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aquanthis · 6 months

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tell me more about linore and linestelle separately .They both look so cute I want to learn. please. looks at you with autism in my eyes

OH YES i loooove talking about my less talked about wow ocs >:3c ty for asking!

both of these girls have Issues™, though which of my wow ocs don't tbh. i'll start with linore because she's just a little more developed <3

putting this under a read more because it is. Long

^ full version of the screenshot i used for the carrd btw

Huntmaster Linore Featherbow, the Stars' Fury

my BESTIE. she's a marksmanship hunter + a huntmaster :) she wields thori'dal because i can do whatever i want. teehee. she's transfem and bisexual and a horse girl. dw about it

she's very, uh, stable? i guess? firm and grounded, more logical than emotional. she's very gentle, though, which is why she works so well with her horses. she's honest and forgiving, though not to the point of being spineless. she didn't have strong feelings toward the horde until uh. well. You Know. and now she's more distrustful than she feels comfortable with. she's an amazing tactician and a great leader, though sometimes she's a little more cautious than her position demands, and sometimes it saves her ass. depends on the day. :)

she grew up learning skinning/leatherworking from her father, who was a talented leatherworker working in darnassus. her parents were relatively overprotective, so she wasn't allowed to go out hunting with her father for a long time, despite her keen interest in it. she'd work with him in the shop though, and has a great love and respect for the craft. eventually, when she got older, she finally talked her parents into letting her go, and she honed her skill with the intention to eventually take over for her father.

unfortunately, uh! both of her parents died in the fire. so . she had to do that earlier than expected.

she also had a childhood friend named maven (seb's oc!) who had a huge crush on her, and they were very close. she never realized she had feelings for him until she found him washed up on the beach as teldrassil was burning, nearly dead and horribly wounded, and everything came crashing down on her so so bad. it makes me so crazy. i love them

there's more stuff but i don't want to make this the longest post ever JSHDKJ here she is with her horses though

as for linestelle!

Soulreaper Linestelle Deathweaver, Deathlord of the Ebon Blade

ooooh girl who died and came back wrong for realsies. she's a blood death knight (despite looking like a frost dk lol she's taking after her dad!) and a deathlord. she wields the maw of the damned. you just so happened to ask about a couple of my champions LOL

she's a butch lesbian and should be much beefier than she is in game. she was killed and subsequently raised as a dk during the attack on silvermoon. she was in her late teens, and completely lost her memory, becoming a mindless soldier. she was adopted by koltira (hence the last name) shortly after he broke free from arthas, and then was adopted by thassarian by extension. she was scared, and the two of them took pity on her and took her in.

in her former life prior to becoming a dk, she had a bit of a romance going with a girl in silvermoon who survived the attack (one of my other ocs who is less developed and isn't listed on the carrd. her name is auridel though!). linestelle completely forgot her because she lost her memory, but auridel Did Not forget her, and actively hates her because she thinks she ran away and left her, instead of, yknow, Dying And Losing Her Memory. they were kind of toxic yuri. auridel is rommath's apprentice now if that gives you any idea as to Her character KJSHDKDHSKD

personality-wise, linestelle doesn't really have much of one anymore. she lost a lot of the personality she had before losing her memory, so nowadays she's kind of flat-affect most of the time. she used to be hotheaded and some of that comes out when she fights, because she's Super easy to rile up in a fight, but outside of that she's rarely emotive and tends to keep to herself. if you knew her before, she'd hardly be recognizable now. the only person who can get her to smile, even a little, is thassarian. with bad dad jokes. :) the only time you'd find her laughing is if she's tearing a zombie apart or something.

oh, also, she looks after invincible now. they're friends. :)

anyway, i like her a lot. i like her so much. linestelle my friend. can you tell i love thassarian and koltira also. sorry about that

i hope you like my girls!! <3

#oc: linore #oc: linestelle #info #img #answers #darkjusticiars #ty again for asking chaos i love u <3 mwah mwah

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hordebreaker · 9 months

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Can you briefly tell about Jaina and her attitude towards the horde/Garrosh during MoP-WoD?

I will try to be as brief as possible😁

Jaina hates both the horde and Garrosh, but separates and does not put them on the same level of evil. Before the sunreavers' betrayal, she was a little more positive about restoring relations, but after that she was very negative. At first, it was enough for her if Thrall led the horde after Garrosh, but then she would prefer to dismantle the horde (She asserted that the Horde should no longer self-govern. Jaina doesn't trust the Horde to self-govern).

At the trial, Tyrande asks her if she would have become like the horde if she had washed away Orgrimmar, to which Jaina replies "the horde isn't Garrosh." However, she did not forgive the horde and did not forget that the horde destroyed Theramore, but for the sake of Kalecgos, she let go of the desire for revenge when Vol'jin sent a letter (in which he says that he understands why Jaina will no longer stand for peace). The horde is bad, but with normal warchief she is able tolerate it,

In WoD she helped both the horde and alliance player with the ring. . Ofc, she was not nice, and hordies were mad at her.

Summing up: you need to carefully read the quests and extremely hard-boiled books to understand that Jaina sepatates the guilt of the horde and the guilt of Garrosh, but even after his "punishment" she is not ready to collect flowers with the horde from the same field. She blames both but on different levels. Jaina is ready to cooperate with the horde until they betray the alliance again.

a few quotes from the books and quests:

“Your people are despicable cowards,” she hissed. “You are nothing more than rabid dogs, and you should be put down. You spit on mercy? Then you will have none. You want carnage? Garrosh will get more blood than ever he bargained for.” - tow.

“You do not know my heart anymore, Thrall,” she said. “I am no butcher—but I will no longer call for peace at any cost. The Horde you do not lead is dangerous and must be challenged at every turn—and defeated. Then, perhaps, there can be peace. But not before.” - tow.

“What if the Horde killed your friends? Your family? Destroyed everything your had. Could you maintain your conviction even then? To be honest, I struggle. Every. Day. You seem to understand my struggle. Every day, the hard decisions. Every night… the nightmares. But I have a responsibility to preserve the Kirin Tor.” + i wrestle with my anger - destiny of Dalaran.

For too long, I have toiled to mend fences between Alliance and Horde. Time and time again, I've given the Horde the benefit of the doubt - and time and time again, they stab me in the back. I refuse to be betrayed again! If the Horde intends to use the Kirin Tor as a weapon against the Alliance, then they have no place in Dalaran. - Jaina's Resolution.

Jaina's gone over the edge. She's imprisoning the sunreavers and attacking those who resist. - Rommath.

He knew that the betrayal of the Sunreavers in Dalaran—her new city, her new Theramore—had cut deeply. Many said it had catapulted her right back to where she was emotionally after Theramore fell, and there had been rumors that she had pushed Varian to actually dismantle the Horde. Jaina did not answer immediately. She gave the question the consideration it was due. “Of course, I wasrelieved to hear that I hadn’t inadvertently wiped out the ﬂeet. But no—that wasn’t why I was glad.” Shelooked at Garrosh, and there her gaze remained. “I am glad I refrained, because I would never, ever wantto be like him.” [...]The Accuser would henceforth be conﬁned to follow-up questioning, and it was clear she wanted to end on a strong note. And so, she asked one question toomany. “Or like the Horde?” Jaina went very still. Tyrande waited. After a moment, she prompted, “Lady Jaina? My question was, doyou wish to never, ever be like the Horde?” And Jaina—battered, angry, wounded, devastated, honest Jaina—replied simply, “The Horde isn’t Garrosh.” - twc.

Jaina is wary of working once more with the Horde after they betrayed the Kirin-Tor. But that war is over. We share a common enemy once more... - Touch of the Kirin-Tor.

#jaina #jaina proudmoore #warcraft #wow #world of warcraft #mists of pandaria #draenor #horde #alliance #theramore

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ddsnafjkdn · 6 years

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do u ever meet someone u just trust a little too much bcuz like thats me @ my mutuals

#i'd die for my mutuals i would lay down my life Just Ask #love u guys too much........#really if u ever want to talk? on discord and stuff like just ask #im bad at making the first move i feel really annoying shdjjxjxncx #im a good friend tho.. i like to make people smile !!!!!!#im spotty sometimes but im probably just busy #rommath speaks

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pooktales · 3 years

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My Life For My Prince

Tempted by a magical addiction, his overwhelming sorrow, powerful anger, and The Betrayer, Prince Kael'thas Sunstrider has one last chance to redeem himself. Redemption has arrived at the Black Temple in the form of a woman Bloodknight named Saturna Whiteblade. (By pooktales, originally posted on fanfiction.net)

Prologue

Saturna Whiteblade loosened the sword called Ashbringer from across her back and dismounted. The other three Bloodknights watched her with grudging patience. They held their tongues, held everything back while she took consciously graceful strides. This is what their commander did when she had terrible news. Saturna placed both hands on the enormous sword. The delicate seductive walk of a female Blood Elf and the intense mean of a Bloodknight caused her to look like a fairy wielding death. The laughing skull that bore itself into the perfect blade belched putrid green fel magic in silent open jowls. It trailed down the hilt Saturna's sword and up her arms… but somehow the woman was not affected by the evil. As always, Saturna was more beautiful than even her blades.

"We are going to him." She announced to the men in her party.

Sunthraze the Sly cocked an irritated fiery eyebrow. Even for an elf, his hair was a comical orange, like rancid apple cider. "We have not only heard rumors, but now have seen that Prince Kael'thas Sunstrider is consorting with demons… first from travelers in Hellfire Peninsula, then in Zangarmarsh and it was on every tongue in Shatthrath City—how many duels did we start with Scryers that resulted in our banishment—and now we can see The Black Temple in the distance, the black demons flying about the turrets where we know our monarch is holding up… and we're doing WHAT?"

Saturna stopped pacing. She hefted the corrupted Ashbringer up onto her shoulder. The sharp edge shone melancholy in the sallow light of Shadowmoon Valley.

"That is our mission, to protect him."

Pyorin, who always carried a shield, indicated that he would speak next with a reluctant sigh. He was the loyal one with a heart made of steel as unbreakable as the shield he used. When they first set out from Azeroth, he was using a crest inlaid with a fiery flaming skull. They'd been traveling for some months now. These days, he'd picked up a frightening aegis with three petals—like a club found in a deck of Darkmoon Faire cards—and a sharpened spike that ripped up from the center of the shield where the three pieces joined. Pyorin wouldn't look at their commander but settled his concerned gaze on her Thalassian charger instead. Scourgebane lowered its head as if to graze, then perked up abruptly. Ears turned to one of many noises in the forest that chilled one's bones.

"Our mission seems exceptionally bleak." Pyorin respectfully disagreed. "It is clearly not what we first set out to do… what Lady Liadrin bade us to do when we were called together in Silvermoon City. If the Prince does in fact work for The Betrayer Illidan, then we can't possibly woo him on behalf of our Order. The courtly conversations we prepared to have, the demonstration of Bloodknight strength… are now irrelevant. It is not just about Silvermoon politics now."

"But it is our sworn duty as Bloodknights to safeguard the Prince no matter what—"

"You cannot seduce a man enslaved to demons! It would be madness to try, Saturna, and we've already risked our necks too far, learned too much."

Saturna's pale green eyes flared and she turned on Sunthraze immediately. "How dare you speak to your commander thus—"

"Mistress, please." Fennore was a priest before he became a Bloodknight a few years ago. Though he wore plate and rode a Bloodknight's war mount like the rest of them, he rarely spoke save to counsel someone. He still felt to the others like a priest. "Certainly you aren't naïve. I'm sure Lady Liadrin asked you to take full advantage of all your assets in the Prince's presence." Then, he hesitated awkwardly. "That is to say… you are a very beautiful woman, sexy even…" he stumbled along further, "I mean that you are an exceptional fighter, a clever tactician, the very best of Lady Liadrin's handpicked pupils. Of course you would…" he blushed, then blurt out, "Why would you spare anything to displace the Rangers, or worse the Magisters in the Sunspire? Clearly, Rommath is corrupt and favoring his own. Bloodknights are the true masters of the Light. We should be leading our people. We came all this way to deliver this message to Prince Kael'thas ourselves, since Rommath would never give Lady Liadrin an audience, or hardly the time of day… along with your retributive powers, I'm sure putting those good elven looks to work was also on the Lady's list."

