Laeynna brought her gaze up to the sky as she closed the apartment door behind her as quietly as she could muster. With a hand in skirts of purple and gold, her other held a few sheets of parchment, quill, ink, and the book that had so recently captured her attention in a way that had seemed effortless. She set her things down first, then herself with a careful shifting of weight and garments.
Lifting her hands, she swept back her long hair and pulled in a breath. For some moments, she leaned her weight into the same hands, fel-fire and peridot gaze fixed on the sky. She certainly did feel like she was walking in some trance, though the morning had told her that she wasn't. With a small smile, the smallest of smiles even, she lived in those moments.
She was certainly a fan of those earlier philosophical thoughts that anchored themselves to her. What a strange thing it was to enjoy thinking in her quiet before the city truly awoke. Laeynna looked forward to more days like that. With the thought in mind, her attention turned onto the parchment sheets in question and pulling one into her lap, using her book as support beneath it, she took quill into hand and began to write.
—-—-—
Ankalei,
Did you have a nice time fishing with me that morning? I did. I think it was good. For both of us.
Thank you for the conversation. For bolstering my resolve, what little of it I had held. I have thought a lot about the things you said. How fortunate I am to have a sister who cares so much about me and the health of my heart. The health and heart of my person.
Perhaps one day, I will find a way to express a similar thing for you, in a way that I feel you most deserve. Until I do, however, know that you, in your way, continue to affect me greatly. I truly do appreciate the time we have been allowed to have together.
I think, perhaps, it may be time to consider visiting the estate together. If you wish to. If you are comfortable doing so. It will not be the same as once it was. Neither of us are children, after all, and it is a place filled with those memories.
I want to share my special place with you. I want you to see what I am working on.
Laeynna
—-—-—
Tinnaire,
I had a very nice time in your shop the other day and your company was truly lovely. Thank you for sharing your space with me, letting me look around, and being so hospitable. Thank you, most of all, for the conversation and your presence.
I wanted you to know that just speaking with you, being around you, seeing you as you are, very much inspired me. I went to speak with Master Dai'goa, in hopes of finding some direction. Truthfully, the notion of doing so was a terrifying one, but there were things you said to me that day that I cannot stop hearing. That I cannot stop thinking about.
Thank you, again. I hope that one day, I may be able to provide as comforting a presence as you were, and have been for me. You ought to tell me what your favourite wine is. The next time we get together, I should like to bring it.
Laeynna
—-—-—
Master Dai'goa,
I wanted you to know that I appreciated your time at the Shielded Mind. Your patience. Your understanding. Your compassion. I know that these are likely anticipated traits for those who work within your field, so perhaps to you, it was merely a bit like doing work. Thank you for it.
For your insight on the notion of the Light and one's wielding of it, I am grateful for that as well. I still find it a challenging concept to understand, but I am beginning to think that mayhaps it manifests into something very different for each person examining it.
I think, perhaps, I will be ready for our heart-to-heart. Or perhaps, merely my heart to another, as sometimes these things can be. I still worry terribly that I may burden you in a way I would not wish to burden one I would call of import to me, but I seek to overcome that. I seek to overcome this cowardly grace I wear.
This coming week, if that should be agreeable to you. An evening of your choosing. These days, I largely do not have matters claiming specific parts of my time. There is nothing that I cannot readjust.
I look forward to seeing you once again.
Laeynna
—-—-—
As she studied each letter for mere moments at a time, she realised that on any other day that felt ordinary, she would have second-guessed herself. How she'd written. If she had been too honest, too sentimental, too open. Their people, in general, had been through so much that it was, perhaps, normal to doubt the sincerity of others. It dawned on her that she was not overwhelmed with the concern that any of the three might have perceived her as suspicious.
For once.
Laeynna Emberflame could only be Laeynna Emberflame, and she was a woman far too tired of the habits of old, those masquerades of one's self. In this, she too wanted the ability to share herself as she was. Not with one or two select individuals, but with all people who had and would come to know her.
With a hand pressed atop her heart, she realised she still felt like she was at peace. Her smile, small as it was, grew then as she carefully folded each sheet after ensuring it was dry and the dark ink would not run or otherwise be disturbed. Around each, she tied a thin string of neat twine. Then rising from the steps that led to the apartment she had hesitated once to consider 'home' she cast it a gentle and fond look over her shoulder before descending the rest of the stairs to send her letters on their way.
Good morning, stars. How lovely it is to see you.
— @daily-writing-challenge
(Mentions for @kharrisdawndancer and @veilosdaigoa.)
Mei stares at her quilen Guo, longingly. He's not normally this green, is he? How long has it been since she washed him? Questions pile up in her mind, frustration follows.
Right. No more thinking. Mei takes action. She grabs Guo and lifts him like a sack of potatoes into a small courtyard with a fountain. It's the perfect place to wash him.
But first, she has to tie him up. If she leaves him, Guo won't stay still. He'll wander right and left, even sprawl in a mud puddle. Mei is still mentally thanking the former monument restorer for advising her on what to use to clean the stone. It was a great help.
