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ABOUT | |
Physical Description: Height: 6’ 3” (190.5 cm) Build: Muscular Age: Physically mid- to late-20s Powers: Harrowheart is a necromancer first and foremost. He specializes in physical necromancy — the raising of corpses — over spectral necromancy. He’s got a keen grasp of shadow magic, and over time he’s learned a few tricks with frost. Anything else is beyond his capability. His runeblade, the magical sword he carries with him at all times, is the conduit for much of his magic. Harrowheart is physically powerful — much moreso than a human his size ought to be. Just one of the cool perks of being a melted zombie. Weaknesses: As an undead, Harrowheart is weak to fire and holy powers of any kind. He’s also shit at spelling. | Personality: Harrowheart loves a laugh. Usually, that laugh is at someone else’s expense. He’s unruly, unrefined, and unrestrained. He’ll do whatever he wants if he thinks it’ll go unchallenged. Harrow relishes an opportunity to use his physical strength or magic against those who are weaker. Destructiveness is his natural state of being. In fact, as a death knight, Harrowheart is obligated to cause suffering in order to maintain his sanity. There’s (probably) a person deep down inside though. Right? Someone who’ll be ride or die for you — or, more realistically, ride and kill? Probably. Maybe if your jokes are good enough or your quirkiness is interesting enough he’ll warm up to you. But ask yourself: Do you really want this guy around?... |
WORLD (of Warcraft) | |
Planet Azeroth is a high fantasy world experiencing a technological revolution. If you’re unfamiliar with the setting, combine Magical Steampunk and Average Fantasy Schlock. Also there are zombies. Loads and loads of zombies. You don’t need to know any of Azeroth’s lore to interact with Harrowheart, and in fact I wouldn’t expect you to. It’s a mess. Harrow will be your Completely Reliable Narrator on this journey. | |
OOC PERMISSIONS | |
I’m big on OOC communication. If you have a question or concern, send me a DM. I appreciate openness and honesty. If I’ve upset you, please let me know! RP is for fun! Backtagging: Sure! Threadhopping: Ask me and/or my partner as appropriate, please. Fourth Walling: I’m totally okay with it, but give me an OOC heads up. Offensive Subjects: No real-world racism, no loli/shota, no non-con. Otherwise I'm pretty much game. | |
IC PERMISSIONS | |
Hugging: Yeah :’) Kissing: If you can figure it out, be my guest. He’s not going to reciprocate. Flirting: Sure, as long as it’s IC with no OOC intentions. Not looking for shipping. Fighting: That Is Why He Exists. Please. Injuring: Let’s talk OOC, but yes. What’s the point of being undead if you don’t get pulverized now and again? Killing: No thanks, he’s got shit to do. (Entertaining me.) Mind reading: Message me, I’ll be happy to discuss! Same goes for necromancers looking to overpower him. | |
ART GALLERY (SFW) | |
Entry tags:
A Night in the Woods (for Runa)
(( Continuation of a plot begun in Discord. Harrowheart has clawed his way out of the Shadowlands and into Earth, where he finds the Durants in dire straits. As knights and witches are sometimes known to do, he and Runa embark on a quest to find the dragon. But first? A bit of downtime after all the chaos. ))
Leads are turning up dry. They've been on the road for days, and despite all the ground they've covered every turn feels more fruitless than the last. Magical leads are far apart in this world of the Durants, and harder now to come by than they'd been before. They must take caution around humans as much as they would any rogue dragon. The problem with that, unfortunately, is that there are decidedly more humans in Germany than there are dragons. Dragon. Isidor.
The mundane world is a challenge all its own. The burden of nearly everything is foisted on Runa: buying food, buying gas, finding rooms, *driving. It gets cramped in that car quickly, especially in the company of a large, foggy-faced corpse with a penchant for cigarette-smoking. At least he's managed to find more casual clothes -- a large sweater, long trousers, and a billed hat -- to help him nearly blend in... And take up a smidge less space.
As the shadows grow long Harrowheart proposes camping out. Better than a hotel, he reckons. Roomier, at least. Fresher. Cheaper. Their money might be plentiful, but it is finite.
He suggests they pull over near a creek and follow it through a wooded area, half pine and half budding deciduous. The creek is shallow, but the water runs swiftly over the moss-covered rocks at its banks. A pleasant sound, a natural whisper so vastly different than rushing highway wind and radio banter.
The sun is at the horizon when they've finally set up camp. Harrowheart tasks Runa with building a fire while he begins to set their goods on the leaf-strewn ground.
The silence of the forest and false privacy of having her at his back gives him the courage enough to ask a question he's never quite been brave enough for.
"Runa? Would you... Tell me about your mother?"
The Taste of Pain
((Following The Battle for Lordaeron | Part One / Part Two))
The hour was late when Harrowheart said his final goodbyes and left Isidor Durant with a pair of unequal gifts.
The first, the sweeter of the two and yet so terribly temporary, was a parting kiss. It was made of love and sent by his heart, and long after his departure it was meant to remain in hers.
The second gift, if it could be called that, was forged from a decidedly different emotion and ripped, screaming and bleeding, directly from the soul. His runeblade — half of it, anyway. That foul thing he often called his phylactery was left under the capable watch of Isidor Durant. To protect her, he’d said. To remember him by, he’d really wanted to say.
A curse of a gift, to leave behind a dark and wicked thing that any wise mage would never otherwise associate with. A thing, much like Harrowheart himself, that Isidor Durant never ought to have touched. But whether she remembered it or not, she had touched it. So very long ago, so unfathomably far away, in the depths of a frozen tomb, she’d so lightly — so briefly — laid her hands on it. To save him, she might have reasoned. An act of foolishness from such an otherwise thorough woman. A decision which had, thank the Gods, never grown into misfortune. A mistake which, it might seem, had been forgotten by fate.
With Harrowheart’s departure and a blade in her possession, she did what she could — what she had to, really: She boxed it up. Practical as always, Isidor Durant found the perfect prison for the thing. Magically fortified, nothing would be able to escape the confines of the box. It may have been a gift, and it may have contained a shard of her lover’s soul, but it had a mind of its own, and its own desires, and neither of those were to be trusted.
Trapped as it was, it sat in passive silence. If it blinked its runes, would anyone see? If it tapped the edges of its case, would the outside world hear? Better not to try, perhaps. Better to sleep. Better to let her forget it even existed until the moment she needed it. Then it might make itself known. Until then, to rest.
And so it did. For a week, at least. A week without a hand on its hilt or its blade resting comfortably between a pair of cold shoulders. A lonely week, to be certain, but it had learned to accept this sort of disrespect. It had gone longer without being fed, though not since its forging had it gone quite so long without the reassurance of a touch. Even all that time ago, when it had courted another master, it now and again felt cold fingers on its blade. This, though? This was entirely different. It really was a prison. It really would have to content itself with being a simple sword, sheathed and out of sight in a time of peace.
Peace on this world, at least. No matter the distance between itself and its other half — and the hand that swung it — it knew when it was being put to its purpose. It felt the sweet taste of life on its blade. It relished the influx of fresh magic, of new souls. Somewhere far away, Harrowheart held its other half by the neck, and like a flattened goose he forced gore and torment down its gaping maw. The pain. The ecstasy. This is what it longed for! This is what it so desired! This is what it missed so desperately.
The light of its runes swelled with hardly a moment’s reprieve to fade. They grew brighter and brighter until they no longer merely glowed but shined like a beacon, triumphant.
It was all too much. Even in its prison, it couldn’t contain itself. It had to move. Had to burn the excess energy it hardly knew how to process. The blade began to vibrate, to buzz like a hive of riled wasps.
And then it stopped. It stopped, because the killing had stopped. Its feeding had ended. Was it over? Was the battle done? Had it slit every throat in Lordaeron? It felt true. It felt right. It felt—
It felt—
It felt—
The blade was still for just a breath. Its runes faded. Its blade ceased to move.
And then it screamed. Like a boiling kettle it shrieked in agony. As if an unseen hand had swung it, it thrashed against its case. It beat its blade against the wall, but the enchantments held it captive inside. Metal and magic sparked as it stabbed and sliced with what little room it had to move, and all the while it howled. It seized and convulsed, throwing itself from side to side only to stop abruptly, wracked by pain. Its runes flared to life and were snuffed in an instant, and over and over again they lived and died until at last the whole sword burst.
From the hilt to the tip each of its six runes popped, shooting cyan sparks that hit the walls of its confines, and just like that disappeared against the wards. A bubble formed in the topmost rune, black and opaque, growing thinner by the second until it finally collapsed under its own size. Dark blood ran in rivulets from the bottom of each rune, dripping down the contours of the blade like tears roll down a cheek.
Finally the fight was done. The weapon rested, motionless, against the edge of the case. Its voice spent, it stood in silence. All that was left of it was its final, dying gasp. A sigh — almost of relief — and a gentle, blue breath. The mist of magic and souls swirled around it, trapped, as it had been, within the case, until soon the color faded, and all that remained was bloodied steel.
It was, at last, merely metal again.
So what would be the harm in freeing it?
The hour was late when Harrowheart said his final goodbyes and left Isidor Durant with a pair of unequal gifts.
The first, the sweeter of the two and yet so terribly temporary, was a parting kiss. It was made of love and sent by his heart, and long after his departure it was meant to remain in hers.
The second gift, if it could be called that, was forged from a decidedly different emotion and ripped, screaming and bleeding, directly from the soul. His runeblade — half of it, anyway. That foul thing he often called his phylactery was left under the capable watch of Isidor Durant. To protect her, he’d said. To remember him by, he’d really wanted to say.
A curse of a gift, to leave behind a dark and wicked thing that any wise mage would never otherwise associate with. A thing, much like Harrowheart himself, that Isidor Durant never ought to have touched. But whether she remembered it or not, she had touched it. So very long ago, so unfathomably far away, in the depths of a frozen tomb, she’d so lightly — so briefly — laid her hands on it. To save him, she might have reasoned. An act of foolishness from such an otherwise thorough woman. A decision which had, thank the Gods, never grown into misfortune. A mistake which, it might seem, had been forgotten by fate.
With Harrowheart’s departure and a blade in her possession, she did what she could — what she had to, really: She boxed it up. Practical as always, Isidor Durant found the perfect prison for the thing. Magically fortified, nothing would be able to escape the confines of the box. It may have been a gift, and it may have contained a shard of her lover’s soul, but it had a mind of its own, and its own desires, and neither of those were to be trusted.
Trapped as it was, it sat in passive silence. If it blinked its runes, would anyone see? If it tapped the edges of its case, would the outside world hear? Better not to try, perhaps. Better to sleep. Better to let her forget it even existed until the moment she needed it. Then it might make itself known. Until then, to rest.
And so it did. For a week, at least. A week without a hand on its hilt or its blade resting comfortably between a pair of cold shoulders. A lonely week, to be certain, but it had learned to accept this sort of disrespect. It had gone longer without being fed, though not since its forging had it gone quite so long without the reassurance of a touch. Even all that time ago, when it had courted another master, it now and again felt cold fingers on its blade. This, though? This was entirely different. It really was a prison. It really would have to content itself with being a simple sword, sheathed and out of sight in a time of peace.
Peace on this world, at least. No matter the distance between itself and its other half — and the hand that swung it — it knew when it was being put to its purpose. It felt the sweet taste of life on its blade. It relished the influx of fresh magic, of new souls. Somewhere far away, Harrowheart held its other half by the neck, and like a flattened goose he forced gore and torment down its gaping maw. The pain. The ecstasy. This is what it longed for! This is what it so desired! This is what it missed so desperately.
The light of its runes swelled with hardly a moment’s reprieve to fade. They grew brighter and brighter until they no longer merely glowed but shined like a beacon, triumphant.
It was all too much. Even in its prison, it couldn’t contain itself. It had to move. Had to burn the excess energy it hardly knew how to process. The blade began to vibrate, to buzz like a hive of riled wasps.
And then it stopped. It stopped, because the killing had stopped. Its feeding had ended. Was it over? Was the battle done? Had it slit every throat in Lordaeron? It felt true. It felt right. It felt—
It felt—
It felt—
The blade was still for just a breath. Its runes faded. Its blade ceased to move.
And then it screamed. Like a boiling kettle it shrieked in agony. As if an unseen hand had swung it, it thrashed against its case. It beat its blade against the wall, but the enchantments held it captive inside. Metal and magic sparked as it stabbed and sliced with what little room it had to move, and all the while it howled. It seized and convulsed, throwing itself from side to side only to stop abruptly, wracked by pain. Its runes flared to life and were snuffed in an instant, and over and over again they lived and died until at last the whole sword burst.
From the hilt to the tip each of its six runes popped, shooting cyan sparks that hit the walls of its confines, and just like that disappeared against the wards. A bubble formed in the topmost rune, black and opaque, growing thinner by the second until it finally collapsed under its own size. Dark blood ran in rivulets from the bottom of each rune, dripping down the contours of the blade like tears roll down a cheek.
Finally the fight was done. The weapon rested, motionless, against the edge of the case. Its voice spent, it stood in silence. All that was left of it was its final, dying gasp. A sigh — almost of relief — and a gentle, blue breath. The mist of magic and souls swirled around it, trapped, as it had been, within the case, until soon the color faded, and all that remained was bloodied steel.
It was, at last, merely metal again.
So what would be the harm in freeing it?
Entry tags:
AU: Welcome to the Jungle
The first thing one might notice, when transported rather suddenly into a jungle, is that it’s hot. Sweltering. Sauna-like, really, with thick and sticky air that clings to the flesh and mats hair against skin. Even the shade of the canopy doesn’t protect a person from it. It’s inescapable, like the buzzing of the swarming bugs, and the trolls.
Ah, right. The trolls. On Azeroth, you simply can’t enjoy a jungle without it being ruined by the trolls. In fact, there are a few a stone’s throw away right now, just across the camp. They were only barely out of the line of sight of the mirror propped up against a rough-barked palm tree, and any person peering through that mirror couldn’t be reprimanded for having missed them.
Now, though, when one of their spears sails through the air, they’re quite impossible not to notice. The weapon pierces through the thin mirror, shattering the glass, stopping only when its head is buried deeply within the palm. While the bouncing of the wooden shaft at eye level might be distracting, a person might be better-served to watch the troll that threw it.
One simple, cloth tent — and the scattered remains of three others — lie between the blue-skinned, long-nosed, boar-tusked troll and its wobbling weapon. Boxes and chests of goods have been thrown around the camp, and a long rifle has been discarded beside the burning fire. None of it catches the eye of the troll — easily the height of a man and a half — who points a thick, blue finger just past the newest arrival on the scene. He shouts something in his cryptic language, looks to the ground around him, finds another spear, and throws it with all his might.
It sails with practiced skill, long and fast, and it jets right past the first. There’s a squirt of blood and a bestial shriek, and seconds later a red-scaled raptor collapses to the ground, instantly dispatched by a spear through the eye.
The troll claps, and his friends behind him hoot and holler. Proud of his work, the troll smiles around his long tusks. “Lil’ hu-mon!” he calls out, then beckons with his gangly arms. “Ya almost was ate!” His company laugh.
“C’mere, now, get on over here!”
Ah, right. The trolls. On Azeroth, you simply can’t enjoy a jungle without it being ruined by the trolls. In fact, there are a few a stone’s throw away right now, just across the camp. They were only barely out of the line of sight of the mirror propped up against a rough-barked palm tree, and any person peering through that mirror couldn’t be reprimanded for having missed them.
Now, though, when one of their spears sails through the air, they’re quite impossible not to notice. The weapon pierces through the thin mirror, shattering the glass, stopping only when its head is buried deeply within the palm. While the bouncing of the wooden shaft at eye level might be distracting, a person might be better-served to watch the troll that threw it.
One simple, cloth tent — and the scattered remains of three others — lie between the blue-skinned, long-nosed, boar-tusked troll and its wobbling weapon. Boxes and chests of goods have been thrown around the camp, and a long rifle has been discarded beside the burning fire. None of it catches the eye of the troll — easily the height of a man and a half — who points a thick, blue finger just past the newest arrival on the scene. He shouts something in his cryptic language, looks to the ground around him, finds another spear, and throws it with all his might.
It sails with practiced skill, long and fast, and it jets right past the first. There’s a squirt of blood and a bestial shriek, and seconds later a red-scaled raptor collapses to the ground, instantly dispatched by a spear through the eye.
The troll claps, and his friends behind him hoot and holler. Proud of his work, the troll smiles around his long tusks. “Lil’ hu-mon!” he calls out, then beckons with his gangly arms. “Ya almost was ate!” His company laugh.
“C’mere, now, get on over here!”
Reunion
I’m being watched.
Harrowheart knows it without opening his eyes. Beneath the cover of his armor he remains utterly still. His runeblade rests beside him, both of them propped up against the brick wall of his family’s shelter.
Someone is watching him. Someone with a weapon. Someone coming closer.
The empty eye sockets on the blade’s hilt suddenly flare into a powerful flame, and a woman gasps. Harrowheart grips his sword and opens his eyes just in time to watch his sister fumble and drop her rifle.
“Anna!” Harrowheart shouts, and his sister recoils. She dives for the weapon and scrambles back and away. He drops his runeblade in a hurry but it remains standing, waiting for its chance to be used even as its wielder rushes off alone.
“Anna!” Harrow tries again. He reaches out and takes her by the arm and he feels the way she’s trembling. Her eyes are full of fear, but she doesn’t raise the gun again.
”What are you doing out here?” he demands in a whisper that echoes unnaturally through the visor of his helmet.
