feeling walking through towers of wood and leaf when you could barely see. It was a distinct thrill wondering what might be just a hundred feet in front of you. The unknown had always had a certain appeal to him, but his eyes and feet were hard set on the outer rim of the valley just ahead. Brushing aside a thick branch bent low from the storm he emerged into a sweeping plain of waving grass. Here the sounds of the forest gave way to the muted silence of serenity. The light crunch of grass and soil beneath thickly padded shoes greeted his ears, with barely a whisper of other sound. A soft wind drifted in from the north, the air cool and refreshing. Amber eyes lifted to find a few clouds beginning to form over head as he came to the center of that small valley. His path might have carried him onward to the relative safety of thick stone walls, and carved wooden domiciles of the druids but his thoughts and purpose rested here.  “This is an advantageous spot, My Lord.”

His movements had been impossibly quiet, but the dark and silken tones of the man’s voice shattered the silence. What calm had been found in the peaceful journey here was abandoned, and steel laced into the swirling fire kissed eyes as Aenlandrin peered over. Raven hair, a smooth complexion, and eyes as dead as they were alive peered back at him. Twin settings of sickly glowing jade centered around pits of coal gave Aenlanin an almost sinister aura, despite his mannered voice. The two shared an appraising look for a long moment as neither uttered another word. Somewhere in the distance a rumble of thunder echoed across the treetops, rolling in through the meadow with a shifting wind.

“With nothing to obstruct our magic...we will deal with them quickly enough, Your Grace.” Though the two had been in company for years, the requisite titles had become something of an afterthought, almost an amusing quip. The formalities and vagaries of societal etiquette were often discarded on the battlefield, yet they reveled in its irony. As the two came to stand together they could have easily been placed among the spires in the elven capital, their clothes stitched and embroidered with the color and style befitting their rank. Cast in simpler robes of fitted leather and hardened cloth, however, they esteemed to a more tactile game, now. A mirrored bow of a head found tresses of crimson and ebony alike brushing their cheeks before the two swirled about to rest back to back. “Shall we wager as to the final count?” Darkening clouds on the horizon became the focal point of the Scion’s study as they both rolled their sleeves a few inches higher. Nimble fingers calloused by their time spent crafting music began to stretch, and ready themselves. Like the towering sentinels of the ancient boughs their stiff motion eased beneath the press of the growing wind. They could almost hear the shrill cry as it buffeted the millions of leaves around the meadow, and sent sprawling waves across the grass. Cloth billowed as a harsher shift formed, and a single arc of lightning shot from the most distant cloud. Its light was a pale shade of green, its glimmer like the surface of the sun itself as it snaked through the air. Another joined its writhing path to form a single point in the distant sky above them.

“But of course. What shall be the winning?” The peaceful notes that had settled so prettily among the forest were erased, and in their place chaos erupted. Beasts shouted their alarm and a terrible chorus filled the gnarled branches as the wind howled. Above them a growing fog of hazy fel-stained ichor rolled endlessly within itself. Churning magic cast a pale light across them as the vessel emerged from its portal. Crackling thunder and arcing strikes of its energy blasted the forest. Fires erupted within the beautiful shades of green and yellow leaves just turning their color. Awash in the heat of the growing inferno, a handful of gateways forged by the Legion’s magic appeared from thin-air.  “I believe...a duet, yes. I think we ought to have ourselves a duet, you with your keys, me with my strings. It has been far too long since I had reason to take up the bow. The winner shall compose it, of course.”

Nightmarish shapes began to step through the veil of the nether, spurred onward by the ship dominating the skyline above them. Harsh words in demonic tongue began to blanket the meadow as fire and wind blasted the gentle grass to bits. As growing piles of ash began to form and the picturesque scene was destroyed, the two men could do little to hide their smiles. One a picture of confidence, an air of lordship and the coming fight. The other an almost sadistic glee at the destruction about to be wrought. Cut from a similar cloth but doused in different pools, they began their revelry. 

                                    “Then let us begin.”

[aenlanin]

Tyrael: What are you willing to sacrifice for a cause you think is just?

