#muireanne

[rilafish]

Redrew something from years ago! :D Before and after Still not sure how Tumblr’s sizing thing works

[candysoupkitchen]

Looks like a cinnamon roll but could actually kill you

@leomycaptain‘s candy, Muireanne. While yes, she’s a sweet adorable cinnamon roll, she loves be a dare-devil with her friends... which I find really cute! Hope you like it >u<

((trouble quote from Aladdin))

[featherfires]

Atonement - part 5

(( It’s starting to get pretty fucked up from here ))

All she had was a name. Luckily, it was not a very common name. A plea that she was too ill for her duties at the Sunwell and a letter to the Magistry found Muireanne in a dusty basement in Silvermoon, curled up on top of a heavy crate with a moldering stack of books beside her. She'd foregone her priestly robes and tucked her hair up under some festooned hat, not wanting to be seen today. The enchanted lantern in the basement flickered, and she sighed, struggling to read the tome open on her lap.

Tyrdill Dawncaster. She found a record of his birth from over 100 years ago. Somewhat influential family, though his mother died. There was nothing extraordinary about him, and she followed his name through the volumes of the almanacs. The same story about the same life, condensed into two brutally short lines. Until, one year, there was three.

Deceased.  

Frowning, Muireanne flipped the book over to check the year. It was far before Raisheal would have met him. Had an error been made?

Faced with a growing disquiet, Muireanne slipped a piece of paper to mark the page and pulled another book off the stacks. Death reports for that same year. If there had been a mistake, he wouldn't be listed in this one.

It was to her dismay, then, that she came across a copy of his death certificate. She paused, scratching the tip of her ear. Had Azionera been lying? Was Tyrdill just a random name she picked to throw her off? She picked up the most recent almanac and opened it to his name.

Where he was listed as alive and well.

Desperate for some kind of answer, Muireanne reached into the pouch at her waist and produced a ring of keys. These were what the letter had been for. With an attraction to the mysterious, it was only likely that Raisheal would be involved with somebody whose records may have been altered. She crossed over to a large cabinet in the corner, unlocking it, and pulling out copies of records from the year he had died onward. Luckily, these were much more sparse.

It didn't take her long to find it. Not too much before Raisheal may have met Tyrdill, his death record was expunged. The missing taxes paid off. It was as if nothing had ever happened. No further searching yielded anything beyond this. He was as evanescent as the shadows he hailed from.

There was nothing to it, then. If Muireanne wanted answers, she'd have to ask Raisheal.

Rain was falling over the Ghostlands, carving out narrow paths in the dirt roads and choking the undergrowth with mud. Muireanne huddled under her cloak, trying to pull the hood even further forward. The hawkstrider she'd borrowed from Tranquilien plodded along slowly, picking delicately through the dirt. There was no sound save the gentle patter of raindrops on leaves and stones.

Muireanne had never been to Raisheal's home, and wasn't even quite sure where exactly it was. But she'd turned down assistance, knowing that if she showed up with somebody else, Raisheal would immediately flee.

The shorter path along Sungraze Peak had been blocked by a fallen tree, and the roads were empty on such a sullen day. Still, the back of her neck prickled. She was being watched. Muireanne lifted her head up just in time to see a raven take wing.

So she'd have a herald, then.

Indeed, Raisheal was waiting outside when Muireanne emerged from the woods, her cloak on but without the hood on. The woman appeared even more exhausted than she had when Muireanne had last seen her, with heavy dark circles beneath her eyes and her skin a sickly pallor. Though she was soaked to the bone, she didn't shiver. She nodded at Muireanne, then briskly walked inside, leaving the door open. Muireanne followed wordlessly, trying the hawkstrider up under the eaves.

The inside of the house was dark, but Raisheal was struggling to light a few candles. Her fingers shook as she tried to strike the match. Muireanne sighed. “Here.” She took the matches from Raisheal, lighting the candles and filling the room with a weak, flickering light. Glancing to her side, Muireanne took a startled step back when she saw Raisheal staring at her. “Are you alright?” she ventured to ask.

Raisheal didn't answer, shaking her head and turning away to wring out her hair, dabbing at it uselessly with a towel she grabbed off the floor. “What do you want?” she instead questioned brusquely.

Muireanne glanced around the room, looking for a place to sit, then judged against it when she saw the thick dust coating everything. She cleared her throat, folding her hands in front of her. “I just had a few questions. And I guess I...wanted to see how you were faring.” She smiled at Raisheal's back.

“I'm doing as well as usual, though I'm busy. Talk quickly.” Raisheal set the towel down and took up a brush, refusing still to turn around.

“Right, then.” Muireanne hesitated, taking a deep breath. “I ran into a demon a few days ago. And she mentioned the name of somebody I'd like to find.” She crossed her feet, looking up into the rafters, but they were empty of ravens for now.

Raisheal snorted with derision. “And you're asking me? Don't you have that dead girl to do that for you?” She brushed faster, angrily pulling through a thick knot in her hair.

“No,” Muireanne replied flatly. “Because it's Tyrdill.”

At that, Raisheal stopped. She set the brushed down, curling her again-trembling fingers into fists and staring at the wall. “Yes, I know of him. Why do you need to find him?” She breathed out softly, closing her eyes.

“For answers.” Muireanne pressed on, insistent. “Who is he? Because it seems like he has a part to play in this far-fetched plan of yours, and if that's the case, I'd rather remove him from it.”

Raisheal marched over to a table tucked into the corner cluttered with feathers and a collection of glass orbs. She extricated a key from somewhere within her pocket, unlocking the table's drawer. The drawer contained two items: a velveteen bag and a small black jewelry box. She paused, fingers brushing the bag with a bitter smile on her face, before taking out the box and locking the drawer again.