She doesn’t respond but watches him with an anxiously-blanched face.
He releases her, and to both their surprises she doesn’t flee. Instead she grips her gun and plants her feet and in a shaky voice says, “I was looking for Lawrence.”
Harrowheart pulls off his helmet and her face twists with regret at the sight of his.
“You were looking for Lawrence? Out here? With a gun?”
She purses her lips and looks away, but can’t trust him long enough to keep her eyes averted. “He’s going to teach me to shoot. So I can defend myself. From things like you.”
Of course he deserved that. Of course she’s still hurting. He breathes in just to sigh. Unlike her warm and living breaths there is no puff of fog from his lungs.
“Lawrence shoots well,” he says, and when she doesn’t reply, “When he’s got two arms.”
She spits her words like cobra’s venom: “And whose fault is that?”
His lips press together and he stares her down until her defiance cracks his and he looks away. Another sigh, a breath to center him, and he forces his attention back to her – though he doesn’t quite find the strength to look her in the face.
“Mine,” he says.
Silence.
His eyes drag upward until they find hers, and in the cold of the darkened street they watch each other.
“Anna... I hurt you. And it... Took me too long to realize... That no matter what you said? No matter how bad your words felt? I never should have done what I did. I hurt you, and I let you down, and I’ll understand if you don’t want think of me as family anymore. But right now? This?”
He looks up, and she can’t help following his lead. Night has fallen, but the stars have been suffocated by Winter’s clouds. Reynard’s curse is falling on this place, and it’s only just begun. Neither of them needs to say it. Neither of them can bring themselves to.
“You don’t have to forgive me, but I’ll never forgive myself if I don't help you get strong enough to kill the next son of a bitch who puts his hands on you. Lawrence was a good shot... But I was the rifleman. Anna. Let me teach you.”
Harrowheart holds out his palm.
And for the first time he finds his family’s rifle isn’t heavy in his hand.
~ ~ ~
(( Zandros' Companion Piece ))
Harrowheart knows it without opening his eyes. Beneath the cover of his armor he remains utterly still. His runeblade rests beside him, both of them propped up against the brick wall of his family’s shelter.
Someone is watching him. Someone with a weapon. Someone coming closer.
The empty eye sockets on the blade’s hilt suddenly flare into a powerful flame, and a woman gasps. Harrowheart grips his sword and opens his eyes just in time to watch his sister fumble and drop her rifle.
“Anna!” Harrowheart shouts, and his sister recoils. She dives for the weapon and scrambles back and away. He drops his runeblade in a hurry but it remains standing, waiting for its chance to be used even as its wielder rushes off alone.
“Anna!” Harrow tries again. He reaches out and takes her by the arm and he feels the way she’s trembling. Her eyes are full of fear, but she doesn’t raise the gun again.
”What are you doing out here?” he demands in a whisper that echoes unnaturally through the visor of his helmet.
She doesn’t respond but watches him with an anxiously-blanched face.
He releases her, and to both their surprises she doesn’t flee. Instead she grips her gun and plants her feet and in a shaky voice says, “I was looking for Lawrence.”
Harrowheart pulls off his helmet and her face twists with regret at the sight of his.
“You were looking for Lawrence? Out here? With a gun?”
She purses her lips and looks away, but can’t trust him long enough to keep her eyes averted. “He’s going to teach me to shoot. So I can defend myself. From things like you.”
Of course he deserved that. Of course she’s still hurting. He breathes in just to sigh. Unlike her warm and living breaths there is no puff of fog from his lungs.
“Lawrence shoots well,” he says, and when she doesn’t reply, “When he’s got two arms.”
She spits her words like cobra’s venom: “And whose fault is that?”
His lips press together and he stares her down until her defiance cracks his and he looks away. Another sigh, a breath to center him, and he forces his attention back to her – though he doesn’t quite find the strength to look her in the face.
“Mine,” he says.
Silence.
His eyes drag upward until they find hers, and in the cold of the darkened street they watch each other.
“Anna... I hurt you. And it... Took me too long to realize... That no matter what you said? No matter how bad your words felt? I never should have done what I did. I hurt you, and I let you down, and I’ll understand if you don’t want think of me as family anymore. But right now? This?”
He looks up, and she can’t help following his lead. Night has fallen, but the stars have been suffocated by Winter’s clouds. Reynard’s curse is falling on this place, and it’s only just begun. Neither of them needs to say it. Neither of them can bring themselves to.
“You don’t have to forgive me, but I’ll never forgive myself if I don't help you get strong enough to kill the next son of a bitch who puts his hands on you. Lawrence was a good shot... But I was the rifleman. Anna. Let me teach you.”
Harrowheart holds out his palm.
And for the first time he finds his family’s rifle isn’t heavy in his hand.
~ ~ ~
(( Zandros' Companion Piece ))
Remorseless Winter
The harvest had been reaped before the first snowfall. The Weatherhills made sure of that. Each of them knew keenly that Winter would be ruthless. Last year it took more than it had any right to. This year, they would be ready.
They'd stored their food, they'd made their clothes, and they'd readied their weapons, but when their world turned white they realized only too late it wouldn't be enough. That unnatural cold seeped through the castle walls in a way they were so sure it couldn't. Soon, closeness wasn't enough for warmth. Cold penetrated old bones and nagged at wounds. It hounded them in sleep. Day became night, and night lingered.
Winter would not be defied.
And then the elements were not the only thing against them. The mage's tower in which they'd trapped themselves drew the attention of looters eager to take supplies and, if they were lucky, artifacts. Once or twice a day – if there could be said to be days through the eternal grey of this storm – came the crashing of weapons and the shouting of desperate, angry voices. The enchanted crystal walls were never at risk of falling, but the entrance of the castle... They had their doubts. It only opened to the knocks of hands it knew, but what strangers may have been familiar to it? What unsavory guests could the mage have hosted years before they'd ever arrived?
Who was now causing that magical door to split?
When the winter winds whipped in Jacob took up the family rifle. Lawrence couldn't shoot it with one arm, and Hardtman was old -- too old, these days, to move quickly enough. But Jacob was young, able-bodied, and, most importantly, he had his children to think of. If anyone was going to shoot an intruder, it was going to be him.
The family sat waiting, silent as the grave and frozen as the Nexus, as Jacob, gun in his hands, crept through the darkness of the hallway toward the door.
They heard a yelp, then silence.
Just as they began to shift, to prepare themselves to fight or run, there came the just-audible whisper of voices trying hard to stay undetected.
"What are you doing here?" demanded Jacob to their relief.
The next there could be no mistaking. A hollow echo chased the words, "I'm here to save my family."
Harrowheart.
That might not have been the name that sat on the tip of every tongue, but they thought of the same man at once. Anna gripped Matthew's arm, and Heather held her children closer. Tamminy and Lawrence shared a look of uncertainty until she found the ghost of an uncertain smile for him.
"You know I can't let you see them," Jacob whispers.
"And you know y'all can't stay here all winter." Silence passed between them a moment before Harrowheart continued. "I'm gonna save you, Jacob. And your wife – my sister. And your kids – my niece and nephew – and my parents, and my brothers and sisters. And if none of them wanna see me after that, fine. But I'm not lettin' y'all die like this."
Jacob wasn't quick to return. When he did, he was no longer alone. He came with his rifle down, and behind him scraped the metal sabatons of the dead man who loomed behind, his face concealed by his tusked helmet.
The room fell once more into silence. Each party watched the other. Harrowheart unmoving, still obscured beneath his dark armor. Anna, remaining tense, kept close to Lawrence even as he stepped toward his brother. The eyes of the runeblade kindled to magical life and Lawrence hesitated before he found the courage to stare it down.
"Well?" he finally asked. "What are we waiting for? Let's get the hell outta here."
The family didn't need to pack, but gathered the bags of emergency supplies they'd kept waiting since the first harvest of the year. They'd fled their home before without the luxury of baggage, and each of them agreed they'd never live through that again. There was a pack for every person – even Kendra, ten years old. Harrowheart, in his worgen form, was loaded like a packhorse with every spare sack and satchel they could find, each stuffed to the brim with supplies. Even then, each adult refused to say what they knew: With this many mouths to feed they wouldn't last a month.
Their final order of business was to tie themselves together. If they were going to be lost to the blizzard, at the very least they would be together.
The gateway split for Harrowheart's helmed snout, and he led the way into a world the Weatherhills couldn't recognize. Only weeks prior they had been working that land, and now, mere steps from the door of their home, they were lost. There was no sign of their table, no hint of their fence. All had been buried under hip-deep snowdrifts that rose with every gust of wind. Short as they were, Kendra and Tamminy were forced to take the rear, trailed by the rasping sound of Harrowheart's hovering runeblade as it dragged its forked tip through the packed snow.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Hours passed and Harrowheart continued to plow forward, scraping and scooping with his snout and helmet's tusks. He may have had the benefit of toiling tirelessly, but behind him the living were lagging. None of them were strangers to exertion, but this was a test of endurance like they'd never felt. Legs trembled, backs ached, and eyes burned. This stark white world was blinding. It was hungry.
And it wasn't the only thing yearning for victims.
Something was moving in the snow, creeping through the increasing darkness. Multiple somethings? Even Harrowheart couldn't tell. His ears caught the sound, his nose caught the scent, but he couldn't find it. His thick arms pulled him forward and he felt the tug of a dozen people behind him. They were too weak to run, and even in this form he wasn't strong enough to pull them.
And then that resistance was something more. It was a thrash, a scream, a shotgun blast into the whirling winter winds. Something had them. Something had them! Right in the middle, tearing at the ropes, grabbing at a body whose scream Harrowheart couldn't name. He tried to round on the enemy, but the snow and the satchels trapped him in the rut he'd made. He howled, snarled, and another shotgun blast knocked someone down, pulling the others with.
Enough was enough. The runeblade raised itself aloft like a javelin and lanced itself into the unseen whiteness.
Then nothing.
Screaming turned to sobbing. The rope rocked with their terrified quaking.
The runeblade returned, and Harrowheart pulled forward.
Winter doesn't end for tears.
They'd stored their food, they'd made their clothes, and they'd readied their weapons, but when their world turned white they realized only too late it wouldn't be enough. That unnatural cold seeped through the castle walls in a way they were so sure it couldn't. Soon, closeness wasn't enough for warmth. Cold penetrated old bones and nagged at wounds. It hounded them in sleep. Day became night, and night lingered.
Winter would not be defied.
And then the elements were not the only thing against them. The mage's tower in which they'd trapped themselves drew the attention of looters eager to take supplies and, if they were lucky, artifacts. Once or twice a day – if there could be said to be days through the eternal grey of this storm – came the crashing of weapons and the shouting of desperate, angry voices. The enchanted crystal walls were never at risk of falling, but the entrance of the castle... They had their doubts. It only opened to the knocks of hands it knew, but what strangers may have been familiar to it? What unsavory guests could the mage have hosted years before they'd ever arrived?
Who was now causing that magical door to split?
When the winter winds whipped in Jacob took up the family rifle. Lawrence couldn't shoot it with one arm, and Hardtman was old -- too old, these days, to move quickly enough. But Jacob was young, able-bodied, and, most importantly, he had his children to think of. If anyone was going to shoot an intruder, it was going to be him.
The family sat waiting, silent as the grave and frozen as the Nexus, as Jacob, gun in his hands, crept through the darkness of the hallway toward the door.
They heard a yelp, then silence.
Just as they began to shift, to prepare themselves to fight or run, there came the just-audible whisper of voices trying hard to stay undetected.
"What are you doing here?" demanded Jacob to their relief.
The next there could be no mistaking. A hollow echo chased the words, "I'm here to save my family."
Harrowheart.
That might not have been the name that sat on the tip of every tongue, but they thought of the same man at once. Anna gripped Matthew's arm, and Heather held her children closer. Tamminy and Lawrence shared a look of uncertainty until she found the ghost of an uncertain smile for him.
"You know I can't let you see them," Jacob whispers.
"And you know y'all can't stay here all winter." Silence passed between them a moment before Harrowheart continued. "I'm gonna save you, Jacob. And your wife – my sister. And your kids – my niece and nephew – and my parents, and my brothers and sisters. And if none of them wanna see me after that, fine. But I'm not lettin' y'all die like this."
Jacob wasn't quick to return. When he did, he was no longer alone. He came with his rifle down, and behind him scraped the metal sabatons of the dead man who loomed behind, his face concealed by his tusked helmet.
The room fell once more into silence. Each party watched the other. Harrowheart unmoving, still obscured beneath his dark armor. Anna, remaining tense, kept close to Lawrence even as he stepped toward his brother. The eyes of the runeblade kindled to magical life and Lawrence hesitated before he found the courage to stare it down.
"Well?" he finally asked. "What are we waiting for? Let's get the hell outta here."
The family didn't need to pack, but gathered the bags of emergency supplies they'd kept waiting since the first harvest of the year. They'd fled their home before without the luxury of baggage, and each of them agreed they'd never live through that again. There was a pack for every person – even Kendra, ten years old. Harrowheart, in his worgen form, was loaded like a packhorse with every spare sack and satchel they could find, each stuffed to the brim with supplies. Even then, each adult refused to say what they knew: With this many mouths to feed they wouldn't last a month.
Their final order of business was to tie themselves together. If they were going to be lost to the blizzard, at the very least they would be together.
The gateway split for Harrowheart's helmed snout, and he led the way into a world the Weatherhills couldn't recognize. Only weeks prior they had been working that land, and now, mere steps from the door of their home, they were lost. There was no sign of their table, no hint of their fence. All had been buried under hip-deep snowdrifts that rose with every gust of wind. Short as they were, Kendra and Tamminy were forced to take the rear, trailed by the rasping sound of Harrowheart's hovering runeblade as it dragged its forked tip through the packed snow.
Hours passed and Harrowheart continued to plow forward, scraping and scooping with his snout and helmet's tusks. He may have had the benefit of toiling tirelessly, but behind him the living were lagging. None of them were strangers to exertion, but this was a test of endurance like they'd never felt. Legs trembled, backs ached, and eyes burned. This stark white world was blinding. It was hungry.
And it wasn't the only thing yearning for victims.
Something was moving in the snow, creeping through the increasing darkness. Multiple somethings? Even Harrowheart couldn't tell. His ears caught the sound, his nose caught the scent, but he couldn't find it. His thick arms pulled him forward and he felt the tug of a dozen people behind him. They were too weak to run, and even in this form he wasn't strong enough to pull them.
And then that resistance was something more. It was a thrash, a scream, a shotgun blast into the whirling winter winds. Something had them. Something had them! Right in the middle, tearing at the ropes, grabbing at a body whose scream Harrowheart couldn't name. He tried to round on the enemy, but the snow and the satchels trapped him in the rut he'd made. He howled, snarled, and another shotgun blast knocked someone down, pulling the others with.
Enough was enough. The runeblade raised itself aloft like a javelin and lanced itself into the unseen whiteness.
Then nothing.
Screaming turned to sobbing. The rope rocked with their terrified quaking.
The runeblade returned, and Harrowheart pulled forward.
Winter doesn't end for tears.
Heart to Harrowheart (with Jim - smartasscaptain)
((Co-written with Jim (smartasscaptain) in Discord, posted here for posterity. Thanks so much to Jim's player for cleaning up this log and making it post-worthy! Some of the markup may not come through properly, so imagine I italicized too much, as one does.
Summation: A YEAR after the conclusion of the Runeblades megaplot, Jim and Harrow finally sit down for a serious discussion.))
Summation: A YEAR after the conclusion of the Runeblades megaplot, Jim and Harrow finally sit down for a serious discussion.))
Harrowheart
Viatorus' wonderfully alcohol-filled wedding has passed, but Harrowheart's offer to Jim still stands: Come visit his new home. Turns out the location is somewhere in a forest in the Nexus, though fortunately this forest is less the 'haunted monsters' variety and more the average, temperate Earth-style woodland. The abrupt changing of the seasons turned the leaves already, and many have fallen to the ground, prime for the crunching. Without the shadow of the canopy the sun filters down to the ground, lighting the way to the small home well enough.
It sits in a clearing where Harrow has made no apparent attempt to control the leaves in any way. The house is a single story and, at a guess, probably three rooms wide. The wooden siding of the home is white, and still quite clean. Its grey-shingled roof extends into an overhang that sits above a front porch, rightly furnished with a single rocking chair... And in it, a corpse.
Right, Harrowheart. The dude who unlives here. Despite the chilling weather he's dressed, as always, in a tanktop and cargo shorts. His hands and knees are caked in dried mud that's also dusting his clothes. His eyes are closed and he appears to be sleeping. Behind him, leaning against the frame of the front door, the runeblade lies dormant.
Jim
Crunch, crunch, crackle, crunch.
It's impossible to stealth through this kind of dried Autumnal foliage but truthfully Jim isn't even bothering to try and be quiet. He hasn't had the simple joy of being able to drag his feet through fall leaves in years now. There's something so essentially satisfying to hear them crunch underfoot. Unlike the man of the house however Jim is very much dressed for the occasion--clad in an olive colored shirt tucked into fitted jeans with a leather jacket pulled on over his shirt though his work boots are still the only shoes he has to wear.
Harrow's house is much more well constructed than Jim would have figured. Building a house is serious work. Even with his interest in engineering Jim still wouldn't be comfortable making a whole house yet here it stands in the relative quiet corner of Nexus woodland. The lack of Jim-Eating-Monsters around the place honestly makes everything about this trek all the more enjoyable. The captain's carrying a shopping bag on one arm when he finally approaches the porch.
