The general clutter accumulated over three years of maintaining this blog has gotten on my last nerve, and thus I’m archiving this blog. But no worries! Zoen isn’t going way, she’s just moving to a less messy house. You guys can find me again over here.
(Notice: literally nothing is different, because I fear and despise Change and Making New Shit)
(Literally. Nothing.)
@loreifying liked for a possessed starter
“Cease your posturing, Blood-Prince, else I’ll return you to the grave myself!”
The Wraith (the King?) steps closer, fearless as a god before one of his subjects. There is a part of him (her) that wishes to step back, keep some distance between their self and the elder predator. The instinct is easy to repress - nothing but a child’s wariness, after all, and he is beyond such a mortal weakness.
“Your Majesty.”
The voice is almost correct. There’s little difference in accent between father and daughter, but the disparity might be enough to send fingers, skeletal and rotten, trailing down the young monarch’s spine; the tones are clearer, cadence smoother. The words project bright and clean, borne by a consciousness that spent years mastering public speech rather than a fast-grown child raised in anonymity. It is the difference between the cascade of polished stones and jagged rocks, and it is not Zoen Mith.
“It’s been too long, Anduin. How fare your people?”
The... knight, lord, king? would make a show of striding towards a nearby window to peer out at the city sprawling beyond. Tiris snarls as she (he? they?) pass, ears flat against his skull as he backs up towards Anduin Wrynn.
So anyways, like this post for a starter with an Arthas-possessed Zoen because that is honest to God the most horrifying thing I’ve considered all day.
“The King is looking for you,” said the protagonist’s best friend. Her voice was hollowed out, cold. “He doesn’t like being made to look.”
“Get out. Get out of her.”
Her best friend advanced, her movements odd and jerky like breaking clockwork.
“The King is looking for you. Do you think he won’t find you?”
“I said get out!”
Her best friend picked up the kitchen knife, scraping it over the counter.
“The King is looking for you. Go to him.”
hero:
“ You would know better than I if there were. ”
A raised eyebrow accompanies the passing glance, but if he is inclined to more than that, the motivation never quite crosses his features, the same careful disposition held in place.
It’s a strange conclusion to reach, considering, but Arator expects nothing less than an attempt to displace the bitter seeds sown between their orders.
“ On the contrary. I’ll leave the nefarious plans to you. ”
Without missing a beat, he gestures ahead to the teleportation module, those gathering around sporting regalia for every organization to stand in defiance of the Legion’s pursuit. Would that it could be like this always, this unity. “ We could trade theories, but I think our time is best spent preparing to leave. ”
Her smile widens sharply at his own little jab and she rolls her eyes skyward before dutifully turning on her heel and skulking toward the module, its crowd. Some of the faces she recognizes, and there’s a hollow weight in her chest as she notes the ones she does not, sees the spaces they have filled that had once belonged to people she knew.
So many lost. So much unnecessary destruction. And so many more will be lost here - so many of those faces, those gazes which linger too long upon the looming brilliance of Azeroth - shall never again breathe her air, touch her soil. They’re going to die, bloody and broken and ruined, on this shattered husk of a slaughtered world, and there’s still so great a chance that their (our?) sacrifices shall be for naught.
She dwells on it a moment too long, realizes only after she opens her mouth to bite back at the paladin that it’s too late to say anything along that vein without seeming... strange. The plans would have to remain hers for the time being.
“You telling me you can’t walk and talk at the same time?” It’s a weak response, she knows, but perhaps less weak than total silence. “The hell kinda operation is your Highlord running?”
@exspiravitae / sc.
The surprise never fails to catch him when he least counts on it, how truly quiet it is within the walls of the ship when mere steps away stands molten corruption and the call of battle. To think this is the life his parents lead for thousands upon thousands of years, Ara/tor is at once proud and overwhelmed. Mournful, too, for how much they have lost, how long they have been apart.
Somewhere down there, they are carrying on with their unending war. Soon, he will join them but not precisely at their side.
