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DWC Day 5 - Damage
Serena looked at her reflection in the mirror and sighed. It has been more than five years since that dreadful night in Darkshore, but she'd carry the marks for the rest of her life. She wasn't really vain - certainly less so than most sin'dorei - and while she accepted her changed appearance for what it was, sometimes she wished things turned out differently.
DWC November 2022 - Day 5 - Lush/Damage - Braedyn
Braedyn pushed her fingers deep into Zeke’s lush fur. It was dense, soft, and clean. Zeke was her favorite of Fortune’s big cats. He always had been. The large lynx flicked an ear, long tufts of hair swaying in the light breeze. Fortune and the girls were doing target practice across the yard with both bows and guns. They were intent, but happy, and their voices floated indistinct across the estate garden to her. She couldn’t make out the words, but it felt dreamlike to hear the sharp edges of victory and the lows of determination.
Zeke purred as they lounged under the tree. He was too busy being a puddle-of-cat-napping to pay attention. She felt much like him: relaxed and calm, perhaps a bit spoiled. Dappled sunlight painted both of them in the soft lines of country living. It had soothed old damage done to them all to come out here. The cats liked it here: liked to roam, hunt, and remember that they weren’t tame.
Fortune liked it because it let him shed his mantle. Time to soften. Space to breathe. Only the heaviest business followed them here to the estate.
The girls liked it because it gave them access to their father. To their mother. Their own kind of freedom to wander forest copses without guards. To open their hearts and minds to sunsets and fishing. The city could be hard for them--so many walls and such heavy consequences. They learned to cook from their father. Ending their day with dancing lessons and card games on the porch.
Braedyn itched for the rough city though. The country was pretty. It was sleepy. The country was quiet. She enjoyed it well enough, but it was never sharp here.
The country was an escape, and she wanted to jump into something, not out.
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November 24 - Day 5 Lush / Damage
The Life and Legend of our Arch Magistrix Fiorenze Tel’vaiel
In our Q&A series, Rise + Shine, Sunrise Herald Entertainment dishes with some of Silvermoon’s favorite names — asking the juicy questions that have been on everyone’s minds and learning more about who they really are in the process. This week Arch Magistrix Fiorenze Tel’vaiel sat down with us for tea.
Arch Magistrix, or Lady when she’s off the clock (if that’s ever a status she presides over), Fiorenze Tel’vaiel is the fifth holder of the Tel’vaiel titles and the sixth of the Sunmote titles. Her birthday masquerades have become one of the kingdoms’ most sought after spectacles, from tradesman to Ambassador, horde and alliance alike in attendance.
Recently elevated to the title of Arch Magistrix, she’s one of the first — and youngest ever — to hold the title since the siege of Quel’thalas. “It’s a title that I discussed closely with the Grand Magister,” she tells us with a delicate, custom made deep crimson and gold teacup in her hand, “We knew the marriage of our Regent Lord and the First Arcanist was going to further unite our kingdom and Suramar, it seemed like a good time to add an option to deepen the rank and responsibility of our own Magistry for those enlisted, whether new or seasoned.”
There’s history in it, the title itself goes back to Azshara’s own court. “He agreed that it felt like a good time to bring it back into use. I will admit I was surprised to be granted the honor, but I’m glad for it. He made it clear in the ceremony that my many contributions to the defense of the kingdom and my work on spellcraft within the Magistry made me an immediate candidate. Who am I to argue?” she shares.
It’s been noted by many that she has a close relationship with Grand Magister Rommath. Something that makes her laugh in an easy, charming manner when brought up. “That’s always been one of my favorite rumors, and is simply a danger of working so closely together over the years. We have been friends since my mother and her cousin were potentially interested in arranging a marriage between myself and Prince Kael’thas. He tolerates me well enough, even through some of my wilder phases.”
Those ‘wilder phases’ are something that have made her the talk of the town in the past. “Sometimes you have to fake your death for a couple of years to get a break,” she says, joking without elaborating on that scandal. “That good relationship with the Grand Magister for all those years helped me when I was ready to reintegrate myself into society and reclaim my titles from my little sister.”