Of course, she attracts a few glances from curious passers-by. Quilen aren't exactly common. And even less so, a quilen that's friendly. Mei is well aware of this.
She washes him quickly and meticulously, using a hoof pick to remove the moss that had grown in the cracks. This has the effect of making him squirm on the spot, from one paw to the other, as if she were tickling him. The rest can easily be removed with a brush and soap.
To finish it off, she polishes him with a cloth. As soon as she loosens him, Guo dashes straight for a big mud cliff to spread out like a seal. It's a shame Mei couldn't stop him in time. Now she has to start all over again.
"You said you could show me who I was... through your eyes."
The demon’s expression loosens and gives little hint.
"Of this I am able, if you fulfill your end of the bargain by your own will."
"And I will do as best as I am able. But I need to know who she- who I was, first."
Eclipse shrugged. "Well... how do you really want to do this?"
"Just... tell me what you remember,” pressed Turasil, “from the beginning."
Eclipse smirks, offering a responsive snort of amusement to her words. "Alright, I'll give you a synopsis. Maybe you'll start playing the part for me. But… you might want a drink, else I offend you."
".. just... do not trick me again."
“You asked for it, not I.”
Turasil grabbed a bottle of half-filled wine on the table, wine she had been savoring slowly over the course of several months. Every time she returned to her abandoned ‘home’ on the edge of the lake, she had a sip, sometimes a glass. It was a large bottle, but even then, it had lasted a surprising amount of time.
This time, a glass was needed. Maybe more. She sighed, and took the whole bottle.
Eclipse broke the silence. "Let us begin-- speak, ask."
Turasil sighed, and took a drink. Searching her thoughts, she tried to find the right questions, as she knew moments like this with the demon were difficult to come by.
"You knew me and Galarisen then. What he was looking for, and what we unearthed. So what was it?"
"I don't know what you did."
"You were there."
"I wasn't. He wasn't, either."
Turasil frowned, staring into the fireplace. She took a drink of the wine bottle again, letting it steel her nerves.
“So no one knows."
"I can't give you answers I don't have. If you want what I know, my history, you ask of it."
"Fine, then. What is your history with us?"
Eclipse paused and remained still.
"I was, or perhaps am, a sayaadi at the service of Gale Galarisen. You are his prized pupil and assistant."
Turasil hesitated. "What did he involve me in, that he was so afraid to tell the magisters..?"
Eclipse shrugged. "He wished to change the world. He foresaw sorrow for your people, and wished to get ahead of it."
Turasil stared blankly, rue in her tired eyes. "Of course... but how?"
"He--" Eclipse inhaled deeply. " ... We ... researched craft ill-remembered by your long-lived, ill-fated cousins. I don't pretend to read any of your race's works beyond what is useful, so I cannot speak to your findings."
“He was professed in dark arts. We all were.” Turasil would admit. “So he must have trusted you, a result of such art... and yet you do not know what he was doing?"
Eclipse looked long and quiet onward.
"He was doing whatever you were doing. It's not my magic, and not my place to understand. Do not confuse our roles."
Turasil pressed. "And you know not what I was doing either?"
"That depends on the context of your question."
Turasil hesitated. She drank of her wine, turning her stare to the fireplace again.
"Galarisen came to me in a vision. He asked me to not go to the magisters... I still know not why. Nor what I was doing there, then..."
Eclipse sighed. "You're frustrated."
Turasil looked at her, then. "I want to know, but I haven’t the right questions."
"You're asking me for solutions. I don't have solutions... I'm angry with him, too, as I am you."
"... What is your last memory of him?”
Eclipse paused. "What is your last memory of him?"
Turasil 's gaze lost its focus, her brow furrowing in thought.
"I'm... not sure. There are a few, and I haven't any idea what order they should be in."
"- He set out to the Sunwell, and I have not found him since." Eclipse said abruptly.
Turasil gave her a look of surprise. "The Sunwell..?"
She continued, "I have since been banished, several times, and you have been imprisoned.”
"I was imprisoned?"
“... You're exiled, are you not?"
"Yes, but… all Quel'dorei are."
"What do you wish me to say of it?"
"Was there some other reason I was exiled..?” Turasil looked desperate for answers, then. “They… they do not let me near the Sunwell, I.."
Turasil shut her eyes tight. She drank from her wine bottle.
"You'll die if you return, now." Said the demon.
Turasil gasped for breath, after drinking long.
"So there is some other reason."
"You're a traitor.” Eclipse’s voice was harsh. “You cohort with demons and shadow. You may yet perpetuate your master's dark works."
"No!"
"Your exile was a mercy."
"I have dedicated my life to eradicating such darkness!"
Turasil seethed through her teeth, her grip on the wine bottle white-knuckled.
Eclipse sighed. " ... I feel like I've aged a thousand years, while you've regressed… so.” She gestured at Turasil.
