CRAYLETTE ANYONE?? XD
Three dweebs watching a movie. Two try to make a move, they end up kissing each other. Yep X3
Poor Goth is oblivious to their tricks X’D
Goth belongs to @nekophy
Palette belongs to @angexci
Spray Cray belongs to @weezy-pup
I’m offically obsessed with Pray :‘3
I hear the screams of betrayal X’D
DONT WORRY IM SURE THIS WON’T LAST!! :’D
SOOOO IMMA JUST- ER, DRAW ART.
OF THIS SHIP.
FOR A WHILE.
Palette belongs to @angexci
Cray belongs to @weezy-pup
Okay I’m sorry but I read this post on @fo4companionsreactions and laughed my ass off and I thought about doing this all day, so here, have a thing that no one ever asked for: a gif reaction of the DAI companions reacting to Mufasa’s death. I have no idea how they got their hands on a copy of The Lion King, much less how they got it to play, but use your imagination.
Props to @fo4companionsreactions for doing the original post, and I know I’m just copy-catting you, but I couldn’t help myself. Please go check out their blog, it’s fantastic and I love it.
Though the situation was as much to Blaque’s displeasure as her own, the purveyor of Sunspire Port brooked no slouches amongst the men he gave the order to assist Arcanist Ver’Sarn in lifting the runestones and securing them in a cart, bound north for Quel’dal, the Ver’Sarn family villa.
The port’s one-of-its-kind defense, their protection from outside attack from the Legion, from the scrying eyes of ne’er-do-wells…
Taken down. Just like that.
Aranya’s hard work, innovation, and blood that she had put into its making: undone.
Neither Kurel nor Aranya could have foreseen, could have known, until their secrets came out after a wave of heated words and harsh voices, and when the snarls and anger at each other had subsided, they were just unhappy. It wasn’t what either of them had wanted. Kurel could not be near the stones while he could still be used from within by an enemy to destroy Sunspire with the power he could unleash on the stones - that was the danger - and so the stones had to be removed.
It didn’t matter that Mavas had absolute faith in hisKurel’s control, Kurel knew that there was still a chance, and it wasn’t a chance that he was willing to take.
The last of the stones, the westernmost one, was fetched much like how it was placed. Aranya and two port hands rowed out just beyond the harbor in the skiff that Riz had given her, the arcanist sensing at the flows of magic for what they sought, and stopping once they reached the stone. Stripping down to her shirt and leggings, Aranya dove down, secured the stone with some well-placed knots in a sturdy rope, and the port hands pulled it up as she surfaced.
The road to Quel’dal was quiet. Blaque’s men could tell that the Phoenix of Sunspire was in too somber a state for conversation, and so they respectfully let her have her thoughts, only breaking the silence to ask her for direction.
The men remained to place the stones about the villa grounds, one at the westernmost spot before the sands of the beach, one at the easternmost point before the main road, one to the south, in the forest, and the last to the north, by the river. They would not protect Sunspire, not so long as there was a hidden power dwelling within the port that was strong enough to destroy them, strong enough to make them a danger to all who lived there.
But at least they would protect something.
“Will you be staying here tonight, Miss Ver’Sarn?” One hand asked as the men climbed back into the cart. “Or will you let us escort you back home?”
“Home…” echoed Aranya detachedly, not even looking at the man, but at the whole view of the villa.
This was home. Or it was supposed to be.
She was Arcanist Aranya Ver’Sarn, Mistress of Quel’dal, Phoenix of Shattrath and Sunspire, Head of the Eclipse Syndicate.
So where the fel was home? Really?
Or was it just a simple truth that a phoenix makes all the stars her nests…?
At length, she shook her darksome head. “Tell Blaque I won’t be coming back to the house tonight, but I’ll be safe,” she said. With a nod, the port hands turned the cart around and rode south, back along the road to Sunspire Port.
The arcanist withdrew the ivory scarab token that the Tanari captain had given her from its hiding place inside her boot. Chances were likely that if Kurel and Demytrya’s good standing with each other was no more, as Riz had told her, then the blind captain would not be staying at Erudition. She clasped the scarab in her fist and brought it up to her lips.
“Where are you now?” Aranya whispered in the archaic dialect of Thalassian that she used for her spellcasting.
At once, the sorceress could feel the pulse of her request traveling from the token, her focus, along the threads of reality to the one whom she sought. With more arcane words, she teleported to stand just outside the door of Kurel’s room at the Wayfarer’s Rest, her still-wet hair and clothes smelling of the sea and dampening the spot in the carpet over which she stood. She rapped her slender knuckles on the door. “Kurel, if you’re in there, open the door. It’s me,” she called to him in a level tone of voice. “You ready to go home?”