#sha'tor

[rurukatt]

Love is in the Air

Sketches of @rangari‘s, @samiesan‘s and my babies ;>a

[hoganlegdrop]

16 26 28 39 49 for the big boi

16. What does your character do for a living? How do they see their profession? What do they like about it? Dislike?

Varistus is pretty much full-time Exarch of the Sha’tor. He sees it as an honor and a privilege to serve his people to such a capacity. There are some aspects he dislike, such as disciplining unruly members of the Order, or removing them from it entirely. He wishes there was more he could do for wayward folks, but understands there is only so much he can do. 

26. What does your character’s home look like? Personal taste? Clothing? Hair? Appearance?

His home, or rather he and Freiha’s home, is kept clean, though that’s mostly because both of them are out and about, doing their own thing. Since Rokhaan was reunited with his family, the home sits empty for much of the time. Clothing and hair is also kept clean, and when he gets an opportunity to not be in armor, he enjoys clothing that is loose fitting - likely to enjoy not being in armor to its fullest. 

28. Who is your character’s mate? How do they relate to him or her? How did they make their choice?

Freiha. They made their choice after being traveling companions for over a year, and growing closer over time. They are both hard workers and independent, so the relationship took them both by surprise. While they aren’t always around each other or overly affectionate, the overall feeling of the relationship is “We are stronger together.”

39. What do they like to ridicule? What do they find stupid?

He doesn’t really ridicule anything, it isn’t the kind of person he is. He finds the idea of putting the Order at risk for personal gain stupid, goblins (just... in general), and the draenei people trying to become more “human”, when he feels like draenic society has much to offer Azeroth by itself.

49. What about voice? Pitch? Strength? Tempo and rhythm of speech? Pronunciation? Accent?

His voice is deep and thick with a draenic accent when speaking Common. He tends to speak Eredun around his own people though, but he enunciates clearly and sternly most of the time. He doesn’t use contractions - just a personal choice he made early on in life and it has stuck. In a small group of friends, or just informal environments, he is more mellow and soft-spoken.

[arcane-priest]

[samiesan]

Full Circle: Draecember Prompts 1,2,3 and 4

Her first slammed hard against the crystalline windows of the Genedar as she watched Argus become no more than a spec in the grand Great Dark Beyond.

“No! We have to go back! WE HAVE TO GO BACK!” she screamed, her hands were already becoming blue and bloodied before the Praetors grabbed her, pulling away from the window.

“Calm down!” they demanded, pushing her hard against the wall on the other side. “We can’t go back, this is it! It’s done, it’s over, this is our fate now!”

But Vivaaldi wasn’t buying it. The Eredar were on the verge of space travel, they could turn this ship around, head back to Argus, where she could save her father, the town and everyone that didn’t deserved to be left behind.

“Tell the Prophet, tell the pilot that we need to go back! There are people that could have made it aboard this thing! I cannot be the only one that knows this!”

The Praetor looked crestfallen, she recognized the man as one of the formerly faceless officers that patrolled around Mac’Aree with the Vigilants. She didn’t pay him much attention, but he always seemed to be stationed around the Conservatory. He took a deep breath as he looked down at the ground.

“There… isn’t a pilot, not like a real one… It’s a Naaru.”

“A WHAT?”

“A Naaru, you know, the holy beings of Light. They answered the Prophet's call and saved us, saved us from becoming monsters, from becoming… man’ari. “ the man wrinkled his nose as he said the last word, like it was a disgusting and sour taste in his mouth. Even Vivaaldi had an adverse reaction to it, if this is what they are going to be calling the ones that sided with Lord Kil’Jaeden and Archimonde, then so be it.

By this time, Vivaaldi had calmed down, she rubbed her hands that had become raw as she pummeled the the window. A few scratches here and there, but nothing major. She took a moment, the air between the two coming tense as each were waiting for the other to say something.

“I thought they were fairy tales.” Viv had finally whispered, her gaze focused on the metal floor of, what she would later call the vessel, Genedar.

“Apparently not, apparently T’uure and the A’tamal crystals weren’t just ancient relics of the past. Well, yes, but they were also gifts and stuff.” the young man was trying to make light of the situation, but the weight of what was to come had already settled in.

“I see…” was all she could respond with, monotoned and listless.

Raising her head, Viv nodded to the man, before wordlessly, taking her leave. The Praetor didn’t try to stop her, he knew she wouldn’t be the only one he would have to try to stop breaking the ship's windows…

Viv found a place, out of the way of the general chaos that was happening, to sit and stare off into preverbal space. The general roar and rumble of everyone trying to do something, trying to make sense of everything, became white noise.

