A character commission, Sir Renault Harthfolde, 2nd gen Lordaeranian Death Knight belonging to @thecyanbladesman.

Grace of Elune- Rescheduled! (12/9/18)

Hello everyone! Again, many apologies on the last-minute cancellation on Sunday. I’m happy to let everyone know my dad is making a swift recovery, and was discharged earlier today. Thank you everyone for you kind words and well wishes.

THAT SAID! I’ve decided to just postpone another week, to 12/9/18. The event details and time will remain the same, and I hope to see you all there!

This event will take place on Wrymrest Accord, however if you would like to attend and are from a different server, please get in touch with me! I will be happy to trade btags to arrange a cross realm invite.

The important OOC note still stands! While this will follow the same structure as previous events, with a sermon then ending with a blessing, the blessing itself will contain content that is bloody and somewhat gorey. The sermon itself will be PG and safe as always, and I will let you all know when the sermon ends and the bloody bit begins so you may excuse yourself if necessary. If you have any questions, please contact me in-game on Roraelis or here on tumblr.

@the-royal-courier @wowrpevents @wraconnect @warcraftisastage

Grace of Elune (12/2/18)

A note written in familiar script but seemingly heavier than before appears on the message boards of the Alliance:

OOC:

Are we back? We’re sort of back. There are many exciting things coming for nelves, and it’s about time we prepare ourselves for it!

IMPORTANT OOC NOTE: While this will follow the same structure as previous events, with a sermon then ending with a blessing, the blessing itself will contain content that is bloody and somewhat gorey. The sermon itself will be PG and safe as always, and I will let you all know when the sermon ends and the bloody bit begins so you may excuse yourself if necessary. If you have any questions, please contact me in-game on Roraelis or here on tumblr.

When: December 2nd, 6pm Server time.

Where: Twilight Grove, Duskwood (picture below) **Should anyone need help getting there, please contact me prior to the event and I will be happy to fly anyone over!**

What: A brief sermon on the wonders of Elune, ending with a blessing.

Why: To prepare ourselves for what is to come, and to reignite our faith.

Who: Led by Roraelis, everyone is allowed to attend. While invites are not mandatory, they will be offered for those who need help in finding the location. 

Please note though- this is a sermon event with the focus on one speaker. During the sermon try to keep emotes and /say to a minimum so that the event text does not get lost in chat spam, and everyone can read what is being said. :)

If you have any questions, suggestions, or even requests on what topic I should cover, feel free to hit me up-game on Roraelis or here on tumblr! I also have a calendar event for it in-game so if you’d like to be added get in touch with me!

@the-royal-courier @wowrpevents @wraconnect @warcraftisastage

Exact location under the cut:

Keep reading

47th Infantry Regiment - Military Ball

The 47th Infantry Regiment proudly presents our first annual Military Ball. Hosted by Lt. Commander, Lady Olivia Bell, and Lord Marshal, Wallace McCree. Come join us at Bell Manor, Cindervale for an evening full of dancing, entertainment, and pleasantries.

Location: Cindervale, Redridge Mountains, Eastern Kingdoms ((OOCly: Greymane Manor, Gilneas, Eastern Kingdoms)) When: November 17th, 2018 Time: 6PM-9:30PM servertime (invites will start being sent at 5:30PM) Faction: Alliance (WM off) Attire: Formal or Dress Uniform with ribbons. Uniform NOT required.

MANY PRIZES TO BE WON INCLUDING MOUNTS AND PETS! 

6PM - Drinks & Conversation 6:30PM - Introductions by Olivia and Wallace 7PM - Dance & Bar 7:30PM - Dinner & Desserts 8PM - Dancing & Games 8:30PM - Raffle Winners 9PM - Dancing & Winding Down 9:15PM - Closing Speech by COs of the 47th 9:30PM - Curtain Call Have anymore questions? Site: fortyseventh.shivtr.com Or, PM Olivia at lostinawalmart.tumblr.com/ask @wowrpevents @wraconnect

With the new baby trade boom coming to Kul’tiras soil, what better way to expand your market and gain new alliances and trade agreements than through an open market!?

