#lightsblade

[shadowsblades]

STARTER CALL ↳ @lightsblade      ‹ accepting ›

          It’s been some time since she’s strode the pavement of a city as majestic as Dalaran, that majesty visible not only through the sight shared among the species native and foreign to Azeroth, but also through that shared more exclusively by its returned children. The opulent spires and glittering domes of the mage city, bisected by orderly, carmine streets, become luminous founts of arcane power with a blink, proof ( as if any is required ) of the magic saturating the rock floating over the Broken Shore. The pleasure den of the Black Temple, contrived to cater to the decadent taste of Kael’Thas’ sin’dorei, cannot compare, the greenery of the capital, scant though it may be, perhaps among the most striking of the differences to the asperous terrain far below, and far behind in Outland.

          It is not only the sights that enrapture, however, but the humanity enmeshed within them. The manifold races, accents, and languages, the tidy dresses, the mirth. All reveal fragments of existence consigned to the past, to before, to a reality without the Burning Legion, to life with motive other than the avoidance of annihilation ------ even now, with Sargeras’ army here. Abrupt yearning nigh eclipses thought of her purpose here, of the Illidari’s mission, but falls short, galvanizing instead, until------

          Her mind stutters with her steps, throat constricting even before a cohesive thought is formed. It can’t ------ the armor, the thickness of her limbs… But the face, the hair, her voice, somehow elevated above those of the others she converses with…

          Liadrin. It is Liadrin, standing as if she belongs in the streets of Dalaran, her features wrought in determination harder than Valeera recalls on her, which extinguishes the demon hunter’s own instantaneously. 

          Her lifemate stands as if she belongs in the streets of Dalaran, and shock prohibits Valeera do anything but gawk, slack-jawed and ears drooping, eyebrows drawn above her blindfold in hopeful consternation, guilt and shame and apprehension blooming in her chest and longing antithetically rooting her boots to the ground.

[terraforged]

@lightsblade​ asked: if i chop off ur tail does it grow back

if i chop off ur arm does it grow back

[ladywindrunner]

sets ur cloak on fire with The Light™

messages :: always accepting //

*disgusted noise*

[middenwake]

@lightsblade |  ⚓ sc .

A HAND LIFTS to shield his eyes from the shine , peaking sun bowing forth with broad rays that meet golden accents & reflect the light---not normally an ISSUE , given the number of metals & bright surfaces that decorate the harbor , but THIS---well , the light from the elf seems almost INTENSIFIED , though flynn’s not certain how much of that is her suspected relationship to her devotion , against how much of it is simply his SPLITTING HANGOVER .

                                                 “ is all that REALLY necessary ?”

     aggrieved griping , flynn cursing whatever tide brought her in .

                                  “ can’t you stand at the OTHER end of the harbor ?                                      no , wait , i’d probably still see you FROM HERE. ”

[warwaged-archive]

lor'themar how do u deal with ur hair getting everywhere imaginable... valeera sheds like a shaggy yak and i'm suffering.

UNPROMPTED ASKS // always accepting!

you complain of her hair getting everywhere but have you stopped to think of her side and how she’s probably have had to deal with you falling asleep on her hair :/ uncomfortable and painful

[shxwmaster]

@lightsblade​ liked for a starter !

     The Light brings the spy no comfort.

     Never really did ; perhaps it was Pathonia’s upbringing that wrung out any semblance of fantasy or falling ill to the promise of faith and prosperity, or perhaps it was his line of work that left no room in his heart or mind to believe in anything besides the cycle of WAR —

     Either way, “holy” people often did not trust him and his operatives, and he too, spared no trust towards them either. Faith is blinding, and the Spymaster needs eyes everywhere.

     Even on the holy.

     Wagering his chances, he decides now is not the time for stealth. The risk versus reward was too high, and he slinks out of the shadows, expression carefully neutral, and offers a humble bow, carrying himself as if he weren’t nearly dwarfed by her in height.

