#annara

[weetlebeetle]

A helpful guide

[erinmccomics]

The last of this glorious batch, featuring Janamy, Selene, Canarii, and Annara! Thank you all so much for helping me out and letting me stick some characters in jars <3 

@hoth-and-cold because you’re the only one I know how to tag in this bunch

[talkstorocks]

Cadmium yellow?

Cadmium yellow:what subjects or topics does your muse avoid, because they bring up harmful / painful memories?

Not so much “harmful” as “embarrassing,” but she avoids mentioning her first forays into Thalassian society (aided by her new friend, the noblewoman Annara). Potential conversations were tainted both by her species and by her then-clumsy Thalassian, and she knows that there are probably still elves who think she and Annara are both simply hilarious for trying to introduce her as an intellectual.

She’s since taken great pleasure in verbally eviscerating her former foes. Make fun of her culture, will you? Hrmph!

[talkstorocks]

The worst part was, she was trying. The Convocation had set her to track a dreadlord, and so she was--but the Broken Isle was vast, and so much of it was felscarred already, and so she’d been hunting one specific magical signature for months and found nothing.

The Filthy Animal wasn’t even her third choice of establishment, but it was warm and built to Tauren sizes and the beer was drinkable enough. Sighing, she took a seat by the hearth, pulling out her pen and binder of loose parchment. It was time to relax and send out Winter Veil letters. (She heard the spirits grumbling in the back of her mind. She ignored them. They’d been much quieter lately.)

Dear Mother and Father,

I am well. The spirits guide me, as always. I

She stared at the paper. There were some things--mortal peril, deadly heights, unexpected aid from a warlock of all people, needing to be rescued from the spirits before they drove you to your death--that you did not tell your parents. For their peace of mind, it was better if most of her adventures on the Broken Isles remained unknown.

joined a new organization called the Convocation. They pay me well, and have set me to tracking down a dangerous dreadlord. If you hear of anything strange in Mulgore, please write to me. Until then, I remain your loving daughter.

Best wishes for a happy Winter Veil,

~Pa’una

That would have to do for now. Her next letter would, thankfully, be shorter and easier; she kept Auntie apprised of as many new developments as she could, but there was something she had forgotten to ask last time.

Auntie,

Happy Winter Veil! I know you must have just gotten my last letter, but there’s something that’s been nagging at me about the group I joined. What do you know about a Magister Vanyris Spellsong?

~Pa’una

As she sealed and addressed the letters (plain wax and Mullun Follows-the-Wind/Haluuna Grasshoof, Thunder Bluff for her parents, her House seal and her best-written Lady Annara Goldleaf, Silvermoon for Auntie), the pitcher of beer she’d ordered was finally plunked down in front of her. She sipped it slowly, savoring the taste.

Outside the tavern, someone was singing carols.

[talkstorocks]

and i will learn to love the skies i’m under

Her parents tell her to follow her dreams. She’s beginning to wish they’d given her more practical advice.

At first she dares to think it will be easy. The other races of the world have grand museums—the Ironforge Hall of Explorers is famous—but surely the combined might of the Horde and the knowledge of the blood elves can easily outclass a bunch of greedy dwarves. Surely she will gather the friends and allies she needs to make her dream a reality. Surely it will not take her years, decades, before she stands at the threshold of a museum fit to hold the wisdom of ages.

Her confidence lasts only as long as it takes her to learn Thalassian, and then she can hear what Lady Annara Goldleaf’s guests whisper when they think she does not hear. Silly cow. Naïve girl. That’s a girl? I couldn’t tell. Honestly, I’m amazed she can even read. Imagine, something like her as a scholar? Ridiculous.

(Annara (friend, aunt, almost a mother, who has never once mispronounced her name) takes that particular guest aside. He leaves their gathering later, ears drooping.)

Joining the Reliquary, even on a temporary basis, helps. She thinks she’ll never not be wary of Brightblade and the High Examiner downright makes her want to hide, but her fellow archaeologists respect her. (Even if it takes a while. Even if she has to be twice as good. Even if they don’t seem to believe she’s as respectable a scholar as some of the mages until the day her successful translation prevents a spirit from eating one of the diggers.) And so she digs, and works, and writes, and treks across Kalimdor and the Eastern Kingdoms and even far-flung Pandaria and Draenor—and none of it brings her closer to her goal.

“Follow your heart, my daughter. It will lead you to great things.”

(that is wonderful advice, mama, but hearts alone do not build walls)

No, what she needs and does not have and probably will not have for as long as she keeps traveling is money. She knows who has it, and she knows what induces them to give it away, but she cannot (will not) beg for it. Nor will she ask Annara—the woman has done enough and more than enough for the small Tauren she met on the zeppelin to Brill (and besides Pa’una is pretty sure it would take more money than she has anyway).

The Goldblooms tell her it will be easy. Take a year, two years, ten years off from your adventures, focus on your writing. When you are well-known, when all Quel’thalas sees you as a scholar of renown, the gold will pour in. She knows they are right…but. But.

But.

She thunders across the plains, wind ruffling her fur and her great stone cat racing by her side.

She kneels in a ruined temple, or by a half-buried skull, or in front of what might have once been someone’s bed or chair or table, and begins to document each of its properties in ink and photographs.