Saturna couldn't face Fennore. He was a strange one… no longer bound by priestly vows of celibacy but refusing to act on any of his urges. It caused him to spurt forth repressed behavior from time to time. His old habit of treating everyone in a paternal fashion persisted, regardless of his new flirtatious tendencies. As a result, he revealed far more about his desires than the others ever wished to know. It was more than disturbing.

Saturna opened her mouth to say something else, but Fennore leaned forward in the saddle and his twisted smile gave the woman pause. "You are very lovely, commander. It can be done to us men very easily," he gestured to Pyorin and Sunthraze, but both made resistant gestures to indicate that they did not think of their commander in the way Fennore suggested. Self-conscious, Fennore glanced back over his shoulder to see Pyorin and Sunthraze looking innocent. The old ex-priest went on. "But even you can't seduce a man to our side, not under such circumstances, and within the Black Temple of all places…" then his perverted smile widened, "unless… you have some demon fetish we don't yet know about." He winked at Saturna.

Why some succubus hadn't stolen Fennore off to her lair months ago back in Hellfire Peninsula baffled the other three Bloodknights. Saturna, Sunthraze and Pyorin shared a cautious look. It was a joke they'd made before when Fennore was sleeping… Sunthraze was right that the only reason the ex-priest was still with them was because Fennore would have to be the one convincing the succubus.

"It is a bad idea to continue." Pyorin smoothly changed the subject. He shrugged his shoulders to balance the weight of his massive shield. "Even if we get past The Betrayer's guards, how do we know that Prince Kael'thas will welcome our services? Perhaps he does not want to be found… he must know that his people are obsessed with his celebrity, as they always have been and are making pilgrimages across Outland just to see his face."

And those naïve Blood Elves were not much different than they. Saturna didn't say as much in response to Pyorin's correct observations, but she didn't need to. The others paused awkwardly afterwards, feeling the devotion to their Prince gnaw on their consciences. Loving Silvermoon City and the homeland was akin to loving the Prince.

Saturna walked over and stroked her horse's muzzle, just under the burnished gold face plate. "He could be in danger with… The Betrayer." The demon lord of Outland was no longer a mystery to them. All four Bloodknights understood his role in the nefarious doings in this strange world. They knew more than Lady Liadrin and perhaps Grand Magister Rommath even.

Offering to protect Prince Kael'thas, wherever he was, was supposed to be their in… then once impressed with the strength of Thalassian paladins, called Bloodknights, they could share Lady Liadrin's political goals with the Prince, ask him for favors. But, if Prince Kael'thas really was in danger, then they had absolutely no choice. Regardless of what Lady Liadrin instructed them to do, protecting the prince would now take priority. The four of Bloodknights looked over the precipice, into the foreboding region called … where the Black Temple resided. How many bloody wars had been fought over that sacred and now profane place? Draenor had been ripped apart because of it, the pathetic remnants only fitting of a name just as vague and pitiful as was the fate of this world: Outland.

Seeing the Blood Elf Scryers and the Draenei Aldor work together with the Naaru while they spent time in Shatthrath city made the universal nature of the Legion's threat clear to the Bloodknights. Outland was a place that the Draenei had fled to join the Alliance on Azeroth. They hoped to fight the Legion with that help. Almost simultaneously on Azeroth, the Alliance betrayed the Blood Elves and they joined the Horde. The Blood Elves now raced across space and time itself to take what the destitute inhabitants of Outland left behind, all to escape the Scourge and the Legion. They did not have time to go back and ask Lady Liadrin what to do now. It was very possible that they might not survive the journey back through Outland. And sending a messenger was out of the question. The information they learned was dangerous and could not be risked leaking to the Horde or the Alliance. And even if one of them went back with the message… the four Blood Elves had been hand-picked for this mission because they had such complimentary skills. It would be foolish or dangerous to break the group. Perhaps in Azeroth one of them could be strong against any test, but Outland was far more dangerous. Even Lady Liadrin could never have imagined… Now the four Bloodknights, a new sect of paladin, knew that their' people's race to leave Eversong Woods and Azeroth behind for Outland was a mad one. And, if their rough journey so far was any indication, the man they were sent to have an audience with-by slyly offering to protect him-must be even worse off… for living so close to the vile source of that madness.

Saturna re-slung her sword and mounted up again. She turned her steed Scourgebane to the east. One could see the black turrets of the temple from where they were atop the cliff. Saturna sat up straight on her mount and Scourgebane nickered to himself. Each netherworldly Thalassian charger had an odd hollow undertone to its neigh. "If we need to gain the Prince's trust, we will simply have to do something clever to earn it." A daring smile stretched across perfect lips, then faded. "From now on, when we speak of the Lord of Outland…" Her rich commanding voice grew soft. "We will call him Lord Illidan. For, to serve our Prince, we must honor his alliance. We will have no choice." She urged Scourgebane forward. "Furthermore… if anyone can truly help Prince Kael'thas, it would be a Master of the Light. He has four saviors now…" her voice trailed off as she descended.

Pyorin, their dutiful tank was exceptionally loyal and fell in behind Saturna immediately. Fennore sighed and guided his charger along as well. Sunthraze delayed the longest. Bright green eyes flashed angry at the putrid chartreuse of the fel sunset.

"Oh lovely Saturna. If I didn't enjoy watching you ride so much…" he forced himself to joke against the sinking feeling in his gut. Sunthraze the Sly clucked his tongue at the Thalassian charger underneath him to follow suit.

That evening at the Black Temple...

Prince Kael'thas Sunstrider floated in and out of the painful but brilliant arcane haze. His strong body now felt heavy and sloven. The magic pushed at his skin from the inside, threatened to erupt out of every pore in his body. He smiled and laughed. Then Lianna bit his neck and he wanted to scream. It would not be an unwelcome sound in the Black Temple...

Read the full story at fanfiction.net

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lothirielswan · 5 years

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“Wanna Smell Books with Me?” [19]

Join the journey on AO3 too!

Quest Objective: Someone please hold Jaina's beer.

~Wrathion, the Violet Citadel~

“You have what was promised?”

The banners of lilac and cobalt churned at the top of the alabaster steps. Torches played games with shadows across the floor. Dalaran was known for its knowledge, and yet everything seemed hidden by a layer of smoke.

Grand Magister Rommath gestured with his hands, and a wooden crate settled on the cold ground.

Left and Right guarded the staircase at the bottom, so no one would interfere with our transaction. Anyone who came close was given a death stare along with a long rifle pointed at their nose. Such ferocity. Such power.

I lifted a talon. Two more agents descended from the shadows and cracked open the lid with their blades. Rommath raised a slender eyebrow, but gave no reply.

The artifact rested on cushions of silk. It's intricate golden design was uncanny, created by beings of much higher thinking. Certain parts of the strange machine gave off a soft glow. There was a subtle familiarity to it; it looked exactly like my visions from the Thunder King.

“Our archeologists scoured Northrend, the Badlands, Uldum. We found the pieces scattered throughout.” The Grand Magister explained. His features were bathed in twilight hues of gold, azure and violet that made up the room. The dark velvet of my robes were sun-kissed by the gleam of the artifact, like the first rays of dawn. A new beginning.

I hummed with satisfaction. No more hiding. No more shame. The Black Dragonflight will reclaim what is rightfully ours.

“It was a pleasure doing business, Grand Magister,” His title rolled off my tongue. I snapped my fingers, and two more lackeys emerged from the darkness of the room to carry the crate out of sight. Rommath’s quirked eyebrow grew more rigid.

“You have an abundance of recruits.” He said.

I lightly shrugged my shoulders with a pinch of modesty. “I’m comfortable. I’m afraid you can't say the same.”

I heard of the plight of the sin’dorei. The filthy remains of the Scourge still ran across their homeland, and the elves’ numbers were few. It was a shame, such powerful sorcerers turned to arcane addicts. They did not wander ruins simply for the joy of finding lost artifacts.

Rommath did not appear pleased to bring up the state of his homeland. “That is not a Black dragon’s business.”

“But it could be.” I said.

The bare muscles of his arms stiffened. Rommath muttered, “In what way?”

“I have plans, Grand Magister. Plans that will change the course of Azeroth,” Said I. I was poised and proud, shoulders out as if I had my wings on display.

“Your people are near extinction; I can modify that. Your forces can join mine, and I will reward you.”

Rommath was silent for a moment. “You sound like the Betrayer.”

Illidan Stormrage. Another famous figure. I never had the luxury to meet the former Lord of Outland, but he surely lived up to his reputation during the Legion’s recent invasion.

I replied, “The Betrayer did what was necessary to achieve a higher goal; he opposed the Legion-–”

“And many died in that campaign.” Rommath took another step closer. His fists were clenched like two threatening boulders of marble. The bridge of his nose creased like cracked alabaster. “Many suffered. Many are still paying the price. I would caution you with whatever plot you have come up with.”

“...So that's a no on joining me?” I remarked, unfazed by his closeness and the pain laced within his voice.

The Grand Magister’s head cocked to the side. “The fate of my people is not for me to decide; that is the Regent Lord’s will, what little remains of it. I will inform him of your offer, and the costs.”

Rommath gave a curt nod with his scarf still covering his lips, a last mockery that I still did not know everything he did.

His back was to me when I called out one last time. “Grand Magister?”

His shoulders slumped from exhaustion, and faced me with his expression still disguised behind scarlet silk. “Yes, Black Prince?”

My lips curled into a smile, baring my teeth with sharp points to be persuasive. “I urge you to consider my proposal. I doubt your people would like to be on the wrong side of history a second time.”

Rommath’s eyes narrowed. “Perhaps you should follow your own advice.”

~Eona, the Purple Parlor~

“Jaina, please-–”

“No. Jaina’s not here right now. Jaina’s on vacation.” Jaina held up a cautionary finger as she slumped down into one of the padded chairs. Her interest moved to the bookshelf near her as I pleaded with her.

“I don't know where Khadgar is and I got a bad-omens vibe from Chromie! Please? I’ll pay you back for the danish.” I replied.

Jaina shot me a foul look at the mere mention of the pastry. But she didn't answer. Instead, Jaina pulled a random book from the shelves, opened it, and hid her face behind the cover.

“Oh,” She moaned into the ink-smothered parchment filled with knowledge. “I miss that smell. I miss books. I miss my youth.”

I lowered her book so I could meet her gaze. “You’re still incredibly young.”

“Ha!” Jaina settled back in her chair and propped her feet up on the nearest table. “Young. What is young? Innocence. Ambition. Love…”

Her fingers suddenly clenched the leather cover of the novel. “Arthas is dead.”

I flinched and felt a pang of guilt. I managed a breathy response, “Yes, he is.”

Jaina gently tugged at the bottom of her braid. So much of her blonde locks had been consumed by the frosty white arcane. Her eyes were black and blue, like ice in the dark. Her voice was melodic like a river, and it had been frozen over. She was still young. But she looked exhausted, like the years had feasted on her spirit.

“It's an odd thing to say, but...I feel like him now.” Jaina’s attention was lost to some illusion that I could not see. Her fingers twitched towards the brooch. “Arthas, he was such a contradiction. He loved his people. He fought undead. He opposed dreadlords. Then he changed. He killed his people. He lead the undead. He took orders from dreadlords.”

Jaina stroked the crest with her thumb. “And now here I am. I used to have faith that everything would work out alright. I used to have faith in myself. Now...”

She shook her head, not for long, but with intensity, as if she could banish the thoughts like one could wring blood out of a healer’s rag. “Now I'm young. And my youth is gone.”

