Of Gods and Men @votaryoftheseven - Tumblr Blog

Swirling. And falling.

While the world to Upton was a swirl of colour and emotion, the place he fell into when trying to head out with his friends was colourless. Featureless. Without soul or being or end.

He fell into a darkened sea, thick and weighted, yet still pulling him down beneath the surface. No tendrils existed, but he felt himself be pulled down, deeper, into the dark.

What should stop you from protecting them?

Are you afraid of being wrong?

The choices you made... were they correct?

Upton didn't pay the thoughts any mind. He did only what he wanted to do, of his own free will. It's the only thing he was under his own right to have, and he would be sure to exercise that right.

What if they kill him? And you could have prevented it?

It was the lesson of Despair. There's only so much he could do. He put out his offer. It was up for the man to take it.

What if the people take advantage of you?

He goes where he's needed, not where he's wanted. And he only does what he wants to do.

And if they turn on you?

He was invincible.

Who has given you this boon?

He wouldn't do it. He still wouldn't. He wouldn't think it. He wouldn't say it. And he sure as fuck wouldn't thank it.

There's so much you don't know. Untapped potential...

Upton burst with Violence, clawing at the depths of the waters he was in, getting higher and higher as if he were swimming through pudding. When he broke the surface, he didn't stop, shifting into a sha-drenched dragon as he flew into the sky once again, away from the clutches that tried to reclaim what was rightfully its own.

Not time. Not yet.

He needed to be somewhere else.

#;happenstance #;writings #;the stagehand

Hierei had gotten less than stellar news from Renwyn, but had no real way of working it out.

She'd met Israna. Upton met Israna. And when Israna found out Upton wasn't him, Upton was Fearful down to his core.

What was going on?

The talk of Hierei's prior marriage had been embarrassing for Renwyn. There were things that bothered Renwyn that hadn't before, but he wouldn't tell him what, because he didn't want to know more.

Knowing things would complicate things. And Renwyn needed him to be simple. Normal. Not complicated.

The very revelation made Hierei want to Sacrifice again. To take everything he had learned and become and strip himself of it all, just to satisfy his partners. They would like him better that way. All of them would like him more... normal. Less of a freak. Having less issues.

And he could fake being happy. He was so good at it.

But Hierei, apparently, needed to speak with Upton. Clear some things up for him that weren't obvious. So he invited him over again to Alor'thalas-- this time, for tea.

Hierei got things settled for him. Teacups, teapot, little arcane stovetop, fresh water and a new tea blend. Clearing off a place to sit, the two of them took their places and, for a while, sat in silence.

Upton recognized the Fear Hierei had. It was the Fear that the parts of him he Hated would keep back the rest of him from being good enough for his partners. It was the Fear that if he did anything he wanted to do, he would be chastised or even left by his partners.

So in his mind he had to play it safe. Be perfect. Present himself as prim and proper and pristine.

Upton sipped the tea Hierei made, wholly unable to taste it. But he could taste the Violence in it. The Hatred he had for Upton in it as he made it. It was a blend Hierei drank every day to lower his Void corruption, and Hierei had hoped that maybe if Upton drank it he might explode or feel pain.

Upton only felt disappointment.

The actor set the cup down, about to speak, when Hierei spoke first. "I don't know why I even invited you here," he said, tone spiteful. "Ren said you made something embarrassing by talking about my wife."

Upton lowered his brows a little, firming his lips at the time his brother took with him. "I think Renwyn thought another lady's name was your wife. He said you were married to a Lori? I don't even know who that is."

Hierei blinked a little. "...Lori isn't a lady. They also aren't my wife."

"Why would he bring them up, then?"

Hierei frowned, looking down. Upton could taste the guilt. "I... talked about how I hurt them? I don't know. How we separated for a while."

"...maybe he didn't know you had so many partners."

"Probably."

Another long silence between the brothers, before Upton pipes up. "Are you... planning on doing anything about her?"