“He's very much like me. And very much different.” Raisheal's smile changed to something almost happy. “Our first meeting was enthralling. I had never seen someone like him before. Now I know why, of course.” She held the box to her chest, taking several dancing steps about the room as if with an imaginary partner. She spun, skirt swishing softly, before stopping to hand the box off to Muireanne.

The priestess opened it. Inside was a glimmering jet band, the design that of two entwined ravens. Raisheal ran a fingertip over the tiny detail work. “You won't find any record of it anywhere, but I married him.” Her voice sounded distant, and her mind certainly was, eyes unfocused and lost in memories.

 Muireanne closed the box again with a quiet snap. “What happened? If I may ask,” she inquired softly. Raisheal blinked, looking around as if brought back rudely into reality. She pressed her lips together tightly.

“I'm still not certain to this day, but I paid for letting my walls down.” She took the ring back, returning it to the drawer. “I don't often see him. But once in a while, he'll return to mock me.” Raisheal leaned heavily against the table, head bowed. “I don't see what he could have to do with this.” She curled her fingers around the tabletop.

Muireanne walked up next to her, but still keeping a safe distance. “You don't really mean to try and take my place, do you?” When she got no response, she pressed on. “I'm asking you now, then. Please stop. I made my decision knowing the consequences full well. I don't regret it. This has nothing to do with you.”

Raisheal let out a short, barking laugh. “You don't have to worry about that. Of course he said no. And I don't have any other options.” Her knuckles were white. “So why don't you drop this, Muireanne? Don't go looking for him, don't go asking for him. Just stay happy in the light and the warmth as long as you can. There's no place for you with people like us.”

The silence following those words was unbearable, broken only by the harsh staccato of the rain, falling harder now, against the windows. A rustling of feathers up above told Muireanne that at least one of the ravens had returned through the open window above, and it was of little surprise to see the familiar form of Silthrait fluttering down to perch on Raisheal's shoulder, picking affectionately at her hair and robes.

Finally, Muireanne spoke. Her voice was gentle, but firm. “Though Damian refused you, that demon came still to harass me. And I can't let her roam free. If Tyrdill is the answer to this mystery, then I need to find him. Just tell me where I can.”

“No,” Raisheal replied sharply. “I'm not going to let you wander into something stupid because you're too stubborn and self-righteous to let one demon go.”

The comment sparked Muireanne's anger. “Self-righteous? She threatened me and you! You're the one being stubborn here.” She took several steps closer to Raisheal. “You're not losing anything by answering my questions. You hate him now, right? If you truly want to help me, then answer.”

Raisheal turned away from her. “No, Muireanne. You don't understand. Azionera—she can't mean anything good by mentioning him. He shouldn't have any part in any of this.” Silthrait cawed and beat her wings before taking to the air to settle in the rafters. “I told you all that I will. If you insist on looking for him still, then I can't stop you.”

“It's not enough,” Muireanne replied flatly.

“That's the point.”

She hadn't come this far to be denied. Muireanne hesitated, staring once more at Raisheal's back. It had been years since she'd had to do this.

Without warning, Muireanne wrapped her arms tightly around Raisheal. The woman, confused by the gesture, gasped and struggled to slip away. But in an instant, Muireanne pressed her fingertips to Raisheal's temples, shocking her with a quick jolt of holy energy to knock her out—at least temporarily. The raven priestess fell limp in her arms, and she gently laid her on the floor.

Silthrait shrieked, streaking through the air towards Muireanne. She held up an arm to protect her face from the raven's wicked claws, before responding with a bolt of magic that would unfurl into a  net, trying to catch the creature. She succeeded, but in an instant, Silthrait freed herself, disappearing and reappearing behind Muireanne, who shrieked in pain as the bird raked its claws across the back of her head. Pressing her hands to the wound, she winced and apologized to Raisheal before firing the same incapacitation spell she'd used on Raisheal at her. It hit, and Silthrait fell to the ground with a loud thunk.

Raisheal had already begun to stir, her brow knitting and looking disturbed. She wouldn't have much time. Muireanne laid on hand on Raisheal's forehead, using the other to grip Raisheal's own hand. She closed her eyes, trying to empty her mind of as much detritus as possible before murmuring the incantation.

It wasn't easy. A great wall of shadowy thorns seemed to surround Raisheal's mind, and it was difficult to slip past and chip away. Clearly, a conscious Raisheal would have been almost impossible for her to read.

It didn't take much, however, to locate memories of Tyrdill. He was like a great knot at the heart of a raging storm. She committed the image to memory: a willowy man, pale, gliding more than walking. Enigmatic. A true creature of shadow.

She had just enough time. The moment Muireanne severed the connection, Raisheal woke up. She groaned, pressing a hand to her forehead, before pushing herself up.“What the hell was that for!?”

Had her foray into Raisheal's memories gone undetected? Muireanne didn't ask. Raisheal got to her feet—and then, seeing Silthrait on the ground, yelped and ran over to scoop the raven up in her hands, cradling her next to her chest and stroking her head. Silthrait, too, was stirring, cooing softly. Raisheal whirled around, glaring at Muireanne. “I don't know why you just did that, and really, I don't care. Get out.” There was something inexpressible in her face as she turned away once more.

Muireanne didn't answer. She bowed her head and turned to leave. The rain had stopped, and she finally had a trail to follow.