I didn't know what to say. I stole a chair from the other side of the table and dragged it next to hers. At random I plucked a book from one of the shelves and glanced over at her.

I bit my lip as I held up the novel. “Wanna smell books with me…?”

Jaina’s eyes were glassy as she stared at the cover. She nodded, a small smile on her lips. She wiped at her eyes. “I thought you would never ask.”

Our arms brushed together as I opened the first page and started to read. Yes, Khadgar and Dalaran needed us. But Jaina needed this more.

“The girl’s fiance dies in that one.” Jaina remarked.

I looked up at her smirk. “This is what I get for stealing your danish?”

“You brought a bookworm along to smell books, Eona. You should’ve known that something would get spoiled.”

~*~

We were still reading in the Purple Parlor when the air thickened from a teleportation spell. Arcane crackled across my skin and light filled the chamber.

I blinked a few times, stunned by the new change in the atmosphere. Jaina was used to the way of magics and was already standing, staff in hand. Her expression turned grim.

“Khadgar!” I ran to him as I made out his form.

I caught his arm as he stumbled, feeling the coldness of his skin through his dark blue robes. He was pale, and his forehead glistened with sweat as he swayed on his feet.

Archmages Modera and Aethas materialized on his sides. They wore the same drained expressions. Jaina helped Modera down as Khadgar teetered in my grasp.

“Eona...you never told me you had sisters,” Khadgar gasped. I held onto his arms, trying to still him as best as I could.

“Huh?” I said.

“Yes,” Khadgar held up a finger, pointing to the air around me. “There’s three of you...am I counting right? Aethas! What do your elf eyes see?”

“Stars...so many stars...” Aethas groaned and yanked off his hood to massage his temples.

I lead Khadgar to a one-armed sofa as he spoke in his dreamy state of delirium. “You know, I bet if Sylvanas raised me from the dead...I’d be like Beetlejuice.”

I sat the Archmage down and frowned as I leaned over him. “Please don't give me that mental image, Khadgar.”

“No, it's perfect! You can be Lydia! IT’S SHOWTIME-–wee!” I urged Khadgar down to lie on the sofa, smoothing out his hair as I did so.

I glanced over at Jaina as she examined the other two mages.

“What happened to them?” I asked. I wonder if Anduin is still here. He’s a skilled healer, he might know.

“You know, Eona, you smell really nice.” Khadgar rasped below me. “Kind of like strawberries. Which is funny, you look like a strawberry. You’re covered in seeds…”

I crossed my arms. My white linen shirt came down to my elbows, so the freckles drizzled across my arms were still visible.

“Where were you last, Modera?” I heard Jaina ask.

I joined the two mages across the parlor. Modera seemed less hysterical than Khadgar, but just as exhausted.

“Violet Hold,” She gasped. “the prisoners escaped...we went to track them...they trapped us there. Kalecgos is still with them-–”

My eyes flew open. Jaina and I exchanged a look.

“–-then we faced the Vampyr…” Modera’s head tipped back as she gulped in air.

Jaina nudged my arm. She didn't need to. The two red dots on Modera’s neck said it all. I sprinted back to Khadgar. His skin was branded with the same two marks.

“Aethas too,” Jaina said quietly, smoothing her robes as she stood upright.

We backed away from the three limp mages, watching as their movements seemed to slow.

“If they…” I swallowed. “does that mean they’re stuck that way?”

“No. We have spells to remove it, and it's usually temporary. I can ask Anduin or Malfurion to tend to them.” Jaina glanced up at her own staff, then quickly retrieved the long weapons from where the mages lay.

I nodded, moving my hair away from the front of my face. As I did so, Khadgar leaned up slightly, sniffing the air.

“What about Kalec?” I said.

Jaina returned to my side with their staffs and her eyes flickered over the sleeping bodies. “We’ll get him together. I’ll meet you at Violet Hold. Let’s clean up the Kirin Tor’s mess before the summit has the chance to notice.”

We stepped back into the shimmering portal and our feet echoed as we appeared at the staircase of the Violet Citadel. Jaina raced towards the Anduin; I took the steps two at a time with my thoughts on Kalec.

I squinted as a familiar face lingered at the bottom of the steps. Grand Magister Rommath looked to my coming, his eyes analyzing me like a spellbook.

“Eona, I must speak with you.” He said as I was halfway down the mountain of steps. My calves were burning and I didn't care. Kalec’s face kept flashing before my eyes.

“I'm sorry, now is not a good time.” I remarked.

“It’s important-–”

“Then we’ll discuss it later.” I finally reached the bottom of the stairs and sped past him.

“You are going to slip if you move too swiftly, Lady Sunstrider.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: I love cliffhangers :3

Chromie: Me too! Although, I usually see them coming with my powers, but they're still entertaining--but that's not why I'm here. Author, you're messing with the timestreams!

Author: Don't worry, I have a permit.

Chromie: I'm sorry, Author. That bowl of edible cookie dough that you offered the Bronze Dragonflight was delicious, but it does not allow you to go willy-nilly with the past. The Dark Portal was closed for twenty years, making Eona's existence impossible!

*Awesome freaky lightshow happens. Nozdormu, Lord of Time, appears*

Nozdormu: Author, well met. I must say, your work with this new future for Azeroth is...entertaining, but Chronomu is correct.

Author: Jeez, Marvel didn't have these kinds of laws set up--then again, Deadpool was my co-writer. Protectors of Time, please hear me out! I have a loophole!

Nozdormu: Very well, Author. Do as you must. We will be watching...and if you can spare me a cameo, it would touch this old dragon's heart. You even let Kalecgos have a minor role in this story, and he's practically invisible!

Kalec: ...Thanks.

Author: Will do, Lord Nozdormu! Thanks for stopping by, Chromie! As for you Awesome Adventurers, you can actually witness the first time Eona's parents met now, in the recently updated "Protectors of the Present"! Hope you enjoyed c: love, fortune and glory to you!!

#featuring Khadgar the undead Beetlejuice #thrilling adventures of eona #World of Warcraft #khadgar #Jaina Proudmoore #kalecgos #archmage modera #aethas sunreaver #Eona Strider

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mekandawn · 5 years

Note

Break down Aavarii! (Is that cheating? Too bad)

That is absolutely cheating, how DARE YOU

How I feel about this character

Frustrated, mostly. He’s a good character, he’s a fun character to play, but I have a real hard time getting him out or writing for him. It makes me sad because I always have a fun time when I do manage to write for him, and I know people love him and want to see more of him, I just.... struggle to make him go.

All the people I ship romantically with this character

Kayn Sunfury, Grand Magister Rommath, @jinxandjingles is starting to worm his way in there too.

My non-romantic OTP for this character

Needle? Veleanthe? Needle and Veleanthe.

My unpopular opinion about this character

I feel like he’s all fluff and no substance sometimes. Like, I have put a lot of thought and effort into him, but of all my characters, he feels... the least interesting, overall.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon.

I really kinda wish I got to do more succubus stuff with him, tbh. Not like, smut, but like sucking down souls, being benignly manipulative and charming people to get things done, tempting people with their deepest, darkest desires.... that sort of thing.

#ms-winford

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quelbound · 5 years

Text

@explosivesorrow :^) I took some liberties with it but here ya go, enjoy.

Warning for: Alcohol, crude humor, and guys bein’ dudes. Under the cut for length.

"Why must you insist we wear these ridiculous things?" Rommath grumbled, sending a scorching glare to Halduron.

The ranger sat nearby across one of the sofas, lounged comfortably against a mound of plush pillows. He had traded in his usual attire, the blue and silver ranger's uniform he often donned while conducting his business within the Spire, for a rather loose and soft looking onesie. Russet and a light tan fur pattern coupled with the tufted ears sewn to the hood, it was much the style of a lynx. And just like a lynx, Halduron grinned to the Grand Magister.

"Of course. Have you never properly leisured before? This is how its done." The other replied.

"This is far from my idea of leisurely!" Rommath retorted, motioning down to his own style of dress that was much the same fashion. He glared at Brightwing from underneath the cowl of a hood. His own was apparently supposed to be a black Hawkstrider, feathers and all. Even more disgruntling to Rommath, a circle of shot glasses had been lined up in front of himself, Halduron, and Lor'themar. Three each, all filled to the brim with swirling, likely burning, liquor. The strongest they could find in all of Quel’thalas, from what the two had explained prior. To make things interesting.

Lor'themar seemed just as unbothered by their current predicament as Halduron was. With his soft snow white bunny onesie, floppy ears hanging low against the back of his head, the Regent Lord looked…. Well, far from Regently, for starters. Begrudgingly, he would also say Lor'themar looked far more relaxed than he did during the day. So he supposed, even at the cost of dignity, this wasn’t too bad...

"What say you, Theron?" Rommath asked.

Lor'themar shrugged. "If you do not enjoy it, nobody will stop you from leaving. However, your robes have been gently and caringly folded and teleported back to your own quarters so if you care to walk halfway through the city in a hawkstrider suit, be my guest."

His words had stunned Rommath. How dare-! The Grand Magister seethed angrily now that his previous thoughts were fruitless. He may be some ounce of glad they can take a moment to relax but at the expense of being stuck with them for a night or risk shame going onto the streets in this chicken suit was humiliating to say the least.

"Oh, relax, you big baby. It's not so bad. There’s worse things we could be doing, like setting fire to your libraries again-” “AGAIN?” “That’s not important, don’t worry about it.” “I’m already worrying about it.” “It’s old news, it’s fine, nothing got damaged…. That you’re aware of.” Rommath let out an irritated huff as he pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering a slur of curses under his breath not-so-subtly in Halduron’s direction. “Congradulations, I’ve already received a headache and we haven’t even started this stupid game.”

“Rom, it’s alright. He’s joking.” Lor’themar shot a pointed look at Halduron, who only looked away innocently.

Placing his hands behind his head and leaning back in his chair until two of the legs were off the ground, Halduron whistled nonchalantly as he rocked back and forth slowly. “Accident. That’s what it was. Yep.”

“Mhm.” Rommath raised an unbelieving brow to him.

“Hal.” Lor’themar scolded. “Start the game before this escalates and you burn down my home.”

Halduron put his hands up in surrender, though the smirk he wore never wavered. “Whatever you say, boss.” He replied, motioning towards the glasses in front of each of the men. “Never have I ever.. Combusted out of sheer spite.”

Rommath glares once more, a look that could have set the Ranger-General aflame if he’d focused harder on the magic around him. With as much dignity as he could muster, Rommath took his first glass tentatively, raising it to his face. With an inspecting sniff, a wrinkle of his nose at the harsh bitter scent, Rommath frowned. Halduron and Lor’themar were staring at him expectedly, urging him on. With a grunt, Rommath tilted his head back and threw back the shot. Reeling and almost gagging at the foul taste of liquor, it took his entire strength to swallow the burning dark liquid, scowling harsh as it went down.

He was the only one to take a shot this round, as expected.

Already, he could feel the loud pounding of a headache against his temples as the liquor worked through his system. His head had begun to swim and Rommath had to grip at the armrest of his chair to not fall over on the spot. Damn Halduron and damn Lor’themar for dragging him into this, knowing full well he’s got no tolerance for alcohol-!

“Fine.” Rommath growled. “Never have I ever had sex in the woods.”

Lor’themar sputters and Halduron throws his head back in a loud laugh. Both men drink. If they wanted to play petty and dirty, so could Rommath.

“Never have I ever had sex.” Halduron threw back, another laugh escaping him.

“That doesn’t count, that’s copying my answer. Be more creative. Also I do believe it’s Lor’themar’s turn so,” Rommath less than gracefully shoots Halduron a middle finger.

“He’s correct...On both fronts.” Lor’themar said. “No copying answers.”

Hal tsk’d in complaint, sticking his tongue at the both of them.

“Now then… Never have I ever… Fell out of a tree.” The Regent Lord smirks.