Hierei looked up to his brother, fingers fidgeting on his cup and his lap. "Uh. I dunno. ...been sort of... missing her, lately. ...wanting to talk to her."

Upton pinned his ears back. "Hierei, you spent so long--"

"--trying to get away from her, blah blah-- yeah, I know." Hierei interrupted, curling his fingers tighter around the teacup in his hands. "...I just... can't stop thinking about her, lately. I miss her. I want to... talk to her. ...see if there's any way I could help her, see if I we could be together, again."

"Hierei, you can't. You suffered so much--"

"--but don't I deserve to!?" Hierei snapped, settling a hand on his chest. "Nothing I do matters! Nothing I do benefits another living soul! Everything I've ever done has bit me in the ass and all of the skills I've accrued only bring pain to my lovers and my family!"

He took some deep breaths, just staring at Upton for a moment before Upton stood up, turning away from the table. Hierei didn't say anything, just watching him leave...

Until he didn't. Until Upton turned around and pointed to the ground. "Are you willing to bet your life on that?"

"Yes." The words came out before he even knew what sound his vocal chords made. Before a thought entered his head.

"Then come here and fight me about it." Upton grinned. He knew his brother well enough to come to blows with him.

Violence of any sort would make him feel better.

And Hierei took the bait, getting up to stand in front of Upton. "Alright so how are we--"

The actor shut the kaldorei up with a punch to the jaw, causing the priest to reel for a second. Flickers of memories came to mind-- himself, as Morrison, stitching on a finger for his first healing attempt at LMA when he got hired. The shadow mending he was able to do back then was so primitive compared to now.

Hierei blinked, but he drew his Blades and ran at Upton-- only to be punched in the face again. Memories started to flood back. Despite how he was chastised later for it, he had helped hundreds of people live better lives in that clinic. He had performed life-saving surgeries, tested for and cured illnesses, protected people directly in harm's way...

Did any of it matter if he was seen as a freak for it?

"Of course it matters, fuck-for-brains!" Upton yelled at his brother, crumpled on the ground, reading his emotions enough to know what was in his mind. "You change lives for the better! Now get the fuck over it! You're better than this!"

Hierei's wings flitted a little, and using them and his hands he got himself up to stand again, his lip bleeding a bit. He stared at Upton for a while, silent, as Anger brewed.

He didn't want to fight, anymore, the Violence gone from his body. But he did want to find and exploit a weakness, wherever he could find one.

Upton grabbed Hierei by the collar of his chiton, shaking him back and forth a little with just how strong his upper body was. "Take Pride in your work, brother. You're capable of so much-"

"-but all I do is hurt-"

"-It's not everything! Stop overgeneralizing your bad days!" Upton let go of Hierei's collar, taking a step back. Hierei still had his Blades drawn, after all. "You have good days-- great days, even! What is all this about everything you are or everything you do being horrible? Your good qualities shine through, and people see them!"

Hierei sneered a bit, trying to emotionally fight back-- but with no sha in his body, he was more susceptible to Upton's pressure. "People see the slightest of negatives! If I don't wear them down, if I let any negatives out--"

"--People will see what they want to see in you. Your friends will see a friend. Those afraid of the unknown will never see an ally. Your lovers will love you through everything. Whether you make yourself sanitized or not, if you become a monster or a farmer, you will still be loved. I know this of you."

Hierei's Fear was strong, his Doubt even stronger-- but none of that was stronger than Upton's own certainty.

Upton approached Hierei, despite his brother still being squared up to fight him, but Hierei couldn't bring himself to hurt him. Not really. He wrapped his brother in a warm embrace, holding the taller kaldorei close.

"How--? How, then, can I be simple enough? Normal enough...?" Hierei didn't cry, but he gasped for air in the choking, Prideful smoke enveloping Upton.

"You're not," Upton said. "You need to embrace that. You are resplendent when you shine from all of your different facets. Without them, you would be as dull as a pearl. Beautiful... but never you. Never shining as bright."

For a while, Hierei just stood there, holding Upton, breathing in the smoke.

