Of all the things Serazhen had tried as a distraction in his life, there was something about jewelcrafting that brought him the most peace. Most of the time. It was always better when he was doing his own work, melting down metal for designs he'd wrought from his own mind and faceting the stones to socket decoratively in.
This was chaos.
He'd hit up every thrift store in Silvermoon, Booty Bay, Ratchet and Orgrimmar every week for a month to get enough necklace and bracelet chains to see if he could pull a particular vision together for the Tarts' anniversary party. He'd been a bartender with them for a few years, up until he decided he wanted to chase the jewelry job formally enough to see if he could do something with it.
At this point he was sick of soldering, but he had a functional wrap-skirt sort of situation that glittered and gleamed in the sunlight that poured into his bedroom slash studio, as well as a piece that draped over his shoulders and dripped down his chest. It was very avant-garde, and extremely heavy. If he turned too fast some of the 'fringe' chains could potentially be a weapon. Or if the spotlights hit him at the right angle, he'd be sending beams of sparkling light into peoples eyes like a deadly disco ball.
What a way to go.
He laughed to himself at the thought and attached the final length of rhinestone studded chain to the mantle-harness-thing before sitting back and streeeetching. He'd been cooped up a little too long, the zen of his place was too tremendously quiet, and he could feel the restlessness starting to take hold. It was a good thing the party was tonight.
(Difficult to discern text is clarified in the * footnotes.)
All around him the music pounded, bodies in motion to its heavy, dominating beat. The flickering lights of the fire room danced over bare flesh that was bowed as people tangled themselves in one another. Across the room he could pick out the familiar swell of Cythion’s broad back, perfectly accessorized by the pair of hooves kicked up to rest on the kaldorei’s shoulders. It was good to see him having fun.
Celedyn pushed himself up to sit on the stage, enjoying the higher vantage point. Everyone seemed to be having a good time. The night had progressed into full swing, the earlier drift of curious tourists and people who wanted just a little sample of what a spicier evening could look like had already wandered in for their bit of fun and then back out again and by now the people left in the room were those ready to play.
Well, maybe not that one. His eyes found Lance’s pale shape tucked in the shadowy corners, as delicately sculpted as a string of lilies of the valley and for all the world looking like he was determined to stay exactly where he was rooted. Maybe it was those curling horns that made him so stubborn... Or maybe he just liked to watch, the pretty little pervert.
A sudden flash of white hot pain shocked him out of his thoughts with a sharp yelp. He jolted, one hand moving to cover the fresh red stripe on his ass and twisted, his expression scandalized only to find Dice grinning down at him, the offending fire whip in hand. The sindorei’s voice was deep and unmistakably amused as he chastised the other elf “The stage is for performers only.”
“I AM a performer!” Celedyn shot back, with a huff. He gave a grand gesture that swept the length of his body up to proudly lifted chin “Everything about this is a performance.” He stuck out his tongue as he uncapped his bottle of water, taking a swallow to refresh his dignity. Out in the crowd he spotted Leon, his expression blissfully adrift as the woman he had left the Gilnean with finally lifted herself up enough to grant him fresh air. “You know, I think you’ve got the very best view in all of the room and here you are, refusing to share it!”
With another flick of the wrist and the heavy sound of leather dragging through air the bottle was gone from Celedyn’s hand. Not shattered, but snatched away by the sudden rush of heat from the fire whip. Dice caught it neatly, draining it as he sauntered to the front of the stage to return the empty vessel to the squinting elf. “The stage is for performances only.” His lips spread in a warm smirk as he rolled his weight to one hip, one brow arching. “So perform.”
Celedyn didn’t need anything more than the mere suggestion before he merrily snatched up the opportunity for attention, tucking one leg beneath himself to shift closer. He started in low, nose brushing at a knee, blue eyes flicking up to meet Dice’s face before his lips parted and he seductively dragged his tongue up a well muscled thigh. He only got half way through his swipe before the the taste struck him and he froze in place, eyes instantly showing regret.
