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Posts Tagged ‘azriah’

The atrium held a serene atmosphere that was lost on the rest of Goldenshade Estate. Since the conclusion of the priestess’ transaction with the Lord Netherstar, the ancestral home of House Thelryn had been bustling with life, though this requisite space held only the presence of the Lady Azriah herself. She was seated on a mattress by the side of the small, green-stone pool, with a silver tray bearing water and fruits at hand. Her hair was arranged into loose obsidian coils at the top of her head, held in place with sticks of emerald set in silver, and she was clothed in a morning robe of midnight-hued silk. Where the sleeves ended at her elbows, bruises could be seen marring her pale flesh. Though her fair skin spoke of her nobility, her arms were toned with sinewy muscle – something that was a far cry from the soft, jiggly flesh of the ladies at court.

Her tapering ears were held at a relaxed position, and her fel-tainted eyes were fastened on the stationary that laid atop her thighs. She reached toward the bowl to pop a strawberry in her mouth, and let out a long sigh as she picked up the quill and dipped it in the inkpot. She touched it to the parchment, where it made a deep blot – something that could be found on everything she wrote. It seemed that blot was necessary for her to gather her thoughts, before she could begin writing in that lovely, elegant script of hers.

Reader, there are those who believe nobility and soldiery are mutually exclusive to one another. They forget that in the beginning, it was battle prowess that marked superiority in social standing. ‘Nobility is a forgotten institution’, they mutter. Have they forgotten that it is we who provide homes and direct the flow of local economies? I said this to Dawnward Cere’thien: I am Matriarch of my House – mother to my serfs, they give me coin, and I give them life. The concept was lost on the woman, as it is upon many. The lords and ladies whom they love to hate are those who are not meant for the title. Indeed, I do privately share their ire – little is more aggravating to myself than one who parades about with a title they have not earned. Lord Netherstar saw the truth of this, in my decision to aid his personal affair. 

Last ‘eve, I attended the Harbinger’s training. I daresay I was a better soldier than the rest – not a single complaint passed through my lips, however much I desired to harm the Emberwards who continued to speak out their distaste. They have not learned yet, that to voice their disdain is to bring about hardship to the rest of us. I believe the Harbinger finds it amusing, and I might as well if I were not suffering for their ignorance. I hate every moment of the exercises, but I do recognize that they are necessary for success in the field of battle. The Alliance do not stop to question whether or not we enjoy sloshing through the mud. Stealing the lives of the damned humans gives me a great sense of vindication. I place upon them all the wretched, sneering faces of ones called Garithos and their Gods-forsaken scourge prince. No mercy will be had for those who did not afford our blood the same luxury. Ninety percent of our blood was murdered, and it pains me, runs a dagger through my heart, and kindles the worst of rages to say the same ratio held true to my own house. What RIGHT have they to question my will to be within this order? My oath was taken with blood, and will be held for the entirety of my life. 

The priestess paused at this point in her writing to take a few moments to quell her anger with deep breathing. Her vivid eyes blazed, and tendrils of shadow danced about her form like snakes to a charmer. Her pretty mouth was curled with contempt, and once again she touched the quill to the parchment and scratched furiously away.

I spit in the face of all who doubt my devotion. Their weakness will be revealed on the field of battle, while I am cutting down the mongrels of the Alliance with my shadows. Those who would endanger my people are my enemies, and it is becoming evident that there are more enemies to be found in Azeroth than allies.

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Art of Azriah!

Art of Azriah!

The best commission ever from my favorite person ever (Felthier) as a gift that happened to be finished the night of my birthday! ❤

Lo and behold, the Lady Azriah Thelryn of House Thelryn.

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It would have been quite a sight to behold—the cold and calculating Lady Azriah Thelryn, barricaded in her study, with her composure ruined by nothing other than a mere thought. It scalded her cheeks and turned her gut sourly. There was a certain ache in her core that still made her breathing come shallowly, and as she dipped a fine feathered quill in ink, her tremor splattered obsidian dots all over the parchment. A deep breath was drawn in through her nose as she set the tip of the quill to the parchment, and with the scratch of incoherent thoughts recorded tangibly, the breath was released as a long sigh. 

This parchment sees into my very core. I have never been a lady to record my innermost thoughts, but I have found I am left with nothing but these fibres to respond to my touch. It demands truth and I am recoiling at the thought of being left with myself, but I must. There is one thought present on my mind, and it is this: 

Why have I walked myself so nonchalantly into the gate of Hell?

