💚what does my muse get envious over?

He's become a fairly secure individual over time, originally he struggled with feeling as though he wasn't enough for his mates. It took him time to adjust to polyamory and the natural jealousy/envy that can come from that but he has had more recent issues that he's worked through with it. Generally he is pretty level headed though and envy or jealousy don't phase him much.

Lately the biggest jealousy is when Vivi decides she absolutely done with him and she clings to her Aunties or other Papas.

Mission Critical, pt 2

The trail the young woman and the guards had made was not hard to follow, but the scene that unfolded took Fhaliona by surprise. Both guards were dead, poisoned daggers protruding from their backs between plates or armor. Fhaliona smiled slightly at this; there was a reason she'd chosen Diz as her battle buddy, he was nothing if not skilled. The woman lay motionless in a small pool of blood. Diz sat off to the side with the small bundle in his lap, staring down at it with his head in his hands. Fhaliona silently walked up beside him, peering down into the blanket and meeting a pair of large eyes and a tangle of blue hair. “Oh.... oh no.... no no no....”

Diz looked up at the almost whisper. “What are we going to do with a baby?”

Fhaliona sat beside him with some difficulty, her gashed and gore-streaked armor protesting, favoring a shoulder but not seeming any worse for wear. “You mean what are you going to do with a baby. I am a soldier with no home and no family. You have both of those.”

Diz turned back down to the bundle. “They'll send her to the Stormwind orphanages.”

Fhaliona scoffed. “They are already over capacity with Argus and Darnassus refugees. This child would have a better life in Rustberg, even in the orphanage there.”

“Good luck convincing our leaders of that.”

The warrior chuckled as she got to her feet. “No luck is needed. Maybe a few well-placed empty threats instead. Make the request. I will 'convince' them to allow it.”

Diz also stood, shifting the bundle in his arms, who promptly yawned and blinked sleepily. “You're going to get yourself thrown into the Stockades. Then who's gonna watch my back?”

“You let me worry about that. Someone needs to teach the small one how to properly use a sword.”

mentions: @dizaraksanar

https://chardiary.com/c/Fhaliona-200/diary/entries/1233

Mission Critical, pt 1

Fhaliona leapt from the wagon as soon as it stopped, eyes scanning the war camp for the commanders' tents. After checking in, she found her gear already unloaded and a few squires standing ready, unwilling to meet her gaze. “Hero of Darkshore”. There are plenty of those. These boys act like they've never seen a hardened soldier before. She turned to the closest one as he squirmed. “Where's the furthest tent from here? I need my beauty sleep.” He pointed toward the east side of camp and they all scrambled to pick up the cots, bedrolls, and packs of personal supplies. May as well get things ready before Diz gets here. Making their way through the camp. Fhaliona caught the usual stares and whispers, but ignored them as the squires lead her to a more quiet area of the camp, away from the hustle and bustle, oaths about how many Troll ears would be taken and how much Orc blood would be spilled. Most of them would be lucky to survive if a real battle broke out.

The small group finally reached their destination, where two tents were already pitched near a small fire pit with logs around it as impromptu seating. She simply nodded her thanks as the gear was dropped and the squires scurried away, setting up her supplies in one of the tents and fetching wood from a nearby pile. Dizarak wasn't terribly far behind, just enough for her to tease him about being late even though he'd had farther to travel than she did.

The first few days were uneventful. The powers that be saw fit to send them on simple scouting missions. They'd come across a Horde encampment where captives were being held. Fhaliona had wanted to charge in and free them immediately, but the commanders' orders were simply to observe. She hated missions like this; patience and stealth were definitely not her forte, and why give the Horde the opportunity to further abuse and murder Alliance citizens? After a week of watching the captives slowly disappear, her rage had build to the point where it was barely controllable. Still no order to attack. It was a small camp; she could take them all out herself, and even more easily with Diz striking from the shadows.

Nearly two weeks passed. The captives had dwindled to half their original number. Fhaliona grumbled from her hiding place as Diz appeared beside her after once again taking count, knocking a fist against the side of the tree she crouched behind. “Ready?” he asked, knowing she'd grown tired of sitting while he'd gone ahead. “To what? Charge in? I could only hope that's what you meant.” She hated sitting around, and hiding behind a tree when she could be ridding the forest of the Horde invaders was just shameful and cowardly.