Without hesitation, Dice covered for the pause, reaching down to take a stern grip on the high elf’s platinum locks. Contained laughter sparkled in his eyes “Not what you were expecting?”
Celedyn’s tongue was still out, remaining in place as though he’d stuck it to a frozen street light. “Ah thoud id would be thwead.” *
“Would sweat have been that much better?”
“Ah need the elegdrolides. Thome BILLAIN thtole muh dring!” **
Dice dragged him back with a warm chuckle as the high elf regretfully drew his tongue back into his mouth. Cele kept his face soft and rapt for the crowd, but the other elf could see the distaste in his intense, prolonged eye contact as he swallowed the mouthful of oil.
Dice’s gaze slipped away just a moment before returning to watch Celedyn’s face. The sindorei’s voice was low, private “Are you sure you want to stay up on this stage? The performances get pretty heated.” His eyes held a deep, meaningful intensity as he watched the high elf’s face.
“If I leave right now I expect you to call the Kirin’Tor and have the sayaad taking my extraordinarily attractive form arrested immediately.” He grinned, but that stare remained. Celedyn paused, licking his lips before giving a simple, confident “Yes.”
So slight that it may be missed were the two not so close, a line of tension unknotted and relaxed in Dice’s shoulders. He stood up to his full height once more and looked out into the crowd, giving a subtle tip of his jaw before stepping away.
Celedyn turned, blue eyes scanning over the room, trying to follow who the Sindorei had motioned to, and why. Deep in the recesses of the VIP section, he spotted the lady of the hour herself. Vixannya sat as poised and elegant as ever as she surveyed the room. Another woman might have lost their composure that way; breasts covered only by Sera’s hands, partially obscured by an perfectly shaped ass that he would recognize as Ryland’s at 200 paces, but she looked what could only be described as pleased.
The high elf was brought back to the moment by the sudden whoosh of the whip before the heat curled around him and dragged him upstage.
The foot placed squarely on his chest pushed him flat on his back and the stern look from the sindorei kept him there. The whip’s heat flickering out as it dropped from its master’s hand, trapped under the high elf and keeping his arms pinned close to his sides. He huffed with indignation but Dice could see him easily recover; the way his spine arched slightly up off the floor, long legs arranging themselves elegantly, ever aware of the visual he presented for his audience.
Cele’s head turned as he spotted motion to his side, eyes briefly lighting as he recognized Cy, only to widen as he noticed what the Kaldorei was handing off. Dice held the candelabra aloft, sauntered the edge of the stage, his steps sure and powerful. He grinned as he turned back to see the high elf’s attention rapt, his breath heavy, his cock shamelessly hard.
The first hot touch of wax had him gasping, arching at the sudden spike of adrenaline that pierced right through the front of his skull. Dice moved quickly, precisely, letting dribbles spatter across his chest and shoulders like freckles on sun kissed skin; only relenting and lifting the candelabra when he decided it needed a bit more time to melt, dropping down to one knee to sensually run his hands over his work.
The bound elf writhed, pressing back into his palms. Celedyn’s stomach flexed as he lifted up, tried for a kiss, but was pushed right back down again with a soft, frustrated grunt. The next place the wax struck was his belly, sensitive skin jumping as each drop fell. He teased, letting a trail drizzle along the crease of the iliac furrows that the high elf so frequently gloated about, adding just a bit here and there until he could see fear start to rise up in those eyes, the breath freeze in his chest as he grew precariously close to that neglected length, threatening to give it more attention than it could handle.
He waited until Celedyn seemed just about ready to jump out of his skin before hauling him up to kneel, kicking his knees apart to make sure the audience got the full view. The whip slouched down uselessly, but by now he was quite certain the other elf wasn’t going anywhere, blue eyes hazy and watching him dance like he was the only thing in the room.
Celedyn’s long legs made for dramatic trails of the hot wax, the candles carefully angled to first create a wall, the position just so before a second pass sent rivulets down his inner thighs and broke a lusty cry from painted lips. He took advantage of it, gripping the high elf’s hair and swallowing that moan with a rough, possessive kiss.