"Knock, knock!" Harrow doesn't have a mailbox or a sidewalk or any kind of patch leading up to his home but Jim still walks until he's in front of the structure before he approaches it out of habit.
Walls Go Up (For Juststeverogers)
The ground was hard and rough with frost when Harrowheart had begun preparations for the foundation of his home, and now in the heat of the summer when the water of the air condenses on his cold and pallid skin like sweat the whole affair is finally complete. Wooden walls and wooden floors, wooden everything where it could be, excepting of course the green damask wallpaper he saw fit to put above the wainscoting. White paint on the outside, windows with real glass to let the light in, and a grey-shingled roof... Elune, it came out perfect.
Today the final screw had secured the final door, and now, as the Nexus' approximation of a sun begins to set, Harrowheart is seated at the edge of the – his! – front porch. He twists the cap off his beer and lifts it in the air towards Steve in cheers.
"None of this could'a happened without you, man," he says, his quiet voice suggesting a tiredness he can't possibly be feeling. "I know I'm gonna be the one livin' here, but this'll always be the house we built together."
Today the final screw had secured the final door, and now, as the Nexus' approximation of a sun begins to set, Harrowheart is seated at the edge of the – his! – front porch. He twists the cap off his beer and lifts it in the air towards Steve in cheers.
"None of this could'a happened without you, man," he says, his quiet voice suggesting a tiredness he can't possibly be feeling. "I know I'm gonna be the one livin' here, but this'll always be the house we built together."
Thoughts for a Mage (Suitor Post-Scrutiny Part Two)
The apartment Basil has known most of his life feels suddenly so claustrophobic. But how could it not? How could he not compare it to a grand mansion? How could he not compare the confines of his familiar city to the possibilities of another world? It's been a day since he returned to Azeroth and he simply cannot get the Durants out of his overactive mind.
"Stop fussing, Basil." The absently distant voice of his mother stops him in his tracks and only then does he realize the energy with which he had been striding around the living room. He cracks a nervous smile and she closes her book around her thumb to focus on him.
"I can't help it, Mother," he quietly admits. "Such possibilities! A whole new world."
"It won't do to get your hopes up, Basil. Detach yourself from it until you're sure you're the one they're choosing. Anything less and you're setting yourself up for disappointment."
"Mother," he strains, hands on his hips, "Allow me some emotion, wouldn't you? Just today? There's so much on my mind and it refuses to be pushed away."
"It refuses, or you refuse?"
"I refuse. So much went right! I could see the amazement in their faces when I simply conjured a cake! The magic we know must be incredibly exotic to them, which means I've got something they want. And you heard what their son said at the end, that the family is looking to build connections to the Kirin Tor. That's going to be me!"
"But not necessarily through marriage." The Archmage sets her book aside on a nearby table and sits straight with her hands folded in her lap and her dark eyes on her son's face. "I can't believe you suggested that you might give them what they want despite them not giving you what you want. What was going through your head when you said you might be their ambassador to the Kirin Tor without first securing your own marriage?"
Her son's dark skin goes paler at her words. He had worried over that, in truth. That he might have been making a mistake. "But," he tries, ready to convince himself as much as his mother, "The Archon was impressed that I planned for the future, and that I had more in mind than his daughter. I don't think they'd allow me to bridge the gap between our two worlds without reimbursing me in some way. I'm sure they reimburse the death knight, after all."
"What would one reimburse a death knight with, exactly, Basil?"
Basil blinks, thinks. His gaze drifts to his clockwork rabbit and it, sensing eyes upon it, springs upward in a giddy little leap. What would one reimburse a death knight with?
"I don't imagine it's a pleasant payment," the Archmage says coolly. "And, if I might be honest, I'm not sure they're entirely pleasant people themselves. The way their son behaved..."
"Viatorus?" Basil interrupts, already defensive. "He was perfectly genuine and sweet as punch."
"He was..." his mother agrees, "And yet he was terribly afraid of his own curiosity. He's been raised in an environment which stifles imagination and enthusiasm. I could tell it by the way his mother felt the need to correct him and his father felt the need to fix him with those stares of his. They harbor a certain level of contempt and disrespect for their own son, and I question whether or not it would be an inviting environment for my son to raise his children."
Basil hesitates. What his mother is saying... Yes, he had noticed. He had commented on it himself, in his own way. Suddenly he feels it would be best to take a seat and so he lowers himself into a chair at the dining table.
"But they would be my children," he says.
"Yours and your future wife's."
"Of course. And we could choose to raise them in any environment we saw fit. We wouldn't be obligated to raise them by the standards of her parents."
His mother doesn't reply, but only stares at her son until his expression wobbles. When he cracks under the pressure she interrupts his embarrassment with an explanation.
"I imagine their family is incredibly strict about tradition, and, if I might speculate, I assume she is as well. She's agreeing to an arranged marriage to a stranger from another world, Basil. I suspect radical notions of respect for others' eccentricities -- even autonomy -- come far, far from mainstream."
"So, you... Didn't like them."
"Not at all." And then she sees the way her son's eyes betray his hurt. She presses her lips together and takes a breath before she continues, her tone lighter now. "But, Basil? I'm not the one marrying them. You are. I can tell you're excited at the prospect --"
"I was."
"You will be again," she stresses. "Anxiety and doubt are powerful things when we are first confronted with them, but if you find in the end that your excitement persists, you'll know you ought to at least meet the woman."
"It might have been nice to meet her," Basil admits quietly. His mother nods. "But," he continues, "She's a fire mage, so I have an idea of her character. They all have particular... Tendencies."
His mother cracks a smile, and both of them begin to laugh. When each of them are quiet again she delicately assures her son, "Your magic astounded them. I see no reason why they wouldn't choose you."
The thought of it keeps his smile alive. His mother is right. He showed an old and lineaged family of casters magic that they'd never seen before. He, a well-studies, technically lineaged mage himself astounded them with illusions and conjurations unknown on their world. Of course they will choose him! It's only the logical decision, and the Archon seemed a very logical man. And what an adventure it will be! To be married to a lady from another world... He simply cannot wait to meet her.
"Stop fussing, Basil." The absently distant voice of his mother stops him in his tracks and only then does he realize the energy with which he had been striding around the living room. He cracks a nervous smile and she closes her book around her thumb to focus on him.
"I can't help it, Mother," he quietly admits. "Such possibilities! A whole new world."
"It won't do to get your hopes up, Basil. Detach yourself from it until you're sure you're the one they're choosing. Anything less and you're setting yourself up for disappointment."
"Mother," he strains, hands on his hips, "Allow me some emotion, wouldn't you? Just today? There's so much on my mind and it refuses to be pushed away."
"It refuses, or you refuse?"
"I refuse. So much went right! I could see the amazement in their faces when I simply conjured a cake! The magic we know must be incredibly exotic to them, which means I've got something they want. And you heard what their son said at the end, that the family is looking to build connections to the Kirin Tor. That's going to be me!"
"But not necessarily through marriage." The Archmage sets her book aside on a nearby table and sits straight with her hands folded in her lap and her dark eyes on her son's face. "I can't believe you suggested that you might give them what they want despite them not giving you what you want. What was going through your head when you said you might be their ambassador to the Kirin Tor without first securing your own marriage?"
Her son's dark skin goes paler at her words. He had worried over that, in truth. That he might have been making a mistake. "But," he tries, ready to convince himself as much as his mother, "The Archon was impressed that I planned for the future, and that I had more in mind than his daughter. I don't think they'd allow me to bridge the gap between our two worlds without reimbursing me in some way. I'm sure they reimburse the death knight, after all."
"What would one reimburse a death knight with, exactly, Basil?"
Basil blinks, thinks. His gaze drifts to his clockwork rabbit and it, sensing eyes upon it, springs upward in a giddy little leap. What would one reimburse a death knight with?
"I don't imagine it's a pleasant payment," the Archmage says coolly. "And, if I might be honest, I'm not sure they're entirely pleasant people themselves. The way their son behaved..."
"Viatorus?" Basil interrupts, already defensive. "He was perfectly genuine and sweet as punch."
"He was..." his mother agrees, "And yet he was terribly afraid of his own curiosity. He's been raised in an environment which stifles imagination and enthusiasm. I could tell it by the way his mother felt the need to correct him and his father felt the need to fix him with those stares of his. They harbor a certain level of contempt and disrespect for their own son, and I question whether or not it would be an inviting environment for my son to raise his children."
Basil hesitates. What his mother is saying... Yes, he had noticed. He had commented on it himself, in his own way. Suddenly he feels it would be best to take a seat and so he lowers himself into a chair at the dining table.
"But they would be my children," he says.
"Yours and your future wife's."
"Of course. And we could choose to raise them in any environment we saw fit. We wouldn't be obligated to raise them by the standards of her parents."
His mother doesn't reply, but only stares at her son until his expression wobbles. When he cracks under the pressure she interrupts his embarrassment with an explanation.
"I imagine their family is incredibly strict about tradition, and, if I might speculate, I assume she is as well. She's agreeing to an arranged marriage to a stranger from another world, Basil. I suspect radical notions of respect for others' eccentricities -- even autonomy -- come far, far from mainstream."
"So, you... Didn't like them."
"Not at all." And then she sees the way her son's eyes betray his hurt. She presses her lips together and takes a breath before she continues, her tone lighter now. "But, Basil? I'm not the one marrying them. You are. I can tell you're excited at the prospect --"
"I was."
"You will be again," she stresses. "Anxiety and doubt are powerful things when we are first confronted with them, but if you find in the end that your excitement persists, you'll know you ought to at least meet the woman."
"It might have been nice to meet her," Basil admits quietly. His mother nods. "But," he continues, "She's a fire mage, so I have an idea of her character. They all have particular... Tendencies."
His mother cracks a smile, and both of them begin to laugh. When each of them are quiet again she delicately assures her son, "Your magic astounded them. I see no reason why they wouldn't choose you."
The thought of it keeps his smile alive. His mother is right. He showed an old and lineaged family of casters magic that they'd never seen before. He, a well-studies, technically lineaged mage himself astounded them with illusions and conjurations unknown on their world. Of course they will choose him! It's only the logical decision, and the Archon seemed a very logical man. And what an adventure it will be! To be married to a lady from another world... He simply cannot wait to meet her.
Wine for Celebrants (Suitor Post-Scrutiny Part One)
"A belated toast!"
Lady Alter is already giggling from too much wine as her son raises his second (or is this the third?) glass with a newfound reverie. Lord Alter isn't ashamed to show his emotions here in the privacy of his home and laughs along with his wife, one hand on his gold and crystal glass and the other holding hers. Denelia, their daughter, sits across their inlaid feasting table. Like her mother she's long past her first glass of wine, and past her first cigarette as well. The smoke is fading from the air even as the smell gets stronger, but nobody seems to mind. She smiles for her brother as she raises her half-empty glass.
"To my family!" Zandros says, returning the red-cheeked smile he's getting from the rest of them. "Including the Durants, of course!" The others laugh and raise their cups a little higher. "Isidor, wherever and whoever you are, I hope you're as gorgeous as your mother!" His own mother hiccups in surprise and her children laugh a little louder. Lord Alter squeezes her hand and winks.
"To the future!" Zandros calls across the dining hall. A servant girl relights the fading candles on one wall and suddenly the room -- and Zandros' expression -- is so much brighter. "To Earth, Azeroth, and the merging of our worlds. May all good things come from this new union!"
"Hear, hear!" His father says, his eyes twinkling with pride (and a touch of alcohol.)
Feeling bolder now Zandros steps onto his chair and his sister laughs anew. With his arm and glass raised high as he can muster Zandros calls, "And to the Light!" His father nods once, vehemently. "For granting me the strength to prove my worth and smite that co--woah!" He wobbles on his chair and quickly hops down to avoid a nasty fall. Wine rocks from his cup and spills onto the polished marble floor, work for the servants and a hearty laugh for the Alters.
Zandros takes his seat, his whole face flushed from laughter and drink, and presses his palms onto the table to steady himself. "I can still feel the Archon's hand shaking mine!"
His sister hastens the drag on her smoke to ask, "And how is your hand?"
"Fine, of course. The Light saw to that," Zandros says with a wine-touched smile. "Better than my throat, anyway."
"And yet you're still climbing on chairs to shout toasts," his father says with a grin and a tip of his cup.
Lady Alter gestures around the table. "We'd worry you weren't yourself if you didn't!"
Zandros absolutely beams. Good wine, good family, good fortune, and, soon, a good wife. There's no doubt about it in any Alter's mind: Zandros will become the next Durant. Now he has only to finally meet the woman...
Lady Alter is already giggling from too much wine as her son raises his second (or is this the third?) glass with a newfound reverie. Lord Alter isn't ashamed to show his emotions here in the privacy of his home and laughs along with his wife, one hand on his gold and crystal glass and the other holding hers. Denelia, their daughter, sits across their inlaid feasting table. Like her mother she's long past her first glass of wine, and past her first cigarette as well. The smoke is fading from the air even as the smell gets stronger, but nobody seems to mind. She smiles for her brother as she raises her half-empty glass.
"To my family!" Zandros says, returning the red-cheeked smile he's getting from the rest of them. "Including the Durants, of course!" The others laugh and raise their cups a little higher. "Isidor, wherever and whoever you are, I hope you're as gorgeous as your mother!" His own mother hiccups in surprise and her children laugh a little louder. Lord Alter squeezes her hand and winks.
"To the future!" Zandros calls across the dining hall. A servant girl relights the fading candles on one wall and suddenly the room -- and Zandros' expression -- is so much brighter. "To Earth, Azeroth, and the merging of our worlds. May all good things come from this new union!"
"Hear, hear!" His father says, his eyes twinkling with pride (and a touch of alcohol.)
Feeling bolder now Zandros steps onto his chair and his sister laughs anew. With his arm and glass raised high as he can muster Zandros calls, "And to the Light!" His father nods once, vehemently. "For granting me the strength to prove my worth and smite that co--woah!" He wobbles on his chair and quickly hops down to avoid a nasty fall. Wine rocks from his cup and spills onto the polished marble floor, work for the servants and a hearty laugh for the Alters.
Zandros takes his seat, his whole face flushed from laughter and drink, and presses his palms onto the table to steady himself. "I can still feel the Archon's hand shaking mine!"
His sister hastens the drag on her smoke to ask, "And how is your hand?"
"Fine, of course. The Light saw to that," Zandros says with a wine-touched smile. "Better than my throat, anyway."
"And yet you're still climbing on chairs to shout toasts," his father says with a grin and a tip of his cup.
Lady Alter gestures around the table. "We'd worry you weren't yourself if you didn't!"
Zandros absolutely beams. Good wine, good family, good fortune, and, soon, a good wife. There's no doubt about it in any Alter's mind: Zandros will become the next Durant. Now he has only to finally meet the woman...
Entry tags:
Lady and Knight (4/4)
(( Lieselotte Companion Pieces: Part 4 and Part 5
Harrowheart Part 3 / Lieselotte Part 3 ))
Zandros was too physical. Gardin was too young and stupid. Andolian was too far-away. I had to find someone who wasn’t like any of them. Someone small, maybe. Someone who didn’t think he could intimidate Isidor. Someone older, but not two hundred like Andolian. Someone who didn’t worship the Light but practiced magic like the Durants. Not a businessman, not a land-owner, but a mage. More like the Durants in spirit than bank account.
I spent days and days looking around Dalaran following leads. I felt like a detective, but by now Mrs. Durant had been on Azeroth for a few weeks and my energy for all this was disappearing. Every day I felt sicker and sicker. Every night I got worse and worse thoughts. I was glad that I was smart enough to tell Mrs. Durant I wouldn’t see her for a few days. It made it easier. A couple days I sat on a bench and just stared for a real long time. I thought about bad things I hadn’t thought about in a long time. I felt bad. But I thought about Isidor and how much I love her, and I reminded myself that I had to save her from a bad future, and that’s what got me up and at it again every day.
One day as I was sitting on the bench a group of folks walked by me and they were real loud and I couldn’t hardly think. I was going to get up and leave and that’s when I realized they were a group of student mages learning from an archmage.
And that’s when I got a real good idea.
A Kirin Tor student is exactly what I needed to find! Someone funny and handsome and magical. Someone like Khadgar. The real Khadgar, not a costume.
I went to the University and started talking to professors. Most of them were real weird, but in that way that mages are. Harmless weird. Just strange. They thought that if I asked them questions they got to ask me questions too. They asked about my magic and my runeblades and whether or not I’d like to help them with an experiment. One old man had me lift up a real heavy box for him. I met one instructor lady who reminded me of Adia, and maybe because of that I was nicer. I forget that sometimes I’m too short-tempered on Azeroth. I forget to say nice things like ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ and I forget to smile and I forget to blink. But like I said, Archmage Adia was real nice, and I think that made me nicer, and so she gave me better answers than anyone else.
She told me that one of her colleagues was a lady named Archmage Leywalker who does shields and illusions. She’s got a son named Basil who’s just a little bit older than Isidor and looking for someone to spend his life with. She described him a little bit – a battlemage in the past but a scholar now, real sweet and harmless, a ‘good boy.’ I thought he sounded perfect. The Archmage said she’d arrange a meeting.
I realized when I was on my way back to Mrs. Durant for the first time in almost a week that I was determined to make this work. It made me feel confused. How come I can be determined when I’m doing bad things? How come I can do things I know I don’t really want but tell myself that I want them? I remembered being in the army. I remembered being in the Scourge. I remembered doing bad things but saying to myself that I had to do them.
And then I was at Mrs. Durant’s room and I didn’t have no more time to think about it. I told her about the Leywalkers. The very next day we were having dinner with them.
