Um, if you mean roleplay partners, I don’t really do favourites because I’ve had the pleasure of great people constantly come and go, but to build off my last ask.. the best partners I’ve had in recent history, and another thing I love about them because they deserve admiration, would have to be:
@london-riker (blog = punk rock aesthetic dream also a true ride or die ooc)
@sihdiel (her brilliant art and general personality are a damn treasure)
@ma-at-thought (most engaging and adventurous plotter you could hope for)
Nah that’s it, these three are the best, that is all, don’t @ me.
Introducing @ma-at-thought ’s Rijhanni! She comes with her trusted Felstalker and shoulder Pup! There’s nothing more adorable than this, thank you for this interesting challenge and addition to the Du®ality Art Giveaway
(( A response to this post by @theron-darksunder ))
Scents of parchment and dried herbs and the left-over ghosts of incense surrounded the Warlock as she sat upon a plump purple cushion. The hidden basement chamber was cool, though flickers of orange glow from candles set onto wall-sconces, book shelves, and the alter gave warmth to the windowless room. Curled forward in a pose that might leave an acrobat mildly impressed, she leaned down close to the hulking Felhound that lay patiently on the floor, one hand filled with a brush that carefully traced bone-white pigment onto leathery red hide. The Horde symbols had worn off of the beasts and needed to be refreshed; this time with inks that had been enchanted to last as well as afford them added protection in battle.
It was an almost meditative activity, requiring such quiet concentration that it hushed her mind for a time, let her ignore the flares of magic within that sometimes made her twitch and wince, took her thoughts away from the battles against the Legion that waited on Azeroth. Draenor, at least for now, was still safe, and returning here allowed her to be rid of the oppressive hum that seemed to linger in the air at sites where the Legion was striking, a sense of foreboding that came each time she felt a pull toward the sickly green energy that seemed to linger on every horizon of the Broken Isles.
Were she not already in a contortionist pose, the sudden harsh pull of magic linked to her would have bent her double; as it was, she gasped sharply and the paint brush clattered to the floor. Grymmie, the burly Felhound she'd had with her since youth, snarled and tensed, inching closer to provide support so Rijhanni could heave herself upright; his magic-seeking tendrils arched so the spread-petal tips aimed at the alter.
She was able to turn in time to see the foggy form of Theron fade into view before the alter and it caught her breath in her throat. She'd not heard from the man since Winter Veil, and the only thing she could think was that he was in danger and trying to flee using a piece of himself as a target. A deep violet sphere of perfect crystal pulsing with wavers of red at the center sat carefully on a small velvet pillow, one soulstone among several that sat on her alter for safe-keeping.
"Theron?" Her voice came out more wavering than she would have liked, but a tugging sensation of dread was building within like a string pulled too taut, latched to some part of her no one could name. One hand on the Felhound's sloped horn, she moved unsteadily toward the translucent form that hovered like smoke from the flickering candles, reaching out. That string pulled tighter when her hand passed through to find nothing she could touch.
Everything seemed to slow as though trapped in resin. Jade eyes widened as she saw the faint cracks start to spread around the sphere she'd taken such care to tend well, the essence within pushing at the shell. She reached out as if she could hold it together with her hand, to keep it safe as she'd promised what seems like years ago.
With a high-pitched keen, the sphere shattered, violet shards blowing apart, some embedding in her palm to draw beads of scarlet in alabaster skin, that string pulled so tight that it finally snapped and left her reeling. The Felhound snarled, hunkering down as though seeking something to attack, but there was no enemy, only fading smoke and swirls of dwindling magic.
Rijhanni dropped to an ungainly sprawl at the base of the stone alter, legs askew, staring down in horror at the fallen pieces of the soulstone. Shaky hands attempted to gather up the shards as though somehow she could put them back together. She'd promised to keep it safe...
It kept going.
Hours bled into days.
And still there seemed no end in sight.
The sky burned with emerald light; there was so much Fel energy she could hardly distinguish her own weaves of power against the background that seemed to pulse with malice. Someone else's magic.
Screams filled the air, but her ears weren't laid back because of the shrieking cacophony brought about by the Burning Legion assault. Her throat hurt. Someone else's screams
A jolt made her gasp as rocks dug into her knees; she'd dropped like a puppet whose strings had been cut. But it was someone else's pain.
She felt as though grasped and stretched thin, greedy hands tugging in opposing directions. The sear of magic within left her unable to catch a breath. Someone else's sobbing.
Heat flared around her and she couldn't tell if it belonged to her or the enemy. That endless enemy, new soldiers spilling from the sky. Someone else's war.
Jade eyes glowed like beacons, torches to guide the way, and the smoke in the air stung them. Someone else's tears.
She felt the pulls; it must be what it was like to be unraveled. Threads of tapestry being tugged one by one, making the picture disappear in ragged frays. When black crept in, she was grateful. Any reprieve from the blazing green. Any way for the agony to fade. Any way to rest.
The hulking beast of a Felhound was straining to his limits and beyond. He'd grown so much from the endless feast of magic the Legion assault brought. But he had to draw more. He knew that if he didn't, she'd be gone. There would be nothing left, just an empty vessel. The stronger the magic burned within her, the more she seemed to fade.
And yet, he was coming to the conclusion that he was near his limit. He wouldn't be able to keep up; the magic just kept replenishing faster than he could drain it. Brick-red skin stretched tight, too tight, making rifts between the scales.
She was down. Vulnerable. And even with the crowd of fighters battling the invasion, she was alone in the sea of chaos. His snarl was fierce and deep as he braced, siphoning tendrils outstretched, the tips spread wide as he pulled and pulled. It wasn't enough.
Pain struck him too, like being raked over hot coals. In the back of his mind he thought she must have died to put him in such agony, their bond snapping and rebounding to bite into the souls it was forged from. She lay there, unmoving, and he knew he had failed. But he kept pulling away the scalding magic until it overflowed.
He split. Two more creatures like him seemed to shape themselves from the rends in his heavy body, one tiny and pudgy, the other tall and lean. Moments later, they reached out with their own tendrils, drawing more and more of the burning magic that she was filled with.
When she looked up, face stained with dirt and blood, white hair spilling over one wide eye, he collapsed. She dragged herself closer, reaching out to touch her Felhound companion. Later, she would ask him how he'd done this; she stared at the two new demons who collapsed with Grymmie. Again, he'd saved her. She only wished she knew from what.
