#marint

[arealnowhereelf]

DWC - 21 Feb - Day VII - Murder / Ardor

I have been shown an invasion of Shadow and Void in Silvermoon City. I feel this attack may be imminent within the next few weeks. Please take care and if you must be in the city, please be prepared.

Marint found himself reading Mesandrèaux's letter again and again. It must have been the fourth time he had. Each time more causing an invisible weight within his heart growing. What other kinds of visions was she having? Did she put a lot of stock into them? He saw no reason not to, honestly, though he wouldn't have considered himself a man who necessarily believed in things like fate and divination. Sometimes, however, there were some things that happened that just didn't have an explanation.

Loosing a quiet sigh, he tucked her letter away with care, worrying more about her. She was still in Silvermoon. At least he was travelling to and fro, thanks to the ease and convenience of portals. He still had his work to do for House Rudonthos and he didn't like being gone too long from Turleth. In fact, it was his very son he was on his way to see.

Turleth had, upon learning of Marint's work with the bow and arrow, easily decided he wanted to do the same. He was a rather spry boy. In many ways, Marint would have called him a child, but he certainly wasn't going to stay that way for long. When he arrived at the very same home where he'd had his own tutelage with Qelthe at his side, Turleth bounced right down the cobblestone steps, past a fountain that Marint had sculpted with his own hands as thanks for taking his son on as a pupil.

With dark skin like an ocean's depths and bright glowing eyes, Turleth was all of the innocence and the awe that could be trapped within a developing adolescent mind that had not yet seen all of the horrors of the world. Marint couldn't protect him from them all and he wasn't going to be able to shield him forever, but when he thought about things like Mesandrèaux's letter and what the contents held, he wanted to keep the young shal'dorei as far out of harm's way as he could manage.

"Dad!" Turleth greeted him, grinning widely and showing all of his pearly whites. "I did really good today. Mister Deldros even said so!"

Once he was within arm's reach, Marint scooped him up easily, lifting the boy above his head and setting him right atop the shoulders so he could have the very best view. "Did he now? Which means I assume you're not taking after your old man."

His son covered his right eye with a hand, "Nope. I can definitely still see."

Marint grinned cheekily, "Don't go putting anyone else's eye out either, got it?" As Turleth wrapped his arms about Marint's neck, he relaxed his grip a little and the pace he took was a little more leisurely, as if he wasn't still running letter contents over in his head. "You feel like giving me a little demonstration when we get home?"

It was the right thing to say. Turleth kept right on smiling, bright and radiant. "You're not too tired? I know you've been working a lot. Mistress Rudonthos says so."

With a slight grimace, Marint resisted a sigh. He didn't mind Vueze saying things here and there to him, especially when she was kind enough to look after Turleth when he couldn't, but he always worried she might say something too much to him. Having Turleth in his life was always a guarantee that aside from selling information, Marint was never willing to get his hands directly dirty. Sometimes, even, just the information was a cause for concern. If he sold it to the wrong person, if he wound up on the bad side of someone particularly dangerous, it wasn't just him that could be in danger.

He worried about losing his family. Losing his son. Turleth had already lost so much. His parents. The chance for any younger siblings. Marint wanted to give him the whole world.

"Turleth," Marint began. "I always have time for you." The boy knew it, but it warranted repeating regardless. "You're the most important person in the world to me. So it doesn't matter how tired I am. It doesn't matter even if time's against us, because I'll make time."

"Wow, I'm even more important than Uncle V, huh?"

Ah. Uncle V. Marint snorted. "Remember, just because you call him that in front of me doesn't mean he'd want to hear it. Let's keep it a secret between us, hm? Val's not that kind of guy." On the contrary, though Soryk had always been awkwardly amicable with Turleth, Marint thought he sometimes spied something that looked a little... He didn't know. Wistful maybe? There were, at times, certain looks that crept into Soryk's expression that he likely wasn't even aware of.

Or Marint was just really good at seeing it.

As they walked along the grand streets of Suramar beneath a beautiful dark sky, Marint listened to Turleth talk about his day. Everything he'd done. What he'd eaten. Even the very mundane things in life were such an adventure to the youth. Marint had been living for so long that he'd kind of forgotten what that feeling was like. It was nice being able to remotely experience it through the company of his son. When Turleth turned it around on him, however, asked Marint about his day, he found himself pausing, contemplating how much he should say.

"Well... It was informative," he began.

"...Informative?" Turleth asked, in that ever so innocent way of prying for more.