Their apartment was real real high up in one of the spires of Dalaran. I figured that meant it’d look real important inside, but I was surprised by how normal it was. Real clean, of course, but real sparse too. They had a lot of mechano-magical constructs in the house. A little clockwork finch that sat in a cage and sang, a little Suramar-style sweeper bot that floated around and cleaned up the marble floors, and a mechanical cat that had rabbit fur on it to make it soft and nice to touch.
As soon as I saw Basil I got a little bit excited cause he’s real short. Shorter than Isidor for sure. But I was surprised by the big scar he had on his face. He had a few deep scar lines that went down the whole left side of his face and cut his eyebrow in half. He had a fake eye that was made of gold with a purple center and a Kirin Tor eye symbol carved into it. He had a metal arm, too! It was like Lawrence’s but all gold, and I could tell it ran off of magic instead of electricity. I knew he was a battlemage, but I didn’t expect all of that.
We sat down and had a real nice but simple dinner. It was soup. That’s all. I mean there was conjured apple strudels, but otherwise that was all. Not having to eat a bunch of food gave me time to look around. There were so many books. None of the other families had this many books!
Archmage Leywalker was a real smart older lady. She spoke some, but like Mrs. Durant she was usually pretty quiet. Sometimes she asked questions about magic on Earth, and then she’d nod and look real thoughtful as she ate her soup. She wanted to know about the Durant family history, and I told her everything Mrs. Durant let me. She told me that her family have lived in Dalaran for centuries and have been mages for even longer. She admitted that she cares an awful lot about genealogy, and I didn’t mean to laugh, but I did. I thought that was perfect, I said, cause the Durants do, too.
Then she asked me what my family name was, and I told her ‘Weatherhill,’ and she got real excited. She says she knows that’s a real old family name from some early mages that fought in the Troll Wars. They did magic more like shamans, more like Vrykul, that was weather-based. I laughed again. I didn’t know that! I felt real important and I think it made her feel real important, too, that she could share that with me. I said I’d tell my father, cause I knew he’d be so excited to find that out.
Basil was real reserved and well-mannered and only spoke when the moment was right. He didn’t mention his scars right away even though I think he knew I was looking at his eyeball, but he said he served in Northrend and kinda gave me a look like ‘You did too, right?’ I nodded and I said I did. I didn’t mention that I served the Scourge and not the Ebon Blade or Ashen Verdict. Probably for the best, too, cause he lost his arm up in Icecrown and he said he lost his brother at the Wrathgate. Hearing that name again excited me. It filled my head up with good memories. I wondered how he died. Was it the Forsaken plague bombs? Or was it us? Did some nasty little ghoul tear him up, or was it someone like me? Maybe it was me. I wouldn’t ever know, but I could pretend it was. Then I thought about Icecrown. I thought about Basil’s arm. I wondered how he lost it. I wondered if someone tore it off, or cut it off. I wondered how hard he’d fight if I tore the other one off. I wondered if I could do it before Lieselotte or his mother stopped me. Then I realized I was staring at him and he was staring at me like he expected something but I didn’t have nothing for him so I blinked real hard and nodded and went back to translating. I missed some stuff he said. Something about ‘duty.’ Serving was his duty. He was real casual about it after he knew I was paying attention again. He repeated that serving was his duty in a real dull voice. Like getting his arm eaten off by a zombie was the same as going down to the market for groceries.
He said that these days he likes what he does, which is study illusions like his mother. He showed Mrs. Durant a nice little illusion trick by turning the table invisible while we sat at it. It was weird cause you could still see everything sitting on it and you could still feel it. He laughed when I put my hands on it and leaned around to look up from under it. (It was still invisible from the underside by the way.) I wasn't sure if I should have been mad that he laughed but he looked at me with a real sweet smile. I couldn't smile back but in the end I wasn't mad. I noticed then that he wasn't half bad looking despite the scars. Not rugged handsome like Zandros, but cute. I hoped Isidor would find him cute anyway.
I liked him a lot less when he mentioned that he was feeling his age now that he's almost thirty and how he can't wait to have children. He moved right on from that and tried to ask a bunch of questions about Mrs. Durant’s world. Normally I like talking about Earth, but I only told him what Mrs. Durant wanted me to say.
I felt myself getting real far away from the conversation for the rest of the night. I spoke for Mrs. Durant, but I don't remember none of it. What I remember most is that a few hours in I saw Basil looking at me from across the table. I could tell he was scared. I wondered if he knew me. If he saw me in Icecrown. If he recognized my face.
I never found out.
Eventually Mrs. Durant knew when to say goodbye. We went back to her inn room. She had a lot she wanted to talk about. I couldn't. I told her I had to go to Acherus. She asked if I couldn't stay just an hour to talk. I stared at her a real long time. Inside I knew I needed to speak, but I couldn't make my jaw move. Not for a real long time.
No, I said. For the first time. No. I couldn't be there with her. Not right then. I had to go to Acherus. And so I did.
~ ~ ~
The next day I was back in Dalaran. She took breakfast in one of the cafés and I sat with her. My engagement suit felt dirty from wearing it so long, but she looked nice as ever. Her voice was soft as ever. She was kind as ever. Mrs. Durant don't even know. It's probably for the best.
In the end I couldn't tell her who to pick. I could only remind her of the things we saw. I told her Zandros has real special magic as a Spellbreaker, and his family's in a real good place. I told her Basil’s a real lineaged mage and that a connection to a Dalaran family would open up a whole world of magic to the Durants. I told her both of them seemed nice enough. Both of them were strong and loyal. Either of them could be Isidor's honorary patron. I told her one of them could be Isidor's husband. That she could spend her life with them.
And then I told myself that's how it ought to be. The living with the living and the dead in the past. One way or another. A man from Azeroth or a man from Earth, sooner or later they would have found her someone. Sooner or later they would have made her choice.
So is it wrong that just a little… For just a minute… I really hated Lieselotte Durant?
Harrowheart Part 3 / Lieselotte Part 3 ))
Zandros was too physical. Gardin was too young and stupid. Andolian was too far-away. I had to find someone who wasn’t like any of them. Someone small, maybe. Someone who didn’t think he could intimidate Isidor. Someone older, but not two hundred like Andolian. Someone who didn’t worship the Light but practiced magic like the Durants. Not a businessman, not a land-owner, but a mage. More like the Durants in spirit than bank account.
I spent days and days looking around Dalaran following leads. I felt like a detective, but by now Mrs. Durant had been on Azeroth for a few weeks and my energy for all this was disappearing. Every day I felt sicker and sicker. Every night I got worse and worse thoughts. I was glad that I was smart enough to tell Mrs. Durant I wouldn’t see her for a few days. It made it easier. A couple days I sat on a bench and just stared for a real long time. I thought about bad things I hadn’t thought about in a long time. I felt bad. But I thought about Isidor and how much I love her, and I reminded myself that I had to save her from a bad future, and that’s what got me up and at it again every day.
One day as I was sitting on the bench a group of folks walked by me and they were real loud and I couldn’t hardly think. I was going to get up and leave and that’s when I realized they were a group of student mages learning from an archmage.
And that’s when I got a real good idea.
A Kirin Tor student is exactly what I needed to find! Someone funny and handsome and magical. Someone like Khadgar. The real Khadgar, not a costume.
I went to the University and started talking to professors. Most of them were real weird, but in that way that mages are. Harmless weird. Just strange. They thought that if I asked them questions they got to ask me questions too. They asked about my magic and my runeblades and whether or not I’d like to help them with an experiment. One old man had me lift up a real heavy box for him. I met one instructor lady who reminded me of Adia, and maybe because of that I was nicer. I forget that sometimes I’m too short-tempered on Azeroth. I forget to say nice things like ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ and I forget to smile and I forget to blink. But like I said, Archmage Adia was real nice, and I think that made me nicer, and so she gave me better answers than anyone else.
She told me that one of her colleagues was a lady named Archmage Leywalker who does shields and illusions. She’s got a son named Basil who’s just a little bit older than Isidor and looking for someone to spend his life with. She described him a little bit – a battlemage in the past but a scholar now, real sweet and harmless, a ‘good boy.’ I thought he sounded perfect. The Archmage said she’d arrange a meeting.
I realized when I was on my way back to Mrs. Durant for the first time in almost a week that I was determined to make this work. It made me feel confused. How come I can be determined when I’m doing bad things? How come I can do things I know I don’t really want but tell myself that I want them? I remembered being in the army. I remembered being in the Scourge. I remembered doing bad things but saying to myself that I had to do them.
And then I was at Mrs. Durant’s room and I didn’t have no more time to think about it. I told her about the Leywalkers. The very next day we were having dinner with them.
Their apartment was real real high up in one of the spires of Dalaran. I figured that meant it’d look real important inside, but I was surprised by how normal it was. Real clean, of course, but real sparse too. They had a lot of mechano-magical constructs in the house. A little clockwork finch that sat in a cage and sang, a little Suramar-style sweeper bot that floated around and cleaned up the marble floors, and a mechanical cat that had rabbit fur on it to make it soft and nice to touch.
As soon as I saw Basil I got a little bit excited cause he’s real short. Shorter than Isidor for sure. But I was surprised by the big scar he had on his face. He had a few deep scar lines that went down the whole left side of his face and cut his eyebrow in half. He had a fake eye that was made of gold with a purple center and a Kirin Tor eye symbol carved into it. He had a metal arm, too! It was like Lawrence’s but all gold, and I could tell it ran off of magic instead of electricity. I knew he was a battlemage, but I didn’t expect all of that.
We sat down and had a real nice but simple dinner. It was soup. That’s all. I mean there was conjured apple strudels, but otherwise that was all. Not having to eat a bunch of food gave me time to look around. There were so many books. None of the other families had this many books!
Archmage Leywalker was a real smart older lady. She spoke some, but like Mrs. Durant she was usually pretty quiet. Sometimes she asked questions about magic on Earth, and then she’d nod and look real thoughtful as she ate her soup. She wanted to know about the Durant family history, and I told her everything Mrs. Durant let me. She told me that her family have lived in Dalaran for centuries and have been mages for even longer. She admitted that she cares an awful lot about genealogy, and I didn’t mean to laugh, but I did. I thought that was perfect, I said, cause the Durants do, too.
Then she asked me what my family name was, and I told her ‘Weatherhill,’ and she got real excited. She says she knows that’s a real old family name from some early mages that fought in the Troll Wars. They did magic more like shamans, more like Vrykul, that was weather-based. I laughed again. I didn’t know that! I felt real important and I think it made her feel real important, too, that she could share that with me. I said I’d tell my father, cause I knew he’d be so excited to find that out.
Basil was real reserved and well-mannered and only spoke when the moment was right. He didn’t mention his scars right away even though I think he knew I was looking at his eyeball, but he said he served in Northrend and kinda gave me a look like ‘You did too, right?’ I nodded and I said I did. I didn’t mention that I served the Scourge and not the Ebon Blade or Ashen Verdict. Probably for the best, too, cause he lost his arm up in Icecrown and he said he lost his brother at the Wrathgate. Hearing that name again excited me. It filled my head up with good memories. I wondered how he died. Was it the Forsaken plague bombs? Or was it us? Did some nasty little ghoul tear him up, or was it someone like me? Maybe it was me. I wouldn’t ever know, but I could pretend it was. Then I thought about Icecrown. I thought about Basil’s arm. I wondered how he lost it. I wondered if someone tore it off, or cut it off. I wondered how hard he’d fight if I tore the other one off. I wondered if I could do it before Lieselotte or his mother stopped me. Then I realized I was staring at him and he was staring at me like he expected something but I didn’t have nothing for him so I blinked real hard and nodded and went back to translating. I missed some stuff he said. Something about ‘duty.’ Serving was his duty. He was real casual about it after he knew I was paying attention again. He repeated that serving was his duty in a real dull voice. Like getting his arm eaten off by a zombie was the same as going down to the market for groceries.
He said that these days he likes what he does, which is study illusions like his mother. He showed Mrs. Durant a nice little illusion trick by turning the table invisible while we sat at it. It was weird cause you could still see everything sitting on it and you could still feel it. He laughed when I put my hands on it and leaned around to look up from under it. (It was still invisible from the underside by the way.) I wasn't sure if I should have been mad that he laughed but he looked at me with a real sweet smile. I couldn't smile back but in the end I wasn't mad. I noticed then that he wasn't half bad looking despite the scars. Not rugged handsome like Zandros, but cute. I hoped Isidor would find him cute anyway.
I liked him a lot less when he mentioned that he was feeling his age now that he's almost thirty and how he can't wait to have children. He moved right on from that and tried to ask a bunch of questions about Mrs. Durant’s world. Normally I like talking about Earth, but I only told him what Mrs. Durant wanted me to say.
I felt myself getting real far away from the conversation for the rest of the night. I spoke for Mrs. Durant, but I don't remember none of it. What I remember most is that a few hours in I saw Basil looking at me from across the table. I could tell he was scared. I wondered if he knew me. If he saw me in Icecrown. If he recognized my face.
I never found out.
Eventually Mrs. Durant knew when to say goodbye. We went back to her inn room. She had a lot she wanted to talk about. I couldn't. I told her I had to go to Acherus. She asked if I couldn't stay just an hour to talk. I stared at her a real long time. Inside I knew I needed to speak, but I couldn't make my jaw move. Not for a real long time.
No, I said. For the first time. No. I couldn't be there with her. Not right then. I had to go to Acherus. And so I did.
The next day I was back in Dalaran. She took breakfast in one of the cafés and I sat with her. My engagement suit felt dirty from wearing it so long, but she looked nice as ever. Her voice was soft as ever. She was kind as ever. Mrs. Durant don't even know. It's probably for the best.
In the end I couldn't tell her who to pick. I could only remind her of the things we saw. I told her Zandros has real special magic as a Spellbreaker, and his family's in a real good place. I told her Basil’s a real lineaged mage and that a connection to a Dalaran family would open up a whole world of magic to the Durants. I told her both of them seemed nice enough. Both of them were strong and loyal. Either of them could be Isidor's honorary patron. I told her one of them could be Isidor's husband. That she could spend her life with them.
And then I told myself that's how it ought to be. The living with the living and the dead in the past. One way or another. A man from Azeroth or a man from Earth, sooner or later they would have found her someone. Sooner or later they would have made her choice.
So is it wrong that just a little… For just a minute… I really hated Lieselotte Durant?
Entry tags:
Lady and Knight (3/4)
(( Lieselotte Companion Piece 3
Harrowheart Part 2 / Lieselotte Part 2
Harrowheart Part 1 / Lieselotte Part 1 ))
After meeting the Alters and the Tenemils in Stormwind, Mrs. Durant had the bright idea for us to look around Dalaran to find some folks that the Alters didn’t introduce us to. I thought that was a real good idea and told her as much. Dalaran’s got good folks, plus a whole lotta heroes traveling through on business with the war on the Legion going on and all.
I had a real easy time finding connections in Dalaran, because everyone’s real open-minded there. Talked with some merchants for a while and they pointed me in the direction of a relic-dealer called Andolian Earlydawn. They sent me straight to his business so I could meet him right away. When they said he was an elf I figured he’d be a blood elf, so you know I was real surprised when I saw him for the first time and he had blue eyes instead.
First thing I gotta say: Guy wasn’t as handsome as I figured he’d be. He was real gaunt, had real big cheekbones and a real pointy chin. I guess I figured he’d be more rugged-handsome like that fuckin’ Zandros guy. I thought he looked kind of like an albino cause his skin was dead white and so was his hair. He dressed real sharp though. Probably to match his cheeks.
I told him that I represented a Lady from another world who wanted to make contacts here, and I barely got the words outta my mouth before he was taking me out the door of his shop and telling me to go get her. We met back up right away at the address of his apartment and he took us right inside.
I ain’t ever been in an elf’s home! He had all that elf decor, like swirling bannisters and big cushions on the ground instead of furniture. It was ‘round dinner time when we met up and he had us sit on big old pillows in a big pit in his living room, and we laid down to eat, and he smoked fruity hookahs. There was smoke in the air and a magical harp in the corner that I recognized as Suramar-style. It played real soft music all evening, so soft that sometimes I forgot it was even playing. It made me feel nice. We ate little deviled quail eggs that weren’t much bigger than the end of my thumb, and we had cherry-glazed partridges, and for dessert he brought out mangos that were so ripe they turned to juice the minute I put them in my mouth. I told Mrs. Durant that this was all real special food. I don’t know if she believed me but she had good manners as usual.
Andolian didn’t care about the setting aside of weapons. He even told me that he thought my runeblades looked fancy, and I was like ’Shoot.’ When he spoke he didn’t look at me like the other families did, but made eye contact with Lieselotte the whole time like I wasn’t even in the room. That was kinda weird, but it made me feel like a professional, I guess. It meant I didn’t have to fake any good emotions either. Not that I would have had to. He complained a lot about how he don’t really ‘get’ human expressions cause we don’t have the long eyebrows and the long ears. I could always tell what he was thinking because his ears and his big old eyebrows like a bug’s feelers were always moving.
He started right off telling us all about himself, which I could tell made him feel real important. He told me that he sells to the Horde, and I was like ’Okay,’ cause he lives in Dalaran and all and that sorta thing happens. But then he started bragging about his Horde connections! He went on and on talking about the orcs and the goblin cartels and the Forsaken that he trades with. Sometimes he even puts on an eye color illusion and goes and visits Horde cities! I didn’t mean to, but when he told me that I grabbed Mrs. Durant’s hand cause I was kinda shocked. Turns out he trades with the Alliance, too, of course, and he’s got contacts in all the major cities. But still...