“If only.” Dizarak looked just as annoyed as she felt. Fhaliona sighed. “Maybe soon-” Diz's voice was drowned out as screams pierced the camp nearby and both froze.

“Now?” Fhaliona asked, springing to her full height, unsheathing her sword and nearly dancing with excitement.

“Now!” Diz snarled. The word had barely left his lips as Fhaliona rushed toward the camp and screams, the rogue hot on her heels.

Finally! Fhaliona burst through the undergrowth and leapt over the spiked wall to find the Horde camp in complete bedlam. The initial screams they'd heard were from a young Kaldorei woman, who was on the ground clutching a small bundle. The men, the few who were left, had begun fighting their captors with improvised weapons. Dwarves kneecapping Orcs with small boulders; there was even a Gnome who'd made it up a tree and was sending tiny boiling elementals conjured from the cook pots and cauldrons at the faces of the enemy. It was utter chaos; the kind Fhaliona thrived in. She glanced over her shoulder to Diz before throwing herself into the fray. “Take out their leaders. I'll handle the rest.” He vanished into the shadows as she struck, her blade taking the head cleanly off the nearest Orc. The captives hesitated and she barked, “You're not alone. Keep fighting! Take their weapons!” Diz had already finished with the commanders and saw fit to take out their Goblin engineers as well. Explosions rocked the far side of the encampment as he tripped their bombs from a safe distance. Good boy. Trolls, Orcs, Sin'dorei, they all fell before her whirling blade, but the battle had casualties on their side as well. These captives were not soldiers, and the Horde had ordered their immediate execution when the fighting broke out. The only one left was the young mother, and she took off running as soon as the fighting had begun in earnest. Another scream was heard from deeper into the forest just as Diz emerged from the shadows. The two shared a look and he disappeared through a void tear as Fhaliona turned back to the Horde soldiers that remained, her face a grim visage of cold fury as she took her large sword in one hand and picked up another from one of the fallen.

mentions: @dizaraksanar

https://chardiary.com/c/Fhaliona-200/diary/entries/1232

Mission Critical, pt 3

When the unlikely trio returned to camp, word of their attack had already spread like wildfire. The baby was left with the medics while Dizarak and Fhaliona headed to the barracks for debriefing. The void male went first, while the Lightforged paced outside pondering exactly how much threatening she'd have to do to ensure he got his way. Once he was finished, Diz emerged and shot a look of disappointment toward Fhaliona. Of course they said no. The herald poked his head out through the doorway and paled at the look on her face as she marched up to the building, not needing to be ushered in. The council had been arguing and seemed in a foul enough mood. She would have to tread carefully.

The Human spoke first. “We have already received Sanar's report. Do you have anything to add?”

Fhaliona shifted. “Had we been permitted to act sooner, we would have prevented loss of life. Those captives were being executed at a rate of one to two per day. The child would still have her family.”

A Gilnean spoke next. “The child will do well with her own people in Stormwind.”

“You want to place an infant in the capital city, overrun with refugees, in the middle of a war? Have you lost your minds?! She belongs with a loving family in a safe place far away from this conflict!”

The Gilnean's face reddened and Fhaliona knew she'd spoken out of turn. Then the Dwarf spoke. “Wha' do ye suggest then, lass?”

“She should go with Dizarak back to Tol Barad.” More arguing from the council. Fhaliona raised her voice. “He has a warm home and a family. The village is well guarded by those who have taken residence there, including a full contingent of displaced Demon Hunters. If that is not acceptable, at least allow the child to be placed in the orphanage there. They have the supplies and staff to ensure the child has everything she needs for healthy growth and social acclimation. The village is far enough from the battle and has no strategic value, and would not be attacked by the Horde.” She left out the part about the village being neutral territory. “If it comes down to it, I will take residence there and personally ensure her safety with reports back to Stormwind.” The council seemed unconvinced, so Fhaliona pushed just a bit more. “I can take an entire encampment down single-handedly. Between myself and the Illidari, that should be more than enough to guard one child from non-existent dangers.”

The commanders glanced back and forth to each other. “We will discuss this further. You are free to go.” Fhaliona turned on her heel, plucking the arrow from her pauldron and tossing it to the ground, making sure it stuck point-first into the dirt before heading back to her own tent.