Like an idling adolescent, I am well along the process of dismantling my reputation as the unfeeling mistress in favor of attending to stirrings of the heart. Where is the ice that fills my veins when I sorely need it? More fervently than I vowed to personally ruin the Scourge, I swore that the plague known as love – from infatuation to adoration – would never take me again. Not after I watched it beat my very spirit into submission. For a century I managed to maintain this mantra, never engaging in affairs that lasted beyond a physical connection. How fitting with the ruin of Azeroth, that my personal world, too, should have its own upheaval? Did I think, now, after this time that anything would change; did I think I was exempt from the curse I brought upon myself? In an outlaw with a bounty on his head, I found myself questioning the tenacity of this promise to myself. To feel love for him is yet another lifetime away, but facing myself on this parchment, I am very aware that no other man could spark jealousy to a raging inferno within me, nor could they cross my thoughts so often. 

And yet even he refuses to acknowledge me so. It wrings me inside and out, however much I strive to push it out of my mind. It has become so that I am haunted by the thought of being alone, where in the past I relished it. I swallow my fear, nonetheless, and look on coldly as every lover; every soul who has been with me departs for love of another– or the grave. My own curse. 

Despite the fact that they do not curl their fingers around my core in the manner of my Captain, it is beyond me to ignore the pang of remorse that occupies their absence. All of them leave their own unique imprint upon me, and in recent times it is that of the Spellbreaker whose absence has marked me so. In the fashion of all of the other leavings, I accepted my fate gracefully for want of maintaining my image, even if I felt my ego crumbling in my throat as his words battered my mind. It is never a simple process for me to accept inferiority. 

As the remaining blank space of the parchment glares at me, I am forced to enquire of myself, why, then, should I have expected anything different? – I belong to the Void. 

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Commissions

I will just leave these fantastic pieces of character art here. This post will be updated as more come along!

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It was only a page of an old book of poems, and could not possibly be relevant to anything of importance, yet there it laid upon the Shadow Priestess’ desk. Its stanzas bored holes into the her skull and stood out in their defiance; the words rang all too true. There was a blank parchment unfurled next to this compendium, upon which ink formed dark splotches as it dripped from the quill held in unmoving, manicured fingers. After what seemed like a century, that porcelain hand dipped and scratched a single word into the top of that parchment.

Love.

Azriah stared at that one word, fel-fire eyes widened beneath the weight of it, and choked back a curse. Irritability flared her nostrils and drew a sigh from her lungs. At last, the point of her quill touched the parchment again– a herald of the impending torrent of emotion.

What is not common knowledge is that love, in its terrible sovereignty, is not meant for everyone. Its feather-light touch knows barriers and boundaries, and it will forever taunt even the most cursed of souls for its own pleasure. There is no such thing as a fairy tale ending; it simply does not happen in that manner. This world has no room for such foolish notions, and the belief in it must be purged, lest we find ourselves in the claws of our own stupidity when it inevitably fails. It is doomed to fail, over and over again for myself. I was blessed with a chance and now his blood is on my hands, hands that have rejected and eluded the clutches of many. Perhaps this is the price for my sins. If I am to be the woman that I am, there will be no company for my heart, for I should not have one. I was reminded of its existence by the person I thought least likely to hold such power over me, but is that not the way the damnable emotion always is? The spark of Light in me gained power and flickered in the deepness of my soul. It vied for a chance to shine through to the forefront of my existence. Perhaps it did, for a few moments, and perhaps a foolish part of me even nurtured it for a short while. I did not know what I was doing, but now I have learned my lesson. That spark must be extinguished, for it does nothing but cause pain. In my life I have loved and I have lost, and my soul is damned to the darkest abyss for the things that I have done. I cannot long for something that was never meant to be mine.

For every rivulet of hope a thousand tonnes of force behind the severity of the truth must be drilled into my mind:

There is no love, and every damned incarnation of it is just a reminder of how weak our spirits truly are.


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Q: What is your fondest childhood memory?
A: It is little more than a vision from the earliest days of my existence, but it has stuck with me through out the many centuries of my life. This particular memory exists only as the sensation of mother’s burnished copper tresses tickling, as she bent to press a feathery kiss to my forehead.

Q: In one word, describe yourself.
A: Ethereal.

Q: What word would others use?
A: Witch.

Q: Quickly! You’re dying and only have time for one last activity! What do you do?
A: Question my very existence, reflect upon what could have been, and await the moment of ascendance.