He wasn't sure if what his brother said was true, but maybe... it would be good enough to try, slowly, to be himself.

#;happenstance #;writings #;the stagehand

Six hands were better than two or even four. Different parts of a new vestment were laid out over Hierei's tables, his brother assisting him by sitting in a chair, weaving bone over steel ball bearings.

It was like they were in the Dream, again. The pocket dimension of Nightmare that existed for a cult now long-gone. Working separate but in unison, with emotions not words, creating something holy.

Upton was in his own funk. Despair was strong in his body, a reverent gaze on the orbs as he worked. It was soothing. Both Hierei and Upton did well when doing something repetitive, especially when they were both feeling unwell.

They didn't speak. They didn't need to. The air between them was thick with emotion and Knowing. Just as it always had been. They knew from intent alone what the other was thinking; how they felt, what they wanted to say.

You're not usually like this.

It was the thought shared between them both. "Said" at the same time, a chord struck and it was the same key. Upton wasn't usually so melancholic. Hierei... well, he was often contritional, but he'd gotten better about it.

It will be alright, in the end.

They knew it was true. The grief Upton felt when his friend passed would fade, eventually replacing itself with a dull ache and understanding. Hierei would either get better and do better, or make more mistakes-- but he would move on, regardless. There was no way either brother could stop.

Upton looked up, setting the last of the bone-covered steel balls down into the little tin he'd been putting them in, finally breaking the silence. "Is this what you want to be doing?"

Hierei blinked, looking over. He didn't say it, but Upton knew. Would he be doing it if he didn't?

"You have no Pride in this. In your craftsmanship. You do this out of Fear. To protect yourself. It's a Fear display, to show others you're afraid." Upton frowned a little, looking to the robes.

The very idea of them was to weigh Hierei down. To bind his extra limbs. So he couldn't harm others. So he could consciously think about being better.

Hierei frowned, then, too. He wasn't Proud, no. He opened his mouth, prepared to say that he deserved this, to feel this way--

"You are not the man standing before me today you were yesterday. A year ago. Three years. A decade. You have changed so much, brother. You have learned from your mistakes, and changed for the better." Upton took some of the ball bearings, now wrapped in bone with small closed loops on top. Playing with them in his fingers.

"Then why do I keep making stupid mistakes?"

"Because you are mortal," Upton said, setting his free hand on one of Hierei's. "Because living is hard, and it's difficult to stay mindful."

Upton wove more bone between the bearings, showing Hierei a small, unfinished chord of them. Seven. "You don't need a Fear display. You need to take a moment, sometimes, and evaluate." He handed it up to the taller kaldorei.

Hierei ran his fingers over each of the bearings, now almost like heavy beads. Each one, each, when touched, felt of a different Sin, if only just. Prayer beads.

"I thought you said it was wrong to pray?"

"It isn't wrong to think before you act," Upton said. "And being mindful of the Sins doesn't mean you're praying to them." He smiled. "Something to keep with you, perhaps. If you must, then bring the outfit Aren made for you. Wear your vestments with the Pride of his craftsmanship keeping you safe, comforted, and warm."

Slowly, Hierei nodded, and he put the project away.

#;happenstance #;writings #;the stagehand

CW: Slight emetophobia warning, self harm ideations

He dreamt of dying, again.

Surely, it wasn't coincidence.

The memories lit a fire in his mind. Each and every time he'd been afforded mercy. Mercy as Morrison, as his first guild worked the sha out of his system after an attack. As Morrez, repeatedly, after the same. Being beaten within an inch of his life for allowing the other, at the time, that inhabited his body to be set free.

The vaguest flickers of Knowing that his wife had been there, holding him back. Keeping him humble. Even if he didn't have the memories, anymore, he knew she had helped him. Causing him pain so he wouldn't cause pain to others.

The mercy Sorrel had been afforded in Darkshore. The mercy that cultists afforded him-- and the painful lessons still. He remembered clearly, begging for his life, telling as much as he could of the truth laced with lies as he faced the Hallowed.