Dizarak had been staring into the long-dead fire, his face a mixture of unreadable emotion. Fhaliona slipped her damaged plate off before sitting beside him, fishing two cigarettes from her belt pouch. She lit both, passing one to him and he took it without a word. They sat in silence for a moment before Diz asked, “What did they say?”

“They said they'd discuss it.” Fhaliona took a healthy drag from the cigarette, stifling a cough. “I can't guarantee anything, but I imagine you'll be collecting your prize from the medics before we leave.”

Diz sputtered, nearly choking on his smoke. “What did you tell them?”

Fhaliona glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “The 'Wind of Death' has personally ensured your daughter's safety.”

mentions: @dizaraksanar

https://chardiary.com/c/Fhaliona-200/diary/entries/1234

Seeing the death and destruction of both of her homeworlds, her people's reliance on the Naaru for strength and believing them to be misguided, Fhaliona set off to pursue the destruction of the Legion as a soldier for the Alliance overall. While her people didn't outright reject her, they distanced themselves from her and saw her as a bit of a heretic. Campaigning on Argus only drove her to become more bitter, and she began to seclude herself and devote all of her time to "suicide missions". Plagued by her inner demons and with a burning desire for power, she joined the Lightforged after accompanying another unconventional Draenei during his trial. She is still skeptical of the Light (and is not a Paladin because of this), but it has served to give her a purpose and quiet her feelings of inadequacy.

Fhaliona is a typical Draenei in appearance; long swept-back horns ending in razor-sharp tips, exotic, sensual, oozing sex appeal, but she has no time for your BS. She is actually very simple, not indulging in much of life's pleasures. She has long pale-blonde hair swept back from between her horns, and lavender-golden eyes and tattoos that are a mark of her Order. She wears her simple armor everywhere she goes. Her greatsword is the only indulgence she has allowed herself; an expensive, mastercrafted, well-maintained weapon that is deadly in her hands. Fhaliona gets along well enough with the other races of the Alliance, particularly Humans, Kal'dorei, and Dwarves. She is distrustful of Worgen, but can sympathize with their plight. She jokes that Gnomes would make a good snack, and that Pandaren can be used as rugs. She tends to stay away from Ren'dorei, due to their affinity to the Void. Fhaliona is fascinated by Tauren (they have such large hooves!), but otherwise has a burning hatred of the Horde.

Den of the Enemy

“This armor does not fit properly,” Fhaliona complained to the Dwarf beside her, tugging at the neck with a gloved hand and making an exasperated face. “How am I supposed to fight when I don't have range of motion?” The Dark Iron peered up at her with a chuckle. “Yer not goin' tae be fightin'. We're jus' goin' tae talk tae 'im, ye ken?” Moraghlioda turned her eyes down to the Lightforged's leg. “Yer not s'posed tae strain that anywho, jus' walkin' an' exercisin' it. And yer proper armor needs repairin'.”

“Yeah, yeah, more 'stay out of trouble',” the warrior sighed. “I swear everyone thinks I actually have a death wish.” She picked at the armor again and spoke more softly. “Do you really think this is going to work?” Mora kept her voice equally low. “Everyone knows the guards who stay in the city 'ave no common sense. If ye walk by in Stormwind armor, they don't even look at yer face and jus' salute. An' my people aren't yet trusted; it's still perfectly normal tae lock up Dark Iron thieves.” She stopped and looked at the ground. “It's gettin' back out that concerns me.”

Fhaliona stopped beside the Dwarf, arranging the manacles just tight enough to look like they were doing their job, but not tight enough to cause discomfort, before pressing the key into Mora's hand. “You let me worry about that.”

“That's worrisome enough.” The pair approached the gate of the Stormwind Stockades and were stopped by the guards stationed there. “State your business,” the guard said with a salute. Fhaliona cleared her throat, trying her best to mask her accent from behind the ill-fitting helm. “This one was caught pickpocketing in the Blue Recluse. I was sent to escort and oversee her imprisonment.”

The guard shared a look with his partner, then opened the first gate. “King's honor, friend.” Fhaliona simply nodded, giving Mora a shove for show. The Dwarf stumbled and cursed, but it was all part of the act.