“That’s not fair!” Halduron exclaimed, taking the second shot. “We all can’t be as grace-footed as you! All the training in the world couldn’t give me the balance you do!”

Lor’themar only smiled smugly, proudly puffing his chest with his two glasses still remaining. His bunny eared hood bounced slighly as he chuckled at the muttering insults being tossed his way from his second in command. More surprisingly to both rangers, Rommath would also take a shot.

“You actually get out of your office?” Hal blinked, utterly bewildered.

“I was a child once, you know-” “Yeah, back in the War of the Ancients, maybe.” Hal interrupted.

A snap of arcane through the air had wrapped around the hunters mouth, keeping him from speaking further. With a muffled noise, and a vain attempt at clawing at the arcane thing silencing him, Halduron gave Rommath a pitiful look of desperation. With a less than thrilled look at Hal, Rommath glowered. “I fell on several occasions, broke something on a few, but that’s a story for another time since prince charming here thinks he’s funny.” He spoke.

With a snap of his fingers, the arcane was released and Halduron could once more speak.

“Rude.” He frowned.

The mage made a motion to snap his fingers again, to put the thing back around Halduron’s mouth to silence him for the rest of the game, but Lor’themar took his hand before he could do such a thing, lowering it as he shook his head. “Lets keep this as civil as possible.”

Both men shot a glare towards each other but, for the Regent Lord’s sake, decided to settle their dispute another time. “Fine.” They both said in unison.

“Finally, my turn.” Hal continued the game, sending a sly wink to Lor’themar. “Never have I ever been shot down by a certain matriarch of the blood knights.” Lor’themar balked at that, hunching over as if he had been punched in the gut and almost spilling the glasses in front of him. “That’s completely unfair! I wasn’t shot down, she just wasn’t interested!”

“You were shot down.”

“I cannot believe- out of all the idiotic- Yo-you would have the AUDACITY to even-” Lor’themar stammered very flustered as he reached for his second glass. He drowned his words with the liquor, pulling the rabbit’s hood down over his face more to hide the growing redness of his face.

“That’s most unfortunate. Now then… Never Have I ever… Not owned an animal.” Rommath said.

“That’s..The best you’ve got?” Hal eyed the magister.

“Unfortunately.”

Nobody drank.

“I’ve had a lynx my entire adult life.” Halduron shrugged.

“I own a...Mini zoo at this point. I just do not speak of them since I like to keep my private matters just that.” Lor’themar gave an apologetic look to Rommath.

Rom only shrugged. “That’s fair.”

“And finally… Because I have a suspicious feeling you two like to call me out and attack me…” Lor’themar started, a mischievous grin playing on his face as he motioned towards each of their final glasses. Rommath and Halduron shared a slightly worried look with each other at whatever Lor’themar was plotting.

“Never have I ever had a near death experience.”

…… …….. Everybody drank their final shot.

“That was CHEAP! Dirty, filthy, and CHEAP, Lor’themar.. I thought better of you.” Hal folded his arms across his chest.

Lor’themar’s grin only widened. “We started dirty so I finished dirty. We’ve come full circle, boys.”

#this was a stupid idea #but it was fun to write #so enjoy #fire and brimstone. ll in character. ll rommath.#Whatever it takes. ll in character. ll Lorthemar.#Rapid Fire. ll in character. ll Halduron.

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alteredphoenix · 5 years

Text

Welcome to the Future(WIP)

A/N: I was always - and still am - confused when people say that Blizzard did Kael’thas dirty. Now that could be because I didn’t start playing WoW until Cataclysm (right around the time the Firelands raid came out), but it was just something I didn’t really see was a bad thing (as with most things the community seemingly sets in stone as gospel).

So when Legion occurred, I was hoping to see Kael’thas make a return, or at least a cameo, as a demon. I still ascribe to the idea that having a giant fel crystal shoved into your chest should change you the same way consuming a demon and the powers in an orc warlock’s skull do, so imagine my disappointment when there was no such sign of him to be found anywhere on Argus or in Antorus.

So here comes the idea: in which Kael’thas, whether it was his decision or against his will, regenerated in the Twisting Nether and landed oh so conveniently in the Telogrus Rift. Alleria and the ren’dorei find him and try to figure out where they should go from there. (This deviates from the original idea that would see Kael’thas recreated as a void ethereal and pledging himself to the ren’dorei, although that will be written as a separate one-shot in the future.)

There is a voice, calling in the darkness.

One would not blame Alleria – or anyone, for that matter – for thinking it was a whisper from the Void. Cold and slithering between the stars and pieces of broken landmass, enticing her and all her wayward progeny with promises of power and all the knowledge that wasn’t stained in pretty white lies and propaganda that were hidden from them if they would opened their minds and hearts just a little bit; after all, it never hurt to be curious, and if it did...well, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, doesn’t it? What could possibly go wrong?

“Plenty wrong,” Locus-Walker stated, and Alleria was wont to agree. So they continued teaching the ren’dorei, as well the scholars and the wayfarers that quietly slipped out of Silvermoon (and, with a cocktail of surprise and a touch of pity that was quickly quashed with a brief surge of smug victory, out of the Horde altogether), the mechanisms of mindfulness meditation they should be applying in their daily regime, the free flow state of mushin passed down from the Tushui as they dipped in and out of combat, the constant diamond grip of the anchor they should have in their forethought as the urges ebbed and flowed around them.

Yet the reports kept coming in: sporadically at first, then intermittently, until finally, on a day when she could step away from Kul Tiras long enough to recuperate, Locus-Walker approached her and insisted, in that calm, dulcet tone that dared her to have a plan if she refused him, to come with her at once.

“Why? What’s happened?”

“Just come.”

She follows him through the portal to Fathom’s Edge, and when they reemerge it’s to the sight of Duskwalker and his students corralled together in a tight little circle. The researchers are trying to inch their way past them, but the rift wardens and riftblades force them back; their blades are drawn, and the umbral rangers have all eight corners covered with their bows and voidstalkers. Her ears prick up. The guards are telling everyone to stay away, it’s not safe. Some are even attempting to pry Duskwalker and the others aside, trying not to use force.

Duskwalker won’t budge. “Do you realize who this is?” he says, raising his voice, and points the warden toward the space between two bodies. “You do, don’t you? Take a look!”

“Locus-Walker?” Alleria asks, looking at him curiously.

He gestures forward. “See for yourself.”

She frowns, but does so all the same. “Step aside, please! Excuse me! I must get through.” At the sound of her voice, the ren’dorei do as she says and give her space to move ahead. Others, however, don’t move. Whether by fascination of what they’re seeing or blatant ignorance is unknown to her, nor does she care. Alleria pushes past them. “Instructor Duskwalker! What’s going on?”

“Lady Alleria! Surely you have better eyes than I. Do me a favor and look at this man.” Duskwalker turns to the side for Alleria to see the person in question lying on the ground in front of them. An elf-man who is restrained from head to toe in thick, shadowy coils. “Tell me that isn’t--”

“It can’t be!” the rift warden next to him cries. “He’s six years buried!”

“If that’s the case then you haven’t been paying attention to the latest discoveries in demonology this whole time.”

“Gentlemen,” Alleria says coolly, and raises a hand, cutting off all argument. She walks by them for the few steps it takes her to stand right over the elf-man and gets down on her knees.

He’s abnormally pale, whiter than the whitest of the void elves but with the fel green tint of corruption in his pale blonde hair and the ashy texture of his chest that holds the shattered base of what appears to have been a spike driven in. His face set in high cheekbones and eyes glowing with the same energy that oozed out of Illidan as an aura even as the Light of the Vindicaar vainly tried to quash it and smother him in its warmth. His robes are of a Thalassian finery worn only by nobility, red and silver, but even its fibers aren’t safe from taint, and they cling to his slender frame as mere rags and broken crystal. His fingernails are long, crooked, black; there are furrows from where he dug for purchase, or struggled to rip free from his bonds.

“He was in hysterics when we found him,” the rift warden says behind her, “although we have reason to believe he’s not yet consumed by the Shadow’s madness.”

“He must have seen what was out there,” says Duskwalker. “Floating adrift in the Twisting Nether, reconstructing himself atom by atom. It’s not a fate I would wish on anyone.”

“It’s better to be safe than sorry. For all we know he could be claiming to be--”

“But it is him. I was there when the Offensive broke the stalemate in Quel’Danas. He rarely came out of the Magisters’ Terrace; his hunger was too great to be ignored.” Footsteps, and Alleria catches a glimpse of Duskwalker’s boots in her periphery. “Well, Milady? What do you think? Do you recognize him?”

No, she wants to tell him. She does not recognize this man. He does not match the image of the prince in her mind: tall, young, full of color and elvish overconfidence that always set Sylvanas’s teeth on edge and rankled her nerves worse than a static shock. He does not fit the description of the madman that Vereesa gave her: of the man who threw in his lot with the Legion for a cure to the withdrawal all elves quel’dorei and sin’dorei suffered from and spiraled out of control until the demons forced him back to life and saw him returned as a withered husk fueled by dopamine and fanatical love for the Dark Titan. Until the Horde silenced him forever, cut off his head, and, at Rommath’s command, saw fit to bury him at the farthest point of Quel’Danas, where he would lay until the end of time.

The man on his back with the most vacant expression on his face could not possibly be him.

#world of warcraft #battle for azeroth #alleria windrunner #locus-walker #kael'thas sunstrider #welcome to the future #fanfiction #preview #mywriting

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wowheadquarters · 5 years

Text

Their guilty pleasures

For @shatterstar1998. I bet that you know what I am talking about - something you like but are embarrased about it for whatever reason. Maybe it’s not legal, maybe it just doesn’t fit with your aesthetic, maybe... It doesn’t matter why. What matters is what guilty pleasures the leaders have!

Anduin: He is very pleased that he’s rarely bested in chess and jihui and hawks-and-hares. Very proud of it, too. He feels bad about feeling the pride because he is trying to be this humble priest of the Light.

Ghost Varin: Back rubs. Good gods, back rubs... Don’t you dare to touch this man, especially from behind, but he is such a sucker for back rubs. (And massages, sweet Light, his back is stiff.)

The Council of Three Hammers:

Muradin: Caring about his appearance. To get ready and look like a Dwarf takes him very long in the morning. His bathroom is stuffed with lotions and day creams and night crams and highlighters and nail polishes and beard conditioners... Muradin likes to look pretty, but feels guilty he puts so much effort into it. Moira: That she is far more immune to cold than the Dark Iron Dwarves. She is a Bronzebeard by birth, she has been born in ice and snow, she can handle it in a top tank and a skirt, while you all have to wear three pair of scarves and you are still cold! Falstad: He likes to wear flower crowns. He looks a bit stupid, though. And cute. Someone has once told him it doesn’t look manly enough for him, so he’s very reluctant to wear them anymore.

Tyrande: The sun. Yes, she gets she is a Night Elf, that she praises the Moon Goddess. But the sun is pretty neat. And blinding. That’s even neater. She likes to stare right into it!

Mekkatorque: Pick-up hugs. He’s a Gnome, he is a tiny little delicate flower. But he likes it when you hug him and pick him up, you very tall monster of a person.

Velen: Peeking into the future to see the outcomes of things he is especially curious about despite them being trivial. Such as “When will the new episode of this show come out? Who is going to win this intense Hearthstone duel? What children will Varok Saurfang adopt today?”

Genn: Dog treats. Yes, it was a thing before the Worgen curse.

Aysa: Ji Firepaw. What?

Alleria: She despises the looks people start giving her when she explains what the Void Elves actually are. She loves the looks too.

Turalyon: Being a bit too zealous when it comes to spreading the Naaru’s word.

Jaina: Sea shanties. She cut ties long time ago and archmages don’t sing sea shanties... But she loves to do it anyway. At least she’ll hum.

Thrall: Aggra standing up for him and/or calling him on his depression or self-loathing or martyrdom-tendencies bullshit. It’s super embarrassing... and also super hot.