He'd wanted to be better. Promised to change.

Where was he, now?

Mercies over mercies, Raridon forgiving him over and over for the pain he caused him. And how he didn't deserve it. After all the pain and suffering he'd caused-- he didn't deserve it.

Mercy at the hand of Kazu'ran, forgiving him for losing control. He'd offered to him a way to get back at him- to shut him down should it be necessary- but it was refused. There was so much Love.

Mercy at the hands of Salthios, after his mistreatment of Lorianthe. The tiny kindnesses slowly afforded him by his partner. He didn't deserve it. He didn't deserve a second chance, or a fourth, or a fourteenth.

Could he really call himself better than Xoxo? After lying to and manipulating and hurting all those he cared about?

He hadn't hurt Renwyn yet, but he had thought about it. A thought so casual he'd barely thought it at all. If Sharezai couldn't threaten him, he sure could.

He was glad his own plan hadn't come to fruition. He was glad that Renwyn instead grabbed him and treated him with soft care and kindness. With respect.

He didn't deserve it. Not in the slightest.

He woke in the tree he'd made a small shrine for his family in, shivering in cold. It was nearing summer, now, but cold sweat covered his brow, and nausea took him. Holding onto the branches above him, he took a moment until the nausea passed, listening to the sounds of bugs and calling crepuscular creatures. The sun hadn't rose. Looking to the moons, he hadn't slept for very long- but he couldn't sleep anymore.

He wanted to hurt himself-- but he knew he couldn't. Not without those that cared about him being worried. No matter how good the pain would be, how cathartic seeing his own blood be spilt was, he couldn't go about it that way.

So he thought of the next best thing, and he called his brother to help him with a new project.

#;happenstance #;writings

He dreamed about dying.

It was the first time in years, it felt like, if the drowning dream wasn't counted. For that didn't feel targeted-- and that wasn't cathartic.

He dreamed about being tricked into death. About a coworker of his driving knives through his neck on front of others. About everyone watching him bleed out.

And it was cathartic, in a way, to feel as no one cared about him. It was easier to live if no one did. His passing would be meaningless; his skills unknown and unutilized.

It was cathartic to know there was no way out. Knowing that oblivion would claim him. No one could bring him back from death. He had no soulstone. And if no one cared (as they shouldn't), he would die, and that would be it.

But he remembered the voice that spoke to him in the Great Dark. That if his friend couldn't rest, neither could he.

And he remembered the concern on his lover's face, having held a fragment of his own horn in hand.

He'd worked so hard to try to get Lorianthe's trust again- and for what? Could he not make up his mind? Did he deserve to live or die?

He had people who cared. He had responsibilities he'd signed up for to make himself feel important.

Because he was. H̶̰̕ë̶̻ ̸͇͘w̶͇̽a̸̰͑s̴̜̀ ̶̖̎a̴̗͝ ̵̖͋g̷̮͂o̸̰͌d̴͖͝.̷̰̈́

He returned to the cave in Drustvar in the morning, taking the shape of Rumex-- a small, spotted vulpera-- and he made for himself a shelter in the large leaf pile he found there.

And in the midmorning light that filtered through the trees, for one of the first times since his most recent death, he focused on the prayers of his supplicants.

He would live. Bury the notion of normalcy. For he was well beyond the thought.

#;happenstance #;writings

It was the first time I had ever sensed something so beautiful. Something that left me in such immense awe. To capture the purity, the complexity, the strength and the utter wonder of the spirit... To have gazed upon such a wonderful painting was like being privvy to the entirety of dearest Vavara's very being.

Never before had I felt so connected without physical connection. Never before had I known so much without experience. It felt like cheating. It felt gratifying. It felt like...

It felt like love.

The Love that one might afford a life partner, perhaps, in part, but love in ways so far beyond that. Love for the soul, for the spirit, for all that made her up. Love for the joys and the sorrows and the breadth of life's experience. Love for the laughter and the crying and the balance of all that was and ever will be...