Celedyn’s arms wrapped his shoulders and a moment later Dice was hauling him up and off his feet, giving his ass a lascivious squeeze as he finally broke the kiss with a smile that had melted a thousand hearts. Smoothly he walked to the edge of the stage and knelt, passing the still dazed man down to Cythion before retrieving his whip, the flame crackling back to life as he gave it a hearty snap.
Still half dazed, Celedyn caught the eye of Sindorei woman who’d been enjoying their spectacle from the front row. Nova’s smirk widened just a bit as he gave her a little wiggling wave of his fingers and she raised her glass as though offering him a toast. He grinned and tucked himself into Cy’s familiar warmth. “Have you come to volunteer to clean me up, kitten?”The high elf’s voice was rough with lust, his hands sliding over the Kaldorei’s shoulder like ivy attempting to swallow a castle wall.
Cythion grinned down at him; “I’ve come to volunteer to mess you up.”
*********
* ”I thought it would be sweat.”
** “I need the electrolytes. Some VILLAIN stole my drink!”
Where Are They Now - Daily Writing Challenge Catch Up
Lynesse Gloamingdawn ( @gloamingdawn )
Since her establishment as an aspirant of Eyir and one of Eyir’s chosen champions on the plane of the living a little over four years ago, she has spent times of peace focusing more on healing and surgery to honor Eyir’s beginnings as a healer pre-ascension and helping ferry souls of the restless dead across the veil. Post-Shadowlands opening, she has spent a significant amount of time as part of Talonoa Dal’shula’s mercenary group, as well as doing what she can where she can with the Kyrian to help stabilize their realm due to the affinity she feels toward them.
Throughout all this she has spent time worrying about the souls she sent on prior to knowing about the shattering of the mechanisms that saw souls to their proper afterlives; Last fall she learned that not to be true, her connection to Eyir has instead seen souls to a temporary rest in the Halls of Valor — notably that of her late husband as well as her father — and she has somewhat settled and become much more at peace with her own personal (if still extremely unusual) role in the grand cycle.
Since the last DWC she has been trying to privately come to terms with her life, unlife, and everything in between while waiting for the next call to come and do her part to fix what she can where she can in the Shadowlands. Her over-awareness of how she can, and has, upset far too many people she’s considered friends in the past has led to her mostly walling herself off, save for a few contacts, to prevent personal conflict to the best of her ability. She hasn’t been up to too much, but she has taken on a new client, the Lady Fiorenze Tel’vaiel, and is currently the on-call doctor for emergencies on the Meadowrun Estate.
Lady Fiorenze Tel’vaiel ( @fio-renze )
The Shadowlands can change a person! Lady Tel’vaiel’s outlook on life — and death — have shifted significantly since she spent the better part of a year in Maldraxxus after hunting down Xylaes, which you can read about here! She has remained committed to her idea of grafting the magic of a Kyrian soul mirror with the magic of a Highborne soul mirror in an effort to attempt to reclaim the immortality of her ancestors. Many of her lonely nights have been spent building spell theory and structure in the privacy of her personal sanctum, a leftover relic of her days practicing fel magic now repurposed for the arcane once again.
It’s hard for her to see a future with Xylaes; based on his past confession that he has no interest in her lifestyle, her experiences with Callia and recognizing the stark differences between herself and Xylaes’ late wife, as well as assuming that he, in all likelihood, would much rather be with Callia after his own death have all been factors that really solidified her decision to move forward with her choice to chase something that’s always seemed impossible. After all, an immortal noble is one that needs no heir or partner, and she can always trust that she herself has the Meadowrun Estate’s best interests in mind.
Fiorenze feels like she’s getting close to the end of her official research phase for this project and feels comfortable with the mending job she worked on the shattered mirror glass from Bastion. The next phase is seating the glass into the Highborne frame and starting to do the actual physical working of the enchantments into both pieces.
While not pouring herself into her personal work, she’s been at many society events over the holidays. Both within the official Court of Silvermoon Nobles and abroad. Being officially promoted by the Grand Magister into the position of his Seneschal has kept her busy, and she secretly remains his Shadowhand and spy in the Court to keep an eye out for dissent and potential threats against the Regency.
