#cross-faction

[mecharina]

It's @rrbobani's birthday today!!So I drew our cross-faction couple~ uvu

[houseildanan]

Argents Lost - Summer Winds (part 3)

The former Ebon he’d met on the trail still hadn’t given him her name, but she’d told him enough to win enough wary trust for him to return to the outpost with her.  The enterprise had been aided by a sudden ache that began somewhere deep inside his knee and a shift in the wind.  He’d lived in Northrend long enough to know what those two things together heralded.

Stormclouds swept down onto K3 as they reached the inn, led by biting wind that stung his face and made his eyes water.  The inn at K3 was decidedly worn, weather-beaten, but in good repair.  The windows looked like they’d been replaced recently and the floors and tables in the common room were decidedly clean, though they still carried a timeworn, hard-used charm, battered and scuffed as they were. Its warmth and shelter—and the smell of venison stew and cider—were a welcome comfort after so narrowly dodging the storm.

The table his newfound companion led him toward was tucked into a shadowed corner and was already occupied by a figure tall enough that he guessed it must be another Kaldorei.  The figure had both hands wrapped around a mug of something steaming, beringed—and there was something else, something he didn’t quite see until the figure lifted the mug to drink, a glint of silver.

His heart slammed into his throat and he stopped in his tracks.  His companion put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently.

“She won’t harm you,” she said softly.  “You have nothing to fear from her.”

“There are—”

“Yes,” she said.  “But something tells me your face will strike her familiar.”

“I’m not—”

“It has nothing to do with your resemblance to Ildanan Sunstar.”

He swallowed bile, but started walking again.  The figure—a woman, and unless he missed his guess, the woman called the Mistwraith—was looking at them now, argent eyes gleaming in the shadows of a drawn hood. He swallowed again as he carefully drew one of the chairs out from the table and sank into it, glancing back over his shoulder to see where his companion was going to sit—and found her gone.

“She’ll be getting you something bracing,” the hooded woman said.  There was a faint rasp to her voice but the familiarity was unmistakable. He nearly swallowed his tongue.

“I—”

“You’ll be needing it, Lord Kyvare.”

He rocked back, eyes widening.  In the shadows of her hood, there was a flash of a smile, almost but not quite feral.

“Yes.  I’m aware of who you are.  I’m also aware of what you were taught.”

“How—”

“I’m not certain the answer to your question matters overmuch, but if you really want an answer, I’ll give you one in exchange for an answer to a question of my own, first.” She leaned back and he could feel the weight of her gaze hanging heavy upon him.  “Why are you, of all people, seeking them when you have a family and responsibilities that should preclude a mission like this—one, I might add, that has been forbidden by the organization that saw you bound to them? Of all the sorts seeking those lost, you were among the last I would have imagined to see here.”

“What of you?” he blurted. “Why are you two looking for them?”

“Because she is my mother,” she said.  “And they are her family and I should think, with all that’s happened, I should owe her that much.  And you?”

“Because I didn’t think anyone else was and I wasn’t about to ask my family to come unless—unless I knew.”

“Whatever goes into that gully doesn’t come out,” she said.  “But they’re not dead.”

“No,” he confirmed.  “No, they’re not.”

“You’re certain?”

“Your cousin is.”

She fell silent.  The former Ebon returned to the table, setting a mug slowly down in front of him as she looked between him and the hooded woman.

“Well,” she said dryly. “I see you’ve gotten started without me. I thought we agreed that you wouldn’t do that anymore.”

The hooded woman reached up to push back her hood, smiling up at the Ebon.  “One time.”

“Near unmitigated disaster one time,” the Ebon said, seating herself.  “And a lesson learned.  What have you told him?”

“Likely no more than whatever you did to get him to come back with you.”

He coughed politely and wrapped his hands around the mug, letting the warmth bleed into his fingers. “My apologies, ladies, but I think we’ve missed a few things.”

