“ you will always be a monster - there is no turning back from it. but what kind of monster you become is entirely up to you.”
-JULIE KAGAWA, THE ETERNITY CURE. thradia starshard.
magistrix. closet warlock.
it’s come to my attention that a Certain Someone is planning on making a comeback to WrA soon and it fills me with nothing short of dread. i spent the day yesterday warning people he terrorized and manipulated that this was happening. you know it’s bad when there’s a literal network of people who share an abuser that have remained in contact for years in the event this happened again.
i am not going to lie and say that making this post does not terrify me but i cannot in good conscience sit back and let him worm his way into the rp scene again and do what he did to me and at least half a dozen others all over again.
to summarize: tarcanus aka tarcanus frostborne is a manipulative, emotionally abusive and predatory individual that should be avoided at all costs.
i am the player behind lyrinel, a former officer of his and someone who was on the receiving end of nearly a years worth of abuse and manipulation. my experiences pale in comparison to those of others who dealt with him and came forward to me after i left his guild, and i cannot speak for anyone who does not feel comfortable coming forward. if you do want to let your voice be heard, feel free to reblog and add your own anecdotes.
I am the player behind Thradia and I can corroborate this story.
I am not comfortable putting my own trauma on display to be analyzed at length just for a chance at being believed. You can take me at my word or you can leave it, I don’t quite frankly care. But I was terrorized for a year by a man ten years my senior when I was eighteen years old, questioning my sexuality, and with multiple undiagnosed mental illnesses that I was struggling to balance with my job and attending college full time. I was manipulated and gaslit by someone that I trusted and saw as an older brother figure.
I can talk about how this man got it in his head that I wanted to date him, how he thought it was disappointing that I was identifying as asexual, how me saying “stop, I’m gay” in regards to him flirting with me was a personal attack. I can talk about how he gaslit me until I wasn’t sure what was a real memory and what wasn’t in regards to my friend’s death. I can talk about he tried to manipulate me until I hated my best friend and was convinced she hated me, all because he said so. I can talk about so much more than that, and I have the Skype logs to prove it.
But I don’t want to. Because I shouldn’t have to. It’s no one’s business but my own. And if you don’t want to believe me, or Lyrinel, or the half a dozen people that have had the same experiences with him, then that’s fine. But I’m not going to stop saying it.
I was an eighteen year old girl barely out of high school with deeply internalized lesbophobia struggling with her mental health, of course I was easily manipulated, and Tarcanus took advantage of this. I let him terrorize me for a year. I was too scared to fight back.
“You will always fall in love, and it will always be like having your throat cut, just that fast.”
— Catherynne M. Valente, Deathless
In a perfect world, Thradia would have slipped in and out of the apartment without being seen. She would have taken her seal and her research journals and disappeared into thin air. In a perfect world, she would have been long gone by the time her husband returned to an empty home. He would feel her absence like a stab to the gut, and would have to beg her forgiveness on his hands and knees.
But the last few days have made it abundantly clear that this isn’t a perfect world. None of this would have happened in a perfect world.
She hears the lock jiggle and the door slowly swing open and knows instantly who it is. She ignores the heavy footfalls as they thump closer and closer. She keeps her head lowered and her eyes fixed on her stack of letters, continuing to pick and choose which to keep and which to trash as his shadow fills the doorway to her office.
Silence.
Then:
“Thradia,” Alorinus croaks. She can smell the alcohol from her desk, and of course she doesn’t respond. The only sound is the soft crinkling of parchment as she drops the letter she was holding into the one of the piles and picks up the next one.
“Please,” he then whispers.
Her eyes snap up, staring at him unblinkingly.
“Just say something.”
Her eyes drop back to her desk, and she resumes her scholarly shuffling of papers. “There aren’t enough words in the Thalassian language to accurately convey my fury, but I can try if you’d like.” Her voice is icy and unwavering.
Alorinus doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t move either.
So Thradia finishes her sorting, and she slides one of her piles into the satchel resting against her chair. She stands, pulling her cloak over her shoulder. “Move,” she growls. The soulstone around her neck isn’t hiding under any illusions today. Energy roils within it, and every small pulse of magic beats against her chest like a second heart. Alorinus stares at it for a moment, then his bleary gaze shifts to her unyielding face.