The elf lowered her head, her eyes set dully on the floor.
"I have lost that experience which matured me. I still do not know what is eating away at my memories."
"Look–” Eclipse interrupted, “I don't know what his plan is for you--for me--and I won't pretend to do so. If you seek my memories, ask of them."
"Then, tell me." Turasil breathed. "What do you remember.. of me? What of before the turning point, when we each went our separate ways? What happened then?"
Eclipse elected not to respond, and she offered little to read. Turasil tensed, her body instinctively seeking something to grab onto, to stabilize herself as a strange, sinking feeling set in- the kind of dread one feels just before an earthquake. But then, awareness hit her- it was more a feeling than reality, and soon she managed to steady herself.
She looked upon the demon, her eyes searching, reacting to that sadness she found in the demon’s own. Her gaze softened, now one of concern. How was it she could feel this way about someone so innately evil? Doubt filled her- was there truly more to demonkind than what was already known to her?
"Galarisen disappeared,” Eclipse continued, “much as you did. And it took quite some time for me to enter your realm again.
You asked once, if I loved him--I did not know the weight of your meaning. I know now that I did not, or could not, though it is not to say I did not care deeply. Gale Galarisen, a joke of a summoner were you to label him such--asked only kindly, and demanded little. I felt as you must have, only sharper, as if picking glass."
"He was disarming, wasn't he.." Turasil sighed.
"Quite... and so I became unwillingly embroiled with another."
"If he went to the Sunwell, and faced the same predicament as I, then it is possible he..." Turasil trailed off, staring elsewhere.
"He is likely dead. Stop looking, now."
"So why do I still see him in my dreams? Or visions, or... what have you."
Eclipse exhaled long. "Stop. I haven't found him. You cannot. If he yet lived, would he leave us in such a way?"
"I don't know.." Turasil was frustrated. It wasn’t enough. "I don't.. think so."
"Would you sign your blood to a mission that disregards you so?"
“Haven’t I?”
"No. It's a bad deal, no matter how you look at it. He failed, and we are left. To consider else is to believe he is crueler than I could have imagined."
Turasil looked at the bottle she held. It was mostly empty, save for one last drink. After a moment's consideration, she offered it to Eclipse.
The demon looked to the bottle, and back to Turasil. "Oh? I question your motives even now."
"We once worked together, in earnest." Turasil offered. "And though... we cannot go back there... maybe we can begin anew."
Eclipse rasped. "You do not know this. What can you say of your past? All have moved on now, aside from me, chained as I am to your shadows"
“I will not stop looking for answers.” Turasil was resolute.
"Move, then, and look--even if you do not know where; this was his way, was it not?"
Turasil sighed softly. "Yes, I suppose it was."
"Wear your little boots and complain the whole way, but look. Pack little water and moan about it, but look. That's your master."
Turasil sniffed. The slightest upturned curl to her lips. Familiarity.
"He did seem that way."
Eclipse doesn't grin, much as she might. "I asked too much of you if this is what you wanted."
"You've given all you can. I still do not know if I can be 'her' again, but… I have not given up on her memory."
Eclipse sighed in a long breathy exhale, shifting her weight from one foot to another.
"I am the last survivor, but I would salvage precious memories of mine should you will them."
"Lascivian.." her true name…
"... thank you. I have been drifting, here and there. And I may yet, still. Until I find a catalyst for my memories, I may be doomed to such a life as now. But you.. You don't have to be."
"Quiet." Lascivian snapped. “Is Thraciel to be here, or shall I seek elsewhere?"
Her true name. Turasil shivered.
".. that is who I am. Thraciel."
"Don't." Lascivian said abruptly.
"No, I.. I have heard it. Again and again. I am Thraciel."
The demon glared. "... shall I be 'Falastor' again, then? Parade a Galarisen, stroke your hair?"
Turasil gave her a withering look. "Be you."
Lascivian replies in kind. "Be Thraciel."
“... I will. I promise."
Lascivian smiled, weakly. Turasil sensed an uncharacteristic quality to her expression. She set the mostly empty bottle down on the mantle of the fireplace.
"Don't fuck with me, you know?” Lascivian said suddenly. “I'm stronger than you."
"I know." said Thraciel.
"... Then you should remember how it went last time, Thraciel."
Lascivian mouthed a word. Please.
" ... You took my arm--and I took yours. You seemed almost offended at the riposte. You remember."
"You mean..."
Lascivian laughed, her breath broken. "--You thought to scold me. You'd grown so, you got uppity."
Turasil looked sorrowful, her feathered brow down-turned.
"Don't be sore, now …” Lascivian pleaded. “Thraciel ... "
"If you are certain..."
"You recall. We argued, and tested one another--as we did." Lascivian glanced briefly away to the fire. Turasil hadn’t lost the sense of unease she had felt earlier.
"I do. We had a competition, who would find the most relics."
Lascivian didn’t seem to react to the statement. "I won, then, and I'd win now.”
