Prim and proper, the girl who's never been kissed I'm tired of being pure and not chased Like something that seeks its level - I wanna go to the devil

I wanna be horrid, I wanna drink booze And whatever I've got, I am eager to lose I wanna be evil, little evil me Just as mean and evil as I can be

- I Want to be Evil, Eartha Kitt

Art by the ever-amazing @bamicommissions!

Nida's mother!

Taldaerin's new look~

A collection of Thallasian elves.

"The felblood elves were corrupted by demonic energy, but Zail likes to think of it as an improvement."

boothill brain rot !

he's got a knack for alcohol, typical of him to be spotted in a bar.

you make the usual drink, saying that he's drinking too much again- all he does is flutter his long lashes and asks for another strong one.

he says something like "you call this a drink? c'mon now, surprise me." his voice is roughly spoken- you're guessing it's the voice module in his throat.

'soul glad, make it strong' he'd order, head slumped on the countertop. he doesn't really get drunk since he's basically not human? but also because his systemic drive doesn't have the proper function setting for it.

he really needs an upgrade. maybe you could work as a technician instead of a bartender? ‘what'd ya say huh?’ he remarks with a fist on his cheek while lazily watching you do your job.

for once you carelessly agree to his rambles, as for him, he's already busy eyeing the payphone a few meters away from the bar counter.

"hold on darlin’" he begins to stand, his long legs in view before setting the cup on the marble, "gon' phone someone. this one's urgent you see."

you could see the expression on his face, irritated but it disappears after he sends you a quick wink, tipping his hat a little before walking away from where you stay wiping the glass.

"weird." you mutter as you get ready to clock out for the night. it's stormy out- the sun long gone and the only thing you see is lightening and rain.

you could hear boothill threaten someone over the phone- it was obvious that he was trying to keep his voice hush but that didn't stop you from hearing a few lines though, "my bullets will find you.. until then, you best find a casket store on penacony."

decidedly, you ignore it. probably nothing.

you see him slam the phone down in it's handle and a few occupants look at him, immediately turning their heads away unbothered. boothill makes his way over to the bar counter once more, settling down on one of the stools.

"right, give me one more felblood energy before i hit the hay," boothill eyes you up under his hat, seeing you pack your things.

"ya leavin'? look outside, the weather s'all muddy and dangerous. can't leave just yet sugar."

boothill snickers, downing the bitter liquid of felblood.

you narrow your eyes, "talk to me would ya? i'm the only patron left." he jabs a carefree thumb behind him, and you look at all the almost empty tables, a few men here and there but that's it.

"you should.. probably head back. it's late," you say, sighing because he wouldn't go away.

"sure," he sips the remaining liquid, "join me?" his teeth are now on display, sharp whites grinning as he looks at you with a calculating stare.

you huff a scoff- ears turning warm at his suggestion. boothill took note of this, and chuckled.

"just pullin' your leg." with one last snort, he rises from his seat and pays his tab.

"keep the change." boothill salutes as he bids farewell.

you watch him walk away, probably to one of the guest rooms- and you look at the cash on the table, 50 credits and an extra 100 as tip.

under all that money, something caught your eye- a small note in between that says 'stay for the night' with the room number written in messy handwriting.

you might wanna take him up on that offer.

Musings on the Teldorae

~ Lorekeeper Kalishnu "Kalith" Astravar

The Suramari Highborne, having been locked in arcane and Nightwell isolation for millennia, diverge away from their elven kin, the Teldoran family, in physiological, linguistic, and sociocultural matters.

Of the genus Kalimdorus, they are one of two known species (K. zindorus shalassia), the other being K. zindorus suramara, or the Nightfallen. We, the Nightborne, have allied with the Sin'dorei most overtly, and it is these cousins of ours where we see our reflection most clearly. Their sacred Sunwell, the wretched they become, the hopes and betrayals, gains and losses...

The queldorus species is the largest within the family (and, indeed, in terms of sub-speciation, it is of the most numerous to my reckoning). These Teldorids include quite notably a large number of branches within the Necrosa family, a polyphyletic clade necrotically linked to a majority of sapient species' family trees. In short: There is a notable population of undead elves, the majority being Kalimdorus queldorus

I remain uncertain in how to classify the various K. queldorus sub- species and races. As it stands, of the Teldorae, this is how I understand them:

Kaldorei, Kalimdorus kaldorus darnassia: Night Elves

Sin'dorei, K. queldorus thalassia: Blood Elves

Shal'dorei, K. zindorus shalassia: Nightborne

Fal'dorei, K. faladorus falanaara: Aranasi Elves

Of these I feel most confident.