I'd had to stop myself and remove myself before I said anything so untoward. I couldn't risk scaring her, but I knew that I wanted to be with her just from experiencing the art she had made. Even if not together as mortals do, just to know her in words would be enough for me.

I promised her a painting. I had never painted before. Not once in my life had I wanted to create something for myself or for the expression of my own being. It was all for a farce, it was all to play a role in a game I no longer wanted to be a part of.

So as I stared at the empty cavern wall, my hand dripping with sha, I wondered...

How would I encompass all that I am?

I set my hand to the wall, the squelch of ink to stone hitting my ears before I closed my eyes, focusing on the tumult of emotion within my body. Separating the emotions of others I had accumulated from my own, and then Hierei's personal emotions I set aside even further... I focused on myself. My feelings. The very core of my being.

I opened my eyes, and for the first time, I began to create something new.

#;happenstance #;writings #;the stagehand

8-bitfiction

#;musings

caffeinatedopossum

Me when I remember something I said ages ago that was wrong or my values no longer align with

toastyglow

OP, hope you don’t mind--this got me thinking abt handling my own internal Sad Little Guy

#;the stagehand #;musings #;essentially what he was getting at when i wrote what i did

pridefulsuggestion

we should not have to hide.

#;musings

The door from Alor'thalas opened into the ruined structures that surrounded the tall, elementium spire. 'Bastion' had come to mean a realm of the Shadowlands, as Hierei had learned, but for him and his brother, it truly only had one meaning.

The Bastion of Twilight.

His soft sandals walked over obsidian grounds, scorched and brought up by dark shamans over a decade ago. He could hardly believe it had been so long ago. He'd been so young.

"Howdy, stranger? What brings you here?"

Hierei perked his ears and looked up quickly as the silence broke. Upton was leaning against a tent pole decorated with scale designs, ruined drakeskin drooping from a crossbar. He was barely dressed, wearing cowboy boots, fishnets, a thong, tit tassles and a ten gallon hat, his pale horns sticking through. He chewed on a strand of hay as he pushed up the brim, grinning and raising a brow at his brother.

"You look ready for a brothel, not a picnic." Hierei said, a touch of disgust in his tone. "I wanted to talk about something serious, Upton."

Sha shadows quickly formed over the actor's body, evaporating the hat and forming his proper green coat and pants over his odd choice of wear. "You don't have an eye for the arts, anymore," he playfully pouted, but with a wiggle of his ears he stepped closer to Hierei, pulling out a basket. "Really, though, it's good to see you, especially so calm. I miss you and worry about you, you know."

Hierei firmed his lips and curled his nose, walking past him. "I had a dream. ...a nightmare."

Upton followed, his grin fading to concern as he followed quickly behind. "A nightmare? Do you want to talk about it?"

"I want to talk about what it meant."

"Same difference, innit? Got to talk about the dream to see what it was about."

"Don't get pedantic."

Hierei chose for them a spot on the outskirts of the camp, where volcanic glass met dead soil, and Upton laid down a pillowed, quilted blanket. Hierei lowered himself with gentle ease, while Upton plopped himself down across from him.

"So tell me about this dream, Hierei."

Hierei's tail twitched with anxiety, his brow knitting. He picked a little at the scales on the back of his hands. "I was in the Expanse. And I was drowning. Something was dragging me down-- I don't think it was Him." He frowned. "I knew that to go beneath would mean my death. But no matter what I did, I couldn't outpace it. I couldn't win. I... remember drowning."

Upton listened, gently setting out small snacks he'd prepared. Candied yams, mushan jerky, roasted pine nuts. "...I dream of the Expanse, too," he admitted. "It's never so futile. Nothing tries to get me. I exist as I am in the endless sea of Dread and souls." His bright eyes looked up to Hierei's bright pupils. "Do you think this is about your apostasy?"

Hierei stiffened a bit. "...like. ...making up for when I was?" His tailtip gently thwumped his tail feathers on the quilt as he got a piece of jerky in his fingers.

Upton furrowed his brows a bit. "...you're... not an apostate?"

