#rowan blacksong

[kharrisdawndancer]

Arrival

Kharris had gotten all the items ready, as she usually did this time of year. The ritual candles she spent a few days blessing and spelling. She cleaned out the far corner of the sewing room that had been Scartaris’s haven in the upstairs at Threadneedle. She painted the runes on the floor just as she had done for years.

It would all be ready for his arrival, on Day of the Dead. The few hours a year she was able to commune with her son. The best part of fall.

There were times she still wanted to try to force her way to the Shadowlands directly, just to see him. But her last attempt had scarred her--trapping her lost in the Nether and chased by demons.

October was a charged month for her. She needed the next few weeks to fortify herself against it’s assault. The first of the month was dedicated to mourning Rowan’s loss, his tiny life over before it  began. Asarel comforted her and kept her calm. Just as that pain was easing some, Iloam’s birthday came in, with the complicated thoughts that brought. Then the preparations for asking Rowan to visit.

He had never chosen not to visit her. She wondered with trepidation if he ever would choose to stay away. She steeled her heart to the possibility every time she asked him to come through the veil. Did ghosts grow up? Did he visit Iloam while he could?

Every arrival, every year, stole her breath and cracked her heart anew. But it was the sweetest sort of trial, bitter only when it was over and another year to wait.

@daily-writing-challenge

mentions: @murmuring-shadows @ourcollectivefantasy

day 31

[ourcollectivefantasy]

The Rabbit Run

Weekly Writing Challenge Week 1 - Day of the Dead/Death

@weekly-writing-challenge​

The mother was dead. Her body had succumbed to decomposition and the crows had found her eyes and entrails earlier in the day. Sean watched the rabbit’s soft grey fur flutter in the wind as the long grass swayed and swished around them.

“You will take good care of her?” She asked, looking up at the older boy sitting on his knees in the mud of the rabbit run. Above him, the sky matched the same pale blue of his eyes. They were beautiful beneath his mop of black curls.

“I will,” he promised, and snuggled the rabbit mother’s spirit in his arms. The cottontail hopped up against his chest, tickling his chin with her long whiskers as her nose twitched.

 “SEAN!” A distant voice bellowed, carrying on the Lordaeron wind with icy panic. It was too cold to be without her cloak in November.

 “What about the baby?” Sean asked and pushed auburn curls from her small face. Her hand came away with snot on her palm and she sniffled, holding back more tears.

“You can help him. He’s still alive,” the boy told her. His voice was nice. He always made her feel calm when he came to play.

“How?” Sean scooped up the baby rabbit and dropped him into the ruffles of her dress. He rolled onto his back, kicking the one leg that wasn’t injured as the other bled onto the cream fabric.

“Just put your hand on him. Gently,” the boy instructed her, reaching out to lay his hand ontop of hers. He wasn’t warm like the baby bunny. “Now pray he will be healed.”

Sean closed her eyes and prayed. She prayed harder than she ever had and tears ran down her cheeks. The crows and the owls would come for the baby if they didn’t save it. It couldn’t run. Her heart filled with the same desperate terror and she refused to let it happen.

“Look,” the boy said and he smiled at her. His smile was so perfect, it made her smile too. Sean looked down and the bunny rolled over in the well of her skirts and hopped back and forth. His leg was healed and the scantness of his body had fluffed to a healthy weight.

 “SINEAD BLOODSWORD!” The voice bellowed again - angry, but scared. It wasn’t any closer than last time; down the rabbit run and out the other side of the meadow, where she had followed the boy inside and found the bunnies.

 “That’s my Da,” she sighed, and dropped her skirts to let the baby skitter away, through the long grass to hide in safety from the coming cold night.

“I know.” The boy looked up and towards the voice, listening as he pet the mother’s spirit to calm her in his arms. “What’s he like?” he finally asked.

Sean looked down the rabbit run, listening to Iloam call her name to find her. “He’s got more freckles than you, and he sings me bedtime songs.”

Rowan smiled. “That sounds nice.”

[kharrisdawndancer]

That Time of Year

The sky was clear blue and the clouds were sailing across the sea-sky. She watched them for hours while the biting scent of the pines filled her lungs and the grass cushioned her rest. There was smoke coming from the cabin nearby; Asarel was cooking for supper and giving her space. Kieran and Coire were out hunting. She'd been here, like every year, tasting the Hinterlands and letting herself feel things she didn't let out except at this time of year.  This year she'd brought him a small bow and a quiver of arrows, along with the other offerings. Rowan would have been eleven years old, tomorrow. There were a burst of poppies to cut the smell of sap and bring some color to the hilltop. But every year it was the same, the wet-stone smell of the grave marker stayed with her, no matter what perfumes or oils or flowers she brought. It was the smell of desolation. It was the scent that brought grief and that deep hollowness of spirit. Sometimes, she thought she heard the far off echo of a voice, sure it wasn't Asarel and knowing it wasn't Kieran. The siren song of the voice made her shiver and she turned over, shutting her eyes and laying her head on her arms. Rowan would have had his father's voice, she was sure of it. The cadences and pitch recalled young Iloam. She wasn't sure if it was something her mind was fabricating from the threads of memory, or if Rowan's spirit had come close enough. It wasn't comfortable, but when was motherhood ever comfortable? It had been jarring, arriving in the Hinterlands, and presenting face to the Howling Owl's festival. Seeing Aelberyn and later Iloam, playful and supportive of Saeil, of course. She had hoped she seemed pleasant and warm enough to Saeil; he didn't know. But Kharris knew where she was going, after the party. Knowing had kept her out later than she'd meant. She had wanted to give her greetings and then quietly leave before the melancholy made her masks slip. But her feet had kept carrying her farther away. She had taken the distraction. Yet, even distracted with music and crowds, Kharris had been emotionally exhausted when she'd left. The bard she'd sat with in the performances had been nice again, but when he left, she decided she couldn't put it off any longer. Her heart wasn't in the dance, for once. She had needed to leave. So here she was, mourning her son, deep in the forests of the Hinterlands where her soul was quiet but anguished. She would stay here, until Asarel or Kieran convinced her to come inside. mentions: @murmuring-shadows @ourcollectivefantasy (Aelberyn, Iloam) @saeil-moonblade

[kharrisdawndancer]

What Do You Do in the Days after the Dead

Her head rested on Asarel's bare chest, her black hair fanning out over the pale skin. He was not sleeping, he still so rarely slept well, but he was resting. His fingers teased slowly through her hair and she was grateful. Her head chased his hand subtly. He knew what she needed, even if neither of them could articulate it.