The Wretched, Withered, and Nightfallen have given me headaches in trying to classify them. Indeed, the High, Highvale, Blood, and Felblood Elves also grind the gears of classification:

High, K. q. ____

Blood, K. q. ____: Sin'dorei

Felblood, K. q. ____

Wretched, K. q. ____: Arkhan'dorei

Highvale (Danillian), K. q. ____

Withered, K. z. ____: Ethe'dorei

Nightfallen, K. z. ____: Arcan'dorei

At first glance, it should be easy: High Elves, or Quel'dorei, are Kalimdorus queldorus thalassia and Blood Elves--Sin'dorei who are High Elves who live in Quel'thalas--should be K. q. thalas-...

At least the Nightfallen and Withered have easier Shalassian names: Arcan'- from the Arcan'dor trees, and Darnassian "ethe-" meaning "to wither away." However, for their Latinate names, the initial noting of K. zindorus suramara runs into the snag of precision. Is it right to refer to the Nightfallen as those beings of Suramar? What about the affix "zin-" meaning "glory" in the Kaldorei tongue but also eliminated from Shal'dorei ones. Perhaps K. arandorus shalassia be a better descriptor of Shalassian Elves, with the use of "aran-" aligned with the guess that "Shal'aran" means "home of/within the shadows"

Then, with the sun-loving elves, are the High Elves (of, let's say, Dalaran) that different than the Highvale Elves of the Hinterlands? Wretched are indeed distinct from Blood Elves, but are they a different subspecies or a different race? If the Wretched self-organize, should they therefore be K. q. lithiensis, named for the Quel'lithien Lodge?

Quel'dorei, K. queldorus danassia: High Elves

Belore'dorei, K. q. danillia: Highvale Elves

Sin'dorei, K. q. thalassia: Blood Elves

Fel'dorei, K. q. ...: Felblood Elves

Ren'dorei, K. q. renellia: Void Elves

Fal'dorei, K. faladorus falanaara: Aranasi Elves

Malgum, Former Felblade of the Burning Legion

Important Stories:

Unnatural Beings: The man'ari have rejoined their draenei cousins, which reunites some families of the long-lived Eredar race. Malgum is asked to come with his sister, Aziguni, to Valdrakken in the hopes that she can help her friends understand that the man'ari are no longer their enemies.

Demons: When Shalandrae and Aziguni wind up cornered by Dissonantia and her minions, Malgum reveals the dread power of the felfury to save his sister.

Race: Man'ari Eredar

Class: Felblade Berserker

Age: ???? (Eons old, he was an adult when Argus fell.)

Eye Color: Burning fel green

Birthplace: Eredath City

Residence: A small enclave on Azuremist Island set aside by Velen for the Eredar.

Abilities:

Master of Melee Combat: Malgum has had tens of thousands of years to perfect the art of combat, and is able to stand toe to toe with the best warriors of Azeroth, having honed his abilities against countless worlds.

The Felfury: While Malgum does not like using this, he can call upon his fel corruption in moments of dire need. When he invokes this power he becomes a whirling storm of destruction, the felblood in his veins boiling white-hot as he tears into his foes, his body erupting in green flames that ignite anything flammable nearby. He does not feel pain, he does not feel fear, he does not feel anything but a maddening desire to tear apart whatever is infront of him. The Felfury comes with a cost however... felfire must be fed. When he invokes this he must focus on a target. If that target dies then Malgum suffers no ill effects, but if he takes too long he 'burns out' and becomes so exhausted that he can barely move. The cost must be paid, and if not by his victim, then by Malgum himself.

Familiar with Legion Technology: Not extremely useful these days... but Malgum is adept at using the technology of the Burning Legion, such as their ships like the Fel Hammer of the Illidari. As much Legion tech is based on Titan Technology thanks to their former leader being the fallen titan Sargeras this may come in handy...

History

The truth is, he had wished to go with Velen when the prophet fled Argus, but his partner (now centuries dead) had insisted they at least hear out Kil'jadeen's proposal. By the time they recognized it for the poisoned chalace it was, it was too late to refuse. To disobey Archimonde and Kil'jadeen was worthy of death. They allowed themselves to be remade as man'ari and the next several eons of their lives were an endless series of atrocities, genocide, and destruction on a global scale.