Hierei grimaced, looking down as his claws picked at the sections of the meat, prying it apart. "...no. Not really. I don't pray to Him directly, but I... haven't refused Him."

"A lukewarm individual I cast out for they are undesirable for me," Upton quoted. "He could find you disgusting for moving between so often. Tired of playing games. Wanting you to commit." The Stagehand took out a bottle of juice, handing it to his brother. "I'm worried about you following this path. ...though you don't need me to tell you that. You know where it led last time."

Hierei took the bottle, now picking at the cork and the meat in unison. His silence were words enough. He didn't want to give up his worship of Y'shaarj. But he also knew it would lead to his death again.

"Listen," Upton said, bringing his hand to Hierei's. "Look at me." Hierei slowly looked up to look at Upton's faint smile. The glitter in his eyes. "I know this is painful for you. And I know you don't want to give this up. You don't have to stop respecting Power. You just have to stop giving credence to anything and anyone who is willing to hurt you, even if they help you."

There was Pride in Upton's words. In his touch. And it sparked something in Hierei.

"What if I'm willing to hurt myself to press on?"

"Remember the comfort you feel when you feel Love. Remember the times when you're praised for your good nature, for your talents. Remember that you aren't just valuable because you do things people like, but you're valuable all by yourself. Just for being you."

"And of what I've done--"

"Who you were doesn't have to be who you are now. Would you do that again, if you had the choice?"

"No." The answer was immediate.

"Then you're already a better person." Upton took his hand from Hierei's. "Take a deep breath. You're doing such a good job! You're doing all you can, aren't you? To help yourself have better days? Help others?"

Hierei, even though he was frowning, nodded slowly.

"You don't need Him to tell you how valuable you are. You're already all you need."

And seeing his brother - seeing himself before him, smiling, brimming with Pride, he knew he was right.

"It'll be harder than just saying it. I know that. But I have faith in you." Upton grins. "You've already done it once before. You can do it again. And I'll be right here every step of the way."

#;writings #;happenstance #;the stagehand

CW: Thalassophobia, emetophobia

It had been a long time since Hierei had a proper nightmare. He believed that his Lord shielded him from such, that his turn to goodness and all his hard work in becoming a better person had cleansed him of such an opportunity.

Yet repeatedly he was pulled by unknown forces into the depths.

It looked like the Dread Expanse. He remembered it well, from his experience with Dareli and of what he'd read in his scriptures. Yet it didn't feel the same. It was against him. Oppressive.

It wanted him dead. Fear guided his heart. The depths did not want him to survive. The Abyss would claim him, and he would be no more.

Struggle as though he might, he kept swallowing seawater. Salty. Briny. Filling his stomach yet not his lungs as he used every limb of his to stay above the water until they burned. Until they ached.

It felt like an eternity, staring up into a dusky sky, across an endless sea of oblivion, feeling the weight of Fear Itself bind his legs.

Was this the manifestation of his Despair? Knowing he couldn't escape it in the end? Was it his Fear of destruction? His Hubris in trying so desperately to stay alive, above all odds?

The waters and exhaustion eventually claimed him, not giving him an answer. He counted his thoughts as he took his final breaths...

And he woke up, choking out shadowed water from his lungs. He turned over in his bed, leaning over the edge as he emptied out what felt like a half gallon of sea water and the rest of what he'd eaten the night prior, hands clammy as he shuddered.

He stared for a while before slowly getting up to clean up the mess, head spinning enough to make him nearly tumble over as he stepped out of bed. He reached to the small if his back, fingers running over smooth skin, then his thigh, his arm, his upper back...

He felt so naked without the cursemarks that kept him safe, from such horrid visions. What did any of this mean? Was this punishment or premonition?

Perhaps... he would ask his brother.

#;writings #;happenstance #tw; emetophobia #tw; thalassophobia

woundthatswallows

i love being a lover and i also love being a hater and i also hate being a hater. but i don't hate being a lover. never ever

#;musings

A letter, penned in beautiful script, sent to a witch of the woods. @birchmender

My dearest Roslyn,

I hope that this day finds you well. I write to you now for I have no one else to write to that would read my words and understand them as you would.