"Hm. Maybe. It has been long since I've honed my digging skill."
"... Perhaps you're not her." Lascivian shook her head. "I apologize. I should have never asked. This is too much to ask for any."
"Ask or not, I am still set upon this path." Again, she was resolute. “I will find Thraciel."
"You're not her--and it offends me to think you can be. I can't ask you of memories you do not have."
Lascivian stared long, seeming slightly taller as she approached Turasil and peered so. Turasil searched Lascivian's face for answers, in turn. Finding none, she gave a breath, and suddenly her hand shot out, trying to grasp Lascivian's wrist.
Lascivian didn’t resist, but did not comply. "I can't ask you to remember the faintest aftertaste of burnt sugar, the bergamot and metal, the dagger's light from the floor. Because we are what he left behind. Are we not? And we will move out of his shadow, and come into our own."
"No. You cannot. But I will try, anyway. For both our sake."
Lascivian looked her over slowly, searchingly. "No.
Shut your mouth.
Don't you dare speak for her-”
Turasil took a step. "I am speaking for me."
“She'd know the ghostly glide of my fingers, and memorize the pattern by touch alone. My laugh against her thigh, only once."
“... Please." Turasil interrupted.
Lascivian tilted her head, as she always did.
Turasil continued. “For her sake, will you not accept me? My efforts?"
"You'd have my body follow the path of my memories.” Lascivian looked away. “I can't be certain you are as strong as she was, this one time."
Turasil gazed upon her, sorrow and regret plain in her features. "I will find her. And if I cannot be her... then the least I can do is honor her memory."
Lascivian shook her head. "Forget it."
"No!"
Lascivian looked sharply to her before turning away, breaking Turasil’s grasp upon her. Then she looked back, moving to speak, but hesitating. "This wasn't part of the deal. I'm not about to find and lose another."
"I am not gone."
"Galarisen is dead; she may as well be--for my sake.
… Call me when you have a lead."
And like that, the demon… Lascivian… was gone.
Turasil seethed, running after her, but finding nothing but air. She collapsed against the wall, striking it with a closed fist as her breaths came in short, ragged heaves.
“Do not give up on me, Lascivian… I know I won't.”
Her lighter flicked closed with a hearty, comforting snap. Keranna had spent the morning sorting through — and burning, if necessary — the documents Pyraelia had managed to salvage from Dalaran before the city's terrible fate. Some of it was better lost.
This one, especially.
Not that she could bear to burn it.
She had met Nico Païenot at what had been an odd time. Dalaran had been sealed off, unaccessible…ish. Cosima had arranged passage through the bubble a year before their paths had actually crossed; someone had to manage the rebuilding of the Sunmote's tower while they were managing their own affairs around Quel'thalas in the considerable wake of the fall of the Sunwell.
He had been charming; a human musician who favored the vielle à roue and lyricist to boot. Nico was proud to have been born in the violet city, most of his songs told her tragedies and triumphs. He had also decided it was much easier to be a rake than a magi of any repute. Importantly, he was able to get her mana crystals when the ache got particularly difficult to manage.
Their affair charted the same course most of hers did. Teasing to start, rapidly ascending into tantalizing passion before one, or both, of them got bored and moved on. With Nico, that had taken a couple of months to play out. He'd bring her new songs, she'd invite him up to her room at the inn, and they'd indulge. She wasn't as careful as she ought to have been, but at her age the risk should have been low.
She turned the paper in her hands, humming an old refrain Nico had strung together just for her all those decades ago. The smoke from the previous papers she'd committed to the little pyre in her kitchen was a bit acrid in her nose as she flipped the lighter open again, considering.
It was the only proof that her son had existed that she had left.
His existence didn't hinge on the paper proving it, in fact he may have been long dead. How many calamities in how many human kingdoms had happened between then and now?
This was the last copy, it being gone was a certain kind of armor.
But it mattered to her. The paper continuing to exist mattered.
It had his birthday marked alongside her name. Some other couple had been granted the privilege to give him theirs.
To keep him would've ruined them both. She knew that. That didn't stop the ache of it all. Her once chance to raise a child that was actually her child meant she'd be homeless; Cosima would have never allowed her to stay on, he would've never been accepted in Silvermoon, Dalaran — had it been any other time — could have worked out, but the city was still in steep ruin and finding work she could do without the backing of a more powerful family was an extremely tall order.
Sometimes love meant letting someone go.
Keranna folded up the paper, carried it to her room and tucked it away for safe keeping inside a little antique music box. Sparing it, for now, from a most undignified fate.
DWC May 2025
Bonus Day!
(Music for this post "No Man" by Nina Storey)
Nahi stood up on the stage, lights were being adjusted, sound was being set for the acoustics, a routine set up before a show. Most of the crew knew her already. She had done this same charity event for a handful of year and they were chatting amongst themselves and waiting.
Nahi smirked and stood center stage then began to pluck a song out of the air that she would never perform but thought that they might like.