His partner fell during a legion invasion of a distant world far away from both Argus and Azeroth, decapitated by one of that world's defenders. For a long time they had only had each other, sharing their regrets and despair at their fate but unable to do anything about it. To even consider dissent was dangerous as Kil'jadeen could invade the minds of the eredar under him at his whim… and it was only blind luck he hadn't seen their thoughts. Their death was what first caused him to give into the felfury. The world turned red for him, and the one who struck down his partner was torn limb from limb by the furious eredar… along with their two allies, and their entire squad, and as the haze fel he found himself standing atop their leader, holding the pulped remains of what had been their head.

After this, he gave in for a long time. He didn't like what he was doing in the Legion's name, but he had lost the will to even care anymore. The only one he could trust was gone, what else could he do?

Then, after eons, Velen returned to Argus at the head of an army. The forces of Azeroth, a world that had denied Sargeras victory multiple times, had invaded the Legion's homeworld and were laying siege to Antorus. For the first time, he saw a potential way to free himself from his fate. As the rest of the legion went to battle, he fell back and hid in the depths of the citadel to wait out the conflict. If the Legion prevailed he would simply emerge and claim that he had been pursuing a group of draenei stragglers into the fortress. If through some miracle Sargeras lost… well… he didn't know what he'd do.

Of course, the miracle happened. The corrupted titan Argus was defeated, the Pantheon imprisoned Sargeras, and the Legion was no more. Kil'jadeen and Archimonde were truly dead, and Sargeras was gone. The Legion's generals looked above for guidance and saw only a power vaccum.

Civil War erupted practically overnight, with the highest ranking demons all vying to take the empty throne of Sargeras. Several powerful Man'ari joined the fighting themselves, but now that there were no leaders and no Kil'jadeen Malgum was beyond tired of the slaughter and stayed out of the conflict as much as he could.

Several years later however, Velen returned and met with another Man'ari Eredar… but Arzal'kal was no foe to the prophet. He led a cabal of Man'ari who, like Malgum, had made the mistake of trusting Kil'jadeen without knowing the truth of their pact with Sargeras. When Arzal'kal presented Velen with the Brilliant Star and shed his Eredar name, taking the name Arzaal once more, Malgum came with him to Azeroth.

Now, he simply wishes to stop being a weapon… but fighting is all he knows anymore after eons of warfare, so he sells his services as a felblade, hoping that he may find a new path someday.

Why I don't care about the Blood Elves?

Petty Reasons: I think the name sounds silly, Sindorei sounds great but 90% of the time people use Blood Elf and it just sound so forcibly edgy and awkward to me; High Elves isn't great but its got a lot of meta weight to it that carries it very the finishing line just barely, Blood Elves just sounds awkward. I hated their design and aesthetic in Frozen Throne compared to Reign of Chaos, sleek, sharp magical Barrack's replaced by the boring, squat human one's the cute, weirdly curved farms replaced by boring box farms? Laaaame. Plus red and gold just doesn't vibe with me as much as blue and gold/white. The Real Reason: OK, so here's the thing, the Blood Elves are fantastic in concept. A willfully isolated proud people at the top of the world laid low by horror and tragedy, discovering the former source of their resplendent lives has left them with a crippling weakness now that it is absent for they grew dependent on its power. Desperate and with few options they turn to desperate and questionable means to survive, binding demons, draining magical energy/life energy from others to bolster their strength and fight off the pangs of pain and loss, giving them new strength but at a great personal cost, like forming a compact with a demon, this is truly a double edged sword/devils bargain. But in execution... It doesn't amount to much. Sure early on they have Mu'Ru which is interesting and fucked up and creates tons of interesting potential avenues for problems to develop but that's about it really. Beyond the almost joke scene of two people being publicly mind controlled which is never followed up on that's it. Their eyes change color and they dress in red now, OK. Like, this isn't to harp on aesthetics specifically, but if they had started to resemble stuff like the Felblood elf, Wretched or Felborn, (heck maybe even Satyr a little?) or something more vampiric then it might at least feel like this act has meaning and weight to it. If the implications of their increasingly authoritarian society and its methods of control were given a real look in then I might have an actual interest in exploring that society. Like, for reference, I quite like the Sindorei in Travelogue cos that stuff does get explored and it makes the trip into Silvermoon and through Eversong fascinating, but even then only so much can be done with it. I get the potential of 'something rotten behind a pretty face' but given Burning Crusade caps off with redemption and the Light, gods the Light again, somehow fixing all those problems... What is there to them now? The High Elves honestly feel like they have a more dynamic story going on because they resisted the seemingly easy way out, were exiled from or refused to return home because they took a moral stance against their kinds methodology and thus are adrift and scattered across the world trying to hold true to who they feel they should be and should have always been. Plus the potential fun of outside looking in on the shifts in their homeland. But yeah as it is, that's why I don't care for the Blood Elves, I think the premise was interesting but the execution never really went anywhere and what few interesting points it did have were cancelled out within one expansion, which is about the amount of time it took for me to stop playing my Blood Elf.