“Move,” she repeats.
He does. She makes it halfway across the living room before he tries again. “You’re still wearing your wedding ring.” It’s so dangerously, horribly hopeful that she stops dead in her tracks.
“I should kill you right now,” she whispers, her hand curling into a fist.
“Why haven’t you taken it off?” The fist begins to shake.
“There’s nothing stopping me from carving out your heart right here.”
“I’ll give you the knife if you tell me why you haven’t taken off the ring.”
Thradia Starshard is nothing if not spiteful. She tilts her head, glancing at him over one shoulder. Without breaking their stare, she unclenches her fist and slips the ring off of her finger. It doesn’t bounce as it hits the ground. She holds his gaze for a few heartbeats longer. “Fuck you, Alorinus,” she says, and leaves without looking back.
She’s been at Ardathiel for a week when she finally approaches Lyrinel with the finished product. Hanniel is fast asleep in Nel’s lap as she sits on the patio—neither of them much like using the balcony, lately—and stares out into the empty garden.
Nel’s ears twitch at Thradia’s approach, but she doesn’t acknowledge her otherwise. Thradia takes the chair opposite her and silently offers her the scroll she’d been hiding behind her back. Nel’s brow furrows, and she warily unrolls the parchment. Her eyes scan the page, and then she jumps. “Thradia, you can’t-”
“Yes, I can. It’s why I went to retrieve that damn seal in the first place, it wouldn’t have been legally binding without a Magistrix’s approval. Hanniel needs the security more than I do, and this way no one will ever try to use me for it again.” Thradia looks to the garden. The plants are already growing a bit wild, but Thradia likes it that way. Their gardener, an herbalist Nel had befriended in Silvermoon while pregnant, had lost someone in her family and returned to the capital for the funeral. The irony.
“It’s your birthright,” Lyrinel whispers. Hanniel mumbles in his sleep, adjusting himself against his mother’s chest.
“It’s just a house,” Thradia retorts.
“On land that the Starshards have held since Quel’thalas was founded!” Lyrinel exclaims. The pair of them quickly fall silent as Hanniel stirs at the sudden noise. Thradia waits until he settles before quietly continuing.
“Yes, and there used to be a lot more of it, remember? This isn’t the first time a Starshard is selling property.”
“It’s the principle of the thing, Thradia, and this isn’t just bits and pieces, this is the heart of the estate. Ardathiel has always belonged to the Starshard family-”
“And after my death there will be no Starshards left. I’m simply getting my affairs in order earlier than usual, which is probably a reasonable idea given the Legion homeworld that’s suspended above us as we speak.” Argus was, in fact, floating on the horizon; a blemish against the otherwise picturesque Thalassian sky that always seemed to be in your line of sight, no matter where you looked. “As far as I’m concerned, Hanniel is my heir, and nothing is going to change that.”
“Not even your own children?”
“I’m not having children.”
Lyrinel grows very quiet, taking Thradia’s left hand and examining the pale strip of skin where her wedding ring once was. “There is a catch.” Lyrinel looks up at that, eyebrow quirking as Thradia pulls her hair over one shoulder and bares the back of her neck. “I want you to burn it off.”
“Thradia, you know I can’t do fire magic, shouldn’t you speak about this with-”
“Yes, you can. Nesselde Tala’vel was good for something, at least. And this isn’t something Zosine would understand.”
Lyrinel studies her face, one hand resting on Hanniel’s back and the other holding Thradia’s. “Why, after all this time?”
“I’m tired of my life being haunted by family ghosts.” Thradia was not exclusively referring to the Starshards.
Lyrinel’s lips press together into a thin line. “It’s going to scar,” she finally sighs.
“I don’t care.”
Effective immediately, I, Thradia Ae’therin Starshard, hereby bequeath the ownership of Ardathiel to one Hanniel Irinore Morningflame II, to be managed by his mother Lyrinel Serayn Morningflame until he comes of age. This includes all land, resources, and buildings found upon the property described in Exhibit I attached hereto.
