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Teledriath

Urilla's picture

Notes From the Exodar: Part Two

Several days later, another package arrives at the door of Miss Fallowtide complete with a handwritten note. This time, the note was not in the fine stationery of Frostmana, but still bore the same stamp. The contents appear to have come from Dalaran, with exception of the note. Inside were some fresh apples, a bottle of Apple juice from Applebough the Living Tree (in Dalaran), and some balm for aching joints. The letter continues from where the last one left off...


 

Urilla's picture

From the Ice, to the Hearth

Urilla sits in her chair within the personal study of the Duchess, musing over a letter to write to her friend. She had not seen her in a week's time since going on her sojourn to Silvermoon. Sighing, she thinks aloud. "Good thing the elves saw no reason to behead me. I'm surprised they did not scream a human with some short elf ears walks around their city."


Peering at the letter once more, she gives it a go to read it aloud.


Dearest Rethelia,


How I miss your frame sitting upon the benches in Dalaran. Yours was always unmistakable. Funny how those of no importance can spot other like minded spirits. I still owe you that vacation in the woods, perhaps Eversong? The views are stunning, there is an eternal afternoon in those lands that I have not seen anywhere else. Oh, Or Winterspring! Those snow-capped hills and mountains are dreamy, a shame it is so frigid!

Artisania's picture

Pocket

 

Artisania Stillwater-Ell’Karan wrote furiously.

Echö's picture

Crusader (Art)

Players: 

 

Two years ago, back when the Crusader title really meant something, the tourney dailies were the thing to do for nifty weapons, T9 was What to Wear and Mechanohogs were still pretty rare, I got this idea to do a pin-up style painting of Teledriath.  Teledriath in her T9 with her Argent Crusade Tabard and sword, leaning against her Mechanohog.  Teledriath the Crusader.

It ended up taking a very, very long time to finish.  

Artisania's picture

This Year

Echö's picture

The Shattering: Reflections

Stormwind Harbor, usually placid, washed and heaved.

Echo looked out from the quarterdeck of the houseboat, narrowing her eyes as a hot wind seethed over her face.  Under the black night sky the horizon glowed strangely orange.

She had a feeling no elementals would invade tonight.

“Credence,” she called, turning to descend into the ship.  “I think we should go below.  And batten the hatches.”


∆∆∆

 

Artisania's picture

(6) Exemplar

Part Six: Northrend - Epilogue

Let no one ever say, “We could have never imagined.” Let no one ever say, “We had no warning.”  Let no one ever say the worst catastrophe could not have been foreseen.

Artisania's picture

Anniversary

Two years.

Two years of war, separation, fear, foreboding.

Two years of quiet simplicity amid whirling chaos.

These threads between us intertwine, and two years becomes forever,
or near enough, for mortals like us.

May your delicate hands never falter,
for they hold my heart, as they always have.

My anchor, my dearest, Teledriath Ell'Karan.

 

Teng's picture

Free At Last

"You have to understand, that it's not one of Them, dig?  But it's there, it waits man, it waits and it listens, because it belongs to...to Her, All For Her, always and ever and you just...you can't get away, you can't EVER get out of it!  No matter how hard you try...

I guess that's why I'm leaving you this.  I've fucked up, Rukkle.  I've fucked up big time.  We all did.  We should never have listened to Bill when he talked about one more job.  Heh...but wasn't that how it always went?

Artisania's picture

Home

(fullview under the break)

 

Oneska's picture

((Art: Following the Scar -- Exploring the Dreams))

In a cozy little cottage, a haven of warmth and comfort in the blistering cold of Winterspring, Oneska and Tywyll tell Aestan about that afternoon, the slaughter of Tor’Watha. Together, they guide him through his memories, start to explore his dreams, and find something they didn't expect.

 

 

(larger image after break)


Artisania's picture

Off We Go

Artisania Stillwater-Ell'Karan was getting tired of packing.

Not long ago she had been busy packing up their apartment in Dalaran, all of its comforts and fineries. It still stung a bit, the loss of that slice of normalcy in their lives, and she did indeed believe she could have lived that way for quite some time. The libraries in Dalaran were extensive after all, and there really was no better place in the world for a mage to study.

Study, perhaps, but not discover and learn.

Tandinis's picture

Page 2 - Four Notes

She ripped one page from her book - because it would be just enough - and wrote out what she needed to write. The page was torn in four pieces.

 

Morning was just breaking over Silvermoon and the streets were still quiet; the perfect time for a walk. She took a small package with her, and went out to the green space in the center of the Royal Exchange, where she had seen him sitting.  There, in a hollow by some bushes, she left one note resting on a paper-wrapped package that smelled of meat, bread, and mustard.

Tandinis's picture

Page 1 - Writing Practice

She lays on her stomach in front of the hearth.  Curtains of dark hair border her face, downturned, eyes on the paper between her hands.  An inkpot sits at one elbow.  The nib of her pen scratches the silence.

 

Artisania's picture

The Important Things

Artisania Stillwater-Ell'Karan had amassed a quantity of collections.

She had a great love for Tauren baskets and pottery, from little stoneware containers perfect for holding bits of jewelry to the large woven-reed bowl that cupped the fruit on the dining table. There was not a village from which she hadn't bought at least one sample, and in the North she had begun to collect from the Taunka, as they had a way with blue and green dye that simply couldn't be matched by their southern cousins.