“You already know who I am, Lord Kyvare, and I know who you are,” Mistwraith said, studying him.  “Unless it’s not pleasantries you’re getting at.”

“I—well, it was, yes, but also no.  How—how long have you been looking?”

“Long enough to know there are two sites of interest,” the Ebon said.  “You stumbled across one.  The other is a frozen waterfall and a river that don’t seem quite right.”

The mug between his hands shattered.

[purple-compromise]

AHHHHHH OK OK BUT imagine spesh and blueberry going on a secret date- I KNOW THAT PROB WOULDN'T HAPPEN AND WOULD BE WAY TO HARD-

But maybe spesh goes to town alone to pick up some groceries and walks into blueberry, and their both just staring at each other not knowing what to do because holy shit that's the enemy that I've kinda been sexy fighting with ????

Godddddd them just going into the same stores on "accident" and slowly just, talking to each other albeit very awkwardly. And you can cut through the gay tension with a knife NSNAKSJSLWNA and when they go back to base they go straight to their rooms, spesh freaking out about what this all means and why the fuck did she talk to blueberry and why was she so attractive- while blueberry is having some of the same thoughts but more in the field of "oh my god why did I talk to her why did she talk to ME holy shit why was my face so red"

MMMMM ANOTHER ONE THO- imagine blueberry on one of their "accidentally running into the other in town" days, makes spesh actually laugh- eyes closed and mouth pulled back with little dimples and blue is having a gay panic attack and is freaking out because holy shit spesh is so adorable when she laughs-

I'm BACK TO SPEWING GAY SHIT LMAO hopefully my dumb gay ass won't draw them to much banakaowbaan

Mmmmmmmmmmm GIMME THAT SWEET, GAY PANIC.

They start building a relationship by winding up in town on the same days, and then, on furlough, they go on a date, but of course, they can’t call it that. They’re just... secretly enjoying each other’s company. Having dinner. That’s all. But wait, why does it feel like every smile is something precious? Why is she going out of her way just to hear that laugh one more time? 

I’M HERE FOR THE GAY SHIT AND IF YOU WERE TO THINK ABOUT DRAWING THEM I CERTAINLY WOULDN’T DETER YOU.

[ourcollectivefantasy]

A Little Blue Box

The mailemental had a bit less to go on than Leon’s last request; all he had for this recipient was a name. In truth, he had absolutely no idea where Iloam and Ael lived, but he figured it was worth a try, so he forked over the gold and the pair of names and hoped for the best.

True to form, the glowing bluish-purplish fellow found the elves it was looking for, and handed off the blue-and-silver box with the smiling wolf’s head logo with utmost reluctance (the telemancy runes on the interiors were so tempting) before heading off on its way.

As always, the attached envelope was addressed by hand in plain handwriting to “Iloam & Aelberyn.” The letter inside was very short, and read thusly:

“Iloam,

You asked for help, even if you don’t remember it. You probably need it, even if you don’t want it. You’ve got it, if you ask for it again. My comm information is on the other side of this letter. I invite you both to use it as you see fit.

Yours, Leon E. Ambroce

PS: Share the truffles. The bottle’s for Aelberyn as much as you. If you two find no other use for it, it works just as well as dish soap for shutting a man up in a hurry.”

Tucked delicately into the box were two round truffles of such dark chocolate that they were nearly black, and were themselves quite bitter, cut only by the shreds of sweeter cocoa decorating the exterior. Nestled in a wad a cotton padding was a small eyedropper bottle labelled “Bitter Bastards.”

————————————————————

The start of the week was typically busy at Blacksong Records. Bands were coming back from weekend tours, equipment was being schlepped over the drawbridge and through the courtyard to be unloaded by roadies, craft services crews were coming in and setting up pop up tents for the week along with grills and firepits. The local brewery would always stop by, restocking the pony keg supply and taking next week’s order.