[featherfires]

Atonement - part 4

(( AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA ))

Raisheal made her way up the spiral staircase of the Magistry's tower, holding her feathered skirts up in one hand as they rustled behind her. Silthrait winged her way ahead. Nanaea's workshop was near to the top, and the raven perched above the doorway before picking at her feathers. Raisheal entered without knocking, and her companion fluttered in after her.

Nanaea jumped at the unexpected visit, upsetting an array of crystals spread across her tabletop. They clattered noisily to the floor, several of them chiming musically. “R-Raisheal! Good morning! Early for you, isn't it?” The sorceress sucked in a deep breath, getting to her feet and forcing a smile.

“Sorry for the short notice. I couldn't wait for you to get a message.” Raisheal swept past her and took a seat on a chair shoved in a corner between a stack of books and a crate filled with a variety of broken pottery. Silthrait settled on the chair's back, running several strands of Raisheal's hair through her beak, and she took comfort in the bird's nearness. “I need your help summoning a demon.”

Midway through gathering up her crystals, Nanaea dropped them again in shock, sending up a noisy chorus. “Excuse me? Summoning a demon?” She rocked back onto her heels in a squat, incredulous. “Why? I never knew you to have an interest in warlockery.”

Raisheal shook her head. Her voice was cool, collected, smooth. “It isn't that. I wish to make a deal with this one. It concerns Muireanne.” The usual distaste for the name lingered on her tongue, but this time with a hint of uncertainty.

Nanaea turned one of the crystals, a cool green one, between her fingers with a frown. The stone emitted a low, resonant hum. “How?” She stood up, setting the stone aside before going to her overflowing bookshelf. She plucked a volume off the top shelf—clearly well-thumbed, the margins filled with the girl's tiny, cramped writing.

Leaning back in the chair, Raisheal closed her eyes. “Foolish and stubborn as she is, she made a deal with a demon. I would like to overwrite it myself. So, I need to speak with the demon in question.”

“I see,” Nanaea responded quietly. “Wh-what were the details of the contract?” She stepped quietly, as if afraid to disturb some sleeping giant, and set the book in Raisheal's lap. She folded her hands and stepped to the side, chewing her lip.

Raisheal opened her eyes, boredly flipping through the pages. “It's best that I don't share.” She stopped on a page illustrating various circles. “Nanaea. I have never attempted summoning before. I know it takes a long time to do it properly. Months, even years, of study. I don't have that kind of time.” She looked up at Nanaea with a frown. “I need just some manner of tempting him here. No matter how unproper it may be.”

The sorceress nodded, fearful, then took the book from Raisheal. She turned it all the way to the back. The final blank page was covered in notes. “I learned this method from someone who used to work at the Magistry. It's more like an invitation. Like throwing open your door for whoever wants to come by...there's no protective wards, no guarantee. It's really dangerous, Raisheal, and I wouldn't recommend it.” She folded her arms.

Raisheal traced the sketch of the arcane circle at the bottom of the page. “It's exactly what I need.” Her voice was quiet and contemplative.

Nanaea folded her arms. “Why not just let me summon him for you? You can do all the talking, but it would be much safer.” As assured as her words were, her tone gave away the weakness underneath.

“Because this particular demon seems to have a history with your family, and I'd rather not make it worse. Besides, you're no fighter. If something went wrong, I'd be liable to protect you.” Raisheal didn't bother to look back up at her as she spoke. “So, will you help me, or no? I require the reagents, and I could use you nearby in case something does happen.” She neglected to specify what, if anything, could go awry.

Nanaea swallowed. “Of course. I'll give you the arcane powder.” She skirted around a makeshift partition assembled out of some chipped ornamental screens, and returned holding a hefty pouch.

Raisheal took the pouch and weighed it in her hand. “Come to my house tonight.”

It was a rare day of nothing to do for Muireanne, and she found herself wandering Sun's Reach aimlessly. Ever since the Isle's reclamation had succeeded, the town had become something of a bustling merchant hub, the last stop for ships on the way to Northrend. The sun was strong today, showing the last of its fierce light as summer began to wane. She turned out of the main market, filled with strange sounds and stranger smells, and onto a path winding into a park.

Her thoughts, however, were far darker. Raisheal knows about the contract...but what did she plan to do? She hooked a stray curl behind her ear.  Why should she even care?

Nanaea was supposed to visit today, but she'd sent an urgent message that she had been put on a project due this evening. Well, that was nothing new. The Magistry would work that poor girl to her death one day.

The spells of blackness had become more frequent, and Muireanne had taken to carrying a vial of smelling salts with her—along with her staff. Luckily, there had been no need for them. Not yet, anyways. She walked along the path, head bowed, when her vision suddenly darkened. Her legs gave way beneath her, and she cried out, catching herself painfully with her hand.

Spots muddied her sight, and she tried desperately to hang onto consciousness. The terrifying void clawed at her, and Muireanne in response clawed at the ground, fighting to keep the memory of sun and warmth against her skin—until, at last, her vision cleared.

Blinking away spots and dizziness, Muireanne shook her head, looking up. A creature—a demon!—stood before her, tapping a finger on the coiled whip at her waist. The park was silent and still, without even a rabbit or squirrel scampering past.

Muireanne scrambled to her feet, taking her staff into hand, the enchanted gems along it flaring with light. “I'll give you one chance to explain yourself.” Her pulse quickened, and she tightened her fingers around the staff, fully awake.

The succubus smiled. “Do you think Raisheal loves you?”

The question caught the priestess off guard, but she refused to let it show. “No,” she replied, taking several steps towards the demon. Something occurred to her, then. “Are you the one who told her about the contract?”