Anchor Trading Company is hosting an open trade market on the 24th of November for any and all legal trade companies and merchants to peddle their wares. This is a chance for mainlanders and islanders, alike, to branch out and generate new avenues of trade and revenue alike.

For this we only seek one thing.

YOU!

We will be opening up a simple form for tradesmen and merchants to fill out in an effort to fill the trade grounds with their presence and wares. Mainlands and Islanders are all welcome. This form will be open beginning next week, but we are taking preregistrations from those who merely wish to be on the list of vendors from the get go! This is open to any and all Alliance no matter your server. Come one. Come all. ( Please be aware that party groups or raid groups may be required due to sharding)

We are seeking security members to help keep the peace at the faire. If you are interested in this- please seek out Sabine Hadley ( @tirasiansails or Amber#3565 on discord) to discuss.

Guidelines and Regulations for the faire will be posted on the same day the registration form is opened.

DON’T MISS THIS CHANCE TO EXPAND YOUR RP HORIZONS! JOIN US FOR AN OPPORTUNITY TO MEET NEW PEOPLE AND CREATE NEW AVENUES OF STORY FOR YOURSELF AND/OR YOUR GUILD!

The Guardian Gearworks will be hosting a Hallow’s Eve party on October 27th at 6pm server. It will be held at the entrance to Upper Blackrock Spire–don’t worry, it’s safe! We will have a ton of activities for everyone to enjoy, including a pumpkin carving contest, a costume competition, a scavenger hunt, fortune telling, dancing, and more! We hope to see you there totally decked out, all are welcome! 

Another War

He hated war, he had hated it ever since he had left his woods and found how it tore across the world while he had lived in ignorance and solitude. Now he was here, fighting another war so soon after the last, but this time it was against the men and women he’d fought shoulder to shoulder with on Argus. The Horde had always been known as an ally to him, they’d aided the Alliance in fighting a God and his armies, and here they were, slaughtering each other for the lifeblood of the very earth they stood upon. It had taken the loss of his brother Calel and the Blighting of several of his own troops to steel himself towards the horde, they had shown their unwillingness to simply live on Azeroth in peace, and so there would be none. The battle had been savage from the beginning, old hatreds seemed to thrive as enemies from an age ago reignited the spark of anger and tore into each other like old times. He frowned as he brought his ax down on a young orc, wondering if this was his first time fighting the opposite faction. He shook his head and looked up from the corpse, preparing to fight the much older looking orc in front of him when out of the corner of his eye he saw his father go down under an orc. Anger rose up inside of him, all hesitation in killing the horde burned away as his father screamed. He turned on his heel, intending to charge over and aid his father when he realized his mistake. With a glance towards the orc in front of him. He sighed just as the orc’s ax was buried into the metal of his helm. He crumpled to the ground, darkness taking him almost immediately.  @gareththeknight @sunset-sword @caeliam @thecyanbladesman

A Chorus of Blue

This was something that Gareth had dreamed about in his younger years. After Arthas had completely obliterated the old kingdom, he fought so harshly to reclaim what he had lost.

Then as decades passed, he slowly lost that hope, and only hoped to at least purge what infested the land. Then he met the Forsaken that decided to fight for their old kingdom, rather than for that Undead Queen. Time in Lordaeron and the Argent Dawn soon tempered him with the belief that all could have some manner of good. Truly, he believed this. As he years went on, he refused to take sides, knowing full well it’d go against his principles.

Then there was Blight.

Somehow Gareth was able to justify that… only those who followed Sylvanas were pure evil. Truly. And so he kept to his principles, and considered the more erratic, radical-nationalist Forsaken as just another type of Scourge.

Then there was his son.

Adopted or not, the pain was real. And it spurred the old forge of hatred and anger. He considered his principles to be more than a weakness, but a self-justification that did harm to the world. He saw himself as a force of chaos in a world that demanded peace and unity.

So it was that force that Sir Gareth Davice, Knight of the Silver Hand, Son of Lordaeron, and Vassal to Harthfolde stood among the sea of blues. When his king charged the field, so did he, and how glorious was his holy crusade upon the scores of Horde.