Spirit of Vol’jin: The “I could kill you if I wanted to” power moves. It’s very hard to chew down that there is someone deadlier than him (or someone deadly to him), but there is also this very nice chill running down his spine when it happens...

Ghost Garrosh: Getting punched. Look, I am not saying that Garrosh “Son of Hellscream” Hellscream is heavily depressed and hates himself, but- No, no. I am actually saying that. Garrosh Hellscream is heavily depressed and he hates himself and he likes it when you beat him unconscious, although he’d rather bite his own tongue out than to admit that.

Baine: Opiates. It’s not a secret, but he feels quite guilty about it. (Children, don’t take an example from Baine. Drugs aren’t cool.)

Sylvanas: Being shown care and affection. Like hell you are going to be nice and caring to the Banshee Queen, the Warchief of the Horde, the woman who plans to conquer the Azeroth for her Forsaken. Hey, hey, who told you to stop?!?! Be nice to her!

Lor'themar: Subtly pitting Rommath, Aethas, and Halduron against each other. Not only it is funny, it’s also sort of procrastination and it slows the income of paperwork. And occasionally one gets to see a display of fireballs.

Gallywix: Any good feelings he gets from non-material sources. The other day Saurfang told him that he is a backstabbing money-hoarding bastard, but he is honest about it and doesn’t claim it to be something redeeming or good, and that he respects him for it a lot. Jastor felt lightheaded for the rest of the day, extremely happy about it witha huge internal crisis as “where did this feeling come from?” crisis.

Ji: When he looks around the other leaders and he can think smugly: “Look at me. I am not an absolute fuck up.” And then immediately “I shouldn’t be thinking this, I should help them to fix their fuckery!”

Thalyssra: Pretty ladies. Pretty ladies with buff arms, undercuts, in flannel shirts... Ah, all those wistful looks she gives them.

Mayla: When small critters (such as squirrels or snakes) climb thorough her horns like tree branches.

Geya’rah: Thinking about Thrall as of her brother. She isn’t sure exactly why she feels guilty about it, but she does.

Talanji: She likes being covered in blood head to toe. The mess on her dress, however, is usually not worth it.

Taedal: Bold of you to assume Taedal feels guilty about his pleasures. This demon knows no shame. You are talking about a man whose throne has a back side full of cheap illustrated erotica novels in plain sight of everybody caring to go around the throne. His My Little Elekk collection figurines are put on a display. Guilty displeasures, now that would be a chapter...

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youngster-monster · 6 years

Text

Snow Hazard

Kael’thas can’t remember the last time he went skiing. If you asked him, he wouldn’t be able to recall a time where he went: that’s how long ago it was.

Thinking about it, there is no proof he ever went skiing at all, which is an oversight he should have realized earlier. Before he was stranded on a mountainside with two planks of wood stuck to his feet and no idea what to do, that is.

But let’s not start there. That’s a mortifying situation, and the least you could do is approach it with sufficient context.

It all starts, as most of their shenanigans do, with Halduron barging into the dorm room Kael’thas and Rommath share. It’s not in any way or form an unusual event, but the door slamming against the wall still manages to startle the two mages so hard they almost fall from their seat (or, in the former’s case, his desk, because he cannot and will not sit properly).

“Guys!” He yells, breathless. “I come with great news.”

And then he stops, resting his hands on his thighs and panting. Kael’thas, who had stayed frozen with a hand clasped on his chest in shock, straightens slowly as he glares at him in outrage. Rommath looks from Halduron to his homework with a disinterested look, like he’s trying to settle on which one is the least interesting to him at the moment.

Finally, Halduron continues.

“You know how Lor’themar’s aunt is like, filthy rich, right?”

Kael’thas sneers. He hasn’t met Ophelia Theron many times in his life, but he remembers her being a terribly annoying, shrill woman who insisted on pinching his cheeks at every opportunity. She also tends to flaunt her wealth in the tackiest way, which isn’t in her advantage. “Yeah? So am I. What’s your point?”

“She’s offered to lend us her winter home for a week!” At their lack of response, he adds, “You know. The one next to a ski resort.”

Rommath doesn’t need much more incentive to pay attention to Halduron, because he’s a weirdo who is still into sports despite PE not being mandatory anymore. If anything it’s gotten worse since high school, now that no one can legally stop him from doing extremely dangerous things in the name of exercise like the adrenaline junkie he is. He swivels in his chair and lets out an enthusiastic “Hell yes,” and Halduron grins in return.

The two start talking about plans and road-trip and day pass, the third inhabitant of the room all but forgotten.

Kael’thas, as previously mentioned, hasn’t seen snows higher than his ankle in a decade at last, and has promptly and happily dropped all exercise when he started college, trusting in his awful diet and sleeping pattern to keep him skinny, if not healthy. He’s not a very active person. He enjoys his comfort and doing only as much effort as he absolutely must. And he abhors the cold.

But he hates being alone during winter break just a little bit more, so he only grumbles a bit and goes with it. It’s not like they will force him to ski, anyway. He can chill (eh) in front of the fireplace with mulled wine and a trashy crime novel while they go gallivanting on the slopes.

It’ll be fine.

Turns out his friends know him a lot better than he thought, and use this knowledge for evil and evil only.

They each drive an hour of the six hours trip, save for Rommath who drives the last two and takes advantage of that to act like a tyrant with the radio, citing ‘driver gets to choose the music’ like it’s a valid reason for playing two hours straight of emo rock. After such a trip, Kael’thas only dreams of collapsing on a bear rug and maybe taking a nap or something, and the desire only grows when they drop their bags in the chalet and

At that, Lor’themar says, “We should take advantage of the time we have.”

“Sure, you do that. I, on the other hand, am going to relax, drink some hot chocolate and stay dry.”

“Oh, I’d forgotten-” Rommath leans backward. There’s a devious glint in his eyes Kael’thas knows all too well. “Someone is too scared to go skiing.”

Kael’thas knows exactly what he’s trying to do. He’s trying to appeal to his pride, which is always a safe bet considering he has more pride than common sense on any given day. He sees clear through him.

Won’t stop him from falling for it though.

“I’m not!”

Lor’themar glances at Rommath, then at him, and smiles. “You know, it’s alright if you’re afraid of-”

He throws his hands up and turns around, striding back to the car. “Fuck you!” He cries out, because he got played and he deserves to be mad about his own faillibility.

On the first day, his friends take pity on him and keep him company on the green circle slopes. He’s not really skiing, more like falling down in a controlled manner, and Rommath mocks him endlessly for his baby deer-like lack of grace, as if it’s his fault there’s nothing less natural than sliding down a mountainside with two planks glued to his feet. They end the day on a blue square, on which he loses a ski and also his dignity, and dinner finds him cold, grumpy and full of hate.

The second day of their trip, he wakes up with the sun shining through his window. It’s apparently too late: the three adrenaline junkies woke up at the crack of dawn to tackle some more challenging slopes. Aethas is too awkward to push when he answers his “Do you want to go skiing?” with a sharp, final “No,” and so he gets to spend the day lazing around like he intended to.

They don’t make the same mistake on the third day.

Seven a.m finds them dressed for the cold and waiting for the chairlift. Lor’themar, Halduron and Aethas are talking animately — way too animately for the early morning — while Rommath checks Kael’thas’ gear, ignoring his grumbling.

“You can just give up, we won’t judge you,” he says rather unconvincingly.

Kael’thas gazes at the peak they are about to travel to and sighs. “Yes you will.”

“Yup,” Rommath agrees, taps his chest twice in a semi-reassuring manner, and then waddle to the others.

It’s when they’re already up in the air that Kael’thas, looking at the impressive length of the run, remembers the little symbol he saw on a sign down the slope.

“Hey, Rom,” he asks. “How difficult is a double diamond?”

All conversation freeze. Slowly, carefully, Rommath looks up, at the peak, then down, at the sign they can still barely make out. The silence is broken by a loud swear, followed by Halduron, whose cackling shakes the chairlift and makes Kael’thas grips the side tighter.

“Oh god, he’s going to die,” he manages to choke out between bouts of laughter.

At this point, he thinks that he’d like to.

They stand for a moment at the very top of the slope.

“Yep,” Halduron says, popping the p. “That’s a double black diamond alright.”

“Cool,” Aethas replies, looking a little faint.

“Cool,” Lor’themar repeats, sounding like he actually believes it.

And then, because they’re all assholes, they all look at Kael’thas with varying degrees of pity and throws themselves forward.

He immediately scrambles for Rommath to make sure his friend won’t do the same.

“Relax, we’ll get you down there safely.” A pause. “Somehow.”

“Alive would be a good start! Actually, I’m pretty sure I could get airlifted out of here— Light knows I’m rich enough for this kind of bullshit— Rommath I don’t want to die—“

“Is everything alright here?”

Kael’thas jumps, startled. His skis drift an inch forward with the movement and he freezes, holding his breath and biting his lips, eyes caught on the far, far away sight of the station. He gulps loudly and then, slowly, looks to the side and then up, to the towering figure of the one addressing them.

He is taller than him by a good foot at least, and stands easily balanced on a snowboard. The unflattering clothes hide much of his build but his skimask is pushed up on his forehead, revealing—

Wow, that’s a very nice face.

“My friend is a newbie and we accidentally brought him here,” Rommath explains, shrugging lightly.

The stranger chuckles. “How do you-” He shakes his head. “No matter, I’m not sure I want to know. Do you need help going down?”

Kael’thas frowns, his pride fighting the stomach-twisting fear of his situation, before he manages to grit out, “Yes. Please.”

He looks at Rommath then, who shrugs again. “I’ll be fine.”

“Got it. I’m Illidan, by the way,” he introduces himself, putting his mask back on. “I hope you’re comfortable with manhandling.”

“Wha-”

He doesn’t get to finish his thought, or his sentence. Illidan bends down and, easy as breathing, scoops him in his arms. In a moment he’s holding Kael’thas bridal-style, skis and all.

He’s left briefly shocked until Illidan says, “See you down there!” and, with a twist of his hips, starts going down the double black diamond run.

Kael’thas’ yell gets stuck in his throat and he can only clutch Illidan’s ugly, neon-green jacket as they careen down the slope, wind whistling in his ears. He screws his eyes shut, heart stopping at each bump they ride. Illidan doesn’t seem tense in the slightest, manoeuvring his board easily despite the added weight of a full-grown, ski-ready man in his arms.

And then, as suddenly as it started, they stop. He drags in a shuddering breath and peeks through his eyelashes to see the world standing comfortably still, no landscape passing at breakneck speed and no ground rushing at them as they slide down.

They made it down. Safely, and alive.

Illidan hasn’t let go of him yet, though.

“See, that wasn’t so bad,” he says.

“It was worse,” Kael’thas replies. He’s mortified to realize his voice is barely more than a squeak, and he clears his throat before continuing in a lower, if no calmer voice. “It was awful. I almost died, and I fucking hate skiing.”

He feels Illidan’s chest move against his side as the other man chuckles before gently putting him back down. He keeps a steadying hand on his back until he’s sure Kael’thas won’t fall on his ass as soon as he lets go.

“I think you’re being a little dramatic.”

Kael’thas glares up at him, throwing his shoulders back as if it will help with the height difference. Unfortunately, nothing short of high heels will get him at eye-level of this man. “I am not, thank you very much.” He points a finger at Illidan’s chest. “Just for that, you owe me breakfast.”

Illidan takes off his mask, allowing him to see his quirked eyebrow and amused expression. “Aren’t you the one owing me something? I did just save you from going down that slope on your ass, after all.”

He looks away, but only so he can takes off his skis, leaving him only in his heavy boots. “You know what? At this point I don’t care. Take me to breakfast, ski-man. I need pancakes before my heart realizes what happened and decides to stop.”