As she sat there, massaging her hands.

What felt like hours, but was only a mere couple of minutes, Viv snapped out of her revere. She pulled a book from the shoulder bag she had, one of the few things she had with her, before she was ushered to this unknown future. The book was brand new, her father had just given it to her as a congratulatory gift for graduating the Conservatory with the highest honours.

Oh and he was so proud too.

In his letter he gushed and showered his “Little Astral Glory” with praise. Stating that the entire town was so proud of her too and when she came back to Azurelight, there would be a big celebration and Mumallus would host the finest feast.

Tears welled up in her eyes.

She would never get the feast, she would never see her father or the town again.

They were gone…

It wasn’t just her father that raised her, it was the town. They rallied around Onmir when the small bundle appeared on his doorstep, donating and contributing everything they could. The man was a saint, he did all he could do to help others, without expecting anything in return. So when the town decided to pay him back ten fold, he was beside himself.

So while Onmir was related to her by blood, the town was truly her family.

So that’s why, what she was about to do next, would cement her future.

Opening up the book, she pressed both hands against it, closing her eyes as she enchanted the item. This book, this journal, would serve a purpose to allow her to find a cure. What the cure was, she wasn’t sure yet, but Vivaaldi didn’t graduate the Conservatory of the Arcane with the highest honours for nothing.

A “gift” is something you receive without question, a “curse” was something you receive whether you wanted to or not.

For those left behind on Argus, for those that will have to take this Sargaras’ “gift” to survive. She will find that cure.

“To my dear father Onmir and the town of Azurelight.

I write this to you from aboard the Naaru vessel of the Genedar, a ship gifted to us by the fabled Naaru who have heeded the Prophet Velen’s call and saved us. As I write this, Argus is now a star in the Great Dark Beyond and nothing more, I can’t even tell the difference between our grand world and the rest of the stars.

But that makes no difference, for what I’m about to say.

Magic is vast and grand and even with the Eredar’s vast knowledge of it’s workings, there are still some things that remain a mystery for us. But one thing is known for sure, that words hold power.

Written with enough emotion and power, words can last a lifetime, can curse or bless a child or family blood line or save lives with enough meaning.

With that, I vow, until my dying breath, that I will save you and the town of Azurelight. I WILL come back to Argus and will sever the chains that bind you to the ‘savor” of the Eredar people. I promise that I will use my knowledge and education to find a cure for this curse that has been bestowed upon my people and you.

You all, most of all, do not deserve the fate that will be coming.

So I, Vivaaldi, daughter of Onmir and child of Azurelight. The last town you’ll visit before you head into Mac’Aree and the best stawapple pie this side of the city, vow to you all, that I will come back and save you.

This is my promise to you.

The lamp light flickered as she closed the worn journal.

Over 25,000 years had past since she wrote that impassioned entry into the book. Since then the newly deemed “Draenei” had seen many a worlds, had hope taken and snatched away from them. Had genocide brought onto them by the people they tentatively called allies, but yet survived.

The First Archon, a title she never thought she would carry, smiled tiredly to herself as her finger brushed against the world weary cover. She was smart to enchant it with never ending pages, for all the research and information that was contained within, was enough to make the so called library of Karazhan stand and take notice.

Information about the Krokul and Lost Ones, in which she was sure held the answers to breaking the “Curse of Sargaras”, as she deemed it. Because, even in the 25,000 years, her vow still held strong.

“First Archon, are you still up?” came the voice of Exarch Varistus over the communication crystal that sat on her desk. “If you are, the Arbiter and I need some assistance.”

Vivaaldi didn’t respond, as she stared out the window of her apartment in the magical city of Dalaran. The entire city hovered over the waters as it loomed over the Broken Shore and the adjacent Isles.  

But even in the reflection of the shops just across the street she saw it, looming over them, taunting them.

Argus.

“Soon…” she said to herself, as she looked over at the book on the table.

“Soon.”