Pyraelia Sunmote ( @pyraelia )
Pyraelia’s life has been fairly quiet in the wake of abdicating from her family titles in favor of a common position in society. Her relationship with her sister Fiorenze has mended after Pyraelia was able to confirm with their deceased mother in Revendreth that her sister’s accounting of their parents’ untimely deaths were correct, and that neither had been killed by her out of malice.
After quitting the Magistry’s research department because it wasn’t really fulfilling to her, she’s trying to find what she does want to do. All she’s really settled on is work that helps people and makes them happy, but that’s so vague and broad. For now she’s trying to be content with having no expectations placed on her at all and spend more time with her close friends whenever she can.
Serazhen Silvercloud ( @serazhen )
Sera remains a workaholic; He helps cater noble parties as an easy gig job, he works at a couple bars in Dalaran splitting his schedule between the two, and still makes time to help at Tart performances and booths when they’re on the calendar.
It’s a lot, and it does grind him down at every edge. He’s starting to think that might not be the best lifestyle to upkeep, and it keeps him from really spending time with the first group of friends he’s wanted to be with in a while. Over the holidays he’s decided to start looking into learning the basics of jewelcrafting because it seems lucrative and a little less demanding.
He recognizes that if he wants those friends, mostly Ryland and Vixannya, to stick around that he has to open up a bit more, something that’s been hard for him to do since being exiled from the cult he grew up in, so it’s something he’s actively going to try to work on being better at this year even though the concept is a little scary.
Send 🌺 to hear what my muse likes about yours - Serazhen
"I do not know him well but he seems sugar-sweet if you're worthy and full of sass which I can appreciate, I also get the vibe that he could kick my ass then help me choose art for my home." Valanthriell gestured as if she were weighing the logic in her mind and felt it was sound. "Plus he makes the most delicious drinks and he is a better dancer than he wants to believe."
I saw you were having a fun time last night. So who did you end up going home with? ;)
“I closed out the place with Ry and Sera and then we rock, paper, scissored on where we were going. We chose Sera’s place to go play Twister and Yahtzee. Why, who did you go home with?”
Annya was the most haunting woman he knew. The highest compliment he could give, one he knew she’d like if he ever said it out loud. But who wouldn’t want to be haunted by her? She was hot as fuck. Not literally, obviously, he didn’t want her to be dead.
Serazhen ashed his cigarette into the little fountain in the Royal Exchange and idly rolled his shoulders. Silvermoon was haunted, too.
Literally.
In the bad way.
Which made sense, really, considering the zombie apocalypse it had survived.
Moving back really hadn’t been high up on his priority list at all, but the painting Annya had showcased at her most recent gallery of a dead man crushed under the weight of Dalaran’s floating hubris had been on his mind since he’d seen it. Lingering at the back of his thoughts, popping up in the occasional dream.
Sexy of her, really, to make work so thought provoking — like a sticker burr that clung to your sock that poked and jabbed when you least expected it.
It hadn’t been hard to find an inn at one of the local jewelry shops in the Court. He’d been making his own custom pieces for a few years now — only ever one of each, never duplicating. Each one marked with a little cloud stamp. He’d sold to socialites and nobility, nouveau riche merchants and folks who scrapped and saved up.
His portfolio was weird, but that’s how you made a lasting impression in the industry. Embrace it and thrive.
Ryland understood that, too. Excel, obviously. But be new and interesting enough to catch attention and differentiate. He’d turned dancing into an exquisite, colorful art. Wonderful to watch, incredible to be part of whenever his friend decided to drag him along.
Truthfully, he hadn’t expected to get a job that fast, really. Right place, right time. Like always. How many times had he heard that it was ‘his lucky day’ in his life? Too many to count.
But there it was — same with his new little shoebox apartment. Someone had just moved out, could he move in next week? The rent was way cheaper than Dalaran. He had just enough on hand to pay the deposit right then.
How fortunate.
