Taliori had been in a rush of sorts as soon as she had gotten the call. It had been brief, but clear. The man that was so far away calling out to her and telling her news that was terrible in it’s own.
She had to bring it to the Lord of the lands. A man that she rarely had conversed with, yet deserved above anyone else to know of it.
Esme Sunshard was dead.
At least, her soul was dead. Her body was still alive somehow. Even Quineven had struggled to explain that.
It had been hard news to pass along, yet one she had to be honest with. She struggled with answering the stream of questions and a man breaking down with anger and fear. She could only offer so much, and before she could so much as try and explain that Quineven was working to fix it, the man was gone. Off to the mountains that the mage resided in.
It left Embertree empty. Barren of leadership and left with a woman that knew it couldn’t remain so. And thus, Taliori and made a decision.
After speaking with the staff, she finally made her way to the wide and open library. There was a desk there- the owner was the woman herself who was subject to such a terrible fate.
Tali glanced over the table of neat stacks and the few papers that had been dropped off. Work that had been left behind and surely to be attended to after the woman came back.
That was, she meant to do it once she came back. No longer would that be possible.
There was a sigh that was released from Taliori, and she slowly slid into the foreign chair. She kept looking through the desk till finally she found blank paper and the ink required to write with. Preparing herself, she set out multiple sheafs of the paper and began to dip the pen to the ink.
After a long moment of consideration, the pen was brought to the paper and the monk began to write with her oh so nice script.
Captain,
You know that usually I would come in person to deliver news, but i’m afraid the time it would take for me to make my way to your home personally would be far too long. I don’t know if you will find this as urgent as the warlock Faervell had, but I need you to know all the same.
Esme is gone. By such, I mean that she appears to be dead, yet her body remains alive.
It is far more complicated than I can adequately explain, however I will try.
According to Quineven, a spell had been cast not but a day ago. It was some sort of spell that sent her spirit or soul to somewhere that is beyond our physical reach. A surge of energy abruptly cut the tether that kept her attached to the physical plane, and from that point on, she no longer remained there. It is as if she is a shell with nothing inside.
This led to a theory that she may have gone through what a few others appear to have gone through. There’s word around that there may be some sort of connection to the dead. I’m not sure how it works, and I don’t dare to assume that I could understand complex magic, but it may point us to where she went.
As of right now, I am assuming over whatever matters is needed here at Embertree since Faervell is gone as well. I can handle what affairs need to be, but I know that you would wish to know this news just the same.
I am sending for the others as well.
If you have any need for me, I am always at your disposal and will be here for you.
Be safe.
Taliori
Glancing over the letter twice over, she finally folded it up and set it aside. All prepared for the delivery that was to come. Yet, she didn’t go immediately. Instead she went to begin writing two more letters. Both were the same in their own ways, yet addressed to two different men.
It was short. Simple. Easy to understand.
“Come to Embertree.”
Both were folded and sent to the others of the crew.
The small woman slid back the chair and swept up the letters. Making her way hastily off, she’d find herself going to pass the letters on to the carriers. From there, directions were given and the messages were sent.
She watched until she could see no more, then gave a brief nod to herself as her eyes closed. She knew plenty of what she needed to do, but this was far more out of her range. She felt hesitant and a bit scared of herself. She never was good at this game that needed to be played in the absence of the Lady and Lord of Embertree, but at this point she felt obliged to take care of things.
Hopefully the others would come.
Hopefully she could maintain what needed to be done.
Esme had returned to the Dawnspire at twilight. Although exhausted emotionally and physically, for once she admired the rolling fields of white snow, remembering when they were green and dappled with trees of gold. Spring would come soon and while Quel’Thalas would begin to look as it once did, the difference would remain.
She had taken her dragonhawk to the main city first to meet with Faervell if only to merely see him, to touch her hand to his. She did not tell him what had transpired, just that she had gone to see the front lines for herself. They reaffirmed their promises to fight strong, to remain in touch, and that one another would do their best to remain safe. She left with the warmth of the felmancer’s hands lingering on her skin and she was almost certain he had done that on purpose to keep her warm on the rest of her journey.
As she grew closer to the port, her mind buzzed. She replayed the conversation with Vaelrin over and over and over again in her head. It did not feel real.
It did not feel real.
She had asked him if he was planning to do a suicide mission. Why else would he have offered her so much of himself? He had scoffed at her, and it was the most relieving part of their meeting. She was used to him waving her off, brushing her off, avoiding her, calling her ‘parrot’ or ‘princess’. She was not used to what she had been met with.
