#oncewarden

[archived-altruisticlion]

@oncewarden | Continued from [X]

A small, inconspicuous doorway greeted Anduin, when venturing into a deadend hallway within Aberrus. His gut told him to investigate. That whatever the small doorway hid, couldn't be ignored. So he pushed forward, managing to discreetly slip into slim opening. When finally through, what greeted the self-exiled king, was a study. Unlike the rest of Aberrus, it seemed organized. Unaffected by time, nor by looters. At the far end of the room, stood a desk, sharing its space with small bookshelves. In the center, laid a large, earthen crystal— similar to the ones he's spied around the Obsidian Citadel. Only this crystal dwarfed those ones by a grand scale. Cautiously, he made his way towards the desk. On the old table, were untitled books, with just one book splayed out, its pages open to all. Leaning forward, gloved hands braced against the table, supporting Anduin's weight as blue eyes skimmed over the completed page on the left.

Immediately, he took notice that the pages appeared cleaner than the previous books that've so far been recovered from the Crucible. Following this, the left page held familar writing; he'd been lucky enough to actually read some of Deathwing's recovered journals. It didn't take a genius to realize that this, too, was such a journal, but the words used, and the things spoken about...

Frown deepening, Anduin uses a hand to gently turn the page back. On the left side of the previous pages, a date stands out. No. It couldn't be. That date was yesterday. Rightfully concerned, he swiftly turned to the first page of the journal. Dated... Last month. He starts to read it, word by word, mentally memorising every cruical detail that he could. By the end of it, he subconsciously spoke aloud.

That voice... Momentarily, Anduin feels all colour drain from his face. After everything his Father sacrificed, after everything Thrall sacrificed; Deathwing still lived. Hands still touching the journal, he slowly eases the journal forward, his movements purposefully happening in parts, as to not let the leather binding give away his plan. Breathe. Keep calm. His face scrunches (or did it wince?) upon hearing his old nickname, but Neltharion cannot see it.

"I'm flattered that you think I'm capable enough to do anything about it, in the first place." Anduin's voice remains calm, his head slightly turned to the side to regard the revived former warden. Now wasn't the time for snark; some habits die hard. His sight returns to the journal. He has no idea how he's going to even make it past the old dragon but he has to try.

The very ground underneath his feet feels brittle, now. He has only the Light and the distant whispers of the void to aid him; having left Ashbringer back at stormwind four years ago. He must play along. For Azeroth. He can't sit back and allow harm to be further inflicted upon her.

"You don't need to do this, Neltharion." The name feels odd to say. He's only ever been aware of Deathwing. "N'zoth is gone. The old gods can't hurt you, nor anyone, now, but the Incarnates can. I don't believe that you wish for Azeroth to suffer any further than she has already, do you?"

[lichbride]

@oncewarden continued from X

She's lent over a table, her back facing Neltharion. Originally, she'd been attending to an unfinished piece, when the earth-warder had taken it upon himself to talk, after barging into the currently-closed store. Since regaining her free will, Miriam knew, deep down, that she wouldn't move on. How could she? How could she move on, when her legacy is nothing more than a forgotten building?

Did Anduin even notice her missing? Did Varian? Did anyone?

Pale fists try to curl, when her palms already touch the table. Unruly nails gouge into wood, as fingers curl instinctively. Ethereal eyes slowly look to the single, flickering candle, that illuminated her current work space. A small, harmless flame, contained by wax, and a single piece of string. Newfound rage, now raising from the ashes of her grief, takes over.

Miriam screams in frustration, an arm swiftly and violently pushing everything on the table onto the floor. Piles of hard-to-find fabric, string, yarn, threads; even the in-progress robe wasn't spared. She feels her chest burning from her forced breathing. Metal clangs, and the lit candle, now on the floor, idly rolls towards the pile, sluggish in pace.

She doesn't care. Let it burn, she thinks, may they all choke on the smoke.

"You had NO right. NONE! You, of all the SPINELESS COWARDS, did NOTHING to save me! Let your 'son' take it. Let him raze it, for all I care! Better that backstabbing BASTARD, than his backstabbing, lying, PATHETIC father."

[acherys]

“Everybody has their place. I’ll make sure you find yours.”