He was real interested in the rules and his obligations of becoming part of the Durant family. Everything for him was all about rules. It was like he wanted to write up a contract. It was all business all night, and by the time we left I couldn’t decide if he had a personality besides being full of himself and scared of what humans were thinking.
When we left his place it was real late in the night, but of course I wasn’t tired. I took Mrs. Durant to a little café and we talked everything over. I wanted to explain right away why I grabbed her hand, cause I was real embarrassed about that as soon as I did it but I didn’t wanna mention it right then cause I don’t think Andolian saw me do it. I apologized and she was real sweet about it but reminded me that I gotta keep myself to myself. That’s what a rich person or a real translator would do. I said ‘Just like Isidor,’ without meaning to. She’s so good at hiding what she’s thinking. Except for when she’s around me. I can always tell. I didn’t tell Mrs. Durant that, though!
Anyways after I apologized I explained to her that Andolian has more connections around the world than most folks we were liable to meet. The Alters got a lot of value in the favors they’re owed, but Andolian opens up the whole world. He’s the only person we met so far that knows the Horde and the Alliance equally… But I had to tell her that ain’t necessarily a good thing. Even with the Legion war that’s going on (I didn’t explain that too much, just that we’re fighting demons) the Horde and the Alliance keep separate. Even Dalaran’s split up between the factions. I figure she walked around town by now and saw the Forsaken guarding the Horde district and the Worgen guarding the Alliance.
I had to tell her that on our world, you got a side you’re on based on what kinda creature you are, and that’s that. Folks like Andolian put their lives on the line for their cause when they try and mix up their loyalties. There’s religious folks and magical orders that go across factions, but crossing factions for money… I told her that it don’t look good. To someone like me who lives on this world, it ain’t right.
She asked if humans and elves can have children, and I said yes, and that they live a real long time. Andolian’s probably got another 800 years in him, and any half-human kids he has will live about 200 years. They’d have ears like his and long eyebrows, and probably be real tall. Andolian was taller than me, after all! I told her elves are naturally real good at magic, but I kinda stumbled when I said that any kids Isidor has with this guy would be real powerful mages.
I hoped she didn’t notice and tried to move on real quick, but I ain’t really good at being subtle. I babbled about some stuff before I accidentally said that I think he’d be a bad husband. That he said he wants to spend as much time on Azeroth as he can, that he ain’t really interested in being a father. Both of those things are true, of course! He told me that! But I wasn’t supposed to say it out loud like that to Mrs. Durant. I got so nervous at saying the wrong things that I just kept talking. I said I thought Andolian would be a husband like the Archon. Busy all the time and not around to love.
I knew I was wrong even as I was saying it. I hurried up and said it was getting late and that she should get to her room. I told her I had to go to Acherus. I told her to stay in Dalaran for a while and I’d come back in a few days when I found her another contact.
I knew I couldn’t see her again unless I had something good to make up for that. The next family I found had to be perfect. Not freaks like the Tenemils and not a fence-rider like Andolian. Someone more like Perfect Zandros.
Someone who might make Isidor happy.
Harrowheart Part 2 / Lieselotte Part 2
Harrowheart Part 1 / Lieselotte Part 1 ))
After meeting the Alters and the Tenemils in Stormwind, Mrs. Durant had the bright idea for us to look around Dalaran to find some folks that the Alters didn’t introduce us to. I thought that was a real good idea and told her as much. Dalaran’s got good folks, plus a whole lotta heroes traveling through on business with the war on the Legion going on and all.
I had a real easy time finding connections in Dalaran, because everyone’s real open-minded there. Talked with some merchants for a while and they pointed me in the direction of a relic-dealer called Andolian Earlydawn. They sent me straight to his business so I could meet him right away. When they said he was an elf I figured he’d be a blood elf, so you know I was real surprised when I saw him for the first time and he had blue eyes instead.
First thing I gotta say: Guy wasn’t as handsome as I figured he’d be. He was real gaunt, had real big cheekbones and a real pointy chin. I guess I figured he’d be more rugged-handsome like that fuckin’ Zandros guy. I thought he looked kind of like an albino cause his skin was dead white and so was his hair. He dressed real sharp though. Probably to match his cheeks.
I told him that I represented a Lady from another world who wanted to make contacts here, and I barely got the words outta my mouth before he was taking me out the door of his shop and telling me to go get her. We met back up right away at the address of his apartment and he took us right inside.
I ain’t ever been in an elf’s home! He had all that elf decor, like swirling bannisters and big cushions on the ground instead of furniture. It was ‘round dinner time when we met up and he had us sit on big old pillows in a big pit in his living room, and we laid down to eat, and he smoked fruity hookahs. There was smoke in the air and a magical harp in the corner that I recognized as Suramar-style. It played real soft music all evening, so soft that sometimes I forgot it was even playing. It made me feel nice. We ate little deviled quail eggs that weren’t much bigger than the end of my thumb, and we had cherry-glazed partridges, and for dessert he brought out mangos that were so ripe they turned to juice the minute I put them in my mouth. I told Mrs. Durant that this was all real special food. I don’t know if she believed me but she had good manners as usual.
Andolian didn’t care about the setting aside of weapons. He even told me that he thought my runeblades looked fancy, and I was like ’Shoot.’ When he spoke he didn’t look at me like the other families did, but made eye contact with Lieselotte the whole time like I wasn’t even in the room. That was kinda weird, but it made me feel like a professional, I guess. It meant I didn’t have to fake any good emotions either. Not that I would have had to. He complained a lot about how he don’t really ‘get’ human expressions cause we don’t have the long eyebrows and the long ears. I could always tell what he was thinking because his ears and his big old eyebrows like a bug’s feelers were always moving.
He started right off telling us all about himself, which I could tell made him feel real important. He told me that he sells to the Horde, and I was like ’Okay,’ cause he lives in Dalaran and all and that sorta thing happens. But then he started bragging about his Horde connections! He went on and on talking about the orcs and the goblin cartels and the Forsaken that he trades with. Sometimes he even puts on an eye color illusion and goes and visits Horde cities! I didn’t mean to, but when he told me that I grabbed Mrs. Durant’s hand cause I was kinda shocked. Turns out he trades with the Alliance, too, of course, and he’s got contacts in all the major cities. But still...
He was real interested in the rules and his obligations of becoming part of the Durant family. Everything for him was all about rules. It was like he wanted to write up a contract. It was all business all night, and by the time we left I couldn’t decide if he had a personality besides being full of himself and scared of what humans were thinking.
When we left his place it was real late in the night, but of course I wasn’t tired. I took Mrs. Durant to a little café and we talked everything over. I wanted to explain right away why I grabbed her hand, cause I was real embarrassed about that as soon as I did it but I didn’t wanna mention it right then cause I don’t think Andolian saw me do it. I apologized and she was real sweet about it but reminded me that I gotta keep myself to myself. That’s what a rich person or a real translator would do. I said ‘Just like Isidor,’ without meaning to. She’s so good at hiding what she’s thinking. Except for when she’s around me. I can always tell. I didn’t tell Mrs. Durant that, though!
Anyways after I apologized I explained to her that Andolian has more connections around the world than most folks we were liable to meet. The Alters got a lot of value in the favors they’re owed, but Andolian opens up the whole world. He’s the only person we met so far that knows the Horde and the Alliance equally… But I had to tell her that ain’t necessarily a good thing. Even with the Legion war that’s going on (I didn’t explain that too much, just that we’re fighting demons) the Horde and the Alliance keep separate. Even Dalaran’s split up between the factions. I figure she walked around town by now and saw the Forsaken guarding the Horde district and the Worgen guarding the Alliance.
I had to tell her that on our world, you got a side you’re on based on what kinda creature you are, and that’s that. Folks like Andolian put their lives on the line for their cause when they try and mix up their loyalties. There’s religious folks and magical orders that go across factions, but crossing factions for money… I told her that it don’t look good. To someone like me who lives on this world, it ain’t right.
She asked if humans and elves can have children, and I said yes, and that they live a real long time. Andolian’s probably got another 800 years in him, and any half-human kids he has will live about 200 years. They’d have ears like his and long eyebrows, and probably be real tall. Andolian was taller than me, after all! I told her elves are naturally real good at magic, but I kinda stumbled when I said that any kids Isidor has with this guy would be real powerful mages.
I hoped she didn’t notice and tried to move on real quick, but I ain’t really good at being subtle. I babbled about some stuff before I accidentally said that I think he’d be a bad husband. That he said he wants to spend as much time on Azeroth as he can, that he ain’t really interested in being a father. Both of those things are true, of course! He told me that! But I wasn’t supposed to say it out loud like that to Mrs. Durant. I got so nervous at saying the wrong things that I just kept talking. I said I thought Andolian would be a husband like the Archon. Busy all the time and not around to love.
I knew I was wrong even as I was saying it. I hurried up and said it was getting late and that she should get to her room. I told her I had to go to Acherus. I told her to stay in Dalaran for a while and I’d come back in a few days when I found her another contact.
I knew I couldn’t see her again unless I had something good to make up for that. The next family I found had to be perfect. Not freaks like the Tenemils and not a fence-rider like Andolian. Someone more like Perfect Zandros.
Someone who might make Isidor happy.
Entry tags:
Lady and Knight (2/4)
(( The second in a series of events told from the perspective of Harrowheart and Lieselotte Durant. Lieselotte's Companion Piece Pt. 2
Previous entries: Harrowheart's Perspective Pt. 1 and Lieselotte's Perspective Pt. 1 ))
Mrs. Durant talked a little while about the Alters after we went back to Dalaran. I tuned her ass out, no offense. Nodded a lot, shook my head sometimes. I think she realized I wasn’t being respectful and after a while I had to push away everything I was thinking about and just focus on her.
What’s the value of those lands the Alters have?
Not bad, I told her. Redridge has marble and sandstone and farmland and a real big, real nice lake. Stranglethorn’s a nasty place to live, all hot and humid, but that’s where coffee comes from, and all the goblins ship and trade through there. Grizzly Hills is full of redwoods, but it’s dangerous and wild.
Do they have any debts?
I don’t know, but I could try and find out. In the end it turns out they really don’t. They barely afford all the shit they got, but they ain’t in debt to anyone. Other folks are in debt to them. That’s their whole thing, making folks rely on them. I didn’t like that, but I didn’t say as much.
How’d I like Zandros?
I wanted to lie, I wanted to say he was a real nasty bastard and rude and swore, but I’m a horrible liar for one, and for two I told her on the first night that he was real nice to me. Plus, she saw him. She saw how nice and friendly he acted. Real mannered and all. My thoughts got kinda far away when I remembered him and tried to force away how mad I was at where the conversation went. All I could think about was his handsome face and how jealous I was. He was better looking than me and didn’t have a horsey face. His hair was long, and I bet he could grow a beard or mustache if Isidor asked him to. His hands were warm I bet. He wouldn’t have to run hot water over them so that she wouldn’t twitch if he touched her stomach. He could laugh with just one voice and eat a meal and really enjoy it. He could fall asleep with her in his arms and really fall asleep. The kind of sleep that if she moved he might wake up and kiss her. What could I do that he couldn’t do? Take a sword to the guts, maybe. I imagined he wouldn’t last too long with all his insides spilled out. I remembered how it was so cold in Northrend that people’s blood would steam when it hit the ice. I thought about that a little while.
Thinking about that made me feel better after a minute or two and I could talk again. I told Lieselotte the truth: He had good manners, and he’s real handsome, and he’s gotta be loyal to fight for Stormwind. I said he was impressive and brave. I told her all the things he is, and it ate me up inside cause he was so damn perfect in every way a guy can be.
I felt bad that I wanted to take it out on Mrs. Durant, but like I said, it ain’t like she knows. Isidor and I are real quiet about how we feel about each other. We try to be anyways. Adia’s real smart and she copped on that I like her, and Runa guessed too, but nobody knows that she likes me back. She’s better at hiding things than me. Sometimes I wish she wasn’t. I wish she’d just tell me everything that’s on her mind and in her heart, but if she did that sort of thing then she wouldn’t be Isidor. But anyway she’s real good at being quiet about our relationship, and I try to be quiet too. Even if we weren’t, I don’t think we’d tell her mother. Even if we did, she wouldn’t approve. Not just cause I’m undead, cause the Durants like to bang monsters and that’s just a fact. Mostly, I figure, because of the children.
Children.
That’s what it all comes down to. Durants need to have children. Two at least, I’d guess. One to be a patron, one to be a scholar. That’s how it was at the engagement party, anyways. Every scholar had a patron. Which means that Viatorus and Runa, someday they’ll have two kids. And Isidor...
She already told me she don’t want ‘em. She don’t wanna be a mother, she don’t wanna be pregnant. How can her mother force her to do that? Treat her like a broodmare like that? I got mad just thinking about it and had to bite my tongue when Mrs. Durant kept asking me questions. Isidor’s a person. It ain’t fair for them to do this to her and call it ‘destiny’ and ‘lineage’ and all those words as if they ain’t treating her like a dog to breed. It ain’t fair for them to turn her ‘no’ into a ‘yes.’ Where I come from we got a word for that, and it ain’t a good one either.
I’d never make her have kids.
But.
Maybe that’s easy for me to say now.
Eventually Mrs. Durant decided that I ought to go back to Stormwind, and I’m a stupid asshole idiot so I said I would. Despite it all I wanna help her and her family. Mostly I wanna help Isidor. If Mrs. Durant is on the hunt for a man for Isidor, and if that man can’t be me... Can’t he at least be a good man? Can’t I make sure he’s someone Isidor might say ‘yes’ to?
I can try.
Back at the Cathedral gardens I was approached by a lady who kept her hand up to her eyes when she talked to me like I’m some kinda fuckin’ leper or something. Guess rich folks ain’t used to seeing the living dead. Then she spoke with a Lordaeron accent! I thought ‘She has to have seen us before.’ But she kept doing it the whole time, so I rolled with it.
She said she was the lady of House Tenemil, a Lordaeronian family (no shit) that knew the Alters. The Alters told her there was ‘a corpse’ looking for connections for his Lady of Another World. I said that was me, sure, and she said she had a proposition for me. She had an unmarried son, too, and she wanted my Lady to meet him. I told her fine, sure, tomorrow. She gave me the time and the place.
The Tenemil Manor
The Tenemils came from Lordaeron, and you’d guess it by the place they live. It was a big old... I don’t know the word. Like a house where city-folk live, the kind all in a row right there in town, but bigger than I’d figure they usually are. It was city-style for sure, except maybe it was just a regular mansion. Lady Tenemil hurried up to greet us all by herself. She wore a veil over her head and looked like Steve’s Virgin Mary. I saw she had a cross of the Light necklace and I knew I was in for some shit.
She actually had to have a mage come and de-ward their house so I didn’t get fried right away, but before I could step through the door she handed me a veil. I gave it to Mrs. Durant, but Lady Tenemil insisted it was for me. She said her family won’t speak with corpses! That if I was going to be Mrs. Durant’s translator I’d have to hide my face so preserve their honor. Excuse me?
Mrs. Durant caught on to what was going on when I started to put it on (I felt stupid and I was embarrassed) and she told me that I would do no such thing. She told me to tell Lady Tenemil that I was her representative and a guest, and wouldn’t it be wrong to ask a guest to do that? I tried to tell Mrs. Durant I’d wear it, but she insisted. Lady Tenemil caved, but I felt real out of place all afternoon after that.
Inside their house it was lit for shit, but I could tell it was fancy. There was fancy raised moulding all over the walls and ceiling and gold foil paint on everything. Rugs on the walls showed famous battles and big old paintings of Lordaeron scenery were all over the ceilings. There was big old chandeliers, too. Actually, they were electric chandeliers. I forgot how special that is on Azeroth and forgot to be surprised when their shithead ratface son pointed them out later.
Anyway.
The Tenemils did the setting aside of weapons, too, but they wanted me to put my runeblades in a box so I couldn’t even see ‘em. I didn't like that and asked Mrs. Durant what I oughta do. She stood up for me again. The whole thing was a real embarrassing time. Lady Tenemil kept insisting that normally they’re very welcome to outsiders, it’s just me they don’t know how to deal with. I could tell, too. Lord Tenemil did nothing but stare me down all hateful-like, and their brat son looked at me like he ain’t ever seen a death knight before. I heard him ask his father if they could buy me to be their servant.
I wasn’t surprised when the Tenemils told me that they’re religious people, but they were real surprised when I told ‘em the Durants are into God-worship. They didn’t like it one bit and their son said ‘That’s for trolls.’ I told Mrs. Durant that later and told her the ‘buying me’ thing too, but not right in front of them just in case they’d get fake and clean up their act. But anyway, they said they’d try and spread Earth’s God-worship on Azeroth if that got them in the Durants’ good graces.
The Tenemils have a lot of money, turns out. They’re in the shipping business and they got port space all over. They tried to tell me they own land in Lordaeron and I had to keep from laughing. I turned to Mrs. Durant and said they’re crazy people who think they own part of a country that belongs to the undead. I couldn’t tell if she even understood what I meant, but I feel like she had to cause I know she ain’t stupid.
The Tenemils are the last of their family. I told Mrs. Durant that the undead probably ate the rest when Lordaeron got taken. Some of them are probably still out there as undead just like me (but will yellow eyes, which makes them Forsaken, so not like me at all.) Them being the last of their family meant they were real eager to make new acquaintances and to get their son out there to have more kids. He didn’t look too comfortable with that. I found out he was 22 years old, which is old enough to have kids, sure, but he sure looked and acted like a dumb teenager. Real weak jaw, dark skin, big nose, black hair with big bangs that made him look like a kid.