“Captain,” came the first greeting and her heart clenched. The sailor was standing at the edge of the gangplank, ensuring the proper knots were still holding true while in port. He gave her a nod and continued to work. Most of the crew would more than likely be asleep. Or were they already on their way to join Vaelrin in the Emberlight?
Esme nodded in return and tried so very hard to act as though she knew exactly where to go. She did, of course. Ships were set in similar fashions. She had been on a galleon before. She knew the captain’s quarters were close to the helm, tucked safely near the stern. She had walked through the double doors before. However, it had been years prior. She had been waiting for her own ship to be built at that point. So she went to those doors again, but this time, she did it swiftly. If other members of the crew were still awake, she did not wish to see them just yet. If there was to be a speech and introductions, that could come the next day.
She closed the doors behind her and was met with the silence of another. Vaelrin was not there. He was in the south. He was in the Emberlight. And yet, he was everywhere. The room smelled of him; it smelled of rum, the sea, sandalwood, and deep, rich tobacco. She could see him behind the ancient chair and large desk. She could feel him pacing back and forth in front of the expansive windows. She could hear him in every creak of the ship as it swayed oh so gently in the harbor, and in the strain of the rigging, and in the flap of the flags atop the mainmast.
She felt like an intruder. Still, she stepped further into the captain’s quarters.
Running a hand along the large, ancient desk, she mused at the small nicks and gashes in the wood. Where had they come from? Had they been from drunken nights? Something more private?...Or something older and more sinister? She could not help but see a flash of another desk that belonged to another captain – another pirate.
No, she was in the private quarters of the Ranger-Captain, the Wraith, the Lord of Shallowbrook.
No…she was in the private quarters of Black Jack, one of the most notorious pirates that had sailed the seas of Azeroth.
What was she doing? Since running from her past, she had lied about nobility and fallen from that. She had embraced being a soldier. She had become a noble once more, a true noble. But through it all, she had been a pirate hunter. She had turned back to face her past and she had vowed to no longer be the hunted. And yet…there she was. In the quarters of Captain Black Jack. In the quarters of Vaelrin Firestorm.
Tentatively, she rounded the desk – his desk, her desk – and settled into the chair. It creaked beneath her and after that, silence followed.
I expect you to champion her in th’ same way as I did.
Reclaim Quel’Thalas’s seas an I will reclaim an’ return Embertree. That is our agreement. Aye?
Every captain needs a ship.
His words, only a few hours old, echoed in her mind and she drew in a deep breath. She knew what she was doing. She was reclaiming Quel’Thalas.
And she would do so as the Captain of the Cursed Revenge.
[[The Crimson Fleet has gained the Cursed Revenge.]]
There's a grief that can't be spoken,
There's a pain goes on and on.
Winter did not kiss; it bit with angry, icy teeth.
Winter ravaged Quel’thalas, consumed the countryside with voracious hunger, stripped the trees of their fire-wrought canopies, and browned and buried the verdant fields in heavyset slopes of snow. Quel’thalas was not equipped for vicious frost or the screaming gales of arctic wind; there were seldom few doors in Silvermoon that could be closed against the cold, and great spans of gilded lattice work that had served well enough for walls while their climes were temperate were worthless now. Snow and sleet shot through the arabesques and archways, leaving the inside of homes as exposed as the city streets.
No where was safe from the cold.
Gossamer cloths were exchanged for once decorative fur rugs, blocking off doorways and windows, sectioning off singular chambers of once open air businesses and homes as the sole reprieve from the wailing winds.
Silvermoon City Inn was packed, all it’s patrons crowded on the bottom floor, where the wind had been successfully blocked off at either entrance. Fires burned in every brazier, bathing the bar in an orange glow that betrayed reality; there was still an ever present chill wafting down from the upper floors, which had been entirely abandoned. The room was packed with rum-blurred figures, little more than smudges of color that Caeliri could not fully fathom.
Exactly as she wanted it.
Caeliri was three deep in a tankard of rum, something cheap that tasted of clove and seared the inside of her nostrils with every sip - or had. Her ability to taste the swill had been burned away, along with any ounce of caring. She was seeking the numb oblivion of intoxication, scrambling behind it to shield herself from the slough of sorrow that crept ever closer.
They were dead.
Lirelle.
Sederis.
They were
g
o
n
e.
The Archon’s words had sent her to her knees.
Her heart had been clenched for the headsman’s blow, and these loses had blindsided her.
H
O
W
?
How could they fall? For all of Sederis’ devotion to death, he was battle-hardened and resilient, always prepared. And Lirelle, Light above, she burned with the intensity of the Sun itself, with ten-fold the determination of any one Caeliri had ever met.