Artisania's picture

Tear

Artisania Stillwater-Ell'Karan noted that the fabric frayed from the center – not from the edges, as fabric is wont to do.

Artisania's picture

The Portrait

Artisania Stillwater-Ell'Karan had ordered a cake.

She picked it up from the little wagon in Dalaran at the appointed time, mid-morning, while the icing was still fresh and setting up in little swirls and tufts around the rim of the confection. Very tempting indeed, but she carried it carefully in its little paper box back to the apartment without even peeking once, though she did lick her fingers after setting it out on the table.

Artisania's picture

Happy Anniversary

Amid cast off ribbons and paper, token gifts carefully set aside only to be jostled and jumbled, a few empty bottles, saucers covered with crumbs, empty tea cups, voluminous rumpled bedclothes and a plethora of pillows, two elves in rather disheveled matching silk pajamas lay in a restful embrace.

Artisania Stillwater-Ell'Karan languidly ran her finger up the long curve of her beloved wife's ear, Teledriath sleeping peacefully against her breast.

Artisania's picture

Green

Artisania Stillwater-Ell'Karan had a feeling something was not quite right.

Artisania's picture

Memos

Artisania Stillwater-Ell'Karan had a lot on her mind.

First of all, Teng Darkheart needed to make better arrangements with lecturers, or communicate better with the publicity department.

If Teng Darkheart was still alive, of course.  That was always in question.

And speaking of being alive, was the lady Althea - who came to the lecture that ended up not happening anyway - alive? Was she alive or was she dead? So hard to tell these days.

She was walking and talking. Like the gentleman elf. Like the two Tauren. Like the troubled Forsaken as well.

Artisania's picture

Red

Artisania Stillwater-Ell'Karan contemplated the tulips.

Tulips are not delicate flowers. Like goblin rockets they drive themselves up through the cold soils of spring, piercing rainsoaked earth reach skyward, trailing thick stems and heavy leaves. When at last waxy petals open, they do not reveal any delicate plumage within, but rather only the essentials: pollen-tipped stamen arching forward to spread life and beneath, beyond a ring of brightness like the treasured sun, a blackness so keen as to reflect the blue sky above.

Artisania's picture

Home Necessities

Artisania Stillwater-Ell'Karan returned to bed.

She knew the path to the privy and back by heart and by feel, and really didn't need to open her eyes one way or the other, even in the middle of the night. For a few moments she breathed chill air, felt the grassy earth beneath her feet, heard the slow turning of the Bluff's windmills and the sigh of a passing guard, then it was back into the woodsy warmth of the longhouse, hearing the slow squeak as the loft door closing before returning to the warm embrace of her bed.

But this night, she paused.

Artisania's picture

At This Time of Year

Artisania Stillwater-Ell'Karan was glad to be home.

It wasn't just the familiar mug of tea in her hands, nor the lilting melody of Teledriath's singing wafting through the doorway from the loft. It wasn't just the view from the balcony of their Thunder Bluff home nor the certain scent of pines and plains in the air. Nor was it just the rested relaxation from a night spent in their most favored bed, though that had certainly helped.

Artisania's picture

From the West

Artisania Stillwater-Ell'Karan was in need of a hat.

Not simply because her ears were cold. She expected them to be cold, and took one in a hand whenever possible to warm it up. She doubted a hat would help anyway, what with the bite to the wind. Mostly, she wanted a hat because adventurers needed hats, and Light forbid her hair remain such a mess.

The new cut did help, she admitted that.

Arasminna's picture

Home

Wish I were with you but I couldn't stay
Every direction leads me away
Pray for tomorrow, but for today
All I want is to be home

The wind from the north is cold on my face, sending a chill down my back while it dries the tears from the corners of my eyes.  A new start.  A hideaway.  A place away from plots, intrigues, backstabbing, business, politics...a place to rest my head, ply my handicrafts, to do good on my own terms.

A place to heal.  A place to rest.

Maybe...just maybe...a place to stay.

Tarsk's picture

Family Ties

"SPEAK! Where is my brother?!" Baroness Anastari's corporeal form was rent asunder as two axes, one guided by the wind, the other burning, struck home. Bolts of arcane slammed into the banshee, while the Light burned her from within. In the end, nothing remained, save her bracelets, and a single, scorched finger. "Nothing! She refused to talk.." The orcish shaman growled, hands gripping the haft of his Wicked Edge of the Planes. "Perhaps he's inside there.", suggested Teledriath, a shining beacon of light in the burning city of the dead. Artisania, clad in robes becoming a magi of her skill, nodded in agreement.
Heidel's picture

A Path Through Darkness

From the journal of Heidel Duskember Sunrunner:

Artisania's picture

More Trouble than Expected

Artisania Stillwater-Ell'Karan fell into the kitchen chair. No tea was necessary.

Teledriath took her hands, stilled their shaking, and if Light drifted from her fingertips to assure her beloved's wellness, Artisania didn't notice. The tale of the evening fell from her lips without pause.

Artisania's picture

Sabbatical

Artisania Stillwater-Ell'karan knew there was more than one reason.

Not that she could put her finger on them, exactly. Everything seemed to wrap her up in a feeling of rightness and comfort, however: the cool breeze through the Eversong trees; the way the sunlight slanted across the tall grass; the perfect nuances of her tea across her tongue as she stood looking out the kitchen window, one hand upon the stone sill.

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