Gareth slaughtered his old enemies, the Orcs and Trolls. He destroyed fresh ones, such as the Undead and their monstrosities. He culled old allies like the Blood Elves, and killed even what he considered peaceful additions to the Horde such as the Tauren and Pandaren.

It was on this field that he’d make his mark. The elder knight’s threat grew red and spotted, his warcries lifting with every unceremonious kill upon his opponent. The large maul he held, tempered through every war and forged to bring justice, slaughtered all in his path.

It was here that he met an older Orc. The beast of a warrior swung his battle axe high then low, the Paladin just narrowly escaping a steely death. His azure pools, as young as they were in the beginning, shimmered with golden light. His features, old and aging, practically lit up as he sent golden flames into his opponent’s side, searing steel to flesh in a matter of moments.

Another swing was deflected with a harsh guard from the shaft of his maul, before following through with a swift crack of the pommel sliding across the now broken jaw of the Orc. Gareth Davice raised his weapon, hoping to overpower the warrior with both the Light and holy steel, but was met with an extreme pain along his right.

His maul flew and fluttered, the head slamming into the familiar, yet burned earth. Gareth grabbed at his arm, the Orc’s axe having torn through and sliding deep. With a roar did the elder lift his hand and unleash a torrent of holy fire, melting away the flesh of his enemy. Yet, almost as a last show of defiance, the old warrior dragged his axe down enough to totally remove the limb from the Paladin’s body.

True, the Knight continued to fight. His wound was closed by the graciousness and warmth of the Light. He fought clumsily, and not at all like what he was. He’d see this through to the end, however. Yet, he was met with the same sight he had before when retreating to Lordaeron.

So many dead. So many Undead now roaming, and his city in total ruin.

Gareth collapsed, and everything went dark.

@sunset-sword @danirel-davice @thecyanbladesman

Ashes to Ashes.

“The Ashmark, the ancestral seat of the House Westerly…commonly shortened to West. It is our home, and our home has been stolen from us, Edric. It is inhabited by thieves without mind for morality.”

“What does that mean, Lord Father?”

“It means, my child, that we are to take it back one day. The legacy of my father and his father before him is desecrated every second those beasts rest within its walls.”

“But…what if they aren’t bad? What if they just want to live there?”

The elder frowned. “Edric. What did I say about questions?”

The child hung his head, a mop of blonde hair hanging low over his face. “Sorry, Lord Father.”

The raven haired man tilted his head. “Go, child. It is time you studied with the Headmaster.”, and with that final word…the young blonde haired child scurried off to the halls of Castle Highstar. To the headmaster.

“One day, you’ll understand.”, Lord West turned his gaze out of the window. “One day I’ll make you understand.”

Edric snapped awake, the aftermath of the siege of Ashmark. A slaughter. The Davice troops ran through the undead like a wave of righteous fury– a fury decades in the making. The Inquisitor found himself staring up at the keep with the rest of the retinue left to their officers.

Edric knew what would be waiting for him in these halls. A shadow of the father he grew up with. The Lord Richard West. The legend who destroyed House Highstar and seized the Helm for himself at the age of nineteen, now defeated at his, no…their ancestral home.

Slowly Edric made his way through the barren Castle Ashmark, sheathing the sword Mercy at his waist. The halls decrepit and the tattered banner of the silver lion running rampant hung on every wall…this was the end. The end of an era. Stairs that ran for what seemed to be an eternity, like climbing a mountain. Dread encompassed his conscience.

What would he say? He was victorious. Would he gloat? No. He would prove he was right. That was a victory far crueler than death…the first thing Richard taught Edric. To kill an enemy is a victory, but it is far more cruel to prove you are right. Edric arrived at the Lord’s quarters. 

He would be here. Edric reached for the door and opened it.

Not a day over forty, a man with a full head of short cut raven hair and sickly, glowing yellow eyes turned to address Edric. He set down his glass of wine and stood, tall and thin. Clad in finery colored black, silver and red. Unflinching, unbreaking eye contact was met and a heavy silence fell upon the air.

The Lord finally spoke. “The Sunset Sword.”, he addressed his son in mock reverence. “It is to you that I owe this defeat, I take it. My son.”

Edric narrowed his gaze. “It is.”