Azionera nodded, uncoiling the whip from her waist and letting it unfurl to the ground. “Yes. And you should know that you're wrong, huntress. Because she's chosen to take your place.” A dark smile crossed her face. “Now I have another question. Do you love Raisheal?”

The question burned. “Of course no,” Muireanne spat back, bristling with anger. “She's almost gotten me killed. How could I?” Fissures of light began to carck under her feet as she deepend her connection with the well, feeling the surge of magic within her.

“Liar.”  Azionera stepped gracefully behind Muireanne, spinning around and extending her hand to hover just above Muireanne's shoulder. “You should know by now.”

Muireanne spin around, sparks of light flaring up to burn the demon's hand. Her blood rushed in her ears. “Your chance is up.” She spun her staff back, clicking the head of it on the stone path before swinging it back up, a gout of heavenly fire following in its wake to smite the demon where she stood—or at least, where she had. Azionera had already darted out of the way.

The priestess turned, locating her prey and calling down a similar burst of fire and light. The demon responded by lifting her hand, conjuring a simple, shadowy barrier to deflect it. “It's strange that she fell in love with you. Considering her history.” She spoke conversationally still, whip in hand but unused.

Muireanne refused a response, conjuring an orb of holy light at her feet. It spun towards Azionera, pulsing with fire before exploding, scorching her feet—and yet, she didn't even seem to cringe. Gritting her teeth, Muireanne rushed at her, using her hand to pull several shards of holy magic up before flinging them at the Azionera. The succubus wrapped one of her leathery wings about her face, and the shards exploded against them, leaving burn marks but ultimately useless.

In an instant, Azionera flicked her whip: not to harm, but to ensnare. The cord, through skill or guile, wrapped itself around Muireanne's foot and tripping her up. Muireanne swore, catching herself just in time with her staff before murmuring an incantation to form a shimmering aegis of light about her.

But Azionera didn't attack. She eyed Muireanne with a bright curiosity, her tail swishing back and forth. “I used to think it was impossible for any of us to have been beaten by a mere priestess. Now I understand.” She turned her back to Muireanne. “Hold the attack for a moment. I'm not here to kill you, or defile your precious Sunwell.”

In the midst of recovering to resume her attack, Muireanne paused. She glared daggers at Azionera's back, but relented. “Speak quickly.” She maintained her barrier, distrustful of this visitor.

“So there you have it. Raisheal loves you, and wants to save you from your fate. Your feelings—well, I'll let you figure that one out for yourself.” Azionera looked over her shoulder. “Have you ever heard the name Tyrdill?”

Despite searching her memory deep, Muireanne was unable to find a match. She shook her head, and Azionera laughed. She lifted a hand, and snapped her fingers.

Quite suddenly, a shroud of shadows sprang up about Muireanne. Startled, the priestess turned about. She sought in the darkness for any sign of someone else. But all she felt or heard was Azionera.

“Think of the shadows that Raisheal calls home. Now imagine something darker, something stranger, something primal. That is the land Tyrdill hails from. She loved him too, and paid for it. Because he coaxed out every nasty part of her, and inspired her to greater heights. But then he disappeared one day.” The demon's voice came out of the shadows. Snarling, Muireanne lifted a hand, calling down rays of light to try and banish the shadows.

Nothing happened. “There are places even the Light can't reach. This is one of them. I wonder...what part will he have in this play?” Azionera giggled.

“I don't care about any of this, demon. Get to the point.” Muireanne leaned against her staff, ears alert and eyes as she tried to place Azionera's location.

“You and Raisheal are exact opposites, so extreme in your differences that you start to blend. It's a fatal attraction. The phoenix and the raven, the wind that stokes sparks to flame. In no matter what world, no matter what life, the two of you will meet. But that means, in some way...he'll be there, too.” Azionera's voice was a whisper behind Muireanne. “As Damian watches you, Tyrdill watches her. Consider it a warning, priestess.”

Unable to listen anymore, Muireanne whirled about on her feet, deepening her connection to the well. She wrenched pure magic from the ground, power surging through her into a bolt that she flung forward, shredding through the shadow veil. Light suddenly streamed in, and the shadows evaporated, revealing Azionera once more. Wordlessly, Muireanne raised her staff, amplifying her own swelling magic through it as motes of light swirled up about her to form into a devastating volley of light that streaked towards the demon.

But in an instant, she was gone. The volley slammed into the ground, scorching the grass. Muireanne gasped in a mix of shock and pain, the amount of magic she'd drinken in that instant overwhelming her, with no way to expend it. She clutched tightly to her staff, hanging against it and closing her eyes.

The park was still quiet. There was no sign that anything had gone wrong. In the distance, she heard the bells tolling late afternoon. Tyrdill...was he a real person? She shuddered at the thought of such a creature, so willing to bathe in that kind of energy every day. Then, something else occurred to her.

Could she find him?

[featherfires]

Atonement - part 3

(( Short part this time. ))

Midnight again. Raisheal kept the windows shut tight for once, the door locked, and cleared a space in her room. She bid the flock, even Silthrait, to depart for the night. She sat on the edge of her bed, concentrating. Could she tempt Azionera here? She knew nothing of summoning demons, but maybe the creature's interest would be enough.

The answer came soon enough, as with a pop, Azionera materialized in the room, stretching her wings and arms out with a yawn. “I get the feeling you wanted me?” She tilted her head to the side to study Raisheal, folding her arms across her chest. A playful smile crept across her face. “My, you don't look too happy.”