I asked him if he knows any magic, since I know the Durants care about that. When I got to talking with him I realized he pretty much says whatever’s on his mind. I mean, shoot, me too, but it’s different when I do it. He couldn’t hardly stay on topic or answer my questions for himself and kept looking to his mother and father for answers. Anyway, turns out he lives in Dalaran most of the year and studies Arcane magic. He’s real good at portals, which his mother kept interrupting to tell me, but I get the feeling that’s all he’s good at. In the end I told Mrs. Durant he could be considered a planeswalker, just like Viatorus, but that’s a real generous way of saying ‘he’s a magical taxi cab.’
I couldn’t wait to get outta there, but I tried not to show it. We had to be real respectful to their faces, but once we left their mansion we could talk shit about them. I felt real sneaky. Rich folks got one thing right: Talking bad behind people’s backs is fun.
I told Mrs. Durant that Isidor ain’t gonna like Gardin cause he’s a little dipshit. I don’t think she was surprised. I did say that their port lands were good, but land and money’s just about all they got going for them. Plus they’re real weird, if she didn’t notice.
But I think she noticed.
Previous entries: Harrowheart's Perspective Pt. 1 and Lieselotte's Perspective Pt. 1 ))
Mrs. Durant talked a little while about the Alters after we went back to Dalaran. I tuned her ass out, no offense. Nodded a lot, shook my head sometimes. I think she realized I wasn’t being respectful and after a while I had to push away everything I was thinking about and just focus on her.
What’s the value of those lands the Alters have?
Not bad, I told her. Redridge has marble and sandstone and farmland and a real big, real nice lake. Stranglethorn’s a nasty place to live, all hot and humid, but that’s where coffee comes from, and all the goblins ship and trade through there. Grizzly Hills is full of redwoods, but it’s dangerous and wild.
Do they have any debts?
I don’t know, but I could try and find out. In the end it turns out they really don’t. They barely afford all the shit they got, but they ain’t in debt to anyone. Other folks are in debt to them. That’s their whole thing, making folks rely on them. I didn’t like that, but I didn’t say as much.
How’d I like Zandros?
I wanted to lie, I wanted to say he was a real nasty bastard and rude and swore, but I’m a horrible liar for one, and for two I told her on the first night that he was real nice to me. Plus, she saw him. She saw how nice and friendly he acted. Real mannered and all. My thoughts got kinda far away when I remembered him and tried to force away how mad I was at where the conversation went. All I could think about was his handsome face and how jealous I was. He was better looking than me and didn’t have a horsey face. His hair was long, and I bet he could grow a beard or mustache if Isidor asked him to. His hands were warm I bet. He wouldn’t have to run hot water over them so that she wouldn’t twitch if he touched her stomach. He could laugh with just one voice and eat a meal and really enjoy it. He could fall asleep with her in his arms and really fall asleep. The kind of sleep that if she moved he might wake up and kiss her. What could I do that he couldn’t do? Take a sword to the guts, maybe. I imagined he wouldn’t last too long with all his insides spilled out. I remembered how it was so cold in Northrend that people’s blood would steam when it hit the ice. I thought about that a little while.
Thinking about that made me feel better after a minute or two and I could talk again. I told Lieselotte the truth: He had good manners, and he’s real handsome, and he’s gotta be loyal to fight for Stormwind. I said he was impressive and brave. I told her all the things he is, and it ate me up inside cause he was so damn perfect in every way a guy can be.
I felt bad that I wanted to take it out on Mrs. Durant, but like I said, it ain’t like she knows. Isidor and I are real quiet about how we feel about each other. We try to be anyways. Adia’s real smart and she copped on that I like her, and Runa guessed too, but nobody knows that she likes me back. She’s better at hiding things than me. Sometimes I wish she wasn’t. I wish she’d just tell me everything that’s on her mind and in her heart, but if she did that sort of thing then she wouldn’t be Isidor. But anyway she’s real good at being quiet about our relationship, and I try to be quiet too. Even if we weren’t, I don’t think we’d tell her mother. Even if we did, she wouldn’t approve. Not just cause I’m undead, cause the Durants like to bang monsters and that’s just a fact. Mostly, I figure, because of the children.
Children.
That’s what it all comes down to. Durants need to have children. Two at least, I’d guess. One to be a patron, one to be a scholar. That’s how it was at the engagement party, anyways. Every scholar had a patron. Which means that Viatorus and Runa, someday they’ll have two kids. And Isidor...
She already told me she don’t want ‘em. She don’t wanna be a mother, she don’t wanna be pregnant. How can her mother force her to do that? Treat her like a broodmare like that? I got mad just thinking about it and had to bite my tongue when Mrs. Durant kept asking me questions. Isidor’s a person. It ain’t fair for them to do this to her and call it ‘destiny’ and ‘lineage’ and all those words as if they ain’t treating her like a dog to breed. It ain’t fair for them to turn her ‘no’ into a ‘yes.’ Where I come from we got a word for that, and it ain’t a good one either.
I’d never make her have kids.
But.
Maybe that’s easy for me to say now.
Eventually Mrs. Durant decided that I ought to go back to Stormwind, and I’m a stupid asshole idiot so I said I would. Despite it all I wanna help her and her family. Mostly I wanna help Isidor. If Mrs. Durant is on the hunt for a man for Isidor, and if that man can’t be me... Can’t he at least be a good man? Can’t I make sure he’s someone Isidor might say ‘yes’ to?
I can try.
Back at the Cathedral gardens I was approached by a lady who kept her hand up to her eyes when she talked to me like I’m some kinda fuckin’ leper or something. Guess rich folks ain’t used to seeing the living dead. Then she spoke with a Lordaeron accent! I thought ‘She has to have seen us before.’ But she kept doing it the whole time, so I rolled with it.
She said she was the lady of House Tenemil, a Lordaeronian family (no shit) that knew the Alters. The Alters told her there was ‘a corpse’ looking for connections for his Lady of Another World. I said that was me, sure, and she said she had a proposition for me. She had an unmarried son, too, and she wanted my Lady to meet him. I told her fine, sure, tomorrow. She gave me the time and the place.
The Tenemil Manor
The Tenemils came from Lordaeron, and you’d guess it by the place they live. It was a big old... I don’t know the word. Like a house where city-folk live, the kind all in a row right there in town, but bigger than I’d figure they usually are. It was city-style for sure, except maybe it was just a regular mansion. Lady Tenemil hurried up to greet us all by herself. She wore a veil over her head and looked like Steve’s Virgin Mary. I saw she had a cross of the Light necklace and I knew I was in for some shit.
She actually had to have a mage come and de-ward their house so I didn’t get fried right away, but before I could step through the door she handed me a veil. I gave it to Mrs. Durant, but Lady Tenemil insisted it was for me. She said her family won’t speak with corpses! That if I was going to be Mrs. Durant’s translator I’d have to hide my face so preserve their honor. Excuse me?
Mrs. Durant caught on to what was going on when I started to put it on (I felt stupid and I was embarrassed) and she told me that I would do no such thing. She told me to tell Lady Tenemil that I was her representative and a guest, and wouldn’t it be wrong to ask a guest to do that? I tried to tell Mrs. Durant I’d wear it, but she insisted. Lady Tenemil caved, but I felt real out of place all afternoon after that.
Inside their house it was lit for shit, but I could tell it was fancy. There was fancy raised moulding all over the walls and ceiling and gold foil paint on everything. Rugs on the walls showed famous battles and big old paintings of Lordaeron scenery were all over the ceilings. There was big old chandeliers, too. Actually, they were electric chandeliers. I forgot how special that is on Azeroth and forgot to be surprised when their shithead ratface son pointed them out later.
Anyway.
The Tenemils did the setting aside of weapons, too, but they wanted me to put my runeblades in a box so I couldn’t even see ‘em. I didn't like that and asked Mrs. Durant what I oughta do. She stood up for me again. The whole thing was a real embarrassing time. Lady Tenemil kept insisting that normally they’re very welcome to outsiders, it’s just me they don’t know how to deal with. I could tell, too. Lord Tenemil did nothing but stare me down all hateful-like, and their brat son looked at me like he ain’t ever seen a death knight before. I heard him ask his father if they could buy me to be their servant.
I wasn’t surprised when the Tenemils told me that they’re religious people, but they were real surprised when I told ‘em the Durants are into God-worship. They didn’t like it one bit and their son said ‘That’s for trolls.’ I told Mrs. Durant that later and told her the ‘buying me’ thing too, but not right in front of them just in case they’d get fake and clean up their act. But anyway, they said they’d try and spread Earth’s God-worship on Azeroth if that got them in the Durants’ good graces.
The Tenemils have a lot of money, turns out. They’re in the shipping business and they got port space all over. They tried to tell me they own land in Lordaeron and I had to keep from laughing. I turned to Mrs. Durant and said they’re crazy people who think they own part of a country that belongs to the undead. I couldn’t tell if she even understood what I meant, but I feel like she had to cause I know she ain’t stupid.
The Tenemils are the last of their family. I told Mrs. Durant that the undead probably ate the rest when Lordaeron got taken. Some of them are probably still out there as undead just like me (but will yellow eyes, which makes them Forsaken, so not like me at all.) Them being the last of their family meant they were real eager to make new acquaintances and to get their son out there to have more kids. He didn’t look too comfortable with that. I found out he was 22 years old, which is old enough to have kids, sure, but he sure looked and acted like a dumb teenager. Real weak jaw, dark skin, big nose, black hair with big bangs that made him look like a kid.
I asked him if he knows any magic, since I know the Durants care about that. When I got to talking with him I realized he pretty much says whatever’s on his mind. I mean, shoot, me too, but it’s different when I do it. He couldn’t hardly stay on topic or answer my questions for himself and kept looking to his mother and father for answers. Anyway, turns out he lives in Dalaran most of the year and studies Arcane magic. He’s real good at portals, which his mother kept interrupting to tell me, but I get the feeling that’s all he’s good at. In the end I told Mrs. Durant he could be considered a planeswalker, just like Viatorus, but that’s a real generous way of saying ‘he’s a magical taxi cab.’
I couldn’t wait to get outta there, but I tried not to show it. We had to be real respectful to their faces, but once we left their mansion we could talk shit about them. I felt real sneaky. Rich folks got one thing right: Talking bad behind people’s backs is fun.
I told Mrs. Durant that Isidor ain’t gonna like Gardin cause he’s a little dipshit. I don’t think she was surprised. I did say that their port lands were good, but land and money’s just about all they got going for them. Plus they’re real weird, if she didn’t notice.
But I think she noticed.
Entry tags:
Lady and Knight (1/4)
((This is the first of four first-person perspective pieces told by Harrowheart and Lieselotte Durant, mother of Viatorus and Isidor. Lieselotte's companion piece will be on the votivescholars journal. Companion Piece #1.))
When I first met Mrs. Durant, I liked her. I still like her, I think. It ain’t fair not to. She’s been so nice to me for the most part. I felt bad for Mrs. Durant that night at the engagement party. She’s so nice, and her life’s gotta be so lonely. She’s married off to a husband who don’t pay her any mind, and if she’s like Isidor I figure she ain’t got many friends. It’s a sad sorta life she has to live. If my mother lived like her I’d want to fix it real quick, take her someplace nice, make her feel thought-of. That’s why I offered to show her my world. I thought she could use some time away. And I guess she must have needed it, cause pretty soon she got a hold of me and asked for a little adventure.
A little adventure turned into a day trip to Stormwind. Mrs. Durant spent the whole day asking me questions. Questions about all sorts of things. Culture and history and races and all about the noble houses and the government and all. I could answer most of them. I could tell her who was good and bad, tell her things like ‘dwarves are smiths who drink a lot’ and ‘elves are snooty mages’ and all the things people might call me racist for even if they are kinda true. I think she liked my answers. She liked talking to me, I could tell. She paid attention to what I had to say and didn’t treat me like an idiot. I know I bring it on myself with the way I act in the Nexus, but like I told Isidor and Viatorus, I’d rather be a happy idiot than sad and grim. Still hurts sometimes knowing what my friends think of me though.
But Mrs. Durant thought I was real smart and helpful. She even helped me a little, too. She fixed up some of my German grammar that I didn’t even know I was getting wrong, and she didn’t even treat me like a fool when she did it. She’s too nice to be a Durant, just like her children. We had such a good day out until all of a sudden I couldn’t take it anymore. I told her we had to go, but I didn’t tell her it was because of what I was thinking about. Death knight thoughts. She said she wanted to stay. I had a hard time not being angry but I don’t think she noticed because she didn’t look scared. She just kept saying she wanted to stay a while. I told her Stormwind doesn’t have any good inns, but I decided it wouldn’t be too bad an idea to stay a day in Dalaran. I figured since she didn’t have any Azerothian coins we wouldn’t be able to stay for long on my budget, but then she whipped out this big ol’ bag of gems and I just about fell over seeing that. A whole bag of gems! Like some kind of famous adventurer! I was looking at more money than I’d ever seen at once, and it was all in shiny little rocks.
And that’s how a day in Stormwind turned into a few weeks in Dal. It wouldn’t have been so bad, but I had to leave her all alone every night to go to Acherus or the Shore. After all I couldn’t just get drunk or high to forget what I was thinking about and the things I needed to do. I had to be ‘upstanding’ when I was with her. She helped me with that, too. She taught me how to stand and how to sit when to do this and that. I showed off how Isidor taught me how to point with a flat palm, and I told her that I’ve been trying to make a habit out of it. I think she liked that and was proud of me. She taught me how to greet fancy people (the way she wanted me to, anyhow) and how to introduce myself and her. I had to be her translator. She made me feel like I was an Ambassador for Earth, which is crazy. If I went back in time and told myself I’d grow up to be a translator for a rich queen of magic, I’d have called me a liar. I wore my engagement outfit and felt handsome. I felt good about myself. I looked good, and someone respected me, and when people who didn’t know me saw me on the street they looked impressed before they looked that way people from Azeroth always look when they see me.
And more than any of that... I was helping Mrs. Durant. I was showing her something new and exciting. I was making someone’s life better instead of breaking it, and even though both can be fun sometimes, fixing is better than breaking. So when she asked me to help her make some friends, of course I said yes. Of course! She deserves friends. Almost everyone does.
She said she wanted me to make her friends like her though. That was the real hard part. I had to find rich nobles like her. I didn’t feel so confident with myself all of a sudden. She had faith, but she don’t know what it’s like being undead and from Westfall. I told her I might fail, but she believed in me, and so I tried.
Zandros Alter
A few days in I went back to Stormwind. I knew I could find a couple people there for sure. Nobles spend time in the gardens of the Cathedral District back by the lake. When I saw people there dressed fancy, I went up to them. I told them that I represented a noble woman who was new to the area and looking for contacts. Most of them didn’t believe me. They made faces at me and turned away. Sometimes they laughed at me. One of them said they’d call the guards and tell them I was trying to trick people into following me into dark alleys so I could kill them, which wasn’t true. If I wanted to kill them I would have knocked them over and stepped on their throats right then and there. I didn’t tell them that though. I kept that to myself.
A guy who was out with his friends heard all of this going on and came over. He said he heard my accent and heard what I was saying and he was interested. He believed me. I was relieved. People don’t usually stick up for me like that and usually I just gotta stare until I can walk away without causing trouble.
He told me his name was Zandros Alter, and I was surprised, cause I knew that family name. I asked him if he was the son of the head of House Alter, and he said he was. I told him that I knew some folks from Westfall who went to work for his family after the Cataclysm, and I told him their names, and he laughed and said ‘Yes!’ They work for his family now and live in the city.
We got to talking and we had a lot in common! He fought in Northrend, too, and he was in the Stormwind Army. He still is. He’s a knight-commander. He wasn’t dressed like one, but I wasn’t dressed like a death knight either. We talked about fighting and he told me he’s a spellbreaker. I was like, ’No way! That’s only for elves!’ He told me that when he was in Northrend he worked with a band of Argents, and one of them was an elf, and he saved her life, and she taught him how to be a spellbreaker. I was like ’Wow!’
I got to tell him all about Mrs. Durant. I let it slip that she’s a mage from another world. I’m not sure if he actually believed me, but he said he did, and he said he wanted to meet Mrs. Durant. I told him she’s in Dalaran, and he invited us both to their family manor the next day.
The Alter Manor
Mr. and Mrs. Alter are the heads of House Alter, and they met us right at the gates of their mansion, which surprised me. They brought Zandros and his sister, too, but I already forget her name. Daisy, I think. She was weird and a lesbian. Not that being a lesbian had anything to do with her being weird. She was just weird and also a lesbian.
Introducing Mrs. Durant made me feel so important. She told me to call her ‘Mrs. Lieselotte Durant, Wife and Honorable Patron of the Current Archon.’ I changed ‘Mrs’ to ‘Lady’ cause I thought that’d fit better. I couldn’t figure out if we got a word like ‘Archon’ in Common, so I just said ‘Archon,’ and I think the Alters liked that weird sound. What a great title and all though. Sort of makes me wish I had a title that was fancier. Mine’s weird and I don’t get to use it much. It was fun for a minute to pretend be Ambassador Harrowheart, or Regent-Lord Harrowheart, or whatever else folks call themselves when they live up their own ass.