He hums, quietly amused. “We can’t have that, do we?” He steps off his snowboard and takes it under his arm, looping the other under Kael’thas’. “But I think you deserve it.”

Kael’thas snorts. Damn right he does.

#writing #World of Warcraft #kael'thas sunstrider #illidan stormrage #halduron brightwing #Lor'themar Theron #rommath #aethas sunreaver #something quick and dirty before i lose motivation

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pitiflame-archived · 6 years

Text

@sindoreisisters

Drabble inspired by this and this, in which Rommath tries his best to take care of a pregnant Eryis and his feelings about being a dad.

Below the cut for length because I got hella carried away.

When he had first learned that Eryis was expecting a child, his child, Rommath's immediate thought was that the entire thing had been a dream. There was no way he, of all people, could raise a child. He would be a horrible father, he was afraid of the kind he would be. Would he be a strict but loving parent? Or would he end up neglecting it for his own work and duties, which was always a commonplace to parents in high positions of power he had noted. The Grand Magister of Quel'thalas would surely be no exception. The latter is what scared him the most.

Regardless, he convinced himself that it had definitely been a dream. Then the next day came and Eryis reassured him it was, in fact, a real thing that was happening. Rommath had stares dumbstruck at her, mouth open in a shocked expression, and white as a sheet.

"You're sure? Absolutely positive?" Rommath asked.

Eryis had rolled her eyes at him. "Amarna wouldn't lie to me, Rommath. Especially about something as huge as this. Neither would the other priest, I think. Plus it would explain my sickness."

"True...Are you...Afraid?" He couldn't help but ask, hoping at least it was a mutual thing and not just his own fears manifesting.

"No, I absolutely love the thought of pushing an entire being out of my nether region and feeling like my privates are being ripped in half for hours upon grueling hours." Eryis replied with an unamused look.

"I can't tell if you're serious or not." Rommath replied.

"Of course I'm not serious! I'm terrified!" Eryis exclaimed loudly, the last words said with a hitched tone and she.chewed her bottom lip.

Well, at least that had answered his question. Rommath felt relieved at least that they were both somewhat afraid. However, as the months carried on, his doubts and fears would slowly diminish. The negative feelings would be replaced with ones of joy and excitement. Rommath still worried to no end he would make a horrible father but with reassurance from Eryis on these thoughts it helped to pave way for the positive.

Throughout her pregnancy, Rommath had gotten into a habit of massaging her shoulders or back if the pain was too bad. As well as fetching whatever she may be craving that day. He also worried immensely over her on the days she would have to travel to the Dreadscar Rift to take care of business with the Black Harvest. He hoped she wouldn't overwork herself and always insisted he accompanied her just in case though Eryis refused every time.

His worry over her only seemed to increase once they had found out they were having twins. TWINS. At this discovery, both parents seemed to be taken for quite a surprise, after all the time spent mentally preparing for one child only for there to now suddenly be two.

“Gods, if these children are anything like how we were, we’re gonna be in for quite a handful... Two handfuls.” Eryis had mused.

Rommath nodded with a low laugh. “Perhaps this is just fate giving back for all the grief we put our own parents through. Getting a taste of our own medicine, in a way.”

Eryis gave him an exhausted look. “I hate to agree with that but you’re probably right." She sighed. “Now I’m more afraid. More for our sanity at this point.”

Rommath gave another laugh before resting his hands on her protruding stomach. He gazed down at her lovingly and his smile only grew as he felt the faintest of kicks from within her. “Stubborn already.”

“They get that from their father.” Eryis commented with her own laughter.

“I’m not agreeing with that but I’m not denying it either.” Rommath teased, bending down to place a kiss on her swollen stomach. “Have you thought of names?”

Eryis nodded, a warm look easing her gaze. “If it’s a girl I want to name her Sima.”

Rommath froze at the name, a questioning glance thrown up to Eryis. Out of the possibilities she could have chosen, he had not expected her to consider his own mothers name. Eryis seemed to be humored by the look on his face and gave a soft chuckle. “It’s a fitting name for a strong, stubborn woman.”

He smiled at the reason before nodding. “Fair enough. And the other?” Rommath placed another kiss to her stomach, hand lightly rubbing circles as he did so.

“If they’re both girls, I feel its fitting to name the other Feana, after my own mother. As for boy names.. Sticking to the theme, perhaps Aetholan.” She replied before shrugging. “Truthfully, I feel it would be the best way to honor your parents and my mother, after all the care they’ve given both of us. A way to have their memories live on where they haven’t.”

Rommath remained silent for a moment before he stood, kissing her this time. “They’re lovely names.”

Months passed quicker than the last and it seemed rather too quickly they found themselves in the last leg of her pregnancy. On more than one occurrence, more so after the time the children had began kicking within Eryis, Rommath had found himself falling asleep, head in her lap as he ran his hand over her bare stomach to feel the small kicks. Though with how hard a few of them had been, how hard Eryis had gasped and cringed, he felt small wasn’t quite a correct term to describe it.

He didn’t know why he had started doing this aside from the fact he was still in a sort of disbelief that he was going to be a father soon. Very soon. Either way it didn’t seem to bug Eryis much and every time he had awoken from the awkward position, she had always began playing with his hair while he slept. On more than one occasion he’d wake up with the entirety of it braided. Every time he would just laugh at this discovery.

Soon, the fateful day that would welcome their children into this world would arrive. It had been barely midday and Rommath had been at the spire, tending to his duties there. A courier had come to him just as he’d approached the Regent Lord and Ranger-General to take care of the business with them. The courier had only announced that Eryis had sought Amarna who had taken her to the priests.

He needed no further explanation to know why Eryis sought the healers. Rommath didn’t wait to request his leave before disappearing within a teleportation spell, leaving Lor’themar and Halduron in a mutual confusion at the Grand Magister’s sudden leave. He had told neither of them that Eryis had been pregnant, as he saw no reason to get them involved, though he was sure he’d have to at least explain his abrupt departure...Once he returned which more than likely wouldn’t be that day.

When he had went to Eryis, her face had been twisted in pain and she let out a scream as her body was wracked with contractions. Rommath knew he could do nothing to ease her pain, as much as it hurt him to know that too, so all he could do was go to her bedside and hold her hand, whispering reassurances to her. It wouldn’t be until late that night that they would get to hold the twins for the first time, both of which had been girls.

Sima and Feana were both healthy, beautiful daughters. They both had their mothers fair complexion, both parents’ raven hair, and the blue eyes each elf with a magical affinity had been born with. Amusing to Eryis, she had also noted that they had evidently both inherited the stern way Rommath’s brows nitted together as they attempted to focus on their surroundings as well as the adorable distinct ear twitching he does.

Both parents held a daughter, leaning their heads against each others as they gazed down at their children. Eryis looked absolutely exhausted but he couldn’t blame her after the hours long ordeal she’d just had to go through. Placing a quick kiss to her cheek, Rommath had said fondly, “You’ve done well, Dal, now please rest.”

Eryis gave a small smile. “You don’t have to tell me twice..”

#ll flamestrike (IC)#verse. [Cause all of me loves all of you]#look at me finally tagging shit correctly too #also i dont know how to end things so im just gotta leave it as is lmao

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warcraftingfox-archived-blog · 6 years

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SO QUESTION. How might one approach your character? Where do they tend to habitate? What sort of stories are you looking for? What sort of themes? Are there any short-term or long-term needs you're seeking atm? BE SPECIFIC.

How might one approach your character? Where do they tend to habitate?It really depends on which character it is.

Jasculs is a bit of everywhere, traveling with Kina and everything, though they have a residence in Booty Bay. He’s very silent at first, so unless your character is good at conversing for two or fine with silence, they might not get along great from the beginning. Being an old war commander, Jasculs is very hesitant going into fights, so expect him to try to avoid those as much as possible. There’s always another solution, right? Just as he and everyone else have a breaking point - maybe see how far you can push him, either as a joke or serious business. Bring out that inner demon he despises. Also, being a war-traitor with a bounty over his head makes Jasculs very secretive about who he his. He uses illusions, has changed his name, stays in the shadows, stays out of most guarded places, and generally tries to attract as little attention as possible. Uncover his past and who he is; decide to ruin him or help him. The choice is yours.

Zatna and Mo’hir travel together when bounty hunting, so they have a reason to be anywhere in the world, as well. But, they live in Sen’Jin Village in Durotar, and spend a lot of free-time in Silvermoon to visit family. Mo’hir is all about that fun and not so much the socializing. She’s bad with feelings, be it telling her own, others, or dealing with them, so her attempts at socializing often go wrong anyways. Therefore, she tends to stick with the people she knows. But, she’s a strong leader and fighter and is my number one choice for partner-in-crime of my muses. Then, there’s Zatna. She is basically a complete opposite of Mo’hir. Although still bad at telling emotions, she’s amazing at dealing and coping with them. She does tend to ignore those that require thinking, though, as that isn’t her cup of tea. At all. She’s over the top, loud, very outgoing, and most of all just wants to help. She could easily be taken advantage of, but then she’d slash the offender’s face off. Now and again Zatna is out doing Rogue Business for either class hall, belfs, horde in general, and other people, so she can definitely also be approached in a more serious manner without it being bounty hunting related.

Lastly, Phoenix. She is almost always near Rommath, wherever that may be. She’s his apprentice, after all, can’t miss out on any lessons. Though, if there’s more pressing matters at hand, she will definitely skip a lesson or several to take care of it. Phoenix also ventures around the world, mostly around the Broken Isles, though. She checks up on and observes how all parts of the horde is doing, even attempts to socialize and make contacts. Attempts. Phoenix has been isolated most of her life and therefore has about zero clue how to be around other people. So her visits to cities, villages and simple towns often ends with her in the tavern or inn, drunk off her ass on whatever alcohol they may serve at that particular place. She has a hella temper and hella muscle. Piss her off and she will knock you out… if she can reach. She’s very small for a belf. Use that knowledge however you want.

What sort of stories are you looking for? What sort of themes?Honestly? I’m not looking for any sort of stories or themes. I haven’t RP’ed enough yet to really be able to pin it down. Besides, it depends on my mood. Sometimes I might want to see them get tortured out of their minds or otherwise hurting them. Other times I prefer cuddles and cute and funny friendships.

Right now, I just want experience. I want to put my characters into all sorts of situations and interact with all sorts of people. I want to experience their lives, whichever part or verse of it it may be.

Are there any short-term or long-term needs you’re seeking atm? BE SPECIFIC.It’s… difficult to be specific when I’ve just stated the above, yes? But, I do suppose I’m currently favoring long-term partners. It’s always nice to be able to develop one or more characters alongside the same people. Maybe? Idk. As I said, I just want experience right now, haha.

#Carebear #Ash'therod #Hyper Helping Hand #Mohawk On Fire #A Character Is Not Present

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pooktales · 2 years

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Love and Luxury, 2

Anasterian gets his belt.

King Anasterian decided to pretend Sylvanas hadn’t swatted his hand out of the air like a school teacher. Sylvanas then snatched up the leather folio she’d brought with her and moved to leave. But then she turned and waited. So she’d brought some paperwork. She should be around the palace for some hours. She likely had other meetings arranged. Perhaps for the very purpose of addressing Kael’thas’ foolishness from the previous night.

Anasterian nodded his royal head, “Yes. You may go.”

Sylvanas gave a curt nod in turn and marched out of there. Blue and gold cape, hood, all that regalia blazing.

The door shut. Anasterian pressed a hand higher up his face, to cover his eyes. “Kael’thas… Does he not see that one day, he’s meant to be king of the Quel’dorei?”

Yes, Kael’thas was by now far away in Dalaran. Likely, he realized the kind of trouble he was in and fled. He loved to hide out in Dalaran anyway so he could get up to his usual foolishness. But it was just Kael’thas’ thing to swing back into town for a hot party with his friends and then disappear again like smoke once the damage was done.

Anasterian had hoped to see his son Kael’thas that very morning before he left, at least have breakfast together. Now the king fully knew why he had not.