Raisheal didn't bother to answer. “I've decided that I'll accept your challenge. But I have some questions.” Azionera's grin widened, revealing wickedly sharp teeth. “Then I will answer as best I can, daughter of ravens. I'm only here to help you, after all.” She examined a long, curved nail, clicking her tongue in displeasure.

Turning her hands over in her lap, Raisheal chose not to look at the demon's face. “He will never give up his claim freely. I'm not the one he's interested in. But I could, perhaps, fool him into another contract that supplants the terms of the original.”

Azionera shook her head. “There's no way you could trick him. As good a liar you are to your fellows, there's no fooling us.” She drummed her fingers lightly on her hip. “I do hope you've come up with something better than that. After all, I thought you were intelligent.”

Raisheal twisted her fingers together tightly. “We can't, no. But perhaps you can.” She raised her head. “If me taking Muireanne's place is beneficial to you, then surely it's better that you help me in some way.”

An uncomfortable silence extended after those words, behind which she could almost hear a clock ticking. Finally, the succubus shook her head.

“No. It isn't. This is something you'll need to do on your own.”

Raisheal grew still, confusion growing around her. “I don't understand. I could refuse to do this. There's nothing binding me. But you refuse to provide me with aid? What if I had said no?”

Azionera's response was a chuckle. “You have made two mistakes. The first is believing that there is nothing binding you to this task. You know there is. The second is thinking that you understand how demons work.” She went back to examining her nails, picking at one with a frown. “Free-willed demons never oppose each other. Not so directly, of course. That makes you mortals useful tools.” She walked over to Raisheal, hooking a finger under the woman's chin and tilting her head up. She examined her with a disapproving expression. “Honestly, I would have expected you to know that.”

With a soft hiss, Raisheal pulled her head away. “I see. So there's something else at play here, and you need me to take the fall.” Her breath caught in her throat at the demon's smile.

“Yes, I do,” Azionera replied silkily. “It's up to you, of course. You're the most useful tool, but there are others. You're welcome to give up, and leave Muireanne to her fate. It's of no consequence to me.”

In response, Raisheal simply laid down on the bed, closing her eyes. “No. I won't give up. Not yet, anyways.” She laid her hands over her eyes. “Just tell me. What are you trying to do?” she murmured.

No response came. After several moments, Raisheal opened her eyes and sat up. The room was empty, with no sign that she'd ever had a visitor.

Her thoughts—and feet—turned restless, and she paced around her home, angrily kicking aside discarded clothes and scattered seeds. So any manner of trickery was out. Azionera would not help her because of some odd demonic code of honor. There would be no breaking the contract by force.

She reached the opposite wall and lay her hand over the cool stone, then pressed her forehead against it. Her head pounded. What choices did she have? If Damian refused to change the terms, there weren't many choices left. A thousand unwanted memories clawed inside her skull, the clamor making each one indiscernible from the other.

Raisheal slowly slid to the floor, tucking her legs beside her. She beckoned the shadows closer for the night, the nothingness a comfort to her. She conjured one of her magical quills between her fingers, spinning it about lazily.

Choices. Well, there weren't many. Not palatable ones, at least. Not ones that would actually save Muireanne. She shook her head and tossed the quill to the ground. There was nothing to be done for it: she'd have to find the capricious demon first.

[featherfires]

Atonement part 2

(( Muireanne’s view now! Might post more Raisheal only stuff later. ))

After the sun had risen, but before noon, the Sunwell itself was closed to outsiders for the priests and priestesses who served at the Plateau to attend to it. These days, it meant both nothing and everything, and these moments of solitude were Muireanne's favorite.

She knelt at the Well's edge, allowing the enchanted waters to just brush her fingertips. The water was warm and inviting, shimmering with magic as if the sun itself was sunken in its depths. The warmth of life seemed to surge within her, manifesting as cracks of light beneath her feet and a bright glow at her fingertips.

When the Sunwell had first been restored, its light had seemed so meager. So many elves, starving so long for its magic, were overwhelmed at its return. But each had given back in their own way. Now there was so little to fear. But every day she checked, always on the alert for the slightest waning of its power.

Muireanne got to her feet and turned away, and blackness flickered behind her eyes.

She stumbled, surprised. What? She blinked. The shadow didn't return. She looked about her, hesitant. Had anybody seen-?

But all her fellows were busy with their work. Nobody looked her way. Good. It wouldn't do for her to look as if she was catching cold. Muireanne brushed herself off, walking quickly out of the room.

The late summer day was warm, and days without rain had left the normally lush lawns of the plateau dry and crackly. A flock of finches pecked noisily at some seed scattered on the ground. A pair of students, deep in conversation, bent their heads together over some dusty book. Another idyllic day on Quel'danas, and yet, she could not relax.

Muireanne's wandering feet took her to the library, and it was with no small surprise that she spotted a familiar figure wandering the aisles. Nanaea seemed bright and alert, and was already carefully balancing a stack of books in her arm. Spotting Muireanne, she stopped and smiled, waving.

“There you are! Sorry to drop in unexpectedly, but they canceled my meetings for today, so I've nothing to do. But we haven't talked in a while, have we?” The girl spoke quietly, shifting the books from one arm to the other so she could give her cousin a one-armed hug that Muireanne only half-heartedly returned before speaking herself.

“As it is, I was thinking of going to see you. Step outside with me?”

Nanaea nodded and followed her outside. Muireanne sought out a bench tucked in a recess between buildings, almost hidden behind an unruly shrub. She crossed her legs, smoothing her robes down restlessly, before speaking hesitantly.

“Have you noticed anything strange about yourself since...?”