The courtyard at Brightwater Ferrer’s Manor was a dreary mess of wet gravel as morning fog rolled out and left a layer of dewy moisture over every surface. Gutters dripped over doorways and the many teenagers and young adults walking in and out of the recording studio’s front door lifted their hands to shield from the annoying drip.

Inside the record studio’s converted mansion, it was somehow more chaotic. Roadies stood around unpacking, giving orders, and running back and forth between studios as PA’s barked into walkie talkies; manager’s made deals in hallways; groupies lounged on every staircase and ratty second-hand couch available. There was an ever-present cloud of cigarette smoke and studio lounges were littered with bottles of water, booze, and Kaja cola scattered on every possible surface.

Iloam was at his desk, sequestered away in the back offices on the second floor, leaning back in his chair and combat boots propped on the corner. A notepad rested in his lap and a crystal player was in the center of his desk, surrounded by dozens of demo crystals. An oversized pair of headphones were over his long ears, with the cord stretched to the player, as he listened to a crystal and scribbled on his notepad. A bottle of Liquid Gold whiskey was also on his desk, with a rock glass half-full.

As his door opened, he looked up with a bored, half-conscious look and blinked back to the present. His PA had shoved the door open with her butt, clad in a pair of cut off jean shorts, fishnet stockings, and hot pink combat boots that matched her mid-riff in the same color. The logo across her chest of two crossed Flintlocks and the Pink Pistols punk band. “Mail’s here!” She announced as Iloam slid off his headphones and winced.

“Too loud,” he grumbled, long ears going back at her exuberance. “Anyt’in interesting?”

“Yah,” she whispered, grinning with bi-colored pink and black lipstick. “You got this weird one. No address, but it has your name and Lady B.” The Undead teen slid the box across his desk and they both leaned over, peering at it. “Looks like some kinda noble guy? It’s got a crest.”

Iloam tilted his head. Blue and silver packaging… Alliance, clearly. Wolf crest. Gilnean? There were a few possibilities there, but all of them friendly. Cautiously, he decided to open it and pulled out the letter on top, flipping it over and giving it a quick read.

The rogue’s face must have conveyed his surprise. “Someone you know?” Margo asked, arching an amused eyebrow. “Is it a love letter?” She teased, leaning over the desk and reaching for the letter.

Iloam swatted her hand away. “Oi! Piss off! Haven’t yeh got a lunch break coming up?” He grouched at her, waving her off.

“I don’t need to eat. I’m dead,” she pointed out and picked up the blue and silver package, rattling it with satisfaction as something rolled around inside.

“Go have a smoke t’en,” Iloam instructed, sliding up from his chair and reaching out to snatch the gift back. “Out.” This earned him a pout and then a wink from his assistant before she quite literally skipped out of the room and slammed the door. He waited until he could see her shadow through the frosted glass pick up her purse and leave the waiting room before his attention returned to the small box.

Peeling back the paper, Iloam pulled off the lid and found the two chocolates inside. A touching gift really – anything handmade from a Chef always was – but those would have to go to Aelberyn. There wasn’t any way Leon could have known Iloam didn’t eat… well… anything he didn’t have to. But he picked up the small bottle and smirked at the brand name. Of course. Very clever. And most of all, thoughtful. He paused, palming the bottle and looking out the window at the Tirisfal drizzle. He wouldn’t have ever thought Leon of all people would think of him outside of the occasional hello and joking around at parties. What had earned such kindness?

The rogue moved back to his desk, sitting deep into his chair and scooting forward as he pulled out a pre-printed thank you card with the Blacksong Records logo printed in gold dripping ‘spray paint’ effect over a skull emblem on matte black card stock. Picking up his quill, he attempted the best handwriting he could – which was to say it looked as if a chicken were having a seizure.

“Leon,

Cheers much for the gifts. They were a pleasant surprise. You are right that I don’t remember much of anything about last Friday. Aelberyn tells me I was a real shit heel. She didn’t deserve that – none of you did. I hope that you and the lads will forgive me. It had been ages since I let my drink get the best of me, and I am doing my best to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

He looked at the glass of whiskey on his desk. Well, that was a lie. But it was better than heroin – wasn’t it? Iloam frowned and went back to writing.