“Oooooooaaaaooooaahhhhh. Ohhhaaaa. Ahhhhhh.”
The vocals were nothing but a warm up for her before she began to set into the lyrics. Snapping her fingers and smiling out through the lights, the sound of chat and work stopping. “Ah yes yes.”
“I don't need no man and I don't need no lovin.” The first sentence starts and she winks out at the small auditorium, “I don't need no man and I don't need no lovin. I don't need no man and I don't need no lovin.”
A small penlight hit to her right so she slid across the stage to the mark and the spot slid at her pace. “I don't need no man and I don't need no lovin.” Holding her hands up by her shoulders, snapping and working her shoulders back and forth, “I don't need no man and,” Nahi pushes the lyric to raise with a vibrato at the peak. “I don't need no man, and no love and no man and no love and no man.”
Moving her way across the stage, knowing how the show had been set up she didn’t need the cues, she just flowed where she should be. “I don't need no man to hold me through the night. I don't need no man to tell me it's alright.” Tilting her chin back she smiles, the tone of the word changing slightly, becoming brighter along with it, “and I don't need no man to help me to be strong. and I don't need no man to string me right along.”
Her walk was as graceful as if she was in a flowing gown instead of her short black shorts and red ‘Fangbreaker’ cut off tee. “Cuz you'll mess with your mind and he'll mess with your heart. then he'll tell you he loves you right before he departs”
“Soooo I don't need no man to call me honey pie, and I don't need no man to look at me and lie.” One of the stage hands was sitting on the edge of the stage and she crouched down to quickly kiss his cheek, others in the dark jeering. “and I don't need no man to promise me the world,” standing up she turned her back facing the front of the stage. Looking coquettishly over her shoulder she bounced her hip, “and I don't need no man to call me his little girl.”
Pivoting on her front foot she stopped snapping, lifting her hands up in the air, while a tap of her foot keeps time instead, “Cuz he'll flash you his smile pouring on all his charm, then he'll get up and leave you while your hand is still warm.”
“Oh I can sacrifice I'm not a broken promise,” Nahi just moved across the stage, the light slightly behind her at times, this wasn’t a choreographed practice, it was just the singer letting herself feel the song. “I think that I could tolerate someone being honest,” her hands move through the air, as expressive as her facial expressions, “I know it would be difficult but I think that I could cope, ‘cuz the truth is much more worth it than a lot of empty hope.”
Nahi grins and rolls her eyes, “I suppose that I am worthy but there's no way to be sure.” Curving her shoulders in and wrinkling up her nose with a saucy little wink. “If I don't drain myself of this poison I will never find a cure.”
Snapping once more she falls into the cadence of the chorus, “I don't need no man and I don't need no lovin. I don't need no man and I don't need no lovin.” Other people begin snapping in time with her, “I don't need no man and I don't need no lovin. I don't need no man and I don't need no lovin.”
The smile returns and she uses it to slide a flirty tone while pushing the notes higher, “I don't need no man,” Nahi wiggles her hips back and forth playfully, the song just a way for her to have a little fun. “I don't need no man and no love and no man and no love and no man.”
Her feet stop perfectly in center stage, and she leans back pouring her power into the next line, leaning back from the mic to keep the vocals clear, “So in yourself keep your pride. From those men do not hide.” Not even a breath is taken between her powering up the lyrics, her voice hitting every acoustic point in the theater perfectly. “Your mind is your power do not let it divide.”
With a smirk she plays right into the end of the song, “I don't need no man.”
The workers break into applause and cat calls, then the stage manager walks up and slaps her hand down on the stage, “You are all set.”
Plopping down to sit on the edge of the stage, two sets of applause continue, one slow and sardonic, the other jubilant. Stepping out from the shadows, Irenthalas hurried to his stepdaughter, taking her hands and tugging her off the stage so they could hug, “That was lovely Nahi, I am so glad I got to hear that.”
“As am I,” Jes’champe said in his darkly rich voice.
Nahi looked up from the hug to arch her brows at him, a silent What is going on here?
He only gestured at Iren’s back.
Her stepfather pulled back, “Thank you for sending me the ticket, daughter. Jes’champe explained that it had gotten mixed up in the mess on his assistant’s desk with all the planning for tonight, so he came out himself and delivered it and a tuxedo in case I did not have one ready.” After the initial jubilation fro her, Iren had slipped back into an easy cadence, one in which Nahi could see he didn’t really believe Jes’ but was taking full advantage of anyway. “The last time we talked I mentioned I had never gotten a chance to see one of your shows so he told me that couldn’t stand and would need to be remedied.”
Nahilvi agreed with that, and it was something she had hoped to rectify, but here it was, taken out of her hands. “Well as this is a charity for building a children’s hospital it seemed a perfect one for you to attend.” She would not break the illusion that it was her plan to bring him. “And now I will have the perfect date on my arm all night.”
( @daily-writing-challenge )
Many years ago in Halfhill during The Invasion of Pandaria...