The silence gave enough meaning to the words. Nanaea flinched, looking about fearfully out of habit. “N-no,” she finally replied. “Nothing that I wouldn't expect. Why?” She tightened her grip about the spines of the books, knuckles white.

Muireanne reached out to lay a hand over Nanaea's wrist, letting soothing light flow between them to try and calm her nerves. “Ever since then, I have these- these episodes. My sight goes black, I feel...separated. As if I'm slipping into a different world.”

After a few deep breaths, Nanaea appeared much calmer. She nodded slightly, her expression showing a mind already at work. “I see. No, I haven't felt anything like that.” She sat down next to Muireanne, placing the books beside her. “What else did you feel? What about that world?”

Muireanne pressed her finger gently to her lips as she thought. “It felt a lot like- well, nothing.” She folded her hands in her lap. “It was both familiar, in a comforting way, and absolutely terrifying.”

“Hmm.” Nanaea tapped her foot idly against the ground as she thought. “Well I wonder. Could it be the Void you're feeling, maybe?” She tilted her head back, looking up at the clear sky. “I hear ever since the campaign in Pandaria, a few priests have been learning about this plane. Or could you say non-plane? I have no idea. But I hear it's almost like the opposite of the Light, in a way. So I wonder if maybe your connection to the Light is nudging you this way?” She shrugged. “I'm sorry, Muireanne, but I don't really know. Not yet, at least. I've never heard of something like that.”

“It's fine,” Muireanne replied quickly, though her heart dropped. “It's not like you should know everything, after all.” She got to her feet, turning her gaze skyward as well. The sun was beginning to truly warm the day. “Did you want to stop by my room for tea or anything?”

“Of course. Don't worry, I won't keep you too long. Did you know the library here has a whole collection of really rare books about elemental magic? I had no idea! I can't wait to look at them. Do you think Bayuriel could teach me anything about the elements? I haven't seen him in a while, though...”

Her cousin chattered on and on as they walked, Muireanne glad for the company.

She didn't even notice the figure watching them from a narrow alleyway.

It was later in the afternoon. Nanaea had long since gone, and Muireanne had finished her work. She sat at her desk, flicking through a stack of papers. Useless, useless...I didn't even know we had a tax on that...wrong address, useless. All was silent, and the sun was just beginning to kiss the horizon.

A tap sounded on her door. She rolled her eyes and stood, going over to it. “Yes?” she questioned, pushing it open.

A woman stood there, wearing a purple cloak with a deep hood. But it wasn't enough to disguise her from Muireanne. Distinctive preternaturally green eyes, pitch black hair-

“Raisheal?”

The woman pushed into the room without a word, pulling the hood back. Her raven was conspicuously absent, and she looked tired and ragged. “Close the door, Muireanne. This is a private conversation.” She walked over to the open window, closing it with a snap before pulling the curtains over it.

Muireanne hesitated. Should she call the guards? But then she noticed how Raisheal's hand trembled as she stood with her back turned. Slowly, she closed the door.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Raisheal didn't answer immediately, staring at a painting on the wall of Dawnstar Village. She clenched her hands into fists. “I see Nanaea stopped by earlier.”

The priestess blinked, confused. “Yes, she did. We spoke for a while. Had tea and snacks. Nothing unusual.”

Her voice, when Raisheal responded, was flat and emotionless. “Having trouble staying in our world lately, are you?” She went over to Muireanne's desk, looking it over but refusing to so much as glance at Muireanne. She reached out, pushing an inkpot around with a single finger.

“You heard that?” Muireanne questioned. When no response came, she nodded. “Well, no point in lying. Yes. Why do you care?” Did her eyes deceive her, or did Raisheal flinch at the question?

“I see.” Raisheal spoke with the same almost bored confidence as usual. “And yet you didn't mention Damian to her. So she doesn't know.” She pushed the pot around faster, until it toppled over the side and shattered, staining the floorboards a deep black. She stepped away, and Muireanne saw a strangely familiar knife glinting in her hand.

“What the hell are you-” she exclaimed, reaching behind her for a staff that wasn't there, but Raisheal instead tossed the knife onto the floor between them. Muireanne stopped, startled. Raisheal's body trembled, and her breathing was strained. Her words came out strange and sharp and clear.

“You signed a contract with a demon, and you've spent these years pretending that your life is perfect and charmed. Drop the heroics. I don't care for your lies.” She nudged the knife towards the priestess with an ink-stained boot.

Muireanne knelt down and picked it up, needles and flames setting her mind on fire. “Where did you get this?” She turned it over in her hand. Yes, just as she remembered. A short blade, a stout, unadorned handle. The only thing that set it apart was the single round yellow gem set at the blade's base. She'd left it there in the forest. How had Raisheal come across it? She stood, clutching it in a shaking hand. “Who told you about the contract? Nobody but me and Damian knows!”

A harsh laugh, almost like a caw, escaped Raisheal. “Who do you think? A demon did! She came to my house last night and showed me everything.” She walked over to Muireanne and took her free hand in a deathlike grip. “I can't believe you! How could you be so stupid? You know what's happening!” She dug her nails into Muireanne's skin. “Xarvathron almost killed you! These are just reminders, is what they are!”

Muireanne snarled, summoning firey light around her hand that grew until Raisheal snatched her hand away. “I didn't have a choice! Unlike some people, I wanted to save my sister! Why do you care so much, anyways?”