Marint nodded, bending down to eventually put Turleth onto his feet before offering his hand, which was taken rather easily. Every time he did that, Marint felt a little warmer. How nice it was that Turleth hadn't outgrown that yet. Vyasa warned him that it wasn't going to stay that way, of course. Marint was going to be thankful for every moment longer that it lasted.

"Yeah," he finally continued. "Informative. I got a letter today from someone. You know of her. Lady Mesandrèaux."

"Ohhhh," Turleth began with a grin. "That's the girl you liiii~iiiike."

Marint rolled his eyes, choosing to ignore that deliberate poking and prodding. Initially. And then after a moment, "Whether I 'liii~iiiike' her or not doesn't matter here. She's in a place right now that might become dangerous. We're safe here, but she might not be. And I can't ask her to come back." Wouldn't have been fair to her pilgrimage or to her independence. "So... If something happens where I need to go to her, are you going to be okay if I let Mistress Rudonthos look after you for a little?"

He was met with silence for several moments, something that wasn't exactly surprising. He understood why. No matter how he tried to deliver ideas like that gently, kids were always smarter than it seemed. Turleth probably had a better idea about what could happen than what Marint was willing to say.

He didn't know the details of Mesandrèaux's vision. Didn't really know what to expect. She certainly seemed inclined to stay there. Hadn't mentioned coming home. Just told him to keep himself safe. He'd certainly rest easier if he knew Turleth was in good hands and Vueze was certainly not going to involve herself in matters that would otherwise hinder that. And if he could guarantee his son was safe, it'd give him a chance to think more about stepping in if Mesandrèaux needed it. Maybe she'd just feel better having him at her side.

"What if something happens to you?" Turleth asked, his smile lessened with the very real possibility.

Marint shook his head, "Nothing's going to happen to me. I've been in all kinds of dangerous situations." Lifting a hand he tapped at his temple. "This guy up here is still fiercely ticking away. Besides, I have to come home to you, right? There's nothing in the world, no shadow, no light, no nothing that would keep me from doing that." If anything, knowing Turleth was waiting for him was likely to make Marint act with a considerable amount of care. If he had to get involved in something serious, he'd ask Soryk to step in for him. He could rely on him.

"Well..." The smaller hand in his squeezed and after a moment, Turleth continued. "You promise?"

Marint looked down to him and turned those two words over in his head. If he had been younger, more foolish, more arrogant, he could have answered without a beat of hesitance. He knew that so many different things happened in the world every day. So many of those things were the kinds that he couldn't foretell. He really couldn't guarantee that he'd come back. Making a promise like that to a child, to anyone, was cruel. He wasn't a cruel man.

"That's a tough word," he began thoughtfully. "Promise is... Well. That's a promise. It's the kind of thing you say when you know something's a sure thing. Lots of things in life aren't sure things. Right now, it doesn't seem like that." Marint paused and he tipped his head. "That's a good thing. Hold onto that."

For as long as you can, he thought. Before the world starts showing you otherwise.

"So... How about this? I can't promise. After all, if I broke it, even if something happened that I couldn't control, it'd be like lying to you." Marint shook his head, "I don't want to lie to you. So... Instead of promise, I'll tell you that I'll do my very best to keep myself safe. I'll take the path of least resistance, but I won't be a coward. I won't be alone. I'll make sure I have someone with me. And if for any reason, we're separated, I'll write to you."

After a moment's thought, he continued. "Mistress Rudonthos is pretty good at magic. She might be able to make something for us to talk with one another over distances. That'd be great, right? So I could still talk to you at night and tell you goodnight."

Raising his white eyebrows, he gauged his son's reaction, "What do you think? Think you can handle that?"

It was more beats of quiet, like Turleth's thoughts turned, akin to gears in an engineer's schematic. Marint almost wondered if he'd have to further sweeten the pot with lots of candies or some of those chocolates Mesandrèaux had shared with him and the others on those stairs not long ago. When Turleth spoke up again, however, he felt some of the tension in his shoulders begin to drop.

"Okay. I can handle that," he said. "But if I do that and you get yourself hurt, I'm telling Lady Mesandrèaux that you like her."

Marint groaned and rolled his eyes once more. It wasn't even like he could argue with him. Sometimes when kids got something into their heads, there was just not getting rid of it.

Yeah, yeah, Marint shook his head, like he was having a conversation with himself. You'll understand that when you're older, too.