Early morning, a lone pandaren walks along the weathered road, each step flawlessly landing on each worn rock as if memorized from years of taking this path. A gentle river winds through the jade hill like a serpent through grass. The humble man carries upon his back numerous pots and pans, a wok, tea kettle, a portable stove, and a simple wicker basket loaded up with groceries purchased down in The Jade Forest. The traveler greets Mrs. Redpaw with a smile and nod of his straw douli hat. She would offer a smaller smile, though her brow furrowed in concern. "Little Pao! Thank goodness you are here!" The moniker was an affectionate one as he was anything but little. He receives the older lady as she clings to his arm in pleading. "Eh? What seems to be the matter Mrs. Redpaw?" Her white markings on her brow pulled together as she tried to collect her thoughts, not wanting to raise her voice too much lest she draws attention. Her copper eyes keep darting over to the local tavern. "Pao Pao... There is this man over in The Lazy Turnip causing all kinds of trouble... He is a soldier from The Horde. We heard there was an invasion on the shores of Krasarang earlier this week, but he's the first we have seen of his kind out here." Her grip in his silk sleeve tightened as her worry grew. "Please, you must deal with him! I'm scared their aggression will draw out The Sha in our village!" The dark patches under his eyes sunk at the severity of the situation. Despite knowing this, he simply smiled in turn to her and laid a solid paw on her slender shoulder. "It will be alright. I will take care of this Horde soldier. You have my word." The smile on her face was a relieved one now. She knew he of all people would be able to quell this quarrel.
The pandaren wandered up the hill, the steps slick with dew as he entered the village proper. Many villagers watched from their porches and some children clung to each other. A small cub hugged her cloth dolly as her mother shielded her to her robes. The town was quiet, save for the hushed tones of onlookers and the raucous noise that came out of the tavern. He ducks his head low and enters the rounded archway to see a small green man in foreign armor. The tabard on his body was of some strange sigil resembling a horseshoe and the bright crimson colors contrasted with the green ears poking out the sides of his helmet.
"Aww, waddaya mean ya ain't got roasted pig?!" The irate soldier barked out to the waitress. She tries to placate the man offering him a bowl of mung beans and some chilled garlic noodles, the aroma of the simple dish alluring. He abruptly back hands the dish off the counter, sending it flying as it smashes to pieces on the bamboo wall. "No ya crazy broad, I don't want flippin' noodles! I needs meats! I can't keep my strength up eating this noodle crap!" She shirks away, on the verge of tears as she ducks down below the counter. The chef tries to intervene now, raising up a cleaver before the Horde soldier produces his iron cudgle and begins bashing the wooden bar. "Oh! You think yous gonna be a hero now! I'mma show you nitwits why ya don't mess wit da Horde!" Before the situation could escalate to violence, the wanderer speaks out in a firm voice. "Stop right there friend!"
The tavern goes silent. Nobody moves for a tense moment. The tiny soldier then turns around, his arm still raised up with the beatstick. He pulls down his crude wooden shield and hops down from the seat in a steady advance towards the traveler. "Oh ho ho! Now that's what I'm talkin' about! Some lamebrain is gonna come in here and act like theys got the nerve to tell us who's in charge?! Ha!" He taunts the man in a cackle as he presses on, his weapon kept at arms distance. "Please, we don't want any violence in our humble town. Not only does your emotions manifest as The Sha, but such feelings are also bad for the soul." The soldier pauses his march a moment to let out a boastful laugh at those words. He even goes so far as to slap his knee in amusement at such a claim. "Wahahah! Oh oh man! Thanks for that bud, I haven't had my ribs tickled like that since Saturday nights at The Tail!" The pandaren takes a cautious step backwards as the tiny soldier continues his march. The two begin to walk out of the tavern and into the open marketplace as the crowd stays a safe distance away. "Listen here bud! I don't believe in all that Pandaren mumbo jumbo Sha crap! We are here to crush The Alliance and to claim these lands in the name of The Horde! Any Sha or tubby bear like all of you is no match for our military might! Any day now, The Kor'kron will be marching up through these lands, and you lousy, fat, good-for-nothin' bumpkins will be praisin' us for bringing order to this join!" Around the small man's armor, a glowing aura of shadows and white light begins to radiate out of him. His pride and violence starts to manifest into a Sha and fuels the man as he now wildly swings about his truncheon, threatening the would-be hero. The wanderer holds his paws up, empty handed in surrender as the soldier closes the distance. "Now! Apologize to me before I bash your idiot brains in and knock that stupid hat right off your big, fat-"
He takes another wide swipe of his club towards the receding traveler and suddenly finds himself losing his footing and words as he falls forward, pratfalling to the muddy ground! He blinks in disbelief. Did he just trip in front of this man. He could have sworn he felt his arm grabbed and his body pulled forward, but he didn't see it happen. No one is that fast. The children watching giggle at the silly soldier as his armor and tabard are now coated in muck. "What the... I.. I tripped you fools! These dirt roads are nothin' compared to Orgrimmar!" He gets up, a bit dazed now. The aura of darkness around his begins to disapate now as he tries to regain his confidence. "I'll show ya barbarians what's so funny here!" He turns his aggression to the wanderer once more and begins to bash his shield with the beatstick, drumming along in taunting as he draws near. Thump! Thump! Thump! The steady marching and showboating draws near. The pandaren watches carefully, studying the rhythm of his opponent becoming one with those movements. Paws still held up in surrender, another mishap occurs.