Richard inclined his head once. Retrieving another wine glass and pouring out half a glass in each of the two on the table. “Let us speak, one last time. Not as enemies, but as father and -son-.”, the Forsaken Lord, taking his seat at the table.

Edric silently approaching, taking his own seat but not touching the glass. Staring into Richard’s eyes, a furrowed and hate filled gaze filling his unnatural eyes the color of amber.

Richard scoffed. “I know what you are, poisons are futile.”, he mused, nursing a sip of wine. “You’re here to kill me. I know. Vengeance for what I did to you, how I raised you. I won’t make excuses nor appeal to your conscience–because I know your intent by the look in your eyes. Let me speak my final word– and then carry on my sentence.”

Edric blinked. Words escaped him at that very moment, he had to consider what he said…always, even now. Even when his father was his enemy and he had the power…he was still powerless. “Speak.”, Edric resigned.

“You defeated my forces twice. Both times when I possessed the advantage. Staniel’s teachings, I suspect. Alas– I am more impressed with -you-. I’ve never seen such focus, dedication in a battle commander. And such hatred, for the Light to award you with such power in knowledge of how you wield it? You’ve made a cosmic power a weapon against me, a weapon that has rendered countless of my kind dead.”, he cleared his throat, and nursed another sip of wine and leveled an ivory finger.

“You were never like that sniveling coward of a brother of yours, Arthurion. Even when you were young I saw a hatred that you channeled into focus in everything you did. Reading. Swordplay. Even Ballet, to my disapproval. You were willing to do what was necessary– stabbing Erik Norwood in the heart…watching the love of your life, rendered a corpse and nailed to a cross in a red cloak. Not even a tear. I knew at that moment in Fury Keep, I chose the wrong son to invest in.”

Edric grit his teeth, fury encompassing his expression. His fist clenched tight as the Light pooled out– ready to lash out and destroy this being he called Lord Father. Face twisted in anger– Edric had never felt such rage, and the sword Mercy begged him at the back of his mind to draw the truesilver sword and bring it down in all its wrath upon him. But no. Restraint was the key…victory would not belong to Lord Richard West.

Richard smirked, a smile that cut like a knife on a face much like Edric’s own. “You have handed me my first and second losses in my entire lifetime. You have learned well, my son. Now…let me teach you one final lesson. Empires are built atop centuries of murder, and your’s, my child? Your empire’s first stone will be laid upon my cold corpse. I am only ashamed that I cannot watch you build it. I am so proud of you.”

Edric shot up from his chair and shot forth a bolt of piercing Light from an outstretched right hand. A bolt that hit Richard in the chest and sent him over his chair and into the floor with a single hole in his chest, leaving nothing but a smoldering corpse.

His breathing grew heavy, and his fist clenched tightly. Shaking violently. He slowly turned his eyes out toward the window. And there it was…a figure standing among the hundreds of bodies on the Blackfeld. A single cloaked figure with yellow eyes…

(( To be continued in part 2. ‘Brother’s Bane.’ ))

Honorable mentions: (( @gareththeknight for helping me with this arc. ))

I had Gareth drawn! The artist is so good. I highly suggest them!

https://artistsnclients.com/slots/16221-sketches-full-body

Edric’s dad! Go check this man out.

The Siege’s combined forces. House Harthfolde and its vassals Ironshield, Duskhaven, Davice, and Victoriam.

@sunset-sword @danirel-davice @thecyanbladesman @jorsef-ironshield @redheaded-heroine

The Flame follows Dawn

(Before tonight’s event.)

The morning fog rolled out of the forests, pooling along the edges of narrow land-bridge that snaked towards the gatehouse of the ancient keep. Undead lookouts, supposed deserters of the Horde, stared out, their tireless eyes scanning the horizon.  One guard let out a call, his right, boney arm lifting to point. The wall patrol quickly shot to stare into the same location; many eyes were better than a singular pair. 

From the fog came large figures, though soon it was revealed that it was mantlets. It didn’t take long for a volley of arrows to hit the stone battlements, long-bowman and Quel’dorei rangers quickly moving to keep the Undead from immediately returning fire. 