She sets up camp in a desert or a rainforest or high in snow-capped mountains, and though she is the only Tauren in a group of sin’dorei and Forsaken she knows she is welcome (even when she is alone she is never lonely).

She sings the ancient words of her people and the spirits of the earth rise up to answer.

She does not want to stop.

(there will be time enough later)

[jonginplease]

im going to bulgaria imma gonna wRECK yOUR ASS SARA!!!!!!!!!!! why? bc i lub u ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

You better lub(e) me good if you’re gonna do that...

[talkstorocks]

pa'una is discussed - three years and nine months ago

The Goldleaf villa was built with more opulence than Pa'una had ever seen outside of Silvermoon proper, but somehow the rooms that Auntie Annara had given her felt almost as comfortable as a tent. As she tossed and turned, trying to sleep, she was grateful for its white walls and massive windows, left open to catch a breeze in the hot summer night. Traditional Thalassian furnishings would have demanded that her bed be a cushioned mattress on the floor even regardless of her size, which suited her just fine. But she was thirsty. Grimacing, she sat up. I wonder if I can sneak down to the kitchens for water... Tauren were not known for stealth and most of the villa was floored with marble, but it was worth a try. She'd never understood the elven custom of having an entire other wardrobe dedicated to sleepwear, but she supposed it was necessary if you didn't have fur. Her undergarments were much cooler, anyway, and didn't impede her progress out of the room and down the hall. Even stepping as carefully as she could, each hoofbeat sounded too loud to her. It wasn't until she reached the carpeted staircase that she heard voices, and froze. They were female and speaking Thalassian. She barely dared to breathe. "I must confess to finding myself perplexed at being invited here at such a late hour, Lady Goldleaf. You are aware I am a married woman, aren't you?" She sounded amused. Pa'una carefully craned her head around the corner and peered down at a thin elven woman dressed completely in black, like a blotch of shadow in the gilded whiteness of the main hall. Annara Goldleaf chuckled humorlessly. Even at a distance, it was easy to recognize the woman who had helped acclimate her to sin'dorei society; though both elven women were yellow-haired and short to Pa'una's estimation, "Auntie" Annara's golden-blonde hair could never be mistaken for the other's ash-blonde, and she stood a good head taller. "You know perfectly well why I wanted to speak to you, Lady Goldbloom, and it has nothing to do with matters of scandal." Goldbloom raised one immaculate eyebrow. "Oh?" Annara's ears slanted delicately but firmly backwards. "I won't allow you to put my ward in danger. Bad enough that she tramps all over the world with no company but that stone cat of hers." Pa'una felt her face heat; the word Annara had used for ward, she knew, could also translate perfectly well to daughter. Now her concern over the letter the Reliquary had sent her earlier made much more sense. Sellenara Goldbloom didn't look particularly fazed by this. "Lady Goldleaf, I assure you that Miss Stonespeaker will be in no more danger than her solo expeditions have put her in. In fact, if you'll allow her to be put on the Reliquary's payroll, we'll be able to ensure her safety--" "And have her used as a pawn by Tae'thelan Bloodwatcher and the Magistry? I think not. Besides, you know very well that her strengths are in history and archaeology, not in arcane artifacts."

"Whoever said that I was interested in arcane artifacts?" Annara blinked, one ear tilting curiously forward. "...Your letter gave neither of us reason to believe that you were not." Sellenara snorted in a most unladylike fashion. "That was just in case any of Bloodwatcher's idiots laid eyes on it. No, my husband and I are interested in true archaeology, discovering the secrets of the past. The Reliquary is a convenient backer, and Bloodwatcher doesn't care as long as any magical things we find cross his desk eventually. We're printing a magazine; we have printing presses and workers, but we need field agents. That is the post I was offering Miss Stonespeaker." Pa'una's heart leapt. Oh, please let Auntie give her blessings! I'll have a dedicated place to send my articles! For a moment, her head spun with the possibilities--a magazine, publicity, a building to house her findings and display them to the world. Frowning lightly, Annara nevertheless nodded after a moment. "I will speak with her."

For the first time, Pa'una saw Sellenara almost smile. "My gratitude, Lady Goldleaf."

She knew she’d have a hard time getting back to sleep.

[talkstorocks]

pa'una meets the wolf - six years ago

She'd only been in the land called the Plaguelands for two days, and Pa'una was already heartily sick of it. She had yet to see a single scrap of anything green and growing; even the weeds were dead and crunched under her hooves. Monstrous mushrooms loomed above her, throwing off a foul stench. She tried to keep breathing through her mouth.   To make matters worse, she was alone. I wish Auntie Annara was here. The sin'dorei woman that had taken her into her crumbling manor as a guest last year had wished her luck on her journey, but politely declined to come with her, muttering something about bad memories. Pa'una had yet to acquire a hunting companion, and she had no wish to impose on the coyote spirit that had given his name to her. The only sounds around her were the moaning wind and her own steady hoofbeats. She picked up the pace.   The sun was beginning its descent by the time she came upon the second of the ruined towers that her map told her marked a relatively safe path into the marginally-less-ruined western part of what had once been Lordaeron. Her nostrils flared as she sniffed. Nothing dead, I think. At least, nothing dead and still moving.