Her sister, Kirin Tor Scholar Pyraelia Sunmote, is also a woman of unconventional choices. Four years ago she abdicated her claim to the Sunmote titles, forfeiting them back to the Arch Magistrix. Shortly after that, her choice to rejoin the Kirin Tor in Dalaran caused another minor scandal in the local tabloids considering the Arch Magistrix’s own rank within our fair kingdom and threatened to damage the family’s reputation. “The only thing I ever worried about in all of that was whether or not she was going to be happy. We both grew up in Dalaran and spent many years in academia there. Our family still maintains a tower under the Sunmote name. Of course there are matters of national security to consider, but there have always been, and we know how to remain professional with each other. While the truce holds, I see no reason to borrow trouble and think on problems that may never manifest,” she says with an easy, infectious confidence.
The Tel’vaiel Estate, where we met for this conversation, is lush and dripping in deep wealth. Delicate silks that the Sunmote weavers are known for hang from every curtain rod and upholster most of the pillows and chaises. Her marriage to the late Lord Halandir Tel’vaiel ensured she would inherit it all upon his untimely death fifty two years into their union. The Arch Magistrix looks perfectly at home here, wrapped in a layered dress from the Sev’astian fashion house. The immaculately embroidered over robe she wears was a gift from the designer themself, and the thousands of glass beads that accentuate the patterns catch the soft Eversong sunlight in a way that makes her look radiant.
We point out that the inheritance made her one of the most eligible women in the kingdom, and she laughs. “Don’t I know it, there are many who have tried, and continue to try, to court me.” This doesn’t seem to bother her at all, but nothing in our conversation has. “I’ll admit that I’m not opposed to the idea of remarrying again someday, if the right person asks.” Wink, dear reader, wink.
Understandably her dance card is incredibly full. She has been photographed in attendance at many of the premier events of the Court of the Sun’s social season (most recently she sat with Sunrise Herald Entertainment photographers for an exclusive shoot, check out page 25 for the full spread!) and on the arms of a few other nobles. “Friends of the family,” she assures us, “I know who in my circle will appreciate certain kinds of outings. My opera people, my ballet people, my orchestra people and so on. Makes for easy ‘yes’es if they have the time and wonderful discussions after the fact!”
Outside of that she’s somehow managed to keep her private life cloaked in mystery. “Everyone should be allowed their little secrets. It makes us more interesting — and the rumors all the more fun to hear,” she says, revealing absolutely nothing.
Our time unfortunately wrapped before we were able to get anything more juicy, but if there’s anything those of us at Sunrise are looking forward to, it's continuing to keep up with our favorite Arch Magistrix. See you all at the next masquerade ball!
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Paths Through The Green
DWC - Nov 24, Day 5 - Lush
Banagan walked down the steps leading from the Dwarven District and looked around. To his right he could see the pond where some people were enjoying some fishing. The fields surrounding it were thick with grass, creating a natural green carpet leading to the water’s edge. As he walked the path, he passed a small home with a garden just outside. From the path he could make out several different types of vegetables that appeared to be growing well in the soil.
Banny followed the dirt path along as it started to move around the pond. He could see a larger building off the path. He’d been told that ambassadors from other regions usually came there to discuss important matters. Near the building, he could see farmland. Sitting in the sun, there were pumpkins larger than he’d ever seen before. The young man stopped for a moment and let his gaze wander around. Coming from Duskwood, he wasn’t used to so much open space used for farmland. At least not like this. There were farms outside of the abbey in Northshire, but these were farms within the city itself. This much space with this much greenery growing still amazed him.
Shaking his head, he started walking again. He stopped when he heard the sound. At first, he thought it was buzzing. But as he moved closer, he realized the truth. Snoring. Following the noise, Banny finally found its source. Laying in the tall grass, with many empty bottles beside him, was his missing classmate. He was blissfully unaware of anything in the conscious world.
Banny leaned down just in time for the unconscious man to exhale a copious amount of fumes directly at him. Banny waved his hands and leaned back, fearful of losing his own sobriety. Taking a deep breath, he leaned over again and started to shake the man’s shoulder.