Swiftly, trebuchets were unpacked and constructed. Half an hour passed, and now the keep and combined troops of House Harthfolde exchanged in vollies of arrows. The massive beams of the trebuchets fired upwards, the slings arching and releasing their large payload. Sizable rocks arched and spiraled down to slam behind the ancient wall. 

The siege had begun. The Crusade would be finished. Gareth awaited, his fiery, azure hues focused on the keep’s gate, his Warhammer’s head pressed into the blighted earth.

@sunset-sword @danirel-davice @thecyanbladesman @jorsef-ironshield

 @redheaded-heroine

Five Gifs for the Sunset Sword!

Tagged by: @braeliong-dawnsong and @olliehaldstan

Tagging: @gareththeknight @danirel-davice @gloryofsteel @thecyanbladesman @kaerlic-ironshield @jorsef-ironshield @the-handmaiden

Hillbrand

The Seething Shore was a mess. Alliance covert troops and Horde covert operations clashed consistently. Today was no different. Well, mostly. The Alliance was caught hard in between two groups, now. Aethel held his position, his emerald gaze focused hard through his scope, the crosshairs gingerly resting on a Blood Elf that hid in a nearby brush. He took in a breath, his body just barely shifting to accommodate the action. Past that, he was a rock. A rock. *Don’t. Move.*

The man’s index finger now finally pressed into the trigger guard, the tip of it resting along the curvature of the mechanism. *Four seconds.* He moved the crosshair up and to the right, finding the correct drop of his round against the wind’s movement. *Three.* Exhale. Slowly.

*Two.* Inhale now, suck it in. *One.* He felt his chest gently fall as his breath exhaled, his crosshairs steadying finally as he centered the shot onto the man’s chest. Aethel squeezed the trigger, his rifle pulling back and kicking along his right shoulder. The bolt plunged, the shell ejecting with white smoke following as the brass item clacked along the floor next to him. The large caliber spiraled forward, cutting through the foliage to eventually, and ruthlessly slam into the Blood Elf’s center mass. The sound cut out and into the air like thunder, his shot ringing along the tropical shoreline like a reminder. Aethel nodded once, watching the opponent fall to the floor, his chest rising and falling quickly before suddenly stopping. He couldn’t scream, the bullet made sure of that. He couldn’t move; the pain was unbearable. It was a shitty way to die, but he did what was required. The man shifted back after the Elf stopped moving, moving to escape through the nearby brushline. *Three minutes* Aethel continued through his planned escape route. He was planning to rendezvous with other Alliance covert troops, or at least friendly Harthfolde levies. It would be easy. It was something he did all the time. *Right. Left… Wait. Wait. Right, again.* Aethel burst through a bush and into a clearing. He just had to cross it. *One minute. Not bad* As the man started to clear it, he felt something rise in his chest. It wasn’t something he was used to. It was just a bad feeling. Aethel pulled up his rifle just as one Elf pushed out of the brush, an arrow aimed straight at the man. Then two came out. Three. Four. *Shit.* Aethel allowed the gun to fall along his chest, his strap tightening along his shoulder as it kept the rifle suspended. Silence took over, and soon the man elicited a sigh. His emerald hues lifted to search the tropics before he nodded. “Well… Thirty-two or something years? That’s not bad, right?” Aethel chuckled, his right hand rising, “Hold on. Just… give me a second, right?” With a grunt, he removed his lighter, a small package opened with tobacco rolls plastered within. He removed one, pushing it between his lips before he shakily lit the tip, his hand almost burning. “Well.”

Aethel clapped his palms along his thighs, lifting his wrist up as if he was going to bite into his wrist. He spoke softly before he once more allowed his arms to fall. “For the Alliance, or some-shit.” An arrow slammed into his left breast, the steel head and wooden shaft sliding deep. *So that’s what this feels like* —————— Harthfolde troops moved through the tropics, eventually finding the body of their comrade. His body was hunched over, his knees placed securely against the ground. What kept him up was the extreme amount of bodkin arrows penetrating his front. Nothing was spared. 

They knew who it was. He always did smell like smoke.

(This is not Gareth. Just don’t utilize an Aethel tumblr.)

Isabella Harthfolde

@thecyanbladesman and his Waifu Isabella