[aelnii-blog]

Motivation

Some could still see the vestiges of beauty here – among the petrified forests and blackened fel slate that mocked the past; through all the ash and soot and dirt that choked the arid air. She'd heard the stories – remembered all that she'd ever been told – and... all she could think of was shattered memories. What must her argus-born kin be feeling now – now that they'd returned and had... far too long to let the fall from grace and beauty sink through their mind? If this was what they fought for – to come home to this – what further point was there to fight? Aelnii had let this thought blaze a trail through her mind – a radiant torch to which a match was struck everlasting among a sea of increasingly dark thoughts. Maybe they would come to conclusion that had offered clarity to her mind; to make the man'ari pay for this gesture of foolish 'power' and return the favor tenfold. She – as any tactician might – did this at first by charting the landscape. She'd never been here before and her elders wouldn't remember the remains of this bountiful forest so misshapen by the ravages of tainted time. So she made maps – marked land – and noted Legion patrols. Time – being ever so odd at the cusp of the Twisting Nether and all the damnable machinations beyond – made her efforts on the latter difficult. Still – the scout prospered at places foreign and home... home had become remarkably foreign to her. Savage a place as Draenor was at least that planet felt alive. Argus lacked that feeling on the whole – Mac'Aree showed some small glimpse of survival; of an unsteadily beating heart that beat ever more slowly by the hour. Yet – Mac'Aree was a city of the dead. A grim reminder – a shard - of the day eredar became draenei and eredar... eredar ceased to be what they once were. Eidthi. Man'ari. Eredar. Whatever one called them – they were not the proud people of the past. They were... simply proud. Proud of all their atrocities and of the boundless power that crackled at their fingertips. She often wondered whether the traitors and demons had fear struck through to their core now that they battled at their stronghold. “Chronakai Kristor,” used to be a phrase she'd mutter with hope. Now? Now she spoke that phrase aloud; the legion's fall wasn't something to look forward to and pray for as their people's losses mounted. It was a battle cry to be rallied on – an order to be enforced. The Legion couldn't break their back nor their spirit after millennia of contemptuous attempts. Now the combined might of Exile, Lightforged, and Azeroth would staunch the flow of fel and shatter the spine of this great evil once and for all.

One could only stalk for so long as the predator preying on another predator before lashing out a terrible strike. She did what she could alone – and did the rest at the side of her order; the Sha'tor. What did do alone – however – left a different mark than what her superiors would leave. Relentless. She had not the power to banish demons eternally – but she could disrupt them and send as many as she could off screaming through to the abyss of Antorus. They'd be back... and she'd make every effort possible to send them howling back again. And again. Perhaps they'd learn how to counter her ambushes eventually; carefully planned as they were. Confluent skill and indefatigable purpose guided her honed aim and sent her arrows to the heart. Most recent of which was a hound – an unnatural fiend boned and bonded with metal, sickly pale flesh, and a very core of fel – that had been set loose upon a krokul fleeing the Annihilan Pits. Some eredar – a name said with scorn – had likely unleashed this pet to chase down the deformed underling. Aelnii had a different scheme. She watched the creature race free from one of the many places she'd dare not tread for fear of a foolish recompense from abominations infinitely her greater. She didn't see a foe. She saw prey. A mark. Darting from rocky outcrops to trees scrutinized under a basilisk's stare – she followed close on the heels of a beast slathering saliva onto a lipless mouth hiding little other than a set of fangs longer than the smallest of her fingers. The krokul fell over themselves – chips of stone and hoof splintering through the air as they crashed against an alcove. They turned – fel green eyes meeting the most insidious emerald orbs they'd ever looked upon. Full of nothing but a bestial malice and a desire to tear anything and everything limb from limb and mutilate what was left.

The rangari silently pulled an arrow from her quiver – not a sound to be made over the gentle windy howl and the fearful grunts of the devolved eredar and even those were drowned out by a barbed tongue hissing out gleefully at the meal before them. Aelnii nocked the arrow with a deliberate click of her own tongue. A molten orange orb glimmered and radiated heat from the blackened point of her arrow – a missile that practically screamed a desire to explode. The fel fiend turned – hissing at the sound. It noted the larger threat as she – at a most nonchalant pace – drew the string of her bow back to her cheek. A roar followed as those claws ripped against the slate and dirt and the monster charged forth. She smirked at the wicked grin it's creators had permanently rendered on the creature's face upon inception. It didn't strike fear and disgust in her like an Ur'zul did. It merely made her want to mock the other predator. As the charge began – her fingers slipped from the string and loosed her missile at the beast's corrupted spine. It struck faster than the eye could track – a pained howl echoing through the jagged hills surrounding them. The point had pierced that leathery, scaled hide like a molten knife through butter – and now stuck from the beast's flank; the glass orb gone from the small cage that had housed it. The fiend yelped as molten liquid poured from it's stomach and hissed along the spine where it had erupted forth. No longer did the hound hiss. Instead, only alchemical flame let out that noise. It had been slowed – but not stopped. She had another arrow at the ready as the creature recovered – and another was loosed before one could blink. They were both adept and agile however – and the fiend used every second to close the distance... and did so admirably as a more mundane arrow sunk through that neck. Rapidly congealing fel blood fell clotted to the ground. It reached her and leapt.

