#warlock things

[mjni]

Fella.

[shame-of-the-eladrin]

Headcanon time

C's first warlock patron was the demon Lolth, the Queen of the demonweb pits of the Drow. That was considered to be an offense to his people, as Lolth -fomely called Araushnee-, the traitorous wife of Corellon Larethian, the creator of the elven race), and that was why he was exiled from Evermeet.

After C was exiled, he made even more warlock pacts, but the deity who likes him the most is Eilistraee, the masked lady of the Drow. Initially C was hoping to make this pact as an attempt to make amends for his actions and act as an intermediate between Corellon Larethian and Araushnee, but Eilistraee felt sympathy for the exiled seer because he saw in him the embodied consequences of the hatred between her parents, so she frequently visited him in his trance and gave him significant pact boons. This is the reason why ,unlike his elven breathren, C bears no ill will against the Drow (even though the Drow are usually understandably weary of him)

[aranyaphoenix]

@felfyre @safrona-shadowsun

[ankoku-teion]

Lena's Tragedy

I wait on the cusp of the final act, the greatest choice of my life. And it's out of my hands.

I ran to you, showed you my secret heart, gave you my all. And in the cloaking darkness you gave me yours.

Forbidden love, delicious and sweet. You were my lifeline, my loved one, my protector. Until the light of day broke us.

They called me freak, disgusting, abomination. I'm the devil child, the corruptor, temptress.

We could flee, we could leave this place. Be all we need together. Take my hand and fly with me. Safe from judging eyes.

Shall I be your angel? Or will I become the monster they all despise,

and free us from this torment, this life of lies.

"the devil is in her" they cried, You turned your back on me and so did I.

Abandoned and alone, I heard the voice. The devil was in me all along. Now I wear his face.

Methelese, Menthis, Malthus. Master of the shadows I call to you. Aresthen the fallen, the black goat of phyra, father of flames, remake me. Sire me anew.

My blood is your blood, my heart is your heart. My sorrow is your rage and my life is your power.

AN: inner monologue of Lena Kerbriant. Rejected by her town, betrayed by her first love, she reaches inside and calls on the family devil to make a pact. He transforms her, and gives her the power to take vengeance on the cruel bullies who have tormented her.

[dracoangel]

My new Undead Warlock’s (Jaeda) imp’s name is Pagyal... I keep on calling him Paypal...

[katyofnazgrel]

It’s really awkward being a lock in 6.2

Everyone keeps insulting my ‘terrible’ fel magic right in front of me and freaking out about how warlocks will destroy everything.

[yvraine]

Since RPing this all out didn't quite happen, I went ahead and wrote a short drabble of the tail end of Adrya's birth from her perspective. Did as little writing for the other participants that I could.

exitpursuedbybears sochavezdied nixalegos

They cried. No sweeter a sound had Adrya Blackdawn ever heard. Her twin fires screamed to Azeroth that they had awakened. The worst of the pain subsided from her center, allowing the mother a moment to breathe. The two hands she held remained strong all the while, and their grip on her never went lax, but neither man in ownership of those hands spoke to the other.

  She couldn’t imagine why.

She tried not to roll or face one way or the other now that the worst of the birth had passed. Her dear friend and midwife, Irisele, cleaned up her newborns in a far off corner, silent as the men who accompanied the Matriarch. It was a tense room, likely a place they would all run from when the worst had passed. Adrya knew she was not entirely out of the woods yet-- but it would only be a few moments.

  She labored for sixteen hours to bring her Twin Flames into the world. Her contractions had been slow to come. Those who gave their night to her, Secriel, Nixalegos, and sweet Irisele, had plenty of time to rest in the moonlit hours. It was not until morning came that she felt herself even remotely capable of trying. They did not come to her until noon had passed.

  Aronelian Valarion and Vanya Irisele. Adrya hadn’t decided upon their last names yet. Their healthy cries were an obvious sign of their paternity. No child two months early would cry like that. Duskfrost had no place in their blood, and in that moment, there was little that could make her happier. She hadn’t seen them herself yet. She hoped that Aronelian had his father’s strong face. She hoped that Vanya had his smile. She knew they would be black of hair. Nothing in their lineage told her otherwise.

  Their bassinets had been lined with the silken pandaren blankets Nixalegos brought for them as a gift some days ago, just after her baby shower. It seemed proper to her-- but perhaps they were the only blankets she could ever imagine them resting in during these warmer months on the southern border of Eversong. They would love them, she told herself. The colors would suit them well.

  That was when the dark came over her eyes. Another sharp pain stabbed at her from within, and she could do little more than gasp. She squeezed onto the hands that remained in hers. She saw no movement around her, but she could feel it when the man seated at her right moved to stand.

She’s bleeding! Paladin-- Irisele! He panicked. She could hear the slightest twinge of fear in Nixalegos Felscythe’s voice before she could not hear, could not see, could not feel a thing.

[yvraine]

♚

The tower was peaceful in the night. The crashing waves below seemed to sing rather than roar from the height they were at, and Adrya had to admit it was very relaxing. She needed this sort of time to herself, she kept saying. She told herself that as she read, nose deep in some tome on sangromancy. She couldn’t remember what her companion for the week was up to— that is, until she realized her arm had gone numb.

The Matriarch turned her gaze to the dark haired man who had fallen asleep against her shoulder. He must have dozed off awhile ago— his own tome laid open across his lap. Half-finished (or half-torn apart, she could never tell) gadgets of some origin still lay on the coffee table nearby. He worked himself too hard.

Adrya sighed, and she tucked a ribbon into her book before she began to slowly scoot down the couch, easing the Lord Felscythe down into the cushions. Once he was laying down, she made sure he was well tucked in— a strangely affectionate thing for her to do. She tried not to think on it.

"Told you you needed to relax," She said to him.

nixalegos