—@daily-writing-challenge

( Mentions for @kharrisdawndancer (Mesandrèaux). )

[lilyofporcelain]

August 2025 - DWC Collection

Day 001 - Ethereal / Calculate - Feat. Laeynna Day 002 - Layer / Wither - Feat. Belidrae Day 003 - Twitterpated / Primal - Feat. Soryk Day 004 - Languish / Direction - Feat. Marint & Soryk Day 005 - Rustic / Attack - Feat. Zarynei Day 006 - Celebrate / Reactionary - Feat. Ankalei Day 007 - Serene / Weapon - Feat. Laeynna

Another set of DWC challenges down.

I've often thought to myself that having multiple characters makes it rather easy to simply pick a character and assign them to a prompt that is most befitting of them. However, I think on the next one, I might wish to select one or two characters and focus solely on them.

In the past and even this most recent one, I frequently use DWC as a means of trying to find direction, reclaim characters lost to unfortunate experiences, or something akin to. Sometimes this works. Sometimes it doesn't. In the past, it has also inspired me to take a character I thought only a side and wanting to make them something more. (And on this one, I even wrote something a little special just for them, realising that I was rather fond of their concept.)

On this DWC, I found myself contemplating the life of a character I thought I could salvage and I think, in the end, I won't be able to. I feel that was the discovery that I made at the end of the prompt pertaining to them. In spite of that, DWC has paved me a pathway to see an end to them. Perhaps, after all, it helped me more than I thought it might.

I found DWC considerably more challenging this time around than I usually do. Perhaps that is the result of over-thinking. Of excessive worry. Dropping into the unfortunate mentality of wondering if my writing is compelling. If my characters are compelling. And the ever-consistent reminder that perhaps it is more important to focus on what I think of my writing. Yet as artists, I suspect we all want to write things that others support us in. We all want to make something that we feel is worthwhile, especially when it comes to incorporating so much of what we do in a collaborative hobby.

Thank you, @daily-writing-challenge, for another opportunity to better how I convey my ideas. For another opportunity to think so very deeply about my characters and analysing them, understanding their motives, and finding ways to better express that.

Thank you, fellow writers. It was a pleasure to read everyone's works. To learn about other characters. To watch ideas come into play and fork off in every which way. To follow adventures (and misadventures) from one point to another. To enjoy how thoughts and feelings can be portrayed in so many different fashions.

I look forward to the next one.

[tealribbons]

Visions of Older Days

Soryk grimaced. The ale wasn't really hitting. To be fair, it was, as per the usual, piss and water, some backwash nonsense that when warmed only ended up less than pleasant. Across from him sat the same Shal'dorei who frequently seemed to join him for these regular outings. If he could even call them that. Maybe on some level they were. They always started out on a professional level. Expecting them to stay there wasn't realistic.

With his brow furrowed, his gaze found the interior of his mug after he drained it. He supposed it would be a little hard to measure up to the coffee that Braedyn served each week. Not that he'd ever had any real love for tavern drinks. At least, not at the one he and Marint were frequenting for information exchange and task offerings.

"You have the look of a man who feels utterly betrayed," Marint chimed in, amusement laced in his tone. "But we've come in here hundreds of times and you've ordered the same thing. There's no way you're just starting to get surprised now."

"It's not the ale," Soryk rolled his eyes as he sat back, uncomfortably pressed against the wooden chair he was propped in. It dug at him, just another reminder that the seating arrangements weren't made for comfort. But in a run-down, seedy tavern, when one had enough drinks in them, the seating arrangements didn't matter. Eventually they wouldn't anyway.

When he noticed how Marint eyed him so patiently, so expectantly, Soryk paused for some moments more, and once he'd propped his soft leather boots on the table's surface, he crossed his hands atop his lap, resisting every temptation he had to reach for one of the silver coins on his person to fidget with it. "You're so nosy."

Marint grinned from ear to ear, that display of sharp and even teeth alike. "I didn't say anything."

"You didn't have to, shitheel." Clearing his throat, he found his voice again, and with it something like a seemingly delicate resolve that felt considerably more fragile than it probably was in reality. "I was thinking about this woman I saw a couple of days ago."

As Marint leaned forward, elbows on the table, that grin grew all the more. "Oh, hey. My little buddy is finally taking notice of girls. I thought you'd never get there."

Soryk's right hand slid down his thigh, over his knee, across dark trousers, and he snatched at the dagger tucked into the back of his corresponding boot, swiftly sending it into the table's surface. Definitely no mark intended. Just a warning. "Fuck off, that's not what it is."