She had no expression of surprise or fear – her hoof slammed down on the leaping foe's crest. It's saliva and blood slathered tongue chomped off by those own teeth as her weight sent the fiend to the ground. It struggled – clawed – and whimpered as much as a monstrosity could. She nocked another arrow and aimed down next to where her foot had landed. “Edos'chano,” the archer muttered. 'You've lost,' in her native tongue. The arrow shattered through the hardened skull and crest of her prey – and she didn't spare another moment to lament the twitching corpse of the monster. The munitions were recovered brutally – ripped from the hound's hide with no care or remorse given to the demon. The krokul was still there – watching the draenei and had an extended moment of fear as she approached. Yet – as the rangari lowered herself – she offered a hand. So – why did the fight? Not to inflict carnage and sew discord as she'd done originally. As she guided the slave back to one of the krokul's hovels about the landscape, she reflected on this fact. From high on one of the cliffs of Krokuun – she looked across the way at the crashed Xenedar and made her conclusion; a sound one at that.

We fight for the Light.

[nixxiansnow]

The Shanai joins the Sha’tor event to unite and prepare for Argus! This was much fun and I definitely appreciate our allies for all their work!

[hoganlegdrop]

Varistus, Exarch of the Sha’tor.  Commission done by hannalArt

[hoganlegdrop]

5. Discovering a New Place

Shortly after the Cataclysm... Varistus walked off the boat onto the hard, wooden dock of Stormwind. It was the first time that he had been to the human capital, as he had been on the Azuermyst and Bloodmyst islands up to this point, helping to establish the draenei presence there. While he had been content to stay there, the Triumvirate of the Hand had assigned him elsewhere.  He looked around the dock as he walked, humans coming and going much faster than he was walking. One of them bumped into him as he ran up the dock, turning around to wave at the draenei but saying nothing. How very rude. Varistus thought to himself. He reached the end of the dock and noticed that there were so many people here. All walks of life of the Alliance were here - a few of his people that he noticed, but so many other races here. Everyone seemed to have an agenda, moving quickly through the throng of people that stood around here. He was used to the Exodar - and while it was a crowded place at the moment with refugees, it was normally not so clustered. Wading through the thick sea of bodies, he made his way up to the city proper and found it... just as busy. Here though, shops were selling all manner of things, from food to weapons to livestock to material supplies. He was to meet another vindicator here, Ohulan, but he had no idea where to go. He tried to stop several citizens as they flew by him to ask for directions, but they all seemed turned off by his poor Common. Finally, a gnome stopped by Varistus, realizing his issue. She banged on his armor, down on Varistus’s thigh. She waved him down because she didn’t want to scream up at the large draenei, and Varistus obeyed. He had *never* spoken to a gnome until now. “Hey, big fella. You look lost. Can I help you?” she said, smiling up at him, hands on her hips. “Yes. Valley of Heroes. In this city, yes?” Varistus blurted out in his poor Common, which he was slightly embarrassed about. “You here to help with the clean up out there? Deathwing sure did a number on it! Poor Turalyon died again!” she laughed, and looked up at his map. “It’s right here, see? And you’re...here!” she continued to explain, pointing at the various locations.  She began to point in the direction of the Valley, “Just follow the canals until you see the big bridge that crosses into the Trade District, and you’ll be fine from there!” Varistus rolled his map up and smiled back down at the gnome. He placed a hand over his chest and bowed his head, acting far more professional than he probably needed to. “Thank you, friend.” was all he really knew how to say. “Don’t sweat it! If you need anything, look out for a gnome. We’re a people without a home too - gotta look out for each other, you know?” she said with another shrill laugh before walking off with a wave. “Take care, big fella!” The vindicator got back to his hooves, secured the map at his waist and headed for the Valley of Heroes where he hoped that Ohulan had a better grasp on the city. Still, he appreciated the gnome’s help. A people without a home... he thought to himself. It was still a strange concept to him, being stranded here on Azeroth. But perhaps, with people like that gnome, he could find a way to call this planet home as well.