“I don’t know what you can do to help, but I will certainly keep the offer in my pocket for if and when it may be necessary. It’s only proper to extend the offer back. Should you ever need anything from me, just give me a ring.

- I.B.”

He added his com frequency, and for good measure, their personal address for any future packages and letters.

((thank you @mremaknu​ !)) 

[olliehaldstan]

Olyviane “Ollie” Haldstan Character Sheet (Updated)

“Love knows not its own depths, until the hour of separation.”

Brief Description

A sapphire gaze sits upon a cranium swathed in deep crimson locks. The smooth, silky hair drags lithe across a stern visage which bears a row of sharpened teeth hiding behind two proud, ivory tusks. Soft and gaunt may be proper terms to describe the face of this woman; pronounced cheekbones resting upon smoothed cheeks - a thin pair of pale, glistening lips lay perched upon a vexed frown. A small scar runs jagged about her left-most brow, leaving it partially bereft of hair; deep and pronounced, a sign of a possible battle scar.

Standing at a meager Six Feet, Ollie is by no means a common example of her species. Her arms boast a small, tone group of muscles. Arms which appear wracked with various scars; ranging from long, jagged streaks which seem to chase after one another as they traipse about her person, to deep pocks, smoothed over with scarred tissue.

It is quite clear this woman has been witness to much violence in her life. Seemingly more-so reflected within her deep gaze; filled with a hidden fury.

An arming sword is strapped to the woman’s hip. By its appearance, the sword appears well used, yet still quite sharp to the touch, with a leather grip which appears faded and frayed. Three short tassels hang from the pommel, each boasting a single, onyx bauble which glints softly in the light.

Personal Information

Name: Olyviane Haldstan - “Ollie”

Age: 30′s

Race: Half-Orc/Human

Height: 6′0

Birthplace: Redridge

Current Residence: Nomadic/Dalaran

Profession: Mercenary, Apprentice Shaman

Eye Colour: Sapphire

Relationship Status: Married to Garry D. Bache @professor-bache

Languages - Common, Orcish (passable)

Traits

Favourite Colour: Red

Likes: Combat, hunting, honour, strength, loyalty

Dislike: Pity, brigands/outlaws, tight spaces, Orcs

Martial Prowess: Sword/Shield, Bastard Sword, Bow, Axe, Mace

Primal Element(s): Fire

Physiognomy: Aloof, hot-headed, sarcastic, angry

Art by @__DLQ__ on Twitter!

[majros-mishaps]

Tiny Jabbit Is Obsessed with Giant Girlfriend Who’s 4 Times His Size

(technically she’s not his girlfriend yet, they’re still working thru some stuff but shh)

Couldn’t get my brain together to finish this for V-Day, and there’s still places where it could use a lil more refinement, but here it is anyway. z wz im laughing because i started adding the Dramatic Lighting the minute “I See The Light” from Tangled came on my itunes. it was a sign

Thank u to everyone who’s still stickin around this blog LOL u are da real mvps. <33333333333333333333333333

[graceintheshadows]

A whisper of a tale

There is a story among the kaldorei, a tale so old, now, that few care to remember.  No one knows where it came from or why the Temple tried to silence it after the war ended.  It was whisper, was warning.  It spoke of a nameless fear that was all too real then and perhaps—perhaps—is all too real now.

We have always known the shadows.  There is not a time in my memory when we have not, nor was there a time in the memory of my mother, or her mother.  Elune has chosen some of us to walk among them, shielded us in our work.  Some of us walk still in Her favor.

Some of us fell from Her grace.

The tale we have forgotten is a tale of what can happen when one reaches too far and too deep.  When one forgets.

Goddess help us in the dark hours that are to come for we have forgotten what happens when the dark whispers come and we answer them with an open heart.