“Come on, you lush. Wake up. We need to get you back to the Cathedral before you get into any more trouble.” Banny took hold of the man’s wrist and pulled the man’s arm over his shoulders. Banny stood and started dragging the man back to the path. They had just gotten back onto the path when he woke up, looked at Banagan beside him and asked, “Is it happy hour already?”
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NovemberDWC 2022 Day 5
Title: Damage
Characters: Carter Summers
Rating: T for Temper
Fire Burns
Triggers: violence, trauma
DWC, Day 5 - Lush
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It's haiku time. Dakora writes about Pilgrim's Bounty.
Day 5: Lush/Damage (Attzi)
Word Count: 700 Summary: Attzi is trying to clear her head, something which is harder to do these days. Warnings: slight blood
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Attzi was in the jungle outside of Booty Bay, working on an old, familiar ore seam in the hopes of finding some gems for her father. That, and she could always use more copper to make wires for The Machine.
…Did she just think that in capitals? That was proof that it was taking on a life of its own. That was part of the reason she was out here; and every time she worked on it she went mining afterward, because it helped her think.
She’d been doing a lot of mining over the past couple of years, because of all the thinking she’d felt was necessary. She swung her pickaxe with a grunt, slamming it down on the bare rock before her, and then took a deep breath, wiping sweat off her forehead. Maybe too much mining. Her shirts were getting tight in the sleeves, and she’d seen her back in the bathroom mirrors the other day and it had made her double-take.
But this was the only productive way she had to work out her fear and frustration.
She adjusted her grip on the pickaxe again. Breathe. Swing. Crack! Breathe. Swing. Crack! As she fell back into the rhythm of the work, her mind quieted just enough to think clearly.
The Machine was almost done. It crouched like a living thing in her workroom, drawing her thoughts to it more and more often. Attzi had spent the past three years testing each of the components individually, sometimes with Kappi, sometimes with Burnie, sometimes on her own. The energy sink, which her cousin Fyx’s prototype had sadly lacked, was working perfectly. She was hoping that would prevent the thing from exploding like it had for him, and like it had for Burnie. The wiring was flawless, and made from copper enchanted to draw magic and power through it more effectively, which would hopefully prevent any of the components from being overloaded and failing. The case was dark iron, as a last ditch effort to keep the explosion contained if it turned out she’d miscalculated somewhere.
Attzi liked machinery, and wires, and gears. She trusted her watch, which she always had on her. She trusted the robot that made sure her front door was locked. She did not trust The Machine, and was very worried about what was going to happen when she finally hit the button.
Breathe. Swing. Crack– “Fuck!” she hissed, dropping the pickaxe and raising a hand to her cheek. Her fingers came back dotted in blood. A stray shard of rock had ricocheted and hit her in the face while she wasn’t paying attention to where she was swinging.
She dipped her clean hand into her pocket as she sucked the blood from the fingers of her other, pulling out her watch and clicking the button, focusing in on her cheek. Within seconds, the wound had closed. She knelt for her pack, seeking the clean cloth she was sure she’d brought with her.
The timing of that stray bit of rock felt too much like an omen for Attzi’s comfort. She looked back over her shoulder as she wiped her cheek clean, through the jungle to where Booty Bay was. She’d been trying for the past several years to convince herself that finishing The Machine wasn’t worth the risk to the city, or the surrounding area. Nothing had worked. It was very possible that she was going to widen the bay and leave a new crater in Stranglethorn Vale if this went wrong.
These days, nightmares about that sort of scenario were frequent.
She needed to know what happened to her cousin. She needed to know why he’d built the thing in the first place. And she felt terrible that finding out was worth the risk to herself, and Kappi, and Burnie, her home, and possibly an entire city of innocent bystanders.
You just have to trust yourself. You’ve gone slow. You’ve checked all the components.
Attzi tossed the bloody cloth on top of her pack and picked up her pickaxe, gripping it firmly as she returned to the seam.
Breathe. Swing. Crack. She kept going until she was out of breath, until her muscles ached, until her mind finally went blissfully, blessedly silent.