Although maybe it was. He hadn't known the woman. Didn't even speak to her. Just saw her from where he'd been standing shortly before he was approached by that merchant—Vaelon Violetveil, the man he was almost positive was just using some alias and probably causing a lot of trouble behind the scenes with his collective of artefacts and need for escort and protection.

She'd been somewhat tan. Dark of hair. Pulled right up into a loose, messy bun atop her head. Piercing eyes. Objectively beautiful, though that hadn't really been an immediate observation on Soryk's part. It was simply that the combination of traits made him wonder what an Ahtay of today looked like. Did she grow her hair out? Did she marry someone else? Did she have children? Was she even still alive?

Marint interrupted his thoughts with a hand, motioning for him continue. "Sorry, sorry. I'll stop. Go on. What about this woman? That's not like you. The women here throw themselves at you and it's like you look right through them. Last I knew, you were still alive, and I'm assuming your cock is, too."

"Just." Soryk lifted his hand and with his index finger, he gestured to his nearest and dearest (for the time being) companion. "Stop talking. You're not helping." Even if he did have fairly valid reasoning for poking and prodding the way that he was. "It wasn't anything groundbreaking. Just seeing her made me think of. You know. Things."

"...Things." Marint echoed him, somewhat deflated by the clarification, which really wasn't clarification at all. But then his thin, white eyebrows rose. "Oh." A beat more and he offered a sharp little nod. "Things."

Soryk never had been an open man. He liked to keep most things to himself and even when he spoke, it was more like a plethora of filler. Sometimes there was interesting information laced in what he chose to share, but even then, it seemed more often that he was just creating more questions rather than lessening them. Marint hadn't pried.

Well. Not true. He'd pried a lot, but Soryk was a tight little box, locked, and who the hell knew where that key even was. The most he'd been able to manage was that when it came to certain subjects, the normal somewhat blank, unamused expression drawn across Soryk's face would change to something... ambivalent, maybe. Confused. Uncertain. Marint was good at people, with people, and he couldn't quite pin it down. It did tell him that for all Soryk seemed pretty straight to the letter, there was definitely more to him.

"Is that all I'm getting?" Marint shook his head, leaning back to a more comfortable position, reaching for the dagger Soryk threw into the table to quiet him. With no shortage of effort, he managed to wiggle it back and forth, probably doing no shortage of damage and dulling of the blade before he freed it with a quiet little pop-like sound. "How many times have we sat down like this? For real. How long have we known each other? I think you can afford to give me a little more."

Wariness crossed Soryk's features. Every piece of information could be used. By anyone. By everyone. For him. Against him. Considering the kind of man he was, it wasn't like he was free of enemies either. He'd made plenty, actually. Was going to end up making more. Was it old habit that kept him from speaking up? The potential lack of acceptance? No. He didn't care that much what most thought of him. Maybe he just didn't want to see Marint give him some look of pity.

The weight of a potential conversation that hadn't even happened sat on him and held him down. Soryk had only ever talked to Ahtay about his past. Even then, it'd taken a long time to achieve that and he hadn't even told her the whole thing. He'd mentioned his wife, that she had died, and that was it. Somehow, he thought that the honesty, whilst it made him feel utterly sick, only made her love him more. And in a way, that made him feel even more ill.

What a fucked up man he was. Soryk wanted to scoff.

Finally, he sighed, feeling like this was a battle he just couldn't win. Maybe Marint was right, even if he didn't want to acknowledge it. He certainly wasn't going to say as much. No need to give the man another weak place in his proverbial armour.

"Seeing her just made me realise I am drawn to women with dark hair." Soryk offered up his shoulders, as if to imply that it was as simple as that. He couldn't read Marint's expression particularly well. It wasn't really disappointment he saw. Thought, probably. Marint was like that. Always putting the pieces together, often without needing to be told the whole thing. Soryk supposed that was why he had gotten as far as he had in his line of work.

It seemed like such a simple statement, and yet it was true. Ei'riya and Ahtay had both had dark hair. And given Soryk hadn't even allowed anyone close to him since Ahtay, it wasn't like he could tell if it was coincidence or a pattern.

"Ah," Marint replied, tapping long fingers atop the table's surface. After idly examining Soryk's dagger, he slowly slid it back towards the blood elf. "So what I'm hearing is we should set you up with a dark-haired sweetie. You know, I could probably find someone for you. I know lots of people. Lots of very beautiful women, too."

"Let's not," was Soryk's nigh immediate counter. Reaching forward to snag up his dagger again and slip it back into his boot, he frowned heavily. "It's complicated."