Wake & Slumber!! No idea why this one was so tricky to me, but here we are!

Ingredients:

Base: Felblood Energy x1 + Soothing Soda x2

Stellar Champagne x1

DWC 2: Opportunity/Eternity

She couldn't tell you when the realization had settled over her, like a yoke about her shoulders - her people were a long-lived race, yes, but... with what had been done to her, it was eternity she was facing, now.

Lilliana had really only just come into her own as an adult, before this ocurred, and was now cursed to not only change, with time... but to have nothing but time, in the end. She would have longer with people than if they were human, but... in the end, she would outlast them all - and what kind of life is that? An eternity of being looked at askance - with worry, or trepidation, because of what demons had done to others. She would outlive even her own child.

What was there to do, but accept it? The young woman had railed against it again, and again, but there were no answers. No one had been able to help her. No one knew how to undo what had been done to her soul, because it wasn't the sort of thing that was done. Tampering with souls wasn't the sort of thing the average Kirin Tor sorcerer would have experience with. That was the prerogative of darker arts, and more often than not, those who practiced as much would be more inclined to keep her as she was, or make it worse, rather than assist her in un-doing what had been done.

She had tried to see it as an opportunity, instead - but it was like a thin veneer behind which Lily knew the truth: she didn't want 'forever'. A good, long time, yes - but eternity was not something she'd ever asked for.

The weight of it all was maddening - the fel corruption, the invasive thoughts, the hunger, the changes... and the knowledge that it would all would last forever. It would corrode and erode at who she really was, and who wanted eternity as something they didn't choose to be?

@daily-writing-challenge

and I need 6 felblood and I will max legion tailoring

Commission for @tevruden 

Thank you so much! :3

Alamdor The Felblood

(Not my OC)

Mordred Feysinith: Professional Pain in the Ass

What Could Have Been

Shadowmoon Valley, Alternate Draenor

Krag’thar looked out across the ground before him, gazing over the deep forests framing a wide open field leading off towards Karabor in the distance. The old orc leaned on his staff as he did, his back doing even worse these days following all the combat in Pandaria.

Shadowmoon was technically Alliance territory, but he had reason for not leaving. He closed his eyes, letting out a low sigh as he remembered.

The stranger who had come into their midst and who begged Ner’zul for succor, convincing him that he was a mere cripple who had been cast out of his clan. How he’d shared secrets that he’d learned of powerful spirits who could aid the orcs, make them great enough to drive away the ogre warlords forever.

“Tch… if I knew then what I knew now…” he grumbled, then gazed out at the forests again and felt sadness clench his heart.

This was not his Shadowmoon Valley, this was what it once was yes, but his Shadowmoon was long gone. Burned to ruin by felfire and madness, corrupted beyond any hope of redemption, because the orcs had been fooled by beings they didn’t even know existed, but who had a burning hatred of not only the Draenei, but all life in the Great Dark.

He shook his head, “Gul’dan… if there’s anything good about you being back its that I have the opportunity to crush your skull in my hands like I should have long ago.” he grumbled, stomping forwards into the valley, using his cane as a crutch for his old back.

He remembered the early days of the war against the Draenei, how they’d all been tricked by Gul’dan into believing that they were a threat to them, that they would enslave the orcs as the ogres had or bring ruin to their lands and culture. The orcs of old had been practical people, they had never bothered with the idea of worlds beyond Draenor, not when day to day life occupied all their time. Hunt, fish, skin, work, build, it took all they had just to keep life going. In a culture like that there was no time for worrying about what might lay beyond the skies.