Suddenly the soldier's shield and club drop to the ground with a loud clang as the man stands paralyzed in pure shock. The front of his visor is now crumpled in a singular point. Crimson begins to quickly run down the vents of his damaged helm as he drops down on his seat and grips at his covered face, a muffled scream of agony coming out now. The crowd winces at the sudden violence, the mother shielding the eyes of her daughter and covering her ears. The pandaren keeps his paws up, though his right paw now is holding up only two claws stiffly together. He speaks out calmly to the shriveled up soldier as he desperately tries to remove his helmet between sobbing. "My friend, you can not have such anger in your heart. We are good people who want only peaceful lives. Why do you come to our lands with war and hatred in your hearts? We are all neighbors here. Why not choose the path of peace and acceptance like we have?" The man rocks back and forth in excruciating pain, finally pulling off his helmet. His azure hair is in a disheveled mop strewn about his sweating face. He clutches at his mouth as his lip in split and spits out the shattered pieces of his bloody tooth. A masterful strike, only his upper right canine was vacant in his mouth. A tactical touch mean not to kill him but to deter any more violence. His mind buzzed with white hot anger. "My toot! Ya bafterd! Ya meffed up my fmile! ARGGH!!" He winces as he covers his face, more blood spilling out over his gauntlets. His violet eyes dilate as his pride is harmed as well. He bolts up swiftly, his judgement clouded in taking out this peasant.
He takes a lunge at the man, his full body thrown in with every ounce of strength. He then catches the faintest glimpse of Pao's eyes glinting under his straw hat. He could see in those jade green eyes a practiced gaze. He anticipated the goblin's moves, thoughts, and actions. Every attack was planned and read. Even his last ditch attempt to tackle the man. Time slowed down. He could see the pandaren's paw move at impossible speed. Faster than his plush body should be capable of. His chest is flat-palmed by the pandaren. The colors of the village and people swirl around as he is spun around. The ground is skyward. The sky is downward. Wind rushing. Mind disoriented. Breath escapes his lungs. He now finds himself submerged in crisp, cold water, the sounds of cheering and laughter drowned out. He breaches the river's surface and coughs out, clinging to a log as air fills his lungs once more. "y-y-youf funnuva-" The wanderer calls out from the top of the hill down to the goblin. "Be respectful! There are children and women present!"
Pao nods in satisfaction as the minor threat is dealt with. Mrs. Redpaw walks up to hug his arm in appreciation. "Oh thank you, thank you so much Pao Pao!" He smiles and gives her a gentle hug. "The Shado-Pan will always protect our people. You will never be alone, for we are always watching from the shadows." He readjusts the loops of his basket and gives it some thought. "Though we could use a few more fresh vegetables from the marketplace." Mrs. Redpaw beams happily, ushering in the townfolk to celebrate the victory and gather up fresh produce for the unassuming warrior. As they make their way down to the farmer's market, Pao waves them off. "Just a moment please!"
His soft footfalls walk down the slick grass of the hill, his poise unbreakable despite his massive weight and the dewy hillside making ascent near impossible for the goblin to crawl his way back up. The bleeding man glances up to the Shado-Pan, his eyes in disbelief and his pride shattered. He shirks away a moment, fearful the man is here to finish the deed. Instead he finds a gentle smile and an open paw, offering to help him on his feet. "Come now, you look miserable little one. We will treat your wound and get you dry. We will even feed you some delicious sour tofu soup." The man stares in disbelief. He had never seen someone act with such honor. He pulls away from the man and unsteadily kneels up. "Howf youf moffed like ffat? I couf barfly fee youf!" The man chuckles softly and helps the goblin stand up now that he is decidedly defeated. "If you want to learn our ways, then come train with us at The Wall." The goblin's eyes darted about skeptically. He still clung to his mouth wincing in pain as the pandaren lead him up the hill by his elbow. "What is your name little one?" The goblin blinks blearily to the Shado-Pan as they ascend the hill, the sun now breaking out over the jade valleys that sprawled out past Halfhill all the way down to the grand wall far off in the distance. He covers his mouth and in broken words says "My namef Ruffell..." The lets out a little laugh at his funny speech. "Well 'Ruffell', you have a lot to learn from us..."
He could hear her despite the anesthesia, Martha’s voice was like a siren’s call luring him out of the fog and back to the world of the living. “I know how hard it was for you to let me in…” he heard her say.