“ It looks as though we will make the journey to the planet’s surface together. If you have objections, I can arrange for another assignment. ”
However the Highlord chooses to address the Knights of Ach/erus for their actions, Ara/tor does his best not to interfere, no matter his personal feelings. It helps that there is a problem so much bigger laid out before them.
“Is there a reason I ought to object?”
His isn’t a face she quickly recognizes, although the armor and aura (oh, Aura) immediately register as paladin in her head. Was he at Light’s Hope - did she or her knights leave him broken on the ground, too?
Zoen swallows, feels shattered glass scrape against her throat, and tries to (snarl) smile as she leans closer to him. “You plannin’ something nefarious, hero?”
Let him, she doesn’t care. If it means she can escape the sweltering confines of the blessed Vindicaar, she’ll suffer the machinations of a vengeful Silver Hand. And if those machinations happen to succeed - if this is to be her final resting place, or if he just kicks her off the side of the broken world to tumble endlessly through the Nether -
Well.
At least it wouldn’t be unwarranted.
“ Zoen, ” Varian says, gesturing to the empty seat in front of him for her to take if she so wishes. “It’s been a while.”
A map of Azeroth is placed before him, long and sprawling with figurines depicting different troop movements. Horde, Alliance, and now Legion pieces litter it like a child’s board game. There’s nothing childish about it, though. The entire world relies on the cunning and strategic advice of people like Varian—and reports of people like Zoen Mith.
Which, considering her parentage and the atrocities surrounding them both, seems like a tall order. Thus far she’s proven to be resourceful and useful, despite what those who cry for blood may think otherwise. Varian trusts her.
“ Tell me what you’ve been up to, ” he says, attempting to reign in the tone he normally reserves for when Anduin deigns it appropriate to be mischievous and sneaky. It’s hard when he considers her as much his daughter as Anduin is his son.
@exspiravitae // starter call
“Your Majesty, always a pleasure.” He deserves so much more than the little dip of a head she gives him as she slides into the proffered seat, one arm hooked across the back as the other drums staccato against her thigh. Tiris’ absence is a gaping hole that makes her feel a bit off-kilter, but she will not hold it against him for seeking Anduin’s company, nor Anduin for so easily commanding her wolf’s affection. In another place and time, it might have made her tetchy with the king, but... the years between them are long, and Zoen is not so young and unsure anymore that she finds it necessary to bare her teeth at everything like a wounded animal. Not even Varian Wrynn.
Especially not Varian Wrynn.
"The usual. Murder.” She grins, bright and cheerful. Killing forces who had intended to conquer and destroy probably isn’t actually murder, but they’d been so easy to fell that no other word really felt accurate.
Plus, she wants to see his face.
A little Dreadlord figurine catches her attention at the bottom of her perception, reminding her of her true reason for coming. Sobered, the Wraith leans forward in her seat, seeking the king’s eye. The hand that had been tapping tightens into a fist atop her leg.
“Been hearing... things, from up north. Sort of. They’re all in here,” she reaches up to tap at the side of her skull, “and I’m not the only one. It’s not urgent, especially with the Legion gearing up, but it’s not nothing, either.”
She leans back, loosening her fist to run her finger through her hair.
open starter
The shadows grow LONGER around the Wraith (the Lord), deepen Void black through no natural means. Flickers of lichfire, pale-bright and ethereal, don’t so much split her skin as - replace it. Where there was flesh, there is now something… else. Luminescent and transient - inhuman.
But the snarl, the bared teeth -
“I’d start making excuses if I were you.”
- they are just human enough.
Also: Can I (maybe) request Zoen and Tiris, please?
I tried ;v;
Finally came up with ideas for what Zoen’s wraith form looks like but currently my art skills are too rusty to draw her up, so these are all for later reference. Heavily influenced by Bf/A Syl/vanas’ banshee form, Shadow/reaper And/uin, and Frost Li/ch Jai/na. (And a bit of Rea/per tbh.)
Famine Death War & Pestilence
ain’t no grave can hold my body down, but jesus christ, i wish it could. | j.s. (via sebastianfucker)