How could they be gone?
There were presents sitting in her tent for them, wrapped and ready - as they had been for months - for delivery.
An armored belt for Lirelle, with leather loops for hitching blades and pouches for plants or bugs or whatever else she might find on her journeys and desire to keep, and a handful of crude, nude sketches of the Ranger-Captain in lieu of the promised painting he’d never delivered on.
An overflowing bag of dried meats for Sederis from every corner of Azeroth, from every kind of creature, something practical and delectable all at once. She’d never really known what to get him for Winter’s Veil.
Caeliri had been unable to unwrap them, unable to get rid of them, unable to disturb the undelivered gifts. So she’d left them where they lay, with several other gifts that would never be delivered, and committed herself to the duties demanded of her.
Once, she might have been proud of how well she’d severed her Self from her Station, how she’d faced the familiar horrors of the infirmary - the scent of blood and perforated bowels, the weeping, the death knells of those would not make it through the night, the glassy, pleading eyes of those she could not save - without a thought spared to the aching chasm in her chest, but this was no time for pleasure, no time for pride. She was only ever a step ahead of the pain, only able to keep it snapping at her heels, never gaining any real distance from it.
Across the bar laughter wrung out, loud and bright and barking, and Caeliri’s attention pulled across the dancing colors of the inn towards the sound. Across the bar, someone threw their head back, golden hair fanning freely with the motion, catching in the fire’s glow and erupting with gilded light, and Caeliri’s world was
S
H
A
T
T
E
R
E
D
into a thousand, screaming points of light, a hundred, million erupting stars.
It burned.
Caeliri pressed the heel of her hand into her eye, hard, hoping to quell the whirling of her vision and the popping lights that flashed in the darkness. At last the blazing settled, the burning ebbed, and she pulled her hand from her face and creaked her eyes open.
Across the table from her sat Sederis, head half-bowed towards an overflowing plate, hastily shoveling food into his face, faster than Elleynah could dole it out.
Caeliri’s heart plummeted to the soles of her feet. When it struck ground, it erupted with such intensity that the vibrations rung out in every inch of her body, in her fingers, in her toes, in the tips of her ears. Cold crept painfully through her chest and her rum-bloated stomach began to churn.
The other mender reached out to grab a handful of scarlet hair just before he hoovered it into his mouth, tucking it behind one long, scar-dabbled ear before moving onto to the next plate with a half-hidden, wholly-fond roll of her eyes. Beside him Lirelle snapped her head back up, golden hair swishing forward over her shoulders as she pointed an accusing finger at Arrenir, across the table and one chair down. Smooth laughter was the only response, and the gentle clink of a fork brushing a plate.
Lirelle slammed an open palm on the table, sending all their silverware leaping off the polished mahogany, and it was Vaelrin’s turn to cast his head back and let loose a thundering laugh as fury creased Lirelle’s features. Elleynah’s freckled hand shot out to steady a glass that almost tipped, saving Arrenir’s plate from being doused in pale champagne, and Sederis - his cheeks stuffed like a chipmunk - laughed, and gagged, and for all his war-hewn reflexes could not lift a hand fast enough to keep from spitting half-chewed food across the table on to her plate.
Oh my friends, my friends forgive me
That I live and you are gone
She was supposed to squeal, supposed to reach out and shove her plate across the table, relenting her meal to Sederis now that his half-chewed food was floating in her stew, and Elleynah was supposed to rush off towards the kitchen, and Lirelle was supposed to follow her, demanding the ginger-witch sit her ass down and eat and let her get Caeliri another dish.
Arrenir was supposed to offer her his plate, safe from Sederis-spit and spilled champagne both.
Vaelrin was supposed to take a smug drag from his cigar and waft cinnamon-rich smoke over the table.
But Caeliri did not move.
She did not squeal.
She did not shove her plate away.
She sat, statuesque, and let the memory move around as the tears swelled up in her vision, until there were nothing but colorful smears shifting in her vision.
Someone was calling her name.
Someone was pulling on the tether of her attention.
Someone tried to draw her from the phantom faces, and she did not want to go. Caeliri blinked hard, letting the tears stampede down her rosy cheeks, waiting for her vision to clear and the room to right itself.
"Dawnsworn.” Her name was murky and a thousand miles away.
Lirelle was pushing Elleynah back through the doorway, shoving her towards the seat she’d not yet occupied, and Elleynah was digging her heels in, freckled face flushed at the admonishments Lirelle peppered over her.