King Anasterian raised from his seat. His eyes couldn’t help passing over the stitch he’d pulled loose from the chair, and everything else just as blue in the room. He remembered the fiery blue of Sylvanas’ cape, flashing behind her as she stormed away. Blue filled his mind. Raging, horrible, bleak depths of blue. All of them underneath a whole choking ocean of it.

This could get very bad if it kept going on and on and on. So something had to be done. Anasterian resolved silently Kael’thas could not truly hide from him. None of the foppish young men in Kael’s nasty little clique could.

As he passed from the royal sitting room into the next, Anasterian told his advisor Sorn in clipped tones, showing teeth, “Is he up yet?”

“Kael’thas has departed, for Dalaran. I thought we told you, your majesty—”

Anasterian growled, “My other son.”

“What?! Well he... Uh! My king, you musn’t—”

“If so, don’t wake him. Send nothing and no one into to his room. Not while I’m in there.”

“But he’s… Uh, there’s someone already in with him, your majesty. Still.”

Anasterian barely turned his head as he strode past Sorn’s desk. “Good. Then I will serve an excellent alarm for them both to finally wake the fel up!”

In one moment, Rommath was lounging in peach-colored morning light coming through the most romantic lace curtains with the most romantic-looking doe eyes gazing up at him, needing him. And he was so glad to return the gaze, lay an arm around the round and beautiful naked woman’s body so warm and pressing up against his. But in the next moment, King Anasterian himself had forced into the room, a flurry of servants still rushing from the doorway beyond, and some of them laughing, before the king slammed the gold doors shut. Anasterian grasped the cream-colored bedsheets, then Rommath’s hairy leg and yanked him to the edge of the bed.

“Aah! What the fel—I’m not Kael’thas. Stop!”

Rommath’s lady was screaming, too. She tried to grab anything off the bed to cover herself. She just nearly got the edge of the sheet in time.

“Calm down, Phena, it’s just the king--”

And Phena would yell, “THE KING??!”

Anasterian stayed focused on his prey, the young fool in his grasp. “I know that you’re the ring leader. You bet him gold to do it, didn’t you? Like that succubus incident last year. Always corrupting my son.”

Rommath tried to laugh it off, but he should have known his fast charms couldn’t work now, “I said… I didn’t say anything! I told Kael’thas to pick up Sylvanas, but he didn’t have to go be an ass about it.”

“So it WAS you!”

“Can Lady Phenrelia at least… can she leave? My king, must she watch my embarrassment, while naked? Can she get dressed and just you know, go?”

The half-naked, crying redheaded woman clutching her pale blue dress and rushing out of the apartments Rommath used was no help. Anasterian’s muffled shouting broke clear when she got free, something like ‘Perverted degenerate sonofabitch’, but then the richly appointed golden doors swept closed again. Still, King Anasterian’s tirade swelled from inside the bedroom. Rommath shouted any kind of defense, anything he could try on. But Anasterian had caught him in the act of the very debauchery, the room still smelled like the liquor—that cheap Goblin rum that Sylvanas had described—and clearly, Anasterian had the ringleader caught. Trapped like a rat.

Then a whine from beyond the doors, easier to understand because it came in a tone young men, and boys, usually fell into. Something like, ‘But I didn’t even DO anything!’

And a sure smack. We don’t know where, but unless Rommath slapped, or spanked himself, Anasterian would have done it. And then, between the two men, somebody hollered then howled with shame.

After that, the king left the room and tossed the leather belt he had in hand aside. It wasn’t Anasterian’s belt, he was wearing his silver royal robes. It was very quiet for a time in Rommath’s apartments until he eventually, and meekly, came to his golden bedroom doors and asked for coffee to be brought.

“That, and I’d also like to see if um, Sylvanas Windrunner is available today at the palace. For a meeting.” He narrowed eyes at his footman. “A business meeting. Make that very, extremely clear.” His door closed somewhat, but then he pushed it open a sliver, his eyes giving an even more suspicious squint, “Don’t tell her how I knew she was in the vicinity.”

Then, Rommath’s gilded bedroom doors gently shut again.

Hours later, because Sylvanas had gone to the palace for this very thing but then again, she was also that way to delay and make it even more painful, Rommath swanned into a gorgeous library done in white and silver furnishings and swans on everything and such. No semblance of him being a grown man and having got a spanking from the king himself anywhere on his person. At least not where anyone might see. He did sit a little awkwardly after he invited Sylvanas to do so.

She refused.

Rommath abruptly got back up, decided he was more comfortable standing after all.

“I really am better off standing, heh. It’s not that I think you’re being rude or anything like it Sylvanas. A sort of… accident. A strain in my leg, I think. From dancing at the ball last night.”

Sylvanas went to the window and looked out of it. She was taking time to see him again, in the window’s reflection.

She then rolled her eyes, “I’m disappointed that Kael’thas himself is not here to apologize.”

“As I said, I’m so horribly embarrassed at the confusion. He was never scheduled to be here at the palace after the ball—”

“No. Let me finish. You’re… Rommath?” Sylvanas turned and leaned at the edge of the window. Her blue and gold ranger’s mail clicked gently when she crossed her arms.

“I uh…”

“I did see you last night, standing with Kael’thas. When the prince was so gross and disgusting toward me. Perverse, really.”

“Again, I do sincerely apologize for the misunderstanding.”

“But you’re Rommath? You? No offense of course.”

Rommath cleared his throat. “I get that a lot.”

Sylvanas scowled. “Don’t worry, you will be apologizing to me better than any man, or Troll, has ever got down on his knees and begged me for his life before. But I need to match up the picture of you in my mind, the portraits I’ve seen in other places, descriptions in the cheap magazines, and the palace gossip, with what I’m seeing right now, before my very eyes. And you had better not be lying to me, playing another of Kael’thas’ games. Are you actually the Rommath? The one that goes around with Kael’thas all the time, stands in his shadow, has to resort to pulling women off of him, telling Kael’s lies and cleaning up Kael’s little messes. Kael’thas’ pitiful lackey. You’re him?”

“I… would not describe myself like that.” Rommath let hands drops to his sides. He’d made a great effort by the way, in a pale lavender day suit with bejeweled buttons on the waistcoat. And even a frilly cravat.

“But you’re beefy.” She shook her head at him, “You’re built like you should be one of my pikemen, defending the trenches we have over by Zul’aman.”

“Why uh…” he let slip an aristocratic laugh, started to swan her way, “Thank you very much, ranger-general.”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong. You’re a big, blazing fop as well. Nobody could ever take your snobbish, entitled butt seriously in that outfit.”

“Also. I would not describe myself that way, either.”

She tapped her armor-clad bicep, impatient. “Thankfully, we aren’t here for your puffed-up ego. Are we?” She arched a blonde eyebrow and looked at him, head to toe, the way Kael’thas had done to her the previous night at the ball.

Rommath lifted long, dark hair over his shoulder then looked down at his shoes. There were sizeable purple-and-white striped medallions of ribbon on each one. With frilly lace underneath. “Yes. Good point.”

#love-and-luxury

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notapaladin · 7 years

Text

So I accidentally more Rommath/Aethas. This takes place after this piece and both Concerning ficlets (one, two), by which time Aethas and Rommath have been banging for a few months. Post-HFC victory ball is a thing, and Aethas is insufficiently dressed for it until Rommath steps in. Unfortunately for Rommath, Aethas is a party person. This was basically an excuse for me to write 3K words worth of Fancy Aethas and Jealous Rommath.

Under the cut for length!

Archimonde had fallen. Gul’dan, according to the adventurers (and Liadrin) who had been there, was probably dead. Draenor was safe and could begin to heal. If these were the only important things to come out of Aethas’s week so far, he would have counted himself well pleased.

Unfortunately, the note which had been delivered to him just that morning had announced a victory ball to take place in the evening, and so instead of spending the day working or doing anything actually useful he’d been forced to have his best suit pressed and altered. (His parents, he knew, would have done it free of charge, but nothing could have induced him to ask them. Better that they spend their time with paying customers.) At least the color was still good, if old-fashioned—a purple so dark it was nearly black, with delicate accents in gold thread. He’d had to rent the cufflinks, but as long as nobody looked closely they wouldn’t notice the slightly chipped enamel of the phoenixes emblazoned on them. He took one final look in the mirror, patted back a stray lock of hair that was trying to escape his braid, and headed out into the hall. As long as nothing dire happened to his ensemble in the next half hour or so, he’d make a fine entrance.

He tried not to feel as though he was going to his execution. It’s a party. I like parties. But parties I like aren’t usually filled with people that barely tolerate my presence outside of the bedroom.

“That’s what you’re wearing to the victory ball?”

Speak of Sargeras, and he appears. It wasn’t a real shock—the actual residential wing of the Spire was packed closely together, and so Rommath’s appearance in the halls near his rooms was almost a regular occurrence—but it still brought an uncomfortable pang to Aethas’s heart to look up into the Grand Magister’s face. Of course he looked like the noble he was; his robes were scarlet silk edged in gold, studded with rubies and black diamonds. More gold edged his ears and held complex braids in place, with garnets glinting against the sheen of his hair. He was glorious, as imposing and powerful as a king, and the note of disapproval in his voice made Aethas wince. I know I can’t compare, but surely he can see I’ve made an effort. “What’s wrong with it?”

“…Where are your jewels?” Rommath flapped a hand irritably at Aethas’s ears. “You are underdressed, Sunreaver.”

He stiffened, ears going back. “I have none.”

For an uncomfortably long time, Rommath just stared at him. Finally, he spoke. “You must have something suitable.”

He could feel his ears turning red, but made himself meet Rommath’s gaze steadily. “I mean I have none at all. My Sunreavers needed to be kept afloat until support was found for them, and some still struggle.” Which you haven’t exactly been helping with.

“Well.” Rommath’s lips thinned, gaze briefly drifting past him until it slid back over his suit. “While that is admirable of you, it does not solve our more immediate problem. I am not allowing you to appear at this party looking…shabby.”

He couldn’t quite hide the flinch, but he could at least make it seem like only a minor wound. Accordingly, his tone was light and casual. “Missing it would be no great hardship. I’ve got work to do, anyway.”

Rommath snorted, ears flicking. “Don’t be ridiculous. Come with me, I’ll see you outfitted properly.”

The tone verged on fondness, which was something he could barely imagine—still, it made him flush hotly as he trailed behind him. Politeness demanded a response, so he managed a “Thank you.”

“Hrmph.” They walked side by side, and their shoes on the hard marble floors were the only sound until Rommath added—unnecessarily, in Aethas’s opinion— “Just try not to lose or break anything. I seem to recall you having a bad track record with small objects.”

He twitched, glaring up at him. “It is not my fault you knocked your own reading glasses off the bedside table where they could be stepped on.” It wasn’t as though Rommath didn’t have at least a dozen other identical pairs anyway, and Aethas was the one who had wound up with a bruise right across the sole of his bare foot.

“I,” Rommath sniffed, “had intended to sleep in that morning. You tempted me to do otherwise, and thus it is your fault.”

Irritatingly, Aethas could feel his ears heat up at the memory. They’d both been late for that day’s strategy meeting, but oh, it had been worth it. Sneer all you please. You may not want me in your meetings, but you still want me in your bed. The thought made him smirk. “Should I beg on bended knee for your forgiveness, then?”

He was pleased to see the faintest tint of red colored Rommath’s high cheekbones. “Just don’t do it again.”

It wasn’t until he crossed the threshold that he realized it was the first time he’d been in Rommath’s rooms without at least the pretense of work-related concerns leading him there. It felt strange to follow him into the bedroom without touching, to pet an inquisitive cat on his way to the vanity instead of tumbling onto the enormous canopied bed. He twined his fingers together in his lap, ears twitching as he watched Rommath bring over one of his chests of jewels. “You don’t have to do this for me.”