Two weeks out, nearly, and she finally felt easy breathing. Her heart was calmer again, with no adrenaline spiking through her sleep, no half-heard voice. That part usually only lasted a few days. The nightmares had had come only one night, but were soothed by the warm embrace of her lover. The other dreams had lingered, as they did every year, but the ache was bittersweet and more welcome.

It was just that she missed him so much. Even the bad was welcome to linger, if it reminded her of the closeness she could call this time of year.

Kharris kept her eyes closed. She could picture him again. This time as the boy he would have been this year. Eleven years old. He would be slender with color in his complexion. A spattering of freckles across his open face, even on his plush lips.  Black hair that kissed his shoulders. A little knobby kneed, too lanky with a growth spurt recently started. She wished, again, that Asarel could see him. The baby. The toddler. The boy. All of them. Asarel was the artist. Asarel would have painted something for her, if only he could see Rowan.

The days after the Day of the Dead were always carefully kept quiet. Asarel dealt with his own losses. She went with him, the last few years, both of them secure enough to share even that with each other. The grief and joy at seeing her son's spirit always mixed so violently in her, brutal internal and private blows, that tempests seemed tame to Kharris. It wracked and repaired her soul all at once. She worried for Iloam. He preferred to be solitary in his grief. She thought it was likely a kraken for him; something from the dark, cold depths that rose. Squeezing. Strangling. Pehaps Aelberyn now was allowed. She hoped so, for his sake. Or maybe he spent these days with the twins. She didn't know. She couldn't face him, at this time of year. And he did not want to see her anyway.

The candles would be put away tomorrow and the marigolds were starting to drop their vibrant petals, dusty and dry. The backroom still smelled of the incense and the chalk on the floorboards. Farthing would go in now and there were paw prints through the hastily drawn, but there were a few days he didn't intrude. Cats knew about these things. mentions: @murmuring-shadows @ourcollectivefantasy @weekly-writing-challenge

[kharrisdawndancer]

State of the Character: Kharris Dawndancer-Blacksong

Kharris Dawndancer-Blacksong, Blood Elf [Wyrmrest Accord]

Where & Activities: She can be found in a variety of places; she portal hops between Dalaran, Orgrimmar, and Silvermoon. She can also quite readily be found at the reconstructed Barge in Bladefist Bay, or on the island base ATS keeps. She frequently visits the Bloodsword twins, trying to see them at least monthly, but often more frequently.

Life & Personal: She’s romantically involved with Asarel Solshade and they are going to have their 7th anniversary next month. She’s deeply in love with him, but they still have their troubles and insecurities.

Her marriage to Iloam Blacksong is still somewhat distant, but the two remain quite deeply bonded. Their relationship has settled somewhat the last few years and slowly mends.

She is still quite successfully leading the business aspect of Atlas Treasure Salvage, though the company is much quieter than it used to be. It’s mixed bag of economic success and heavy personal failure for her and she struggles with balancing her personal desires with the responsibility of leading and protecting her Crew. She always puts the Crew first and it wears on her.

Privately Dealing With: The 8th anniversary of her son’s stillbirth passed only a few days ago. She withdrew and took a few days to spend away, traveling to his grave in the Hinterlands as is her usual custom. Asarel accompanied her. Castien likely is over seeing Atlas business for the next few days.

Utterly terrified of the implications of getting on the Vindicaar and traveling around in the Twisting Nether, she has not been to Argus. She would hide her fear from everyone but Asarel and Iloam, but she’s horrified of the possibility of ever being trapped in the Nether again.

She is still uneasy about the existence of Khaeris, an alternate timeline’s  version of herself, and the anxiety over what the other woman is doing in her timeline is subtle but ever-present.

mentions: @murmuring-shadows @ourcollectivefantasy @castien-storm @atscrew 

[kharrisdawndancer]

Arriving at Kharris Dawndancer-Blacksong’s place of residence is a small parcel. Inside is a handmade necklace of Rowan berries strung along a thread.

On top is laid a small black mourning card with Iloam’s handwriting in silver ink:

“Kharris,

A year and a day necklace. So that we may both live another year and one day with our son’s memory in our hearts.”

Thinking of you,

I.B.“

[kharrisdawndancer]

How often does (either) K find herself dwelling on the past?

Both of them attempt to live in the moment as much as they can. It’s a coping mechanism.

Buuuuut, Kharris has been dwelling in the past quite a bit lately. Iloam is about to have babies, and they’re not hers. And she can’t stop thinking about Rowan, her baby that died in childbirth. Unrelated to babies, Kharris has also been thinking a lot about Asarel and their relationship. And comparing how he used to be and how he’s been the last while. She’s worried for him, and thinks whatever’s happening to him is her fault for not being better able to help him. So she spends a lot of time thinking about better time for him.

Khaeris doesn’t find herself dwelling on the past much at all, these days. Her present is pretty fun.

[kharrisdawndancer]

Grief for those gone.