A priestess did that once—listened to their whispers.  When the void called, she answered.  Some versions say she thought it was Elune’s voice.  Others leave it unspoken.

The Old Gods whispered to them she went—pliant and willing, a blade forged by Elune turned to their dark purpose.

Goddess help us all if she has survived after all these centuries.

Goddess help us if she trained any to follow her after she fell.

[cinlat]

May Drabbles - Day 29

Prompt: “I don’t hate you, I just don’t like that you exist” (Defiance) Characters: Chexi Glyph (Republic Trooper)/Pierce Story/Series: It Could Happen Word Count: 639 A/N: I love these two. Just needed to go on record as saying that. Eventually, I’ll get a decent shot of them.

Pierce made choking gestures when Chexi turned away from him yet again. Her single eyed gaze held nothing but contempt, which he probably deserved. Still, the woman was insufferable. There was no pleasing her. “If I’d know you’d get like this,” Pierce shouted after the Republic soldier. “I wouldn’t have bothered!”

Chexi stopped, turning slowly to pin Pierce with that glare he knew so well. Pierce readied himself for a proper military officer’s lashing. “Act. Like. What.” He wasn’t sure if that was an actual question or not. Women were fickle that way, none more than his own.

“Like you hate me, again,” Pierce answered honestly. He’d thought they’d moved past it. Sure, their game was still on. Whoever lost their cool in the field first had to provide certain services later, but it was less about one-upping each other and more about making up. “Fuck, woman, it was just a joke.” Not even a new one, at that. They’d always teased about being in it for the sex, like saying someone married a woman for her cooking. It was just words.

Chexi managed an impressive eye roll for only having the one. The gesture she threw as she stalked away was classic soldier, though. It reminded Pierce why he put up with her moods. Damn if that ornery little colonel didn’t have the sweetest ass he’d ever seen.

“For your information,” Chexi called over her shoulder. “I don’t hate you. I just don’t like that you exist.”

With a grin he’d probably regret, Pierce caught up with his fiery girlfriend. “Bet I can change your mind.”

Chexi gave a defiant huff. “Sex won’t buy your way out of this one.”

Grabbing Chexi by the arm, Pierce shoved her into a corner and lowered his voice. “What about really good sex?”

Sighing, Chexi pushed Pierce away. That was new, she usually loved it when he got tough with her. “Damn, I really pissed you off this time, didn’t I?”

“No,” Chexi responded without meeting his eyes. “It just made me realize what a bad idea this is. You’re right, why bother settling at our age?”

Pierce bit his tongue to avoid interrupting when Chexi clearly wasn’t finished. He knew better by now. At last, she sighed. “I can’t do this anymore. I’m a colonel in the Army of the Galactic Republic for fuck’s sake. Too old for a fling with the enemy.” She stepped around Pierce. “Maybe we should just focus on the war from now on.”

Those words hurt more than Pierce expected. He and Chexi had been a--something for nearly a year. Waking up with her long curls tangled around his fingers had become the highlight of Pierce’s morning. Chexi never complained about his bulk crushing her when he rolled over in the middle of the night. She even laughed at his lewd humor, in private, at least. Now, she wanted to just stop?

“Hell no,” Pierce growled as he closed the distance between them. When Chexi paused with a challenging glare, he stepped into her personal space. “You don’t get to want more, never bring it up, then quit when I don’t read your fucking mind.” Anger mounting, Pierce grabbed his belt to avoid shaking his girlfriend. “Look me in the eye and tell me we’re done.”

Chexi looked away.

“That’s what I thought.” Peirce snorted. “Focus on the war my ass. I’m going to have a chat with the commander, then you and I are taking a few days to ourselves. Then,” he lifted Chexi’s chin to make sure her attention was focused on him. “You can tell me what you really want.”

At Chexi’s nod, Peirce released her and started towards the War Room. They’d get away, work things out, and hopefully reach an agreement. If not, well, there was always really great sex.