Traveling among the boughs and flora that littered his estate, the Duke was caught seemingly unawares by the inquiry. A guest escorted from the gates by armed men, their bodies clad in blackened leather and chain that gave them little in the way of definition. They seemed quiet sentinels resting at either shoulder, hands laid across the pommels of their swords. The Duke, by contrast, was clad in simple robes of blue stained linen, somewhat dirty from the obvious work he’d been tending to the leaves and stems of his small garden. Beautifully vivid colors dotted the tiny curved expanse, exotic lilies, and orchids casting their hues in a sort of rainbow spectrum. It might have been beautiful, were it not for the poisonous nature of each and every one of them. “A ‘just cause’...?”

The very notion drew a laugh from his pale lips, the sound chilled and lacking any heart. His body shook faintly, a hand moving to trace the back of one finger across his mouth as it subsided. A fiendish light touched the rims of sickly felfire that danced around the center of his eyes, pitched in hue like blackened voids amid emerald rings.“There is no such thing as a just cause...merely one the rabble find more palatable than another. Spin the story, place a note, and you can make a massacre seem as delightful and robust as an evening feast at Noblegarden. For a just cause? I would sacrifice nothing, they concern me none. For the one cause worth pursuing, that is to say my own? I would sacrifice everything. See them out.”Already the man’s back was turned, that same finger tracing across the petal of one orchid. closer inspection revealed the stem to be laced by a thousand pin sized needles, their gnarled tips glistening slightly with a dull ichor-like substance. The note of a fond sigh touched the air as his fingers fell away, and the Duke made his path toward the victorian-esque manor high atop one lone hill.

[redline1221]

📷-Emma Stone

Dice roll: Aenlanin (Oboy)

Seated within the confines of one of the many rooms sprinkled about the estate he reclined into an elegant lounge chair beside a crackling fire. A glass of wine was set beside him, a trace of copper in the air to mingle with the exotic scent of burning oil in a nearby sconce. The photo in his hand had been delivered earlier, the folder only now slid open to reveal the face beneath it.“Lady Fireseeker, I take it. A charming woman…though it is easy to see why. There is a natural quality about her features, devoid of the overuse of cosmetics or the glamors that seem to be catching on of late. There is a familiar sadness in her smile, though…and I can suspect the reason. Still, she casts an elegant figure nonetheless. Not enough red, however…”

[aenlanin]

A♦️ - What is the most important message your muse has ever received?

Wow for him that’s a difficult one to fathom. I would say that it wasn’t a verbal message, but the implication of an act. His wife and sons being murdered drove into him a simple, often overlooked message. You are mortal, and nothing is safe. He has spent the last ten years with that in mind, and it’s been the one thought that’s driven his path to vengeance. The fall to the sway of fel is an ever-present worry, but the power he’s gained from it coupled with his far reaching network of influence has made him a difficult man to beat. He has a host of guards at his call, a bevy of highly skilled and powerful assassins at his beck and call, and a vast array of intelligence and counter-intelligence operations. But all of it, as he’s acutely aware, counts for nothing if a single mistake is made. Because he’s mortal, and nothing is safe.

[redline1221]

Describe their morning routine. Describe their bed time routine.

Dice Result: The Duke, @aenlanin

Given the daily activities and duties that fall under his watch, Aenlanin is a relatively early riser when he needs to. Though he’s prone to resting until mid-day depending on the evening’s events his attention to his responsibilities is nearly obsessive. Generally he rises shortly before dawn, taking time to wake himself with a bath of scented herbs to scrub clean. His wardrobe is something of a constant though the threads and styles regularly shift in subtle manners. Always burgundy and black of some sort when he’s tending to official business.Breakfast usually is something of light fare, coffee for sure but taken with little cream and sugar. Generally a fruit or occasional bit of lightly burnt meat to begin the day. He sees to some exercise though he’s not the sort to sport an abundance of muscle or tone to his form. Healthy is likely the best way to describe him, and it’s one of the few things he’s as meticulous about as his writing. 

 As for the evening there are a number of ways he might eventually retire to bed. Typically another bath depending on the evening’s events. It’s not uncommon to require washing off blood or other bits if he has a subject to play with. If not he’ll usually recline in a chair next to the hearth in his chambers and read. Whether it’s a historical tome, fictional novel, or some sort of treatise on whatever subject happens to catch his eye. If he’s in the particular mood he’ll take up the violin and let the notes fill the manor in the waning hours of the day. Given his usual need to rise early he attempts to be asleep before midnight, but again, sometimes things go bump in the night and need attention.

Thank you for the ask!

[knife-in-the-shadows]

“I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul.” ― Pablo Neruda

{ @aenlanin }