"Yes, yes. I know. You always say that." Marint lifted his hands, like he was both utterly unsurprised, and tired of hearing the same excuse given time and again. "Some women aren't afraid of complication. Maybe you should stop being afraid of it, too. Maybe actually talk to some. And you know, not about work. That's not polite table conversation. Talk about..."

Marint snapped his fingers and gestured to himself. "Talk about me—"

"Talk about you?" Soryk cocked an eyebrow.

"—I've got those statues up in display in the city. Talk about those. Maybe take a lady out to see them." The Shal'dorei gesticulated idly with his hands, "Eh? Eh?? It's a good idea. Never know. Cultured women are great."

Soryk squinted at him, the man across the way on the other side of the table. Sure, maybe Marint had a point. He'd liked that young lady on the stoops. Liked all of them, actually. At least, he'd found them favourable company. Acquisitions. He found himself amused, but not quite laughing over it. He knew what 'acquisitions' really meant.

Maybe Marint was onto something. It'd be something worth considering. If he could get over himself.

( Mentions for: @arealnowhereelf. Very gentle mentions for @kharrisdawndancer, @pyraelia, @vixannya, @siennablaze219 (since Ori doesn't have her own yet), and @hopebringerpriestess. )

[lilyofporcelain]

DWC - 20 Aug - Day 4 - Languish / Direction

Leather gloves sat in a pile to the left. He drew his dagger, a relatively simple, nondescript blade back and forth over a gritted whetstone. The texture was rougher than he sometimes used. Pieces of his dagger’s blade more removed with each firm and precise stroke. He probably did it more often than he needed to, but the motion of something repetitious was comforting to him.

Across from him, a friend.

Well. Marint used that word in the loosest possible way. Soryk, or ‘Val’, as he preferred to be called, was less like a friend and more like a coworker. Even that didn’t feel particularly appropriate, though. With sharp and even teeth alike clenched together in his dreadful focus, every so often, he cast a look up to his immediate companion. Another job done. Another satchel of coin passed between hands. And eventually, he’d be giving the sin’dorei yet another.

It sure felt like all of the days were blending together into one big melting pot where time didn’t mean anything. Marint couldn’t even remember how old he was. Old enough to remember what it was like before he and the others got isolated in Suramar. Old enough to remember that once upon a time, his features had been slightly different. Now, he was just chisselled and undeniably changed by the touch of the Nightwell and its complicated arcane ley line energies.

He wondered at what point in his life, what pivotal decision or action taken, had put him where he was. There were a few, he supposed, though tried not to linger on it for too long. There was no changing the past. No need to. He was too old to learn new tricks and it was way too late to start backpedalling. If ever he had the temptation to.

I bet you never think about that. Bet you don’t even care.

He studied Soryk for some moments. He probably never had internal turmoil like that. If he did, he certainly didn’t act like it. The Soryk Marint knew had only ever been cocksure and straight forward. Like he never questioned anything he did. Never had a moment’s hesitance. Never questioned himself. Almost like he was made for the kind of work he got himself into. But the two had only known each other for maybe a handful of decades. Maybe Soryk hadn’t always been like that.

“Hey,” Marint began as he put his dagger down after running a dark thumb along its edge curiously. Pleased by its sharpness and satisfied with the efforts, he could give it another go in a week’s time, maybe. If even that. He so rarely used weapons. He was pretty sure his true talents involved the use of his tongue. “You ever think about how your life could have been different? Like, maybe if you’d done something else other than what you’re doing now? Could’ve joined those Farstriders. Been a ranger or something.”

“No.”

After a moment’s pause, waiting for Soryk to continue, and when he didn’t, Marint cocked an eyebrow. That was it? He wasn’t going to offer anything else? Wasn’t going to clarify? Wasn’t going to maybe expand? The nightborne didn’t know why he expected anything different. Of course he wouldn’t. Soryk was always tight-lipped about pretty much everything. Marint didn’t really know… anything about him. Being on a less-than-friendly side suddenly felt a little more dangerous.

“Really?” he asked, carefully trying to prod further without provoking ire that he might not be able to get away from. “I don’t believe that. We all think about what our lives could have been like if we’d made different decisions. I’m not saying you should have. I’m just trying to figure out if you had other paths you could have travelled. Why you chose this one.”

There was a beat of quiet. Heavy. Maybe a little more intense than was expected. It was interrupted when Soryk suddenly sat back in his chair, swinging his legs up onto the table with a loud clunk, nearly causing Marint’s pint of pale beer to spill, something he only just barely managed to catch.