“Dawnsworn.”
Stop it.
Vaelrin’s hand subtly snuck up on to her knee, giving the bony protrusion a secretive squeeze.
“Dawnsworn.”
Go away. Leave me be.
Arrenir was swapping plates with her, and Sederis was muttering apologies from behind his hand as he tried to choke down the last of his food.
A hand fell on her shoulder, shaking her with enough might to wobble her entire torso, and she looked up at the offending force, at the face that had torn her from her dream delusion.
Anokirin Sunstalker was hovering over her, not that she could actually see him. His face was a blur of colors bent by firelight, only identifiable by his voice. “Dawnsworn. Are you deaf, girl? How many deep are you?”
Caeliri pulled her eyes from the barely-familiar man, shrugging her slim shoulder out of his grasp, glancing back to the empty chair across from her.
“Another storm is brewing in the south. We need to leave by daybreak if we’re going to make it to the Ridges. You gonna be okay?”
No. “Yes, I’ll be okay to ride.”
The answer was sufficient.
Anokirin haunted her no longer, the heat of his frame dying as he moved away, leaving Caeliri to her rum, to her vacant table, and to the empty chairs she’d arranged around herself in a facsimile of a family dinner.
Empty chairs at empty tables where my friends will meet no more.
[[ Hey @retributionpriest @thepilgrimofwar, I hate the both of you so much for making me feel things about RP stories again. Big dislike. I’m going to miss your characters so, so, so much. I’m going to miss the times we RPed all together out in Suramar last year like you’d miss a limb, but I can’t wait to write new stories with you both.
Same for the rest of you. @forever-afk @stormandozone and @jonathan-nevermore-smith since your dude showed up for a couple seconds in this story.
@thesunguardmg]]
A slender form collapsed upon a soft bed with a sigh, staring up at the high ceiling in tired retrospection. Garbed in borrowed sleep clothes and damp hair braided over her shoulder, sleep beckoned even as a mind whirled to figure out just how she had ended up here, in an admittedly very nice guest room.
How had she gone from seeking answers to being threatened to playing guest in the very estate of the one who had threatened her?
Maybe she really did need to re-evaluate her decision-making skills...
The thought pulled a snort from the mender as she rolled onto her side, curling against a plush duvet as she thought back to the journey back to Shallowbrook, covering her face with her hands in a quiet groan.
She’d been so tense.
In hindsight, she couldn’t have said what possessed her to sit in front of him atop the dark stallion, other than perhaps a slight worry the moody horse might’ve been otherwise inclined to buck her right off. With subtle threats still lingering in the back of mind, the Ranger-Captain’s offered hospitality wasn’t quite enough take the edge off his previous words, even if they had come to an accord of sorts.
Her curiosity was far from worth risking her family’s reputation, that was a given...
—But by the light did a part of her still itch to dig deeper into the blatant mystery of the man. A part of her that would have to go regrettably unsatisfied.
...At least, until she could figure out a means more subtle than her last attempts. What he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him, surely.
Rhysa shifted until she could pull covers over herself, dousing the nearby candle with a small wave of her fingers, pitching the room into darkness as she felt herself beginning to drift.
No, no more snooping for awhile—but exploration, that was another thing entirely. A new day awaited in a new place; Passidonia beckoned on the horizon, before she would inevitably have to return to prepare for more serious affairs.
The packages arrive via a hooded courier sporting the most familiar orange colored hair. There are no discernible features to her, but a mischievous laugh can be heard as they dance away into the night. Each package delivered right to the door, or other suitable entrance to a home, as promptly as possible.
The package left on Thinariel’s doorstep is wrapped in a green paper, and tied off with a silver bow. Inside there is a jade necklace shined to a point that one could see their own reflection in it. The pendant is shaped much like a tear drop, though it curves a bit to the left, and the hole through which the string passes is about the size of a cherry.
My dear,
I have very little to offer in this world to you that is truly mine. I cannot put into words how much our time together has changed my life, and I do hope I can hold onto it for much longer.
I’m not always sure if any of the things I pick up on my travels really work, but I certainly hope this one does. This necklace is supposed to bring its wearer good luck, and to always bring them home safely when they travel. Hopefully, it will bring you home in one piece.
@pyrosophist
The package left on Aestus’ stoop is wrapped in a simple white paper, and held by a red ribbon. Inside there is a top hat that seems rather unremarkable. It’s been gently used, and a few repair patches line the inside of the hat to remember its old owners by.
Tabard Boy,
You are a down to earth kind of friend, and I’m so glad to be able to call you that. I remember when we first met, and by all the heavens you seemed like such a little priss back then. I thought your whole attitude was just that good boy act shining through, but it really grew on me.