Raisheal cradled her burned hand against her chest, the anger gone from her eyes. “You still don't get it.” She shook her head, a disappointed smile tugging at her lips. “Well, I shouldn't have expected any better.” She stepped forward, tugging the knife out of Muireanne's hand. “I'm here to tell you that I'm going to change this fate. Consider it my- my-” Her eyes widened, and she struggled, her mouth forming strange and soundless words before she finally settled on something. “I'm going to need this.” She turned around towards the door. Muireanne reached out and grabbed her wrist. “Wait! You can't just show up and say something like that without an explanation. This has nothing to do with you, Raisheal. Back off.”

Raisheal looked over her shoulder, her expression unreadable. Without a word, she lifted her other hand, an array of shadowy quills taking form in her hand. She tossed them, and one sunk into Muireanne's hand before evaporating in a puff of smoke.

“Don't order me around like one of your lackies, priestess,” she said coolly as Muireanne pressed one hand over the wound, red blood welling up. She turned and walked quickly away, slamming the door behind her and leaving Muireanne with her broken thoughts.

The priestess breathed out slowly. “Ah...” The magic needed to heal the mark was an after thought; the woman's words, less so. Muireanne went over to the window, pulling the curtains back and opening the windows. The sun had set, and darkness covered the isle. A cool night breeze blew, plucking at her hair.

She leaned out of the window, closing her eyes. But the wind and the night never brought her any joy. Nothing made sense anymore, the neat world she knew rearranging into a puzzle she couldn't solve. She opened her palm, looking down at the thin scar that crossed it. So easy to explain it away as an accident. Forever, only she had known the truth of how truly deep it ran.

She closed her fingers tight over it, and pressed her fist to her chest.

[featherfires]

Atonement

3rd draft of the story. This might get big.

A voice crept into Raisheal's dreams, thorny and suffocating and full of malice. It untangled itself from seaweed and brine, rose from the depths of a sunken, dead city, and spoke.

“Wake up, daughter of ravens.”

When she opened her eyes, it was only to the darkness of her derelict home, and the shadow of a thought that set her nerves to running. Only Silthrait roosted above, alert and clicking her beak, the rest of the flock hunting afield. Raisheal rose, one hand above the sheets, the other tucked beneath and sparking with magic.

“Who's there?” she demanded.

The voice laughed, and it sounded like rocks tumbling over a dry shore. “I come in peace, daughter of ravens.”

A shape took form at the end of her bed—a woman with legs crossed and a heartbreaking smile painted in the darkness. A barbed tail was draped across her lap, and she stretched small, leathery wings. Horns curved from her head, and were hung with a myriad collection of charms and chains. “I'll introduce myself first. My name is Azionera.”

Raisheal couldn't suppress her laugh. “Oh, is tonight my initiation into the demonic? I thought they started with imps.”

The succubus continued to smile, and her tail twitched back and forth. “In a manner, yes. For it came to my attention that something was just not fair here.” Her voice was little more than a whisper that hissed along with the nighttime winds across the window.

A square of dusty moonlight was the only light in the room, and yet Raisheal could see everything with a painstaking clarity. She cocked her head to the side, and Silthrait croaked, unhappy. She felt no pulse of magic other than the demon's fel aura. So what was this shadow of dread that danced behind her? She kept her face apathetic, tamped her magic down, and waited.

Azionera continued to speak. “Do you remember the incubus, Damian?”

Of course she did. What was it he said to her the one time they met?

I have to thank you for protecting Muireanne.

She nodded yes, and Azionera bared needle-sharp teeth. “And you know that he loves the priestess Muireanne. It's a bit shameful, really.”

Raisheal raised an eyebrow at her. “What do you want? I haven't spoken with Damian in years. I figured he got lost in one of those dimensions he was prattling on about. Muireanne is my ene-”

“Don't say that, daughter of ravens. You know you feel the same. Strange, that the people who hate her end up loving her.” Azionera got to her feet and cupped Raisheal's face in her hands. The woman recoiled, sparks of shadow magic lighting up the space in between them, and Azionera laughed though they left burn marks on her skin.

“Okay, I'll admit it,” Raisheal said flatly. “But I still don't see why you're here.”

Azionera sighed, deflating visibly with disappointment. “So businesslike, you mortals are. Very well. How familiar are you with demonic contracts?” She stepped back and clapped her hands. With a noise like crinkling paper, the ghost of a scroll came into view, shimmering faintly in the air between them.

“I hear they're unbreakable,” Raisheal replied. She slowly got to her feet, gingerly walking towards the scroll and leaning in to study it. Silthrait fluttered to her shoulder and nipped affectionately at her ear.

A moment passed, still and silent. Then another. And then the realization dug its claws into her.

“You can't be serious.” Raisheal laughed harshly, shaking her head. “Muireanne— she hunts demons. Why would she sign a contract with one?” Something like a siren blared in her thoughts, but it was too late. The signature at the bottom, so neat and precise, shone in bright red.

Azionera reached out wordlessly to take her hand and began to pull Raisheal to her. She felt that she was beginning to fall, fast as a stone but as gently as a feather, until her feet gently alighted on a strange, smooth surface that was cool beneath her feet. Coils of color rippled beneath her feet. They stood in a hallway marked only by the variety of picture frames that hung along it.

Raisheal turned to the one to her left, and with a start, saw herself years ago. She sat on the side of the road in Silvermoon, dirty and bedraggled, nobody daring to go near, until a red-haired priestess approached her. “Are you lost?” she asked. A warm smile lit up the priestess's face, and revulsion, striking quick as a viper, rose within Raisheal.

Silthrait screeched angrily and suddenly flew at Azionera, talons bared. The demon attempted to claw her out of the air, but with a pop, the raven disappeared before wheeling back around behind her.

“Call off your pet, girl, before I take care of it for you!” Azionera snarled, and reluctantly, Raisheal bid the bird return to her shoulder. She said nothing in response to the succubus, turning to look at another frame.