The Alters live in a big hillside mansion near Stormwind with a real nice view of Elwynn Forest. When I stood on their balcony I could see logging operations way, way off in the distance. I told Zandros that it reminded me of Grizzly Hills, and he said the logging land I could see was theirs, and they did own land up in Grizzly Hills. They own land in Redridge and Stranglethorn, too. That’s when I remembered for a minute that they’re rich – that everyone but the help, who were all from Westfall, was rich. It made me feel strange inside. It made me feel angry somehow, but not death knight angry. I kept it to myself. Isidor and Runa have been teaching me better than to be mad about people being rich even though secretly sometimes I still am.
We entered the great hall and sat right in the middle of a long table made out of all kinds of inlaid wood from all over the world. All the pillars in the room were Titan stone and metal with carvings of the races of the world and strange runes I couldn’t read. A breeze came through the open window-doors and I could smell the outdoors. Wood and roses and horses and smoke.
I had to pay real close attention to everything that went on next. I had to be on my best Earth behavior and my best Azeroth behavior at the same time. We started off with the setting aside of weapons, which I ain’t ever seen for myself. They gave Lieselotte a sword to hold just so that we could all disarm ourselves and hang our weapons on racks on the wall. Not like any of us were gonna stab each other, but it did help to have my swords away from me in case I maybe did want to stab someone.
Turns out it was mostly a good time though. Mostly. We got to talking, I told them about her, I told her about them. I translated for them from Common to German and I could tell they were real impressed. I felt like a puffed-up little sparrow, bigger than I really was. We talked about their land, their military service, and the favors other folks owe them. Zandros saved a blue and red dragon in Northrend during the Nexus Wars (Azeroth’s Nexus Wars, of course) and now the dragons owe the family a favor. Daisy studies how arcane residue settles on objects, and she spends a lot of time at the Theramore Crater, which I told Lieselotte basically made her a Scholar. They got all sorts of noble families whose sons and daughters they protect in the military. When times are hard they send food to other families, and they give a lot to poor folks, which should be nice but I still resented it for some reason. How can you say you give a lot to others when you’re living in a mansion and some folks in the kingdom still got no clothes, no food, and no home?
But the part that made the night the worst was when they started really talking about Zandros. Handsome Zandros with his tan skin and his wavy golden hair and his emerald green eyes. How he channels the Light like a good noble son. How he had a wife once, but Deathwing killed her when he caved the Park in. He’s single now. A single young man who needs a wife. Needs kids before long.
And ain’t it such a coincidence?
Ain’t it just perfect?
Why don’t you tell ‘em, Harrowheart?
Mrs. Durant has a daughter.
Round about his age.
A powerful mage woman born to succeed.
And best of all…
She needs a husband.
When I first met Mrs. Durant, I liked her. I still like her, I think. It ain’t fair not to. She’s been so nice to me for the most part. I felt bad for Mrs. Durant that night at the engagement party. She’s so nice, and her life’s gotta be so lonely. She’s married off to a husband who don’t pay her any mind, and if she’s like Isidor I figure she ain’t got many friends. It’s a sad sorta life she has to live. If my mother lived like her I’d want to fix it real quick, take her someplace nice, make her feel thought-of. That’s why I offered to show her my world. I thought she could use some time away. And I guess she must have needed it, cause pretty soon she got a hold of me and asked for a little adventure.
A little adventure turned into a day trip to Stormwind. Mrs. Durant spent the whole day asking me questions. Questions about all sorts of things. Culture and history and races and all about the noble houses and the government and all. I could answer most of them. I could tell her who was good and bad, tell her things like ‘dwarves are smiths who drink a lot’ and ‘elves are snooty mages’ and all the things people might call me racist for even if they are kinda true. I think she liked my answers. She liked talking to me, I could tell. She paid attention to what I had to say and didn’t treat me like an idiot. I know I bring it on myself with the way I act in the Nexus, but like I told Isidor and Viatorus, I’d rather be a happy idiot than sad and grim. Still hurts sometimes knowing what my friends think of me though.
But Mrs. Durant thought I was real smart and helpful. She even helped me a little, too. She fixed up some of my German grammar that I didn’t even know I was getting wrong, and she didn’t even treat me like a fool when she did it. She’s too nice to be a Durant, just like her children. We had such a good day out until all of a sudden I couldn’t take it anymore. I told her we had to go, but I didn’t tell her it was because of what I was thinking about. Death knight thoughts. She said she wanted to stay. I had a hard time not being angry but I don’t think she noticed because she didn’t look scared. She just kept saying she wanted to stay a while. I told her Stormwind doesn’t have any good inns, but I decided it wouldn’t be too bad an idea to stay a day in Dalaran. I figured since she didn’t have any Azerothian coins we wouldn’t be able to stay for long on my budget, but then she whipped out this big ol’ bag of gems and I just about fell over seeing that. A whole bag of gems! Like some kind of famous adventurer! I was looking at more money than I’d ever seen at once, and it was all in shiny little rocks.
And that’s how a day in Stormwind turned into a few weeks in Dal. It wouldn’t have been so bad, but I had to leave her all alone every night to go to Acherus or the Shore. After all I couldn’t just get drunk or high to forget what I was thinking about and the things I needed to do. I had to be ‘upstanding’ when I was with her. She helped me with that, too. She taught me how to stand and how to sit when to do this and that. I showed off how Isidor taught me how to point with a flat palm, and I told her that I’ve been trying to make a habit out of it. I think she liked that and was proud of me. She taught me how to greet fancy people (the way she wanted me to, anyhow) and how to introduce myself and her. I had to be her translator. She made me feel like I was an Ambassador for Earth, which is crazy. If I went back in time and told myself I’d grow up to be a translator for a rich queen of magic, I’d have called me a liar. I wore my engagement outfit and felt handsome. I felt good about myself. I looked good, and someone respected me, and when people who didn’t know me saw me on the street they looked impressed before they looked that way people from Azeroth always look when they see me.
And more than any of that... I was helping Mrs. Durant. I was showing her something new and exciting. I was making someone’s life better instead of breaking it, and even though both can be fun sometimes, fixing is better than breaking. So when she asked me to help her make some friends, of course I said yes. Of course! She deserves friends. Almost everyone does.
She said she wanted me to make her friends like her though. That was the real hard part. I had to find rich nobles like her. I didn’t feel so confident with myself all of a sudden. She had faith, but she don’t know what it’s like being undead and from Westfall. I told her I might fail, but she believed in me, and so I tried.
Zandros Alter
A few days in I went back to Stormwind. I knew I could find a couple people there for sure. Nobles spend time in the gardens of the Cathedral District back by the lake. When I saw people there dressed fancy, I went up to them. I told them that I represented a noble woman who was new to the area and looking for contacts. Most of them didn’t believe me. They made faces at me and turned away. Sometimes they laughed at me. One of them said they’d call the guards and tell them I was trying to trick people into following me into dark alleys so I could kill them, which wasn’t true. If I wanted to kill them I would have knocked them over and stepped on their throats right then and there. I didn’t tell them that though. I kept that to myself.
A guy who was out with his friends heard all of this going on and came over. He said he heard my accent and heard what I was saying and he was interested. He believed me. I was relieved. People don’t usually stick up for me like that and usually I just gotta stare until I can walk away without causing trouble.
He told me his name was Zandros Alter, and I was surprised, cause I knew that family name. I asked him if he was the son of the head of House Alter, and he said he was. I told him that I knew some folks from Westfall who went to work for his family after the Cataclysm, and I told him their names, and he laughed and said ‘Yes!’ They work for his family now and live in the city.
We got to talking and we had a lot in common! He fought in Northrend, too, and he was in the Stormwind Army. He still is. He’s a knight-commander. He wasn’t dressed like one, but I wasn’t dressed like a death knight either. We talked about fighting and he told me he’s a spellbreaker. I was like, ’No way! That’s only for elves!’ He told me that when he was in Northrend he worked with a band of Argents, and one of them was an elf, and he saved her life, and she taught him how to be a spellbreaker. I was like ’Wow!’
I got to tell him all about Mrs. Durant. I let it slip that she’s a mage from another world. I’m not sure if he actually believed me, but he said he did, and he said he wanted to meet Mrs. Durant. I told him she’s in Dalaran, and he invited us both to their family manor the next day.
The Alter Manor
Mr. and Mrs. Alter are the heads of House Alter, and they met us right at the gates of their mansion, which surprised me. They brought Zandros and his sister, too, but I already forget her name. Daisy, I think. She was weird and a lesbian. Not that being a lesbian had anything to do with her being weird. She was just weird and also a lesbian.
Introducing Mrs. Durant made me feel so important. She told me to call her ‘Mrs. Lieselotte Durant, Wife and Honorable Patron of the Current Archon.’ I changed ‘Mrs’ to ‘Lady’ cause I thought that’d fit better. I couldn’t figure out if we got a word like ‘Archon’ in Common, so I just said ‘Archon,’ and I think the Alters liked that weird sound. What a great title and all though. Sort of makes me wish I had a title that was fancier. Mine’s weird and I don’t get to use it much. It was fun for a minute to pretend be Ambassador Harrowheart, or Regent-Lord Harrowheart, or whatever else folks call themselves when they live up their own ass.
The Alters live in a big hillside mansion near Stormwind with a real nice view of Elwynn Forest. When I stood on their balcony I could see logging operations way, way off in the distance. I told Zandros that it reminded me of Grizzly Hills, and he said the logging land I could see was theirs, and they did own land up in Grizzly Hills. They own land in Redridge and Stranglethorn, too. That’s when I remembered for a minute that they’re rich – that everyone but the help, who were all from Westfall, was rich. It made me feel strange inside. It made me feel angry somehow, but not death knight angry. I kept it to myself. Isidor and Runa have been teaching me better than to be mad about people being rich even though secretly sometimes I still am.
We entered the great hall and sat right in the middle of a long table made out of all kinds of inlaid wood from all over the world. All the pillars in the room were Titan stone and metal with carvings of the races of the world and strange runes I couldn’t read. A breeze came through the open window-doors and I could smell the outdoors. Wood and roses and horses and smoke.
I had to pay real close attention to everything that went on next. I had to be on my best Earth behavior and my best Azeroth behavior at the same time. We started off with the setting aside of weapons, which I ain’t ever seen for myself. They gave Lieselotte a sword to hold just so that we could all disarm ourselves and hang our weapons on racks on the wall. Not like any of us were gonna stab each other, but it did help to have my swords away from me in case I maybe did want to stab someone.
Turns out it was mostly a good time though. Mostly. We got to talking, I told them about her, I told her about them. I translated for them from Common to German and I could tell they were real impressed. I felt like a puffed-up little sparrow, bigger than I really was. We talked about their land, their military service, and the favors other folks owe them. Zandros saved a blue and red dragon in Northrend during the Nexus Wars (Azeroth’s Nexus Wars, of course) and now the dragons owe the family a favor. Daisy studies how arcane residue settles on objects, and she spends a lot of time at the Theramore Crater, which I told Lieselotte basically made her a Scholar. They got all sorts of noble families whose sons and daughters they protect in the military. When times are hard they send food to other families, and they give a lot to poor folks, which should be nice but I still resented it for some reason. How can you say you give a lot to others when you’re living in a mansion and some folks in the kingdom still got no clothes, no food, and no home?
But the part that made the night the worst was when they started really talking about Zandros. Handsome Zandros with his tan skin and his wavy golden hair and his emerald green eyes. How he channels the Light like a good noble son. How he had a wife once, but Deathwing killed her when he caved the Park in. He’s single now. A single young man who needs a wife. Needs kids before long.
And ain’t it such a coincidence?
Ain’t it just perfect?
Why don’t you tell ‘em, Harrowheart?
Mrs. Durant has a daughter.
Round about his age.
A powerful mage woman born to succeed.
And best of all…
She needs a husband.
Entry tags:
Family Matters
((A follow-up to the long-standing mini-plot involving Reynard, Anna, Harrowheart, and his minion. If you want the background: (1) Reynard tries to bury bodies after the Khan event, but Harrowheart has other ideas. (2) Harrowheart debates the morality of it all and comes to a strong conclusion. (3) Next winter, Reynard meets Harrowheart's sister and hatches a plan. (4) Reynard makes good on his original promise.))
Night has long since settled in when Harrowheart returns to Ixis Naugus' tower, his hands dirtied and his face void of expression. His minion – his trophy – is finally dead. Finally 'resting,' if Reynard wants to believe that. What the winter spirit doesn't know and doesn't need to know is that her soul is trapped and always will be, but her body will be consumed by the earth of the Nexus nearly a year after her death. Dignity, if that's what Reynard believes. An eternity as scattered bones unused, buried in a hole in the forest dug by a woman whose hand was forced.
If the property surrounding the castle were empty Harrowheart wouldn't be surprised. Farm life means the Weatherhills are in at sun down and out before dawn. But not tonight. Tonight Harrowheart passes through the gate only to see his brother Lawrence seated at the communal table. Even at a distance he can tell who it is, and he call tell exactly what's in his hands. His father's rifle, ready but not aimed. You never can tell when the anti-violence field will fail, and he knows Lawrence's aim is almost as good as his own once was. Harrowheart approaches with caution, his steps measured and his eyes on his brother's face lit poorly by a single candle on the table.
With his brother still a few yards off Lawrence stands. "The fuck are you doing here?" he demands, his measured voice masking emotions.
"Comin' home," Harrowheart replies, holding up his open palms.
Lawrence shakes his head. "The Hell you are." He lifts his gun to point toward the gate. "Turn back around and find somewhere else to go."
"Lawrence," Harrowheart quietly tries. "I live here."
"That's the thing, Harrowheart. You really don't."
Lawrence's stare is hard, the shadows under his brows deep from the faint orange light of the flame. His breath comes as a foggy cloud, gone in an instant in the chilly late-winter air. Harrowheart's blue eyes watch him, waiting. Like the night his gaze grows colder by the second.
"We know what happened," Lawrence says. His sweaty hand tightens around the stock of the gun. "You should see your sister's face. You should hear her. What the fuck were you thinking?"
The answer Lawrence waits for never comes. His eyes narrow with disgust and he begins to shake his head. "You don't even have an excuse? That's it? You're going to stand there, staring at me, and that's it? You chose your magic over your sister? Your fucking... Necromancy? Over your family?"
Harrowheart's head turns just slightly, but the lights of his eyes don't move. Lawrence blinks, and only then realizes that his brother doesn't. He's staring. He's just staring. He's staring and his fists are clenching. A bright blue glow pulses from the blade on his back and fuck him but he can't help breathing just a little faster. His good hand, trembling, fumbles with the gun. His mechanical finger rests on the trigger.
Once again Lawrence's gun points toward the gate. "Go," he croaks. It's all he can say. His mind is filled with fearful realizations that grip his throat like he imagines his brother could. Imagines Harrowheart could. A death knight. Not merely no longer living, but a creature that thrives on pain. On killing. Something that could choose the perversion of life over the protection of the living. Something that he wishes he wasn't seeing on the other end of a single-barrel rifle.
The death knight strides forward, and Lawrence staggers backwards. "Don't come any closer!" he shouts, but Harrowheart defies him.
He takes another step toward the castle and Lawrence takes two. "I said don't come any closer!"
Far from that single candle it's so very dark. His fear is turning into adrenaline now, turning into courage and defiance. Harrowheart has nearly backed him up against the castle door, but Lawrence refuses to be trapped. He shoves the rifle up to the death knight's chest and tries to push him away, but Harrowheart is stronger and won't be moved.
"You won't come in here tonight," Lawrence warns.
Harrowheart lifts a hand and grips the barrel of the rifle.
"Leave. Now. Or I swear to the Light, Harrowheart, I will shoot you!"
Harrowheart begins to turn the gun away and Lawrence braces himself to keep it in place, but he's no match for an undead's inhuman strength and can't fight the inevitable shift of the barrel. From sternum toward arm until ––
The sound of gunfire and a terrible scream precedes the splitting of the enchanted door and in an instant Lawrence's younger brother Matthew tumbles out. He had hoped to be brave, but everything he sees when he arrives leaves him frozen in shock. Wetness glints in the moonlight – blood, blood everywhere, and a dark stain on his undead brother's chest. Two figures are grappling and for a second or two all he can discern are their silhouettes until there are sparks, blindingly bright white-hot sparks of electricity and the horrid sound of crunching, cracking. Lawrence shrieks in pain as Harrowheart grips his mechanical arm and twists, wrenching it in all the wrong directions, splitting metal and plastic and circuitry. Lawrence's glasses fall to the ground and his body follows as Harrowheart punches his ribs. He's trapped on the ground, a death knight's boot on his chest, pale, linen-wrapped hands on the shredded wreck of his prosthetic arm.
And then Harrowheart pulls, and Lawrence screams, and something in the sight and sound is terrifying enough that it recalls in Matthew a certain memory. The vision of a paladin, a hero of Justice even if she was of the Horde, a woman who risked her life battling demons to save himself and his helpless family in a land where on any other day she might have been hanged. And just like that there's a new light illuminating this violent scene.
Harrowheart drops Lawrence's severed prosthetic and turns when he senses a magic that pricks his skin even at a distance. Standing there just past the doorway he sees it – the Light. The Holy Light, the Light of life, shining in his brother's hand. His pale lip rises and his blue eyes narrow.
"You're gonna cast the Light against me?" Harrowheart snorts. He lifts his bloodied hand and though the magic he works can't be seen Matthew feels a darkness pulling at him, gripping him from his core, burrowing in around his heart, a cold Shadow that pulls him against his will towards a death knight's outstretched hand. Matthew digs his heels into the frozen ground and scuffs the dirt but finds no purchase. The magic is stronger than him. It pulls him to an icy, waiting hand that grips him tightly around the throat and lifts him up off of his feet.