“Nope,” Soryk weighed in, lifting his arms and folding them behind his head with his gaze fixed on the ceiling of their favourite tavern. “Doesn’t matter, even if I did. What’s done is done. There isn’t a redo button that fixes everything.” Cracking a grin, he continued. “Well. Guess there could be if a goblin made it, but it’d just blow up and be useless. You know the story. Goblin technology—built to blast. Point remains the same. There’s no reason to get caught up in the details.”

It was a terribly cavalier way of approaching the situation. Marint didn’t think he could employ the same thought process, but that was probably why he was just a hands-off informant. A little spy bird servant who spread information, bought, and sold it. Soryk’s approach was probably an easier way to handle everything he got himself involved in. It wasn’t like Marint’s hands were clean, either. Before he decided he didn’t want to get that deeply involved in things, it’d only taken a first kill for him to realise that was not for him. The regret was too much and whilst he didn’t consider himself to have a bleeding heart, it was just a little excessive to handle.

He personally liked being able to sleep at night. He wondered how Soryk managed to, especially given that he never even seemed to blink when his targets wound up being full families. Where there should have been, perhaps, guilt for murdering a man, his wife, his children, it sure didn’t feel like Soryk had any room in his person for that. Maybe it was a front. Maybe Soryk actually had more to him than his exterior presented. And if that was the case, the man was a masterful manipulator.

“I… guess?” Marint began, unable to disguise the uncertainty that danced about his tongue. “That seems oversimplified. Things generally aren’t. I guess if you’re got secrets, you can keep holding onto them. Might not hurt to at least think about how different things could have been. A little.”

‘If you’ve got secrets.’ No. Soryk definitely did. Marint could have done investigation on him. Had tried to once or twice in the past. The information wasn’t very easy to obtain, though. ‘Soryk’ wasn’t an elven name at all. Maybe ‘Val’ could have been. And without knowing his family name, Marint had to assume that maybe everything Soryk had ever told him was a lie. Yet to be fair, it wasn’t like Marint had ever shared much of anything with him either. Never mentioned his family. Never mentioned that he still lived in Suramar, though that probably could have been surmised. Just in case he ever wound up on the other end of Soryk’s target practise, it was always better to draw that line between them.

But some days, he thought, he might have wanted a better life. A different life. To redo his life. Some days, it might have been nice to truly be Soryk’s friend. If a man like him could even have them.

— @daily-writing-challenge

[arealnowhereelf]

WoW Character Profile: Marint

The Basics –––

Full Name: Marint Neseithe Nickname: N/A Age: Adult Birthday: 23 August Race: Shal'dorei Gender: Male Marital Status: Single Art Album: N/A

Physical Appearance –––

Hair: White - Medium Length Facial Hair: Goatee, Sideburns Eyes: Sky Blue Height: 7'2" Build: Thin / Lanky Distinguishing Marks: Missing right eye, this is often covered Scars: Marint has multiple softer scars on his face, neck, and upper torso. He has a more severe and noticeable scar crossing his right eye. Tattoos: Shimmering arcane tattoos decorate his body from head to toe, though they are largely difficult to take notice of, and appear to be largely inactive. Piercings: Multiple in each ear, two in his left eyebrow, one lip ring on the bottom. Common Accessories: Marint carries a rather thin and nondescript leather-bound tome along with an enchanted quill that he uses to make various notes. Less frequently, he possesses a bow, though there is not much about his appearance that implies he uses it often. Likeness: Gideon Emery

Personal Information –––

Profession: Marint is little more than an information broker. He provides this information to sellswords, other informants, merchants, black market associates, and others with the means to pay him for his services, though he is largely devoted to the matriarch of House Rundonthos, Vueze. Hobbies: His favourite way to pass time is to sculpt and whittle. He enjoys visiting museums, studying various forms of architecture, and practising his archery, which seems to be for enjoyment rather than any practical use. Languages: Orcish, Shalassian, Thalassian, Common, Darnassian Currently Living: A rather out-of-the-way neglected home in Val'sharah, he spends a fair amount of his time in the estate of House Rundonthos in Suramar's city. Birthplace: A now defunct estate in the outskirts of Zin-Azshari Religion: N/A Fears: Ducks, geese, and cranes. And swans. Most feathered creatures.

Personality/Description:

Marint is a very easy-going man and rather unsuspecting to the objective eye and first impression. He does not present an intimidating figure, despite his tall height, and there is nothing about his appearance that implies he is particularly of a combative nature. At least not physically.