FEAR IS FOR THE WEAK, THE MEEK AND THE UNDAMNED, runs a marathon around his mind, as he freezes the bone and muscle of his legs solid. TERROR IS FOR THE PREY. FEAR IS FOR THE WEAK, THE MEEK AND THE UNDAMNED…

She chants to the beat of Tiris’ growls and barks, as he hops around her in -- an animal reaction. The hackles on his back stand straight up, and have already gone halfway to black smoke. Zoen remains absolutely still. Glacial. The logicless instinct that rules the beast has no sway on her. There is no twitch in her posture -- nothing to indicate a desire to flee, to turn her back and terror is for the prey, fear is for the weak, the meek…

“ Oh will you now? ”

His voice is a frog’s croak. Blessed be the sepulcher chained to his every spoken word -- it tamps down the high, thready sound of (for the meek, the weak, the prey and the damned, wait no --) discomfit humming through his throat. The question sounds almost genuine. He cannot clear his throat to try again; the ice has risen to freeze his vocal chords stiff. He cannot make a noise at all. 

[motherswrath]

stands ominously close to you.

  for a moment, there is naught but silence strung between them.

  the beating of wings in the distance — kin of every flight finding solace in a city reclaimed — fades away just the same as the last echoes of bustling trade far below a spire so grand. it is a stifling thing, this quiet — this tension — that settles 'pon their shoulders and chokes her lungs, every breath more difficult than the last. yet still she fills them with great isle's crisp air, for it is all she can do to calm a tempestuous pyre aching to escape.

  ❝ Have you no champions to pester ? ❞ bitter, then, it comes, though patient all the same. a patience, she is loathe to admit, few are privileged to receive from a matron scorned. ancient and wise — her spine their world — still the answer escapes her : why does she allow him in the place her heart used to be ? betrayer, kin-slayer — murderer of her consort and children. she should strike him down, throw Azeroth's destroyer from Valdrakken's throne and onto its spires for all to see !

  and yet here she stands, beside other half, as though aeons past.

  o' warden-mother, aching for him to be at her side as much as she wishes he remain scattered 'cross the maelstrom's violent currents. it was easier to hate him, then : when he was lost in the past; just another story put to ink and locked away in her library.

  it would be easier.

  but she cannot say if it would be preferable.

❛ ♛  ❙ UNPROMPTED / @oncewarden .

[lichbride]

' nobody asks for their fate. '

AS SAID BY FENRIS

"I didn't know you knew how to tell a joke."

Tone harsh, seething, she frantically continues folding sprawled silk. Every piece that she tries to sort out, only seems to unfurl, frustrating the undead tailor. She knows that no matter her efforts, her ears can't help but listen to scum. It's the only company she keeps these days anyway.

Some scum are tolerable; makes for better company when one's a living corpse forever frozen. Some bastards unfairly hold a place in her silent heart. Finally having enough, Mary practically throws the unruly silk onto her makeshift sewing table. Crimson lips part, letting dust-layered lungs draw in air, savoring the azure span's biting chill.

"What're you even doing here? Even you aren't foolish enough to risk detection from the Aspects." Aspects; spat out in distaste, for she lost faith in them long ago. Especially in the earth warder. "You know what? I don't care. Maybe if we're lucky, Kalec will visit."

[archived-altruisticlion]

i can't believe you're still not taking sides.

AS SAID BY ANDERS

"By the light..."

Sat somewhat slouched, the young King massages a temple as he murmurs beneath his breath, leant against a stone arm of the Keep's throne. Before him, is Lord Prestor, a nobleman who recently came to Stormwind due to the growing conflict between the Horde and Alliance. When Daval first appeared, his last name rang several alarm bells— for the High King, his Spymaster, and others. Despite initial panic, Lord Prestor remained amicable, and Anduin himself knows that last names, especially those of humans, could duplicate. Thus, Lord Prestor joined the other nobles of Stormwind, much to the chagrin of Shaw. They couldn't damn a man, simply for coincidence alone.

"I understand your frustrations, Lord Prestor, but this matter—" more like petty squable, "—is between my Advisor, yourself, and whoever now owns the rights to that portion of land within Elwyn Forest."