Lionel forced himself to wake. He needed to let her know. He wanted to tell her the truth about himself. To do more than just let her see the kinder side of him that he had kept to himself for centuries.
He opened his eyes. “Hi,” he drowsily said; savoring the smile she was giving him.
Silence hung like a pall in Acherus, heavy, ever-present, and reluctantly broken.
Iantha sucked a sharp breath in through her teeth, the flushed skin of her chest pressed against the polished black stone wall.
At her back, the flat planes of the death knight's Saronite breastplate shifted like tectonic earth, catching the felblood's ink-dark feathers between the crevices.
"Bastard."
A low, almost delighted sound rasped just behind her ear, echoing past the Ebon Knight's helm.
"There you are. I was beginning to wonder if you'd finally lost your bite."
Falonel's—no, Knight-Ambassador Lightborne's—leg moved suddenly, his rough greaves shoving her upward so that she had to balance on her toes, or else sit on his thigh, but she refused to give him the satisfaction.
The hand between her legs made no effort to adjust for the motion, forcing the pads of his slick-dampened gauntlets into her soft folds.
With another shift, his other hand left her side to unfasten what sounded like metal buckles. Their tiny catches tinkled lightly, followed by the soft hiss of fabric and padding as the piece of armour slid free. It clanged like a death knell as it fell to the floor.
Leaving it where it lay, the Ambassador's palm fitted around the gentle curve of her throat, fingers flexing painfully into her jaw. Divested of his helm, the quel'dorei knight turned her head just enough to catch his lichfire gaze.
"Tell me, Iantha: did you truly tempt an executioner and expect mercy?"
The thumb circling steadily between her legs drew another involuntary shudder, betraying earlier arrogance; undermining the false bravado that she stubbornly clung to like a cliff's edge, even now.
"You think I'll break, just like that?" She hissed angrily, pulling against his grip. "Shatter like the ice you knights are so fond of?"
Falonel didn't rise to the bait.
"No," he said, tone lifting with patient benevolence. His lips ghosted over the hollow behind her jaw, hovering there before continuing along the edge of her ear. "I think you'll break when I want you to break."
He pressed his hips forward, groin braced between her rear and the small of her back, forcing her to feel all of him. The move lifted Iantha's feet from the ground, gasping as she spread open against his frigid, unyielding thigh.
"You’ll wish you were ice," he rasped, "just so you could shatter at the slightest touch."
Goosebumps blossomed in the wake of his leather palm as it dragged from throat to breast, where his cruel fingers pinched her nipple, hard. A sound, half-whine, half-moan, slipped from the warlock's open mouth.
"Undo you at a time of my choosing—"
Bristly, silver hairs scraped against hunting ground, sniffing out the most vulnerable places like a seasoned predator. Sharp-edged teeth nipping; testing his prey.
"By my hand—"
Another stroke. Firm and unwavering in its glacial pace.
"—and make you come apart, like a well-used whore."
His fingers plunged deeper, the cold metal of his gauntlets warming as they sank into her wet heat. Iantha's breath caught, creaking under the weight of a shameful groan that burst through a moment later, hips snapping forward like a damning confession.
Dark amusement rumbled in Falonel's throat.
"Liked that, did you?"
His fingers retreated, stroking her again with devastating, feather light precision.
It was not a reprieve.
Falonel exhaled slowly through his nose, the breath fanning across her skin. He bent closer, his tongue burning a molten path across her neck, chasing the river hidden just beneath.
When his mouth met the junction of her shoulder, he sucked hard, pulling heat-rich vitality to the surface, and with it, a brittle, broken sound from her lungs.
"Fuck, I—"
He smiled.
Not one she could see, but the subtle curve of it was tangible. Taunting.
"Is that what you want, little lamb?" he asked, words muffled like soft velvet against her pulse. The hand around her jaw released it for a fistful of dusky, violet hair.
"To be fucked?"
Iantha shook with a single, close-mouthed sob: a symptom of raw, overwhelming need that not even her formidable pride could silence. And he knew it.
His smile grew; sharp, wolfish and hungry.
“Tell me I'm wrong.”
His fingers hadn't stopped, their rhythm now maddening, the undulating pressure keeping them in a state of constant motion: gliding down from the apex of her thighs through her slick warmth, then dipping into her centre like oars on a lake.
...Or nothing except a teasing probe, gone again to retrace the path in a backwards sweep; collecting his prize of honeyed lust along the way.
She didn't speak. Didn't breathe.
Instead, she curled her hands into tight fists against the frost-chilled wall beside her face. A streak of dark rouge smudged the rigid line of her mouth, a remnant of earlier defiance.
Behind her, the Ebon Knight hummed. No trace of disappointment nor impatience. Just cold calculation.
“No matter,” he quipped mercilessly. “I have all the time in the world.”
- - -
Author's note:
I really wanted to write way more, but holy fuck I was busy today, and now my brain mush.
So yeah, might be typos, nonsense etc. I didn't proofread, sue me 🙃