His greatest strength lies in his mind. Marint is an excellent conversationalist, enjoys speaking with people, spending time with people, and has a relatively easy time forming acquaintances. Real friendships, however, may be more of a challenge, considering he has access and ways of acquiring information that he feels could easily make him a target. In spite of his friendly personality, he can never really know when someone wants to know him and when they would rather know his information. As a result, Marint struggles to develop trusting connections with others.

He has a fine appreciation for lucrative business, art, architecture, and other academic pursuits, though he is most passionate about the time he spends sculpting figures, fountains, and other objects from stone. His tastes may seem as though they veer towards the more macabre, such as cemeteries and mausoleums, but in truth, he simply has an appreciation for the pieces left behind and moulded by the hands of others.

He carries himself in a way that he can seem to easily blend into the background, not at all longing for a place in the spotlight and much more inclined to place that attention onto others, though he seems to genuinely believe acknowledgement and validation should be paid where it is owed.

Despite his background as being one of the Highborne, Marint doesn't make much use out of his arcane ability, nor does he believe it to be the end-all, be-all. Considering the ever ongoing changes in the world, he has adapted in a rather seamless way, not quite adventurous, but rather optimistic, even in the face of the unknown, leading him to be a largely courageous man who seems rather unflappable.

Relationships –––

Mother: Renau Disenn, Iesanne Neseithe Father: Gileth Neseithe Siblings: Vyasa (Younger Sister) Children: Turleth (Son - Adopted) Other Family: Tiaphe and Ori (nieces), Ysren and Sunlen (cousins) Pets: N/A

Sex & Romance –––

Sexual Orientation: Bi-romantic / Heterosexual Preferred Role: Dominant | Submissive | Switch | Unknown Preferred Position: Bottom | Top | Vers | Unknown Turn ons: Intelligence, art, humour Turn offs: Mockery, cruelty, barbaric behaviour Love Language: Quality time, words of affirmation, gifts Relationship Tendencies: Marint is an affectionate man, but always struggles to trust his partners, often resulting in the end of his relationships.

Traits –––

Bold your character’s answer

Extroverted / In Between / Introverted Disorganized / In Between / Organized Close Minded / In Between / Open Minded Calm / In Between / Anxious Disagreeable / In Between / Agreeable Cautious / In Between / Reckless Patient / In Between / Impatient Outspoken / In Between / Reserved Leader / In Between / Follower Empathetic / In Between / Apathetic Optimistic / In Between / Pessimistic Traditional / In Between / Modern Hard-working / In Between / Lazy Cultured / In Between / Uncultured Loyal / In Between / Disloyal Faithful / In Between / Unfaithful

Additional Information –––

Smoking Habit: Never Drugs: Never Alcohol: Socially, Rarely

RP Hooks –––

Marint is a seller of information and tends to sell the information he has to the highest bidder. He never shares where he gets his information from or how he's obtained it. He simply passes it along. He has been known among others for being a Man Who Simply Knows Things.

Although Marint is not the sort to involve himself in the affairs of his clients or those who purchase information from him, or that he may be passing information to, it is often said that sometimes those who procure information from him tend to have unfortunate happenstance follow them. He personally gives no credence to these rumours and attributes this to coincidence.

He is frequently seen in the company of Vueze Rundonthos, the matriarch of her house, for whom he appears to be council or servant. It is surmised that the information he obtains frequently comes from Vueze herself, though he has never confirmed or denied this.

It is not uncommon to see him in the company of Soryk Val'kaeon, an unscrupulous sellsword under the arrogant moniker the Left Hand of Fate. It is undetermined if they are merely professional accomplices or friends.

Marint has sculpted a variety of statues and fountains, many of which can be found within Suramar's city. He will, on occasion, accept commissions from others, though seems to largely do these things of his own free will and for the love of the craft rather than monetary survival.

Looking For –––

Friends, romantic partners, ex-romantic partners, informants, black market individuals, merchants, criminals, and other artists of all varieties.

I like making connections with other players and really want to build relationships with other characters. I believe in organic development and will roleplay pretty much anything on the spectrum from joyful, domestic bliss to tragedy and anguish to murder and other reprehensible things. (I am pretty not good at writing combat; sorry in advance!)

I love the exploration and the growth between characters and their dynamics, be it positive, negative, or in some grey place.

Contact –––

You can contact me with IC or OOC things on the below:

In-game Mail / Tells / Messages Tumblr Asks / Messages If you have my discord name, please feel free to reach out to me, especially if we share a discord server. (I don't hand this out, but I'll give it to people I've played with before.)