This hat isn’t really anything special. I mean, if you wear it it can change the way your beard looks. Who knows, maybe you’d look good with a change of facial hair. Up to you, but make sure you wear it; I bet you’ll look great.
@shampoocommercialelves
The last package is left in the doorstep of one Aenys Darklyn. It’s wrapped in a golden foil, and clearly meant to represent something. Inside, a set of ten pens and inks of varying colors, each labeled for a specific type of document from Contracts to Work Orders.
Aenys,
Though we haven’t known each other very long, I do consider you a good friend. You’ve been willing to put your faith in me and my abilities, and for that you have my respect. I promise you, your faith will bear you fruit, and I do hope it will lead us into a great future together.
These pens passed to me, but their uses are so widely varied that I have too few documents to actually use them on. Perhaps with your wider set of duties, you may find use for all ten of them. I wish you all the luck in the world, and I look forward to our business together.
@darklyn
Very cheekily, a package is left on Esme’s doorstep. It’s wrapped only in brown paper. Inside, a finely crafted dagger spirited away from the finest smiths in Stormwind by a very brave little thief. The steel is honed to a fine point, and Caelinda had taken the time to get it all gussied up for its recipient. The note that follows is very cryptic, and there’s hardly an indication of who it’s from.
Boss,
Do not open until Winter’s Veil!
@jessipalooza
Finally, a package is delivered to Vaelrin himself in the deepest time of night. The mysterious courier is very careful to not be spotted, and leaves behind a similar package wrapped in brown paper. Inside, a bottle of the finest rum from Booty Bay. How it was acquired is not really clear, but a single speck of blood is on the neck of the bottle. Similar to Esme’s package, there is barely an indication of who sent it.
Big Boss,
Drink softly, and carry a big stick. Do not open until Winter’s Veil!
In the days following the (hopefully) final battle at the Dawnspire against Baal and his Legion forces, Kyranyx and the rest of the Sunguard had been spending their time licking their wounds and trying to recover. Yet even during this recovery, it was hard to forget that this was a time of celebration all across Azeroth. The Winter’s Veil celebration was one of great note for many across the world, and Kyranyx was no exception. It seemed hard to remember that last year when she had arrived in the Sunguard, it had been during such a joyous time.
How times have changed.
Luckily, even with all the ongoing chaos, she had managed to find time for those closest to her to give items to them for the holidays. She sat down in the chair that had several cards attached to gifts, and began to write.
First, she took a gift wrapped in solid red, with no pattern on it. Inside it was a multi-tool that had several different gadgets on it, including a pocket knife, a lighter, a pen, and a pepper spray along with several mini-canisters for refill in case the user ran out.
To: Thanidiel Highdawn
First of all, I appreciate the gift you gave me earlier. I can assure you that it will be put to good use if we ever encounter more treacherous weather. In return, I give to you something that I hope can be of some practical use to you.
@thanidiel
Next, she grabbed a box gift wrapped in orange. This one had a few basic floral patterns on it, at least. The gift inside was an orb that, when shaken, emitted a rather bright light from it.
To: Esme Sunshard
Since joining the Sunguard, you’ve been the person that I could always rely on both on the battlefield and off it. You didn’t harbor the same judgement that many others did for me when I first arrived, and you gave me a chance to prove myself. Even in our darkest hour, you were there to lend an ear and your voice. For that, I give you something that can hopefully light the way in your times of darkness.
@jessipalooza
A third gift was not wrapped in a box unlike the two before it, rather it was fairly obviously that it was a bottle of some kind. More specifically, it was a bottle of rum from Booty Bay, and not a cheap one either.
To: Vaelrin Firestorm
You and I have butted heads several times, but you’ve always been a help on the battlefield and even with our differences at times, you’ve given me chances, and I will never forget that. Let’s not pour this one on the ground, shall we?
@forever-afk
And lastly, there was one more gift, one she had intended to deliver personally unlike the others, but still she wrote on the card of the blue-and-gold wrapped box. Inside was one book that was a translation of Common-to-Thalassian for her to read, and another book that apparently was written by a member of the Church of Light in Common that told of his travels for several decades. Along with those items, there was also a bottle of cider that came straight from Elwynn.
To: Prisa Violette
We’ve been through ups and downs together, and we met when the Sunguard was at one of it’s lowest since I’ve been around. But we’ve always been around to support each other through thick and thin, and I’m glad that you have decided to stay in such a foreign place as the Sunguard.