Q: Favorite food? This question is mandatory.
A: Heaven Peach.

Q: Least favorite thing in the world?
A: Worgen.

Q: You’re the Emperor/Empress of Azeroth! What is your first decree?
A: My sovereignty would be handled in an ultimate dictatorial fashion. Two social castes – Nobility and Knaves, with a religion that centers my authority as the figurehead.

Q: Describe your dream man/woman/entity.
A: One who can embrace me as I am, who will not seek to change me.

Q: You’ve discovered a lost Gnomish technology that allows you to switch lives with whomever you please for a day. Who do you turn into?
A: If it permitted the use of time travel, I would say the Sun King himself.

Q: You can ask whomever you wish whatever question you choose. Who do you ask and what do you ask them?
A: Implying that I do not act according to my whims to begin with?

Q: You’ve done something extraordinary and you’ve gained a title for it! How are you known throughout the world?
A: I have several titles already, but my favored one among the rest of the Horde is The Astral Walker, for my role as an Inquisitor.

Q: You can go back in time and change one thing you’ve done/said. What do you change?
A: No comment.

Q: What is one thing you can’t live without?
A: The Void.

Q: Best advice you’ve ever been given?
A: An aunt said this to me once, “To find the solution, you must remove yourself from the equation.”

Q: Best advice you could ever give?
A: Precisely the same thing.

Q: You find a thousand gold lying on the ground in a marked pouch. There is a return address on it, but no one is around. What do you do?
A: Deposit it in my vault.

Q: You wake up one day to find yourself in prison! What did you do?
A: A proper lady never admits to dark deeds.

Q: Oh no! You’re naked in the hold of a ship bound for Booty Bay! How did you end up there?!
A: Likely a certain Captain.

Q: What would you say is your spirit animal or totem?
A: Some sort of feline, or so I have been told.

Q: Biggest fear?
A: Exorcism from the shadows.

Q: Scariest moment of your life?
A: The latter decades of my marriage.

Q: Do you have a secret talent/ability that people would be surprised to know about?
A: I have an aptitude for tailoring.

Q: You can say one thing to one person from your past. Whom do you speak to, and what do you say?
A: Father, I have failed you.

Q: What is the dumbest thing you’ve ever done?
A: Love.

Q: If you could live anywhere in Azeroth or Outland, where would it be?
A: The Silvermoon City of old– before the Third War.

Q: If you could give any one gift to any one person, what would it be, and to whom?
A: Cardre is the only person worthy of my gifts, and it would likely be all the fabrics and ingots in the world so she might craft the costume of her dreams.

Q: If that person could give any gift to you, what do you think it would be?
A: I expect something of a similar, grand nature.

Q: What would you do if you suddenly lost everything?
A: Gain it back.

Q: What would you say your top priority is?
A: Myself.

Q: A box is lying on the ground before you. What do you think is inside?
A: Its hold on my attention would not last longer than a glance.

Q: You can only save one thing from a fire. What is it?
A: My acolyte’s tome.

Q: You and a loved one are in a situation where only one can come out alive. Do you sacrifice yourself?
A: No.

Q: How do you view the idea of a lifelong commitment to one person?
A: Useful, and evasive. I shan’t have it myself, though I have known its touch once.

Q: Define “true happiness”.
A: A lie.

Q: Do you believe in the saying “things always get worse before they get better”?
A: No. Situations turn on a downward spiral, and continue drifting into darkness.

Q: Is the glass half empty? Or half full?
A: Half-empty.

Q: What is one of your biggest insecurities?
A: Nothing. I have no insecurities.

Q: Pet peeve?
A: Those who speak out of turn.

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Some ladies are inclined to have a maternal nature, and some, conversely, seem like they should not be found within a ten-foot radius of children, yet in nearly all of them did the bone-deep instinct burn. It sparks into an inferno in the ladies who, by some cruel twist of nature, are physically incapable of satisfying this rooted need. It is a trying process leading up to the ultimate discovery of barrenness. Countless herbs had been ingested, spells cast, rituals done, emotional fits had, and none of them would change what was inherently wrong in my body.

Three centuries had taught me how to accept this on the most superficial of levels, but nothing could erase the almost disconcerting sense of jealousy that thrummed in my veins when I caught sight of a particular dark-haired child, whose demeanor reminded me of the one I will never bear. There the fantasy would build as if it were struck by a match, and there in my mind’s eye I would see my non-existent child: sovereign of my innermost realm, aristocratic, brilliant, beautiful… but impossible.

It was impossible.

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