There comes a time in every man's life where one must check his conscience, to review the sins of his past and see how he would like to set himself up for the future. Turning points are beautiful, even if they bring one through the valley of death.

In this same vein, I believe I will get for myself a cat! I was enamoured the other day in seeing such cute mustelids, desiring an animal familiar for myself. However, in my current housing situation, it would be difficult to care for much else other than a small creature. I am drawn to cats, though I wonder what you think would fit me? So long as it can fit upon my shoulder, I believe it would do me well.

While I do think of how to care for a new animal, I am putting thought towards a place I can call my own, for the mantid, while they enjoy the things I bring them and the services I offer, are not kind to my presence, and I am not fond of their religiosity. The idea has come to me that I may become a smith's assistant, so I may learn a proud craft and make gold of my own!

I spoke with my brother the other day, and we did not come to a proper accord. It seems he wants little to do with me, but seems to value me highly enough to take on a project of his which is near and dear to his heart, and one I am wary yet Proud to take on. I wish I could have spoke with him more, though I do not see him as receptive to the idea. I did want to update you and say that I did indeed try to reach out, for he is family, and I love him dearly.

I did appreciate your coming over and spending time with me, of seeing me through my own mire of thoughts, so I sought to make you something worthy of your own countenance. While I was not able to make it of my own two hands as I had hoped to do, I did have a lovely Klaxxi smith assist in bringing my vision to life.

Your Stagehand,

Upton O. Goode

Enclosed was a small pouch made of green-tinged insectoid wings, and within the small pouch was a pendant of bronze and amber, life energy strong within.

#;writings #;letters #;the stagehand

Given such harrowing news to being uplifted by an angel only half a day later made Upton's own heart soar. He never expected Rosey to come seek him out, let alone treat him with such kindness, such generosity.

Such kharis as he remembers his brother putting it.

Even if he wasn't a person, even if he wasn't fully separate from Hierei, he could at least... pretend. Pretend he was someone else. Pretend he was meant to be, meant to live, meant to do good and help others and prosper.

With Rosey's eye on some amber, he had an idea. She hadn't wanted to keep any for herself, and Upton wasn't an artist exactly, but he knew what he wanted to do, and Pride back in his wing, he would do it.

Flying around the immense kypari, Upton looked for the most perfect piece of amber. Aged, old, shaped nicely... It was hard, most of the tree picked clean by mantid harvesters trying to find food or materials for weaponry and tools. However, after some time inspecting the layered, mossy patches of bark unmarred by sha... he found what he was looking for.

The smallest glint in his bright silver eyes. Such a small droplet of amber, shaped as a tear, hardened as it seeped from such a small crack in the bark. Upton plucked it, wiggling his ears with delight before swooping down, finding a nice place in a nearby mire.

The bleeding heart plants in the Dread Wastes were known for their beauty by the few authors who got to see them. Huge, bright, and lovely, Upton decided that even if he didn't include the flower, the stems would make for something sentimental to hold the amber piece in place.

Yet as he reached up to cut one of the long stems carrying the blooms, as soon as his hand came to contact with the sap, he blistered. A deep purplish rash immediately came across his fingers, his hand only saved by wearing gloves - however fingerless.

He quickly stopped, dropping his knife to the ground, looking over his fingers and not quite understanding the damage that had been done. Was it an allergic reaction? Could he even be allergic to things? He'd never been allergic to things before, not really, and any damage he took was always quickly mitigated... Why did it hurt so much?

Slowly, he brought sha to his fingertips. So easily, so naturally it came, and with it, soothing cooling. A numbness. The sha didn't hurt him- it never had. And it eased the pain and the swelling and the itching immediately.

As he willed the sha away... the blisters remained. It didn't hurt nearly as bad, and a bit of the itching persisted... but it was better. Much better. He furrowed his brow at the plant, and decided that maybe he wasn't quite cut out for artistry after all, and maybe, just maybe, getting something commissioned by a professional might be just as romantic and sweet as making something yourself.