In-game name, Wyrmrest Accord-Horde: Marint Follows will come from @lilyofporcelain

[tealribbons]

He's a widowed man, what happened to his spouse? Does he ever speak about them to anyone?

Ei'riya was just one person of many who perished in the Third War. Soryk evacuated with her, thought she was in a safe place, backtracked to escort his mother, who he thought was already safe and discovered could not be accounted for.

The estate he thought was safe with arcane wards and other traps couldn't stand against the Scourge. By the time he returned with his mother, the damage was already done. Estate grounds were destroyed. Ei'riya was clinging to life, but the damage was too great for him to do anything.

He held her as she died in his arms and took whatever part of him was human with her. Or so he at least would objectively claim.

When Ahtay started getting involved with him, Soryk was determined to never again have a serious relationship. He assumed she would be perfectly fine with them having a purely physical exchange on a somewhat routine basis. That didn't last. Eventually she wanted a more serious, committed relationship, which Soryk had a difficult time agreeing to.

He finally did and part of him agreeing to do that was him having to explain that he lost Ei'riya and that Ahtay having any kind of relationship with him was not going to be easy. Not necessarily an excuse, but an understanding that she needed to know what she was getting into and that he might not ever be able to have the kind of relationship with her that she wanted him to have.

Soryk didn't give her really any details. Ahtay knew Ei'riya died during the Fall of Quel'Thalas, but that was about the extent of it.

Marint has asked repeatedly what holds Soryk back, but he's never really discussed it. Aside from Ahtay and his mother, there's no one else [to Soryk's knowledge] who even knows Soryk was married, much less that his wife is dead.

Thanks, @turning-through-the-never!

[lilyofporcelain]

"Is something wrong?" Soryk

"Is something wrong?"

Soryk drew his attention up from the heavy satchel of coin that he had just poured out all across the table. Stacks of coins—copper and silver—were somewhat orderly, but objectively, it looked like little more than orderly chaos.

If they hadn't been in the corner of the seedy little tavern they often found themselves in, he wouldn't have been so brazen. But between Marint and himself, no one was going to come calling to either of them. Especially not when it was likely they'd find themselves on the edge of a dagger or, in Marint's case, a spellblade.

Studying his overly friendly Shal'dorei companion, Soryk tapped two fingers against the surface of the table, creating a thump that could hardly be ignored by immediate presence. "Yeah. Your lady's shorting me."

"Ah—" Marint lifted a hand, long slender dark fingers, and as he often did, gesture accompanied words, frequently with no rhyme or reason. "She's not my lady. She's my overpriced whore."

The mercenary's immediate reaction was to snort. He didn't think that's what she was at all, but as he had so many times before, he was willing to play along. "Well. Your overpriced whore is shorting me coin." Soryk counted his stacks once more nice and slow, prominent, and pronounced, just so Marint could keep up, though he was probably considerably better with numbers.

And then— "See?"" Soryk lifted his hands, an inaudible 'what gives' fluttering across his expression.

As Soryk's arms dropped back down to the table, Marint was quiet for some moments, like he was trying to figure out reasoning or an explanation to give to the tanned elf in front of him. Then, he cracked a smile and offered up his shoulders, "Mmmmaybe she thought your work was sloppy? You've got to admit, you're not always the most elegant man in a room, Val." Still fighting for some words or maybe something witty to say, he shook his head. "I guess—I could ask her? There's not exactly some desk I can just stop by for ledger reconciliation. This is all under the table."

"Right. You're gonna ask." With a hand, Soryk swept his collective of coins into a disorderly pile and then leaned onto his right forearm towards Marint. "And if she's refusing to cough up the rest of what she owes me, I'm gonna take it out of you."

"Now, now—" Marint lifted his hands in a mock surrender and Soryk had to assume that he must have done that so many times. The man was always quick to use a glib tongue before he was willing to use a weapon. In fact, Soryk was almost certain he only carried blades just to make himself seem more intimidating, rather than the seemingly prissy man that he genuinely was. "—We've been friends for a long time. You don't want to ruin what we've got, eh? Who's going to bring you to the place with the prettiest women? It's not like you've got a whole line of wingmen lining up to replace me."

Except Soryk didn't care about that part. Either of them, really. About the only saving grace was that they had a quiet, discreet place to conduct business, and the ale wasn't completely piss and swill.

"I like you, Marint," he began. "But that doesn't mean I won't kill you."

( Thanks, @thesoftshellmedic! )

[lipolarbalansk2]

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