The first level of the Stockades was empty, save for a few stocks and weapon racks. Fhaliona breathed a sigh of relief and removed her helm. “I can't believe that worked!”

Moraghlioda winked and freed herself from the manacles, shrugging off the rags that barely covered her leather and chainmail. “Ah told ye, city guards are clueless. They get complacent, standin' behind the walls all day. Now let's get tae findin' yer Orc.” The guards in the lower levels were a little more suspicious, but said nothing and left them alone only to keep an eye on the unusual pair. They were used to adventurers entering the prison on interrogation missions or simply to prove their worth by beating on the more dangerous convicts. At the end of a long hall on the lowest level, numerous guards gathered outside the door and called for them to halt. Mora ignored them and crossed with as large of strides as her short legs would allow. “We're 'ere on King Wrynn's orders! Step aside!”

The captain of the Stockade guard spoke first. “We've received no such orders. Turn back.” Mora was about to speak again when Fhaliona decided she wasn't wasting time on an argument. A gauntleted fist crashed against the stone, cracks spreading like spiderwebs and stone chips sprayed outwards before falling to the floor. Mora smirked as many of the guards visibly fought the urge to cower. “Unless ye want yer head to look like that, Ah suggest ye let us pass.” The captain sneered, but the crowd all but fled down the hallway. Mora took a station to the side as Fhaliona stepped up to the door and peered between the bars.

Saurfang sat silent with his eyes closed, chained to the wall. He made no signs of hearing the disturbance. Fhaliona cleared her throat and the Orc opened one eye. “Come to gloat?”

“I would not gloat at one who managed to wound me, regardless of how my hatred burns for your kind. I came to ask why. Why are you so set on destroying every world you set foot on?” The Warlord sighed. “That is a long story I think you would not wish to hear.” “I lost my home to the Burning Legion!” Fhaliona shouted, echoing in the depths of the prison. A few of the other prisoners stirred. “The same Burning Legion your Gul'dan served when he destroyed Draenor and killed my family! The same Burning Legion you served willingly! If I cannot have your head, I will have answers!” “I DID NOT!” Saurfang roared back before regaining his composure. “Draenor was also my home, and the home of my clan. We were promised power, the power to hold our home safe from all invaders, the power to expand our holdings for the benefit of our future generations. It was all a lie, and by the time we realized, it was too late.” He hissed the last part. “The demon blood took control, compelled us to do atrocious things, honorless acts I am not proud of. This green skin is a curse,” he spat.

Fhaliona's eyes widened at his words, and her rage cooled slightly. “And yet you followed Windrunner's orders to create a weapon of genocide and burn the home of the Kaldorei.”

Saurfang sighed again, hanging his head against the chains. “She is my Warchief. I am too old to openly defy one more powerful than me, and take that mantle for myself.”

“Our Prophet is far older than you. There is still time to put that dishonorable wench in her place.” Fhaliona turned to Mora and the Orc shifted his head to watch her leave. “I have heard enough. Let's get out of here before the King is notified of our actions.” The Lightforged called over her shoulder, “Light be with you, Saurfang.”

Saurfang grunted. “The Light cannot save me, but you already know that, Draenei.”

Mora straightened from leaning on the stone wall and followed Fhaliona back through the upper levels of the Stockades. As they neared the gate, Mora paused. “Any idears on 'ow to get me back out?”

The warrior regarded the marksman beside her with amusement as she replaced the helm. “You are skilled in the art of camoflage, yes? I'll distract the guards and you can sneak past.”

Mora grinned. “Now that is a fine plan! Remember, this doesn't last long.” She carefully arranged her gear so as not to make a sound and slipped into the shadows.

As soon as the hunter disappeared, Fhaliona charged up to the gate. “Guards! The prisoners are rioting! All hands are needed!” The guards looked on with surprise as they opened the gate and rushed in. Fhaliona strode outside and closed the gate behind them, making sure Mora slipped through before the lock clicked in place. They were a fair distance away when the camoflage fell and Mora laughed. “Ye are goin' tae be in so much trouble fer that!”

Fhaliona returned with a grin of her own. “'Trouble' is my middle name.”

Mentions: Moraghlioda - WyrmrestAccord

https://chardiary.com/c/Fhaliona-200/diary/entries/493