#;writings #;happenstance #;the stagehand

On The Effects of Astral Glory on Shadow Afflictions

In their homeland of Argus, the eredar cultivated many different kinds of plants, but so very few survived the destruction of the planet like Astral Glory has. Known for its healing and corruption-purging qualities, it makes sense that it might aid in the process of treating shadow and void maladies.

While the prayerblossom I researched likely got its curative properties from the immense life and nature energies found in the soil and surrounding regions where it grows, I hypothesise that Astral Glory was perhaps at one point blessed by the naaru, and ever since the lineage has been blessed all the same by that intense Light magic. While no doubt lessened over the years through the millennia and several generations, the gift lives on much like the Gift of the Naaru lives on in modern-day draenei, seen by the plant's power and persistance.

I have limited time in order to research these curatives, and thus I will only be focusing on how they might aid in treating shadow and void afflictions. Books on their general purpose have no doubt been written, and books regarding their care I have seen, so seek them out if these notes do not suffice.

#;and ye shall know #;writings #wowrp #wow rp #astral glory #astralglory #herbalism

muse things

would they rather lead or follow?

It’s such a strange question to ask of Hierei. Because if you spoke to him, in a normal way, as a normal person, you would see him as a natural follower. Lives to please, works professionally and carefully, and follows orders well.

He beats down his Pride repeatedly just to make sure that he remains palatable to others, and so he doesn’t go out of line.

But truly? Deep down? He desires power and control above most things. He has the gentle hand of guidance to aid others and enough worldly experience to know how to do it. He wants to lead others into glory, for them to see the best sides of themselves, to be able to heal and mend any wound, protect his people from all harm.

Yet no one with a saviour complex or even god complex as big as his should be in power.

So he continues to beat it down, knowing the price he’s paid in past for his incredible, repeated hubris.

#;prompt answers

Hierei crawled into the treeshrine he'd upkept in remembrance of his Sorrel's parents. It'd slowly grown into a little shrine in the limbs of the tree to kaldorei ancestry as a whole, with a tiny statue of Ashamane, a small owlkin figurine, and a hollowed stone.

He was mostly here to reflect. In the relative quiet - compared to the city - and noise - compared to Alor'thalas - he found a balance, able to sort out some of the thoughts and feelings he'd struggled with over the past couple days.

Upton. Upton O. Goode. Why the fuck did he think that was a good name to give himself? It was funny, for a bit, and never was meant to be anything else. But why -- or how could they ever be separate? Hierei was Upton! None of it made any sense.

His ears flicked as he got situated in the pile of leaves he'd gathered for himself, aching in his limbs and joints. If Upton could be separated, could any of his personas? At what point could they become separate people? Were they already?

Hierei picked up and thumbed at the owlkin figurine, tracing claws over the wood carving.

The mantid said that the Sha he'd raised, Mr. E, had taken something from him. But what could he have taken? Memories? If he did, then why did Upton not remember his death? Anything afterward?

He frowned. He hadn't really been Upton since. Hadn't even thought about it in any true capacity, other than the time he spoke with Minnow. And even then...

He furrowed his brow further, eventually closing his eyes. He held out his hand, focusing inward on his soul. He'd not become very attuned with it, but using the methods he'd learned that day with his grandfather Jarisold, he touched his own soul, examining it.

It felt off. Different, somehow. Twisted. Yet smaller than he remembered. Could Mr. E have--?

Hierei opened his eyes, gasping for air, not having noticed he'd been holding his breath for so long.

Was Upton truly, thus, his own being? What were his values? Did they line up with Hierei's own? What was the body made out of, if not Sha? If he could blaspheme their God, then was he no longer bound to Him?

Hierei had so many questions, but only so much energy. After giving a lecture and sparring with Vess, after climbing up and down the treeshrine... he was tired.

So he rested.

#;happenstance #;writings

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