     “ Lady Liadrin, ” He greets, quietly assessing his chances at a less than ideal encounter. “ Mathias Shaw of Stormwind — I pray the armistice in place will allow us a peaceful conversation. I come bearing no ill will, but simply have a few curiosities to sate. Business as usual, if you would entertain me. I can promise at the very least that I come with... mutual interests in mind. ”

[bow-women]

@lightsblade // Lady Liadrin x

IT  TAKES  EVERY  FINELY  WOVEN  THREAD  OF  SELF  CONTROL  TO  ALLOW  VEREESA  TO  SPEAK .   clenched  jaw  strains  to  contain  the  snarl  that  wants  so  desperately  to  curl  lips  now  pulled  in  a  tight  line .   elongated  ears  that  jut straight  back ,  stiff  and  taut ,  twitch  in  vexation  that  thinly  veils  the  rage  burning  just  underneath  it .   is  all  this  pointless  dribble  supposed  to  justify  what  she’s  done ?   is  it  meant  to  make  her  feel  sorry  for  her ?   to  pity  her ,  to  believe  she  had  no  choice  but  to  commit  such  atrocities  against  her  own  already  suffering  people ?   the  suggestion  of  such  only  stokes  the  flames  of  her  fury   —   the  audacity  of  this  traitorous  bitch !   if  she’s  allowed  to  keep  spewing  her  filth ,  the  paladin  can’t  promise  that  faithful  dedication  to  her  principles  won’t  momentarily  lapse  for  the  chance  to  make  the  youngest  windrunner  suffer .

❝     SPARE  ME ,  YOU  INSUFFERABLE  SNAKE ,     ❞       frail  patience  snaps ,  previously  splayed  fingers  curl  into  fists ,  tight  and  quaking .   a  lesser  woman  would  throw  one ,  but  by  the  light  is  she  not  tempted  to  stoop  to  such .       ❝    your  excuses  mean  nothing  to  me .   there  is  no  justification  for  taking  up  arms  against  your  own  people .   were  it  up  to  me ,  you  would  be  rotting  away  the  rest  of  your  miserable  years  in  silvermoon’s  prison .    ❞

She could have gone on,

continued her tirade about her reasoning during the Purge, but her mouth snaps shut as the paladin cuts her off. Words aimed with such vitriol, Vereesa is surprised they’re the only thing to come from Liadrin. Her ears twitch in fury, eyes narrowed in rage. Her people? The Sin’dorei were no more here people than the orcs they had chosen to ally with. To follow blindly.

“The Sin’dorei ceased being my people when they allowed themselves to be so blinded!” Vereesa shouted. “There is nothing left of what my family fought and died to protect!” At least Sylvanas had tried to rise against Garrosh, to ensure justice was dealt to the bloodthirsty monster. “You all bow to the whims of the power-hungry, and turn the other cheek when the suffering falls on anyone but your own.”

Vereesa stood just a bit taller, displaying a degree of haughtiness that could only remind others of her sister. “How the Light still answers to you is beyond me.”

[diguerra-moved]

one word prompt meme: wound (for kelantir)

SOME  ONE  WORD  PROMPTS .  

WOUND :   my  muse  patches  and  bandages  a  wound  your  muse  has  gotten.

The cold was the last in the long list of terrible things about Northrend, surprisingly. To one who had known no land other than Quel’thalas, snow was wholly foreign thing, and unpleasant one at that; yet they would have been blessed if ice and obnoxious weather was all they needed face in campaign against that accursed monster. 

Progress had been slow, slower than it ought to. Even prepared to face weather they knew they were bound to find, it still hindered their march and interfered in perception of threats, regardless of magical aid meant to decrease such disadvantages. The attack (ambush, really) had caught them unaware due to that, after all; beneath the thick blanket of snow, it had been easy enough for the long dead things to hide, as easy as it had been for them to spring into action when the small regiment of paladins trampled their would-be graves. A harder fight than it should have been, in spite of slight numeric disadvantage; but being surprised had cost them, specially once other Scourge forces had arrived to finish them.

Cost that now, threat neutralized permanently, they dealt with. None had left entirely unscathed, though most seemed to be in good enough shape. Those that, like herself, hadn’t been seriously injured, now worked into aiding their companions. Kelantir was no exception; carefully, she weaved Light in mending the Matriarch’s wound, gash deeper than it was lengthy in spite of being no small wound either.

Faith had yet to fail her, ever since the restoring of the Sunwell and the Blood Knights’ change of path; difficult not to be disheartened by the situation, nevertheless, once again faced with the disease that still afflicted their homeland, once again having to witness a comrade fall to the undead. They had so much to recover still… even military forces all too few, in spite of detachment sent to fight the Lich King. 

Kelantir tries to comfort herself with that; at the very least, they will see Arthas fall. 

No one was immune to death or injury, surely enough, yet there is a sort of concern that cannot be avoided, some sort of deep disquiet in seeing even their leader wounded so. Lady Liadrin is the most formidable amongst them, there is no doubt; even amidst their people; and one is hardly at ease after being forced to perceive mentor’s inevitable mortality. Gaze flickers from her work to Liadrin’s face, but Kelantir keeps (or tries to) concerns to herself. “Just a little more and you’ll be good as new, my lady.”