In truth, Anduin didn't want to pick sides, out of sentiment. He remembers the noblewoman who owned those lands partically well. The last he saw of Lady Jewel, had been the awkward wedding, only a week or so before his father—... Eyes close briefly, trying to fight back the raging migraine threatening to consume him. When they open again, he makes an effort to sit upright, even just slightly. Lord Prestor had shown incredible intelligence, and shared invaluable insight, but the King still felt wary. Understandably so, after all that's transpired.

"Miriam Jewel was only last heard from two years ago, with evidence of correspondence from her sixteen months ago." Part of him prays to the Light, that she simply moved away with her husband, but he couldn't fool himself. They all saw how miserable the cheerful woman appeared that day. As much as he wanted to investigate the matter, the Alliance's resources were needed elsewhere. He admits that he hadn't noted the woman's lack of presense; shame pressed on his heart when Wrathion suddenly spoke of a lone manor in Elwyn Forest he wished to acquire. She'd been one of the few people who supported his journey to becoming a priest, and his grief of his father's death overshadowed much.

"As it has only been some months— not years— the ownshiper and rights of the land still belong to Lady Jewel, and will remain her's, until a decade has past. Only then will we... presume the worst has transpired, and all that she owned can be-..." His words falter, frown tugging on his lips, before lightly shaking his head. A lone whisper broke through the ache of his mind, and it makes him pause.

"You both have admirable tenacity and wisdom; surely if you spoke to one another, you'd find a compromise that benefits both parties— as well as Stormwind." He remains overall amicable as his tone subtly shifts to something firmer. Stormwind already has its fair share of self-serving nobles, but they are still his people, and he must serve them all equally.

[lichbride]

8, 12, 19, 32, 50 for character questions!

WEIRD BUT HELPFUL CHARACTER BUILDING ASKS

8) How loose is their use of the phrase ‘I love you’?

To Mary, telling someone she loves them takes a great effort, especially in recent years. Whether it's romantically, plantonically, or familial; it's uttered in a quiet voice, with a heart heavily protected by worn-out bubble wrap.

So, when she says it, listen carefully, lest she withdraws from you.

12) What’s something that makes them laugh every single time? Be specific!

It's harder these days to make Mary laugh. Before, in life, whenever Varian spoke of how Anduin, as a child, would do or say something so innocently brilliant, her laughter fill Stormwind's Throne room.

Nowadays, her humour has become darker; as is to be expected after becoming undead. One time, in Dalaran when speaking to a demon hunter, their conversation was interrupted by someone who attempted to barge past between them. The Illidari tripped the running mage, who yelled at the demon to 'watch where they put their stupid feet', and in reply was the simplest; "I wish I could."

Mary couldn't stop laughing for a solid minute. When someone openly jokes about their own flaws is also another good way to get a soft chuckle.

19) What would they do if stuck in a room with the person they’ve been avoiding?

In order; Internally panic, try to avoid starting any sort of conversation, slowly start to panic externally, finished by activately trying to break out of said room due to stress and pure panic.

32) If they committed one petty crime / misdemeanor, what would it be? Why?

Stealing tailoring supplies from a rich merchant / well-known supplier. The reason is simple; she's almost always on the verge of being broke, and if she has to endure being conned by the bastards in Dalaran's Blackmarket just to get her hands on some more rarer fabrics, just becausue she's too poor to buy things in bulk, she's actually going to loose her mind.

50) What belief / moral / personality trait do they stand by that you (mun) personally don’t agree with?

Miriam believes that no amount of good will ever actually bring peace, and that she wasted her life trying to do good. That everything she and other's had done, were for nothing. Inevitably, war will occur again and again and again, whilst corruption within society and those who're of Noble birth will remain a selfish breed that destroy the working class for their own pleasure and gain. Things will never change, and she forever mourns that she didn't do enough.

The mun, however, believes firmly that just because things don't change instantly, doesn't mean that your efforts weren't for nothing. Change is a slow process that can take decades- sometimes even centuries- to take shape. Especially things like revolutions that occur when something unforgivable comes to pass.

We often forget that revolutions and the reformation of societies don't just happen over night. Sure, maybe people won't know what you did to personally push forward the goal of change, but so long as that change comes to pass, then nothing was wasted.

You did exactly everything you needed, and you shouldn't beat yourself up for 'not doing enough'.

[archived-altruisticlion]

why did you leave turalyon in charge man can barely throw a hammer like a normal paladin he's a fraud

... I thought I instructed for Alleria to be in charge?