He still remembered the night when Gul’dan had sprung his trap on the orcs, the poisoned chalice he offered them. He remembered how it burned in his stomach and boiled his veins from the inside out, and yet how powerful it had felt, how amazing it was to feel that rush of fury, that blind all-encompassing desire to…

He snarled and shook his head, working his way down the path. Let it go, it wasn’t worth it. Though some part of him still desired it and always would. But that was Mannoroth’s plan wasn’t it? One taste of felblood was all it took, and afterwards most would do anything at all for another.

He sighed, gazing towards Karabor.

Anything… even burn an entire culture to ashes.

He sat down within view of the shining walls on a fallen tree, using it as a bench, and remembered the day they invaded the harbor. How they razed the entire city, tore down buildings, set fire to anything that would hold a flame, and when they found a draenei...

He grimaced, feeling suddenly ill at the thought. When he was freshly blooded he was too frenzied to care, like all the other orcs, but now, all he could remember was the terror in their eyes, the screams, the wet sticky feeling on his face and hands.

“The Legion wanted us to be monsters… and now, that’s all we’ll ever be to the Alliance.” he rumbled, shaking his head.

And yet, now Garrosh was on this version of Draenor, and even without felblood the orcs were slaughtering all who stood against this world’s Hellscream and his warlords. He looked down at his hand, old but still powerful enough to break bones by sheer force alone. No demons urging this Iron Horde on, yet here they went again.

The blood, the war, the chaos, the death. Give him a real foe, one that truly threatened his clan, and he would charge in spite of his back and hack down any who stood against him, but the Draenei of this time were just as much victims as before.

A different timeline, different possibilities, and yet the same damn results. Just with steel and gunpowder instead of felfire and red mists.

He shook his head, that memory coming back now. The red mist that they unleashed upon Shattrath so many years ago. He remembered giving pause even in his fel-crazed state as he saw what it did, saw the Draenei screaming and twisting in agony as it warped and crippled them, how they vomited up blood and clawed at their throats, how some even threw themselves upon their own weapons to make the pain stop.

He sighed, gazing out across this version of Shadowmoon. Then he grunted and looked up as he heard hoofsteps behind him, a large woman coming into view.

“Krag? Mola’raum said you’d come out here again.” said Nitika, the tauren seeress walking up the path. “Is everything alright?” she asked.

The old orc shrugged, “Just memories.” he replied simply.

She looked around, then nodded. She hadn’t been to Outland herself, but she’d heard stories. “About… um…” she glanced back. She knew Krag’thar was a very old orc, but she didn’t know how old.

“Yes.” he snorted, “About ‘um.’” he smirked grimly. “Seeing this as it was before Gul’dan’s treachery, as it was when I was just a boy…” he sighed.

Nitika nodded at that, sitting down next to him on the tree. “Not easy huh?” she asked, not sure what else to say.

“Mm… not one damn day has gone by that I didn’t wish I could have gone back and warned myself somehow. Told myself to tell Ner’zul about what Gul’dan was planning, or just crush his skull with a rock while he slept and be done with it.” he grunted, “Then Garrosh…” he paused, spitting angrily on the ground.

Garrosh Hellscream, he’d had such high hopes for their former warchief when Thrall had handed the mantle over to him. Yes he was young and brash, but he was Grom’s son. Grom who had sacrificed himself to free them from the Legion.

He shook his head, “Garrosh gets what I wanted for so many years, and what does he do with it? He starts the whole damn mess over again.” he growled. “The details are different, but the Horde is the same disaster it was last time… there is no honor in any of this. No glory. Just endless slaughter because Grom’s idiot son wants revenge.” he scowled.

Nitika nodded, remembering her own past, wishing that she could have changed several details. Not intervening in the fight that took Carine’s life, traditions be damned, and not sleeping outside the camp that ill-fated night in Pandaria, but time travel was the domain of the Bronze Dragonflight and no others. “Krag’thar…” she started, but the old orc stood up and grunted.

“Hmph, forget it. Just the ramblings of an old man with too damn many memories to deal with.” he nodded, turning back towards the path that would eventually lead to Frostfire Ridge. “We should go before a Draenei patrol finds us, orcs aren’t exactly welcome around here after the Dark Star…” he nodded.

Nitika sighed, but nodded and stood as well, following along next to the shaman as the orc allowed his gaze to go across the valley one more time.

In a few more months they would save Draenor from those who threatened it, and then a new threat would arise that nobody would have expected, but for now he at least got one last look at the home he had lost.

The problem was it just made losing it hurt worse.

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