Every single one bore some memory of hers or Muireanne. Mutely she walked among them, until she came to one, larger than the rest, framed in smooth black wood.

Muireanne and Damian stood in a tangled forest, before the ruins of a shack.

“I've done everything I can. She's beyond the reach of the Light, beyond all the magic we know. But you can save her. A demon will only listen to another demon. Please, I'm begging you. Save my sister.”

The demon smiled, and laid out his terms. Muireanne gripped her knife tightly in her hand. Her blood became her chains.

She couldn't bear to look any more. Was it the truth? It had to be.

She spun to face Azionera. “What do you want from me? Is it to laugh? Then do so, and begone.” Angry shadows began to rise at her feet, and Silthrait bristled.

The succubus's tail swung back and forth lazily. “The huntress will become the prey on the day she dies, no matter the circumstances. She'll be stuck in his world forever. But don't you find it unfair? That you knew none of this?” She turned away to study one of the pictures, but continued to speak, not facing Raisheal. “Or does it make you hate yourself?”

Raisheal didn't respond. She walked quickly along the hallway, suddenly stopping before a still painting. Muireanne in her fine battle robes, her staff held high, light and fire blazing at her feet. She stared, then finally answered. “I have no interest in pursuing Muireanne. Damian can take her. I don't care.” Her words dropped like a bird felled from the sky, crashing down to her feet.

Quite suddenly, the world turned black. A suffocating winter silence surrounded her, broken only by Azionera's laughter. “You can lie to everyone but yourself, daughter of ravens.”

A single frame came into view. Raisheal stood above a narrow, sagging bed in which a girl with tangled brown hair lay asleep. She clutched a pillow in her trembling hands, before leaning down to cover the girl's face with it.

“No!” Raisheal shrieked with rage, a bolt of magic firing from her fingertrips to strike uselessly against the frame. She raged, shaping more in her hands to pelt the memory with, a curtain of shadow beginning to overtake the picture until, finally, she could see nothing.

Azionera appeared within the frame instead. “Muireanne was ready to bear an eternity of hellfire to save her sister. You murdered yours at the first opportunity. How can you ever redeem yourself?” She lifted her hand and snapped her fingers.

The frame disappeared, replaced instead with a single open door. Others appeared in a circle around Raisheal. She walked towards the first one, her heart aching. Beyond it, she saw herself and her sister, grown, happy. But when she tried to go through, the door slammed shut with an awful finality.

“Continue as you are, and every single future you could have had will be gone.” The next door that closed showed her and her flock together. Gone. Every future where she was loved. She turned from one to the other, her blood roaring in her ears, shadows enveloping her. She darted to the last door, at the last moment seeing her and Muireanne together. And then it closed as well.

She put her hand to the knob, and it burned.

A scream of rage welled up within her, and the shadows surrounding her exploding outwards. The doors toppled to the ground and disappeared in a shower of sparks. Again, she was alone in the darkness.

Raisheal dropped to her knees, breathing heavily.

Around her, a circle of ropes unfurled from some unseeable height, pooling onto the ground. Paper puppets slid down them next, strange and unrecognizable figures. They began to whisper.

Murderer. Coward. Betrayer. Liar. Weak. Usless. Useless. Coward. Weak. Weak. Weak. Liar. Murderer, coward,weak. The whispers grew more incessant. She pressed her hands to her ears, leaning forward, eyes screwed shut. Silthrait began to scream, tearing at one of the ropes holding up a puppet. It fell to the floor with a deafening crash, and suddenly, there was silence.

Azionera's voice flowed out of the darkness, silk against sand. “You have only one choice left to redeem yourself, daughter of ravens. You and Muireanne are on opposite sides of the same road. But you can turn her around.”

There was a faint, feather-like rustling. Raisheal did not open her eyes, until a gauzy weight settled over her head. Something like water brushed against her skin, and she recoiled, at last opening her eyes.

A fine lace veil covered her head. She wore a dress uncomfortably similar to a wedding dress. But each were of deep black.

The woman got to her feet. “What is my choice, then?”

Azionera at last appeared before her, and yet brightest of all was her bloody smile. “I think you already know.” She reached out and took Raisheal's hand, pressing a knife into it.

The same knife Muireanne had used.

“Find Damian. Convince him to release her, by taking you instead. It's the only choice you have. Resign your life to that fate.”

Raisheal stared down at the knife. Something clanged hollowly in her chest. “What do you gain from this? Why involve yourself?” she finally asked quietly.

The succubus turned, folding her arms. “Well, if I told you everything, that would ruin the fun, wouldn't it?” She waved her hand, and a door appeared in the darkness. “What I do with this doesn't concern you. You wanted a chance at atonement. Here it is.”

The knife fell to the floor with a clang, and Raisheal clenched her teeth. “Your kind is evil. I may be no better, but I'm no bright-eyed fool you can drag into your game.”

Azionera looked back at her, just once. “I was born evil. You chose to be so. Which makes you far worse than me.” Without another word, she stepped through the door, closing it behind her as it winked out of existence, leaving Raisheal in a vast, empty space.

Raisheal watched where she had left. Silthrait croaked questioningly. And then she knelt, taking up the knife again, and wrapped her hand around the blade. She watched, fascinated, as her blood welled up, crimson against her pale skin.

Around her, the darkness fractured and splintered into pieces. In a moment, she was kneeling in her own home again, the night air cold through the thin fabric of her nightgown, the rest of the flock returned and singing a noisy chorus of worry.

But she still held the knife.