Matthew gasps for air and struggles to breathe, to even think. But the fire in his heart won't be diminished. It flows to his hand and his magic grows. Uncontrolled by a novice's hand the Light lashes out with its own will. The innate magnetism of life and death magics draws it toward the monster and like a lash it strikes him in his gaping wound.
Harrowheart's shriek is feral, an inhuman squeal. Matthew falls to his feet, free, and Harrowheart staggers backwards. He stumbles and falls, then scrambles to stand. There's a clarity in his glowing eyes when he looks between his brothers. Clarity, understanding... And inevitable shame. He did this? He allowed himself to do this?...
He has to leave. He has to go. Like Anna said, like Lawrence said... He really doesn't live here now.
Night has long since settled in when Harrowheart returns to Ixis Naugus' tower, his hands dirtied and his face void of expression. His minion – his trophy – is finally dead. Finally 'resting,' if Reynard wants to believe that. What the winter spirit doesn't know and doesn't need to know is that her soul is trapped and always will be, but her body will be consumed by the earth of the Nexus nearly a year after her death. Dignity, if that's what Reynard believes. An eternity as scattered bones unused, buried in a hole in the forest dug by a woman whose hand was forced.
If the property surrounding the castle were empty Harrowheart wouldn't be surprised. Farm life means the Weatherhills are in at sun down and out before dawn. But not tonight. Tonight Harrowheart passes through the gate only to see his brother Lawrence seated at the communal table. Even at a distance he can tell who it is, and he call tell exactly what's in his hands. His father's rifle, ready but not aimed. You never can tell when the anti-violence field will fail, and he knows Lawrence's aim is almost as good as his own once was. Harrowheart approaches with caution, his steps measured and his eyes on his brother's face lit poorly by a single candle on the table.
With his brother still a few yards off Lawrence stands. "The fuck are you doing here?" he demands, his measured voice masking emotions.
"Comin' home," Harrowheart replies, holding up his open palms.
Lawrence shakes his head. "The Hell you are." He lifts his gun to point toward the gate. "Turn back around and find somewhere else to go."
"Lawrence," Harrowheart quietly tries. "I live here."
"That's the thing, Harrowheart. You really don't."
Lawrence's stare is hard, the shadows under his brows deep from the faint orange light of the flame. His breath comes as a foggy cloud, gone in an instant in the chilly late-winter air. Harrowheart's blue eyes watch him, waiting. Like the night his gaze grows colder by the second.
"We know what happened," Lawrence says. His sweaty hand tightens around the stock of the gun. "You should see your sister's face. You should hear her. What the fuck were you thinking?"
The answer Lawrence waits for never comes. His eyes narrow with disgust and he begins to shake his head. "You don't even have an excuse? That's it? You're going to stand there, staring at me, and that's it? You chose your magic over your sister? Your fucking... Necromancy? Over your family?"
Harrowheart's head turns just slightly, but the lights of his eyes don't move. Lawrence blinks, and only then realizes that his brother doesn't. He's staring. He's just staring. He's staring and his fists are clenching. A bright blue glow pulses from the blade on his back and fuck him but he can't help breathing just a little faster. His good hand, trembling, fumbles with the gun. His mechanical finger rests on the trigger.
Once again Lawrence's gun points toward the gate. "Go," he croaks. It's all he can say. His mind is filled with fearful realizations that grip his throat like he imagines his brother could. Imagines Harrowheart could. A death knight. Not merely no longer living, but a creature that thrives on pain. On killing. Something that could choose the perversion of life over the protection of the living. Something that he wishes he wasn't seeing on the other end of a single-barrel rifle.
The death knight strides forward, and Lawrence staggers backwards. "Don't come any closer!" he shouts, but Harrowheart defies him.
He takes another step toward the castle and Lawrence takes two. "I said don't come any closer!"
Far from that single candle it's so very dark. His fear is turning into adrenaline now, turning into courage and defiance. Harrowheart has nearly backed him up against the castle door, but Lawrence refuses to be trapped. He shoves the rifle up to the death knight's chest and tries to push him away, but Harrowheart is stronger and won't be moved.
"You won't come in here tonight," Lawrence warns.
Harrowheart lifts a hand and grips the barrel of the rifle.
"Leave. Now. Or I swear to the Light, Harrowheart, I will shoot you!"
Harrowheart begins to turn the gun away and Lawrence braces himself to keep it in place, but he's no match for an undead's inhuman strength and can't fight the inevitable shift of the barrel. From sternum toward arm until ––
The sound of gunfire and a terrible scream precedes the splitting of the enchanted door and in an instant Lawrence's younger brother Matthew tumbles out. He had hoped to be brave, but everything he sees when he arrives leaves him frozen in shock. Wetness glints in the moonlight – blood, blood everywhere, and a dark stain on his undead brother's chest. Two figures are grappling and for a second or two all he can discern are their silhouettes until there are sparks, blindingly bright white-hot sparks of electricity and the horrid sound of crunching, cracking. Lawrence shrieks in pain as Harrowheart grips his mechanical arm and twists, wrenching it in all the wrong directions, splitting metal and plastic and circuitry. Lawrence's glasses fall to the ground and his body follows as Harrowheart punches his ribs. He's trapped on the ground, a death knight's boot on his chest, pale, linen-wrapped hands on the shredded wreck of his prosthetic arm.
And then Harrowheart pulls, and Lawrence screams, and something in the sight and sound is terrifying enough that it recalls in Matthew a certain memory. The vision of a paladin, a hero of Justice even if she was of the Horde, a woman who risked her life battling demons to save himself and his helpless family in a land where on any other day she might have been hanged. And just like that there's a new light illuminating this violent scene.
Harrowheart drops Lawrence's severed prosthetic and turns when he senses a magic that pricks his skin even at a distance. Standing there just past the doorway he sees it – the Light. The Holy Light, the Light of life, shining in his brother's hand. His pale lip rises and his blue eyes narrow.
"You're gonna cast the Light against me?" Harrowheart snorts. He lifts his bloodied hand and though the magic he works can't be seen Matthew feels a darkness pulling at him, gripping him from his core, burrowing in around his heart, a cold Shadow that pulls him against his will towards a death knight's outstretched hand. Matthew digs his heels into the frozen ground and scuffs the dirt but finds no purchase. The magic is stronger than him. It pulls him to an icy, waiting hand that grips him tightly around the throat and lifts him up off of his feet.
Matthew gasps for air and struggles to breathe, to even think. But the fire in his heart won't be diminished. It flows to his hand and his magic grows. Uncontrolled by a novice's hand the Light lashes out with its own will. The innate magnetism of life and death magics draws it toward the monster and like a lash it strikes him in his gaping wound.
Harrowheart's shriek is feral, an inhuman squeal. Matthew falls to his feet, free, and Harrowheart staggers backwards. He stumbles and falls, then scrambles to stand. There's a clarity in his glowing eyes when he looks between his brothers. Clarity, understanding... And inevitable shame. He did this? He allowed himself to do this?...
He has to leave. He has to go. Like Anna said, like Lawrence said... He really doesn't live here now.
Left 4 Undead (for Adia and Caspar)
All at once Adia's phone receives a rather hefty, suspiciously well-spelled message from Harrowheart's number.
A few seconds pass before another text follows.
And at the agreed-upon time it seems that quite a few people are milling about Naugus' tower. Harrowheart is sitting at one end of the U-shaped table in the yard, fully decked out in a deep blue suit of armor with bulky, spiked pauldrons and a red cape which collects on the ground near his feet. He's balancing the pommel of his runeblade in one open, floating palm and staring boredly into the distance while behind him Tamminy and Lawrence argue.
Tamminy is dressed for chilly weather and burdened by a backpack (made for a gnome's body, of course.) Lawrence doesn't seem to think this is enough and is insistent that she also take a single-barrel rifle designed for human arms. She can't seem to explain to him why this isn't going to work for her even as she demonstrates how poorly it fits her grip.
Adia:
I hope this message finds you in fine health and good spirits. This is Tamminy Photovolt, not Harrowheart; I am merely borrowing his messaging device. I would like to propose a research venture to you and to your companion, Caspar. Would you be interested in collecting samples of microorganisms with fluorescent proteins? My assumptions about your world's level of technology lead me to conclude that you understand their uses, but if not we can discuss. More to the point, I intend to visit a part of my homeworld historically called the Eastweald for samples of a rare ore which I will need for a future project. I know that there are/were native populations of both bacteria and fungi which produce fluorescent proteins in this area and suspected you may be interested. Expect the local climate to be temperate, late winter, elevation slightly above sea level with an ocean current which generally prevents snow. Field time is expected to be between five hours and one day. If you would like to attend, please dress and pack accordingly.
Yours,
Dr. PhotovoltA few seconds pass before another text follows.
And idk if Tams said this but bring Caspar to cause were killing zombies together its a guy thing. Meet at Naug's tower whenever your free.And at the agreed-upon time it seems that quite a few people are milling about Naugus' tower. Harrowheart is sitting at one end of the U-shaped table in the yard, fully decked out in a deep blue suit of armor with bulky, spiked pauldrons and a red cape which collects on the ground near his feet. He's balancing the pommel of his runeblade in one open, floating palm and staring boredly into the distance while behind him Tamminy and Lawrence argue.
Tamminy is dressed for chilly weather and burdened by a backpack (made for a gnome's body, of course.) Lawrence doesn't seem to think this is enough and is insistent that she also take a single-barrel rifle designed for human arms. She can't seem to explain to him why this isn't going to work for her even as she demonstrates how poorly it fits her grip.
Entry tags:
Girls' Day Out (for Runa)
Life's got to be a little hectic when you're Viatorus Durant and Runa Soon-to-be-Durant. One moment you're enjoying a calming morning in your Nexus apartment, probably eating breakfast, and the next someone is bursting through your front door with a boisterous, "Y'ALL!"
It could only be Harrowheart, and in fact it is. He's got his hands bound today, and the one that hadn't slammed the door is holding onto a satchel full of something. He's uncharacteristically dressed for the weather in what looks an awful lot like the Azerothian clothes he wore when he stole Viatorus away for a Westfall fishing trip: beige trousers, tall boots, suspenders, a long sleeved shirt with a high, stiff collar, and a cabbie hat. His sword, as always, rests on his back, but it doesn't bother with as much as an eye glow as means of hello. Viatorus and Runa are used to it -- it knows it won't get a rise out of them.
Harrow strides over to where the young couple are and invites himself to scoop Runa into his arms, holding her like a bride (or a very large, very patient sort of cat.) He keeps her face on level with Viatorus' and says with a proud grin "Kiss him goodbye before I kidnap ya away forever and ever."
It could only be Harrowheart, and in fact it is. He's got his hands bound today, and the one that hadn't slammed the door is holding onto a satchel full of something. He's uncharacteristically dressed for the weather in what looks an awful lot like the Azerothian clothes he wore when he stole Viatorus away for a Westfall fishing trip: beige trousers, tall boots, suspenders, a long sleeved shirt with a high, stiff collar, and a cabbie hat. His sword, as always, rests on his back, but it doesn't bother with as much as an eye glow as means of hello. Viatorus and Runa are used to it -- it knows it won't get a rise out of them.
Harrow strides over to where the young couple are and invites himself to scoop Runa into his arms, holding her like a bride (or a very large, very patient sort of cat.) He keeps her face on level with Viatorus' and says with a proud grin "Kiss him goodbye before I kidnap ya away forever and ever."
Entry tags:
Here Because of You (For Isidor)
It's only been a few days since returning to the Nexus from Tamriel, but Harrowheart can't stop worrying about Isidor. She came out alive from everything they saw, but it's what they saw that worries him. He remembers what it's like, of course he does. How utterly unsettling it is to be a living person faced with monstrosities like that. The fear of it has faded with time, but he still remembers how sickening it all was the first time he saw the Scourge.
He pulls his phone from his pocket and his first thought is, 'Fuck me.' He still doesn't have Isidor's number. This is getting to be bullshit. Viatorus is going to start getting wise to how often he asks to spend time with his sister, and then the whole thing is going to come tumbling down. At least this time he has the excuse of an 'adventure' to cover for him.
Good, good cover. And honest, too. The last time they did anything interesting was when they went fishing, and after everything on Tamriel that feels like a lifetime ago. A little casual time with Viatorus would be great right about now.
He expects Viatorus will pull through for him. Of course he will. That's why he's already in the clearing lying on top of the picnic bench, his runeblade resting on the ground beneath it. Nothing here has changed since the last time she arrived, apart from the turn of the seasons... And the little area of ground that she flattened for a fighting ring. It seems Harrowheart expanded on her work, turning a circle of flat pounded ground into a large square of hard-packed dirt.
He pulls his phone from his pocket and his first thought is, 'Fuck me.' He still doesn't have Isidor's number. This is getting to be bullshit. Viatorus is going to start getting wise to how often he asks to spend time with his sister, and then the whole thing is going to come tumbling down. At least this time he has the excuse of an 'adventure' to cover for him.
V my man how are you doing? Are people being nice to you? Do I need to beat Peenia or Sajean up for you? Anyone at all? And when are we hanging out next?Good, good cover. And honest, too. The last time they did anything interesting was when they went fishing, and after everything on Tamriel that feels like a lifetime ago. A little casual time with Viatorus would be great right about now.
How is your sister? I need to talk to her about things that happened. Do you think you can get her in touch with me? If she can meet me tell her to come to the clearing where we worked on magic training.He expects Viatorus will pull through for him. Of course he will. That's why he's already in the clearing lying on top of the picnic bench, his runeblade resting on the ground beneath it. Nothing here has changed since the last time she arrived, apart from the turn of the seasons... And the little area of ground that she flattened for a fighting ring. It seems Harrowheart expanded on her work, turning a circle of flat pounded ground into a large square of hard-packed dirt.
Entry tags:
Get Your Goddess (For Juststeverogers)
After what happened at Halloween, Harrowheart avoided Steve's well-meaning attempts at a connection. During the winter holidays the two traded a plant for a promise of a dinner with family. Now that the celebrations have passed and things are calming down at Naugus' tower, Harrowheart finally sends a message to Steve to make good on his offer.
* * *
At Ixis Naugus' tower signs of the human refugees who live and work there now are everywhere. A fence with a gate has been constructed which keeps strangers from accidentally wandering near. Beyong, a U-shaped table with benched seating has been assembled at the center of the property. Around it is the evidence of the family's farming. Though it's winter now and a thin snow covers the ground it's still clear that much of the land has been tilled, and in some places remnants of fall's harvest remain; the smallest stumps of cornstalks poke up from the ground, a conical bale of straw is piled in the center of what must have been a wheat field. Smaller gardens for fruit and vegetables are fenced off, but only one is currently being used to grow some type of bush with periwinkle berries the size of small tomatoes.
Two little creatures and a tall, blonde man are waiting to greet Steve and his monsters when they arrive. One of them is a kind of hairy piglet, while the other is a sentient coniferous tree no taller than knee height. Both of them have made a mess of the snow around them and are covered in sparkling frost, but they've still got the energy in them to play. More energy than their human friend, who leans against the fence eating a handful of those sunrise-purple berries.
It isn't Harrowheart, though at a glance they might be mistaken for each other. No, this is a living man bundled well against the cold with a bulky brown jacket and fur-lined boots. He wears a hat with ear flaps and a pair of thick-rimmed glasses. From the looks of him he's in his late forties, but if it weren't for his lively color and age he could easily pass for Harrowheart. They must be brothers!
Steve! Come by Naugs tower. Virgin Mary is waiting for you and so is food (and my family.) Bring Bucky and Ethle and Sara too!!At Ixis Naugus' tower signs of the human refugees who live and work there now are everywhere. A fence with a gate has been constructed which keeps strangers from accidentally wandering near. Beyong, a U-shaped table with benched seating has been assembled at the center of the property. Around it is the evidence of the family's farming. Though it's winter now and a thin snow covers the ground it's still clear that much of the land has been tilled, and in some places remnants of fall's harvest remain; the smallest stumps of cornstalks poke up from the ground, a conical bale of straw is piled in the center of what must have been a wheat field. Smaller gardens for fruit and vegetables are fenced off, but only one is currently being used to grow some type of bush with periwinkle berries the size of small tomatoes.
Two little creatures and a tall, blonde man are waiting to greet Steve and his monsters when they arrive. One of them is a kind of hairy piglet, while the other is a sentient coniferous tree no taller than knee height. Both of them have made a mess of the snow around them and are covered in sparkling frost, but they've still got the energy in them to play. More energy than their human friend, who leans against the fence eating a handful of those sunrise-purple berries.
It isn't Harrowheart, though at a glance they might be mistaken for each other. No, this is a living man bundled well against the cold with a bulky brown jacket and fur-lined boots. He wears a hat with ear flaps and a pair of thick-rimmed glasses. From the looks of him he's in his late forties, but if it weren't for his lively color and age he could easily pass for Harrowheart. They must be brothers!
Runeblade Plot – Fully Updated!
CONTENT WARNING EDIT: There are some heavy descriptions of dead bodies and rot, especially from Part Four of the doc on!
For anyone trying to keep up with the plot involving Harrowheart and Felix, now with Stratos, Jim, and Isidor as well. I'll be updating this post (and prettying it up!) periodically, but right now I wanted to get the link to the doc out there for people who were looking forward to reading it. Come back to this post soon for more links to other related writings – there's been a lot of background building up to this sprinkled throughout various journals, threads, and events!
Note: It's long. I know. But I added a quick-navigation feature at the top to jump to headers and subheaders, and from headers/subheads back to the quick nav. Not pretty, but it works!
Until then: The Link