Rommath paused, looking him up and down appraisingly. “What you’re wearing would do very well for everyday wear, but not for an event such as this. Here, pick something.”

Aethas had once owned jewels like the ones Rommath offered him—similar, but not nearly the same. His had been new, freshly purchased to reflect his station as an archmage of the Kirin Tor; Rommath’s were clearly much older, some likely heirlooms from before the founding of Quel’thalas itself, and there was nothing of violet or sky blue in the padded velvet compartments. His tastes seemed to run towards warmer colors, most of which would clash with Aethas’s suit, but there were pieces that would work. Still, Aethas hesitated before finally selecting a few pairs of amethyst-and-sapphire drops mounted in ancient gold filigree, adding a pair of gold ear cuffs fashioned in the shape of phoenixes when he thought of how much jewelry Rommath wore on his own ears. He was acutely aware of the Grand Magister’s eyes on him as he put them on, making his ears so tense that the muscles attached to them were starting to ache.

It was a shock when Rommath actually spoke. “And help yourself to the cufflinks, too. The ones you’re wearing are a disgrace.”

He huffed out a breath. Of course he noticed. It was easy enough to make a selection, at least—Rommath didn’t own many cufflinks, and there was really only one choice once he discarded all the rubies and a spectacularly tacky set carved out of diamonds. Sapphires would suit him well; he only had to swap them in, and he’d pass muster.

If he could actually get them fastened. His fingers slipped just when he thought he’d had it, making them drop to the polished wood of the vanity; as he hissed and picked them up to try again, Rommath’s hand on his arm stopped him. “I can’t watch you fumble with these. Allow me?”

And it was a request, something which made him blush hard as he mutely offered up his wrists to Rommath’s warm, clever fingers. The touch was gentler than he’d expected, and he swallowed at unbidden memories of other times Rommath had been that careful. When they’d been in bed together and the atmosphere was charged with lust, when he’d had to steel himself against the thought that Rommath might hold him in any sort of esteem. He is careful because it pleases him to be. I can’t forget that.

When Rommath stepped away, he got to his feet and smoothed his jacket down, unable to meet his gaze directly. “Well? How do I look?”

Rommath was starting to think he’d miscalculated. Severely.

Without the jewels, Aethas had been handsome enough, certainly worth a second glance if Rommath had passed him on the streets of Silvermoon. His suit was distinctly human in style—unfashionable in this political climate, but the look suited him better than robes would, and there was enough gold thread to suggest it had passed through the hands of a proper elven tailor at some point. The snow-white shirt and cravat made it look almost black in comparison until light picked up its purple sheen. While still unsuitable for a truly formal occasion, Rommath’s first impression of his garb had been that he’d looked…nice. Certainly not embarrassing to be seen in public with, at any rate.

With millennia-old gems lining his ears and sapphires gleaming at his wrists—sapphires Rommath himself had worn in happier times—Aethas was very far from “nice.” Breathtaking was more like it; he knew he was staring, but he couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from the way each attending glint of metal brought out the brightness of Aethas’s hair, making it shine like new copper. If there had been time, he could see himself taking that simple braid apart, weaving gold through it until it was fit for a prince. He knew how soft that hair would be in his grip.

Belatedly, he realized Aethas had actually asked him a question—as though the answer wasn’t obvious—and felt his ears heat. “You look…acceptable. Shall we?”

Something cold flickered across Aethas’s expression as he nodded. “Of course; I shouldn’t want to be late.”

He didn’t offer his arm, but they entered the ballroom together.

The last time Rommath had willingly entered the Sunfury Spire’s grand ballroom, Kael’thas had still been the Crown Prince. It looked very different now; tables and couches had been clustered at the far end, and one entire wall was lined with refreshments. He vaguely recalled having to approve a few hundred bottles of Suntouched Special Reserve, which it seemed were already being served to the guests. And the night’s barely started. Wonderful.

“Aethas! Nice suit.”

Even sober, Halduron was cheerful as he strode up to them. In full dress armor with—for once—no leaves, cat hair, or dragonhawk feathers stuck in it, he actually looked like the Ranger-General he was. Rommath was pleased to note that someone had made him leave off the headband, dressing his hair with mother-of-pearl combs instead. “Good evening to you, too.”

Halduron grinned at him, unrepentant. “Yes, yes, I see you every day. The sleeves are a surprise.” He turned to Aethas, beaming down at him. “Come on, the party starts soon and there are some people I think you’d enjoy dancing with.”

It should not have pleased him when Aethas paused, looking up at him with a faint suggestion of a flush at his ears. “I imagine none of us will lack for partners.”

He set his ears rigidly to hide the half-formed emotion that squirmed somewhere under his breastbone. “Enjoy yourselves as you will; I don’t dance.”

Aethas’s ear twitched minutely, but he shrugged. “Suit yourself, then. Lead the way, Hal.”

And of course Aethas called him Hal. As the Ranger-General led him towards a gaggle of adventurers, Rommath was freshly stricken by the realization that Aethas had managed to make friends. It had been a shock after the siege of Orgrimmar when he’d seen Lor’themar fling a companionable arm around his shoulders; it shouldn’t have still stung, but it did. Everyone loves him; not even his Sunreavers abandoned him. Sun above, a god he doesn’t follow is devoted to him. (Years later, that had faded to a scabbed-over wound in his heart. He’d never forget the sight of Aethas sheltering under Al’ar’s wing, but it was easier to swallow when the phoenix god spent so much of its time in the shape of a hatchling.)

He wanted a drink. The crowd parted as he passed, giving him a wide berth as he accepted a glass of wine and continued on to the nearest unoccupied alcove. Nobody would dare bother him if he felt like sitting and drinking, not if they knew what was good for them; alone, he could relax and observe the atmosphere.

I do believe this is the first time any non-elves have set foot here. He watched a female tauren clasp the arm of a Reliquary guard and amended that thought. Or hoof, as the case may be. Granted, the crowd was still overwhelmingly sin’dorei, but he spotted orcs, pandaren, and trolls; there were even one or two Forsaken giving Liadrin a good deal of space on the dance floor. He could see why; the draenei had gifted her a fortune in Light-imbued crystals, and she shone gently but steadily as her current partner—an orc, really?—led her through the steps of the opening dance.

The song ended and the band struck up the next one, something fast and modern. His fingers tightened on the stem of his glass as Aethas stepped up to her, taking her hand with a smile. They were nearly of a height; though her dress was a paler lilac, their outfits harmonized so well it might have been a deliberate choice. And—he swallowed hard—they could both move. Liadrin’s grace on the battlefield clearly translated to the dance floor. And Aethas…

He’d seen Aethas trip over the hems of robes, knock dozens of things off of side tables, and walk directly into furniture. As deliciously lithe and flexible as he was in bed, Rommath had never imagined it would carry over to anything else—and yet here he was being proved absolutely wrong. He was laughing as he spun Liadrin around, not missing a beat even when another couple nearly collided with them. Rommath had never seen him so happy, and it made him feel a little sick inside. Hrmph. At least he was right about something for once.

Indeed, no sooner did Liadrin release him at the end of the dance than a dense knot of socialites descended on him. Even with his ears turning red, he looked perfectly at home in the center of the group; a touch to one man’s arm, a gentle graze to a woman’s back, and they turned towards him like flowers to the sun. It was a rare gift, Rommath mused. One utterly wasted on him. With that silver tongue of his, if he had any political acumen at all…he could have the world at his feet. In the meantime, he seemed content to turn it to more pedestrian pursuits; Rommath couldn’t stop his ears from laying back as Aethas returned to the dance floor. A handsome dark-haired Blood Knight, a pandaren in mail armor that gleamed like the sun, a sin’dorei woman in rather more jewelry than cloth—he flattered attendance on them all, and they left him flushed and smiling.

Rommath sat, nursing the single glass he allowed himself, and watched. It doesn’t matter if he dances with all of Quel’thalas. He’ll be in my bed tonight.

Even if some small, traitorous part of him did want Aethas in his arms now.

Aethas honestly couldn’t remember the last time he’d had this much fun. At least, not with all his clothes on. He’d danced until his feet hurt, eaten what felt like his own weight in appetizers, and had spent the past half an hour happily making the acquaintance of one of the adventurers who had helped take down the Iron Horde. Nimi Brightcastle was wonderful, and reminded him so strongly of Uda that he’d perhaps wound up singing her praises a bit more than was really polite—but then Nimi had started turning pink, eyes going wide, and so he’d embellished a bit. He’d helped Uda take down Durn the Hungerer, but Nimi didn’t need to know that. “And if you tell her you were at Archimonde’s fall, I think you might even win bragging rights.”

She bit her lip, looking down at her plate. “But do you think our wolves would get along? I’d like to make a good impression.”

“Miss Brightcastle, let me assure you—if Uda likes you, and she will, her wolves will approve. I’ll introduce you—but if you’re going to compare scars, do give me a warning.”

“What?” But then Nimi grinned, ears turning red. “Archmage Sunreaver, you are awful, but I like it.”

Judging by the rising heat in his face he suspected he was approaching the same color, but her grin was infectious. “Know that I wish you all the best in your romantic endeavors. Someone ought to be having a fun time around here.”

“…How about you?” One ear tilted forward, curious. “I admit, I don’t know too many spellcasters, but I bet if I ask around I can find you someone you might like to eat dinner with.”

Now he knew he was blushing. There is no one in my life, but… He fiddled with an earring as he answered. “I’m content as I am; I’ve far too much work to even contemplate a social life right now, and I shouldn’t like to give anyone less attention than they deserve. It would hardly be fair to them.” Rommath shouldn’t care. He has no claim to me or my time, but I am loath to give up what we do have. He may not like me, but the intensity is…intoxicating.

He’d felt the Grand Magister’s gaze on him since he’d stepped onto the floor; when he’d realized it, it had struck him faster than the wine he’d drunk. Good, he’d thought fiercely. Keep your eyes on me. If he’d shown off more than was wise, had flaunted his jewelry and the cut of his suit, had flirted more outrageously than he usually did…well. Maybe it was petty of him, but he’d seen the hawklike focus on Rommath’s face and he wanted him to see exactly what he was missing.

He was still watching him now. Aethas could feel the intensity of it. As Nimi turned away, distracted by her comrades approaching, he quietly made his excuses and drifted towards the alcove where Rommath had been lounging all evening.

Rommath’s gaze warmed appreciably as he approached. “Aethas. Had enough of socializing?”

With the curtain half-closed, nobody could see him slide his hand up Rommath’s thigh, watching the way his ears shuddered at the touch. Delicate ruby drops glittered with the movement, and he had to resist the urge to play with them as he leaned up to murmur, “You’ve been watching me all night.”

To his great pleasure, Rommath’s voice wavered a bit as his fingers strayed tantalizingly close to sensitive flesh. “Hrm. You wear my jewels.”

Possessive, are we? He wasn’t expecting Rommath’s next move, and he had to swallow roughly at the first brush of heated fingers against the edge of his ear before he found his voice. “Do you like what you see?”

Rommath’s thumb sliding over the back of his ear made him shiver. “You know very well I do. You are exquisite.” It was a low rumble that enflamed his blood, and suddenly he felt bolder.

He lowered his own voice, watching him through lidded eyes. “Hmm, I don’t know whether I believe you or not. You might have to prove it to me.” Would you still sound so composed when I’ve got you alone? I don’t think so.

Their eyes met for a moment; Rommath’s hand fell to Aethas’s neck, running along the tendon there in a way that made Aethas bite back a moan as he recalled the times he’d done the same thing with his mouth. And then he leaned in, lips brushing Aethas’s ear. “My room.”

He sucked in a ragged breath. “Oh, yes.”

In the morning, there would be time for regrets, time for second guesses and hesitation and an awkward retreat back to his own rooms. But tonight, he didn’t care.

#aethas sunreaver #aethas #rommath #Grand Magister Rommath #World of Warcraft #paladin writes stuff

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