He’d expected it to be more of a journey, mentally and physically. Quel’thalas really wasn’t his favorite place, but here he was again. Blending in like he hadn’t been raised in a cult that was entirely antithetical to the kingdom’s existence. How clandestine that he’d gotten away before things got really bad.
Sera sighed and watched an enchanted broom fail and slap against a wall over, and over, and over, and over, and over again. Stuck in a loop. He lifted up his comm and took a short video, puffs of dust and arcane sparkle erupting from the bristles with each impact. It was funny in its own way for a city that prided itself on order.
He shot it off to the group message to his two best friends << Want to hang out? Dinner and drinks on me. >>
Gallery week was always a whirlwind for his best friends.
Annya, even at her busiest, made sure to set him up with a suit to match her and Ryland, and a wonderful pre-show evening of pampering. Not that it really mattered that it was that kind of week in particular — anytime either of them texted, he’d join them individually, or together, for moral support, oral support, or all the other types in between.
He had a great time reinforcing how good Annya and Ryland looked on the red carpet, but it really was an absolute delight to see them both in their element at The Elements.
His element was later, at the afterparty. Gone was the suit to better fit in with the Air themed room, swapped in favor of elegant, breezier pants, no shirt and fractal swirls of pearlescent body paint up one of his arms and across his back in a pattern recognizable to those familiar with lightning scars. A little touch of magic made them gleam slightly to correspond with some of the scene changes within the room.
He’d spent some extra time at his day job casting a pair of asymmetrical silver ear cuffs that curled up the long lengths of his elvish ears and matched a couple sets of unassuming rings that adorned his fingers. It was subtle jewelry, but it certainly tied the whole look together, and it pleased him to blend in with the theme of the room.
It was a delight to serve, mixing up whatever drinks the attendees wanted and talking to them about their time so far. He knew all the best details about where to go from here, what to do, who to see (or do, too), or just be a companionable source of casual, safe conversation for some of the wallflowers who found their way to his bar.
In the scant spare moments where he was left to his own devices without an order to fill, he was perfectly oriented to watch Ryland work. That was something that was already one of his favorite pastimes, but this was special.
And extremely sexy.
Sure, throughout his life he had been oddly Lucky — blessedly so, almost — but it seemed on another level with the knowledge that at the end of the night he’d get to reconvene with the pair he’d walked in with and get to work off the hours long build up to that delightful release and relaxation.
Especially so with what they had planned for Annya. She’d done months of work, had to spend the majority of the night hosting and entertaining. But once everything had been sold and the party had shifted to a more self-sufficient state, he’d be there to serve her, too, with Ryland, to reap all the benefits of what she had spent so long sowing.
This was what had gotten him exiled in the first place.
Sera smiled as he leaned forward and looked over the edge of the tall, towerlike perch that rose high above the civilian center of Valdrakken.
There was something about exploring — seeing new places, meeting new people, eating strange foods — that tugged at him the longer he stayed in one place.
The elders had frowned on it. Going beyond their small village’s borders was a high crime. After all, seeing new places, meeting new people, and eating strange things proved them to all be liars. His wanderings as a teenager had been a violation of his town and family’s trust.
Outside their small, strange little cult the world was pretty wonderful. Well. Aside from all the wars. He could definitely do without all the wars. He’d been lucky enough to avoid fighting and trouble. Even in hardship, he’d always found enough coin on the ground, fallen out of wallets and pockets, to get him a meal or room for the night.
The wind whistled in his ears and ruffled his hair as a dragon grazed the edge of the platform, just missing him by a few scant inches. Stuff like that didn’t frighten him as much as it used to. After all, he was always lucky. Uncannily so, in all things. He’d stopped questioning it pretty quickly. Something about gift hawkstrider mouths and teeth, which was probably a really badly translated saying.
His comm occasionally lit up in his lap, the little group text he had with Annya and Ryland sparking as they flirted. He’d found them through his wanderings, too. Both bright and wonderful in their own ways.
Maybe they’d come wander a bit with him, too. Not tonight — this was a good recharging night — but soon.
