Interactions between people, friend and foe, help shape our thoughts, ideas, and who we are as individuals. Some are barely acquaintances, whereas others might know our deepest secrets. These relationships can be positive or negative and have differing degrees of closeness.
Has your character developed a lasting relationship with someone else that they feel has affected who they are? If the relationship is/was negative, do they feel the relationship can be mended? Has anyone betrayed their trust? What, to your character, is something that would immediately break the relationship beyond repair?
Adromada, kind in appearance, has had trust issues since she was a child. Along with not having her mother as a child. Her father Agus was stripped away from her at the age of 12; who later died in battle. Adro had been sent to the orphanage per her fathers instructions and was gratefully aloud to keep her wolf pet Nightfang. During her years at the orphanage she had attempted to make friends with the other children. All the younger children of course thought of her as someone cool. With her hunting skills and craftiness with leather,(all skills her father taught her) she was able to help feed the children and provide some coin so that they would live a little more comfortably. The older children how ever shunned her. The elder girls thought of her as improper. "A lady shouldnt ever weild a weapon let alone do the job of a man" they would always tell her. The elder boys felt intimidated by adro and grew jealous of her. Some of the older children even bullied her, for she was to different than what a normal girl was supposed to be.
So when adro came back from hunting she would help the adults with the little kids. When she needed someone to talk to she would turn to Nightfang, her only true friend in her mind. year after year she watched children come and go. No parent wanted to adopt adro. Soon her confindence in people started to dwindle. Eventually she lost all trust in anyone older than her, but when it came to the younger children of the orphanage she would do anything for them. One would almost say adro kinda mothered them.
When she turned 18, the time had come for a suitor, but instead of trying to find one she went to enlist in the military for a couple years. Soon, due to her sense of abandonment and lack of trust. She began to rebel against her officers and later quit. Now 24 she has grown into a fine huntress. For work she continues to craft leather gear for soldiers, and from time to time do a little mercenary work. On her off time she goes to the orphanage in Stormwind to visit and donate most of the coin she has earned. In her mind this is her duty in life. She had no mother growing up so she would do what she can for the children of the orphanage.
Adro still awaits the day for a person she could trust. A Person that she can open her whole heart to, release her fears, let them completely into her life. Will that day ever come? She doubts it. Still optimistic but doubtful.
#12364462 May 09, 2016 at 02:10 PM · Edited over 3 years ago
Azrexil closes his heavy tome in frustration, notes and drawings of new summoning circles laid out around the book. He piles them up neatly and glaces over at the stack of worn love letters on his desk.
His shadow leans over his shoulder and picks them up, "You haven't read these in a while you know." His shadow places them in front of him. "I bet she misses you."
Azrexil picks up a few, and after a minute, places them back down on the table. "I know." He whispers.
The dry and scorched dirt crunched under his metal clad boots. The remains of a charred and smoldering building stands to his left. Across the once vibrant town square, a women in dark robes faces him. The chains across his chest, the ones wrapped around his waist, dragging in the dirt feel weightless to him. His scythe as light as a feather.
"This ends here dreadlord." Azrexils voice is calm and commanding. "Leave her and face me. This is between us." The green fire licking up the blade of the scythe burns brighter, the scar across his face glows with a new intensity.
"Oh I think not warlock. I know your species. As long as I inhabit her...you won't harm me. You can chase me to the end of the world, but you'll never harm her." A sick laugh escapes the women, as she takes a step forward. "All this...destruction, all this power, and you didn't leave a scratch on her. Your power doesn't frighten me."
Azrexil looks down at his hand, his ring with its black metal band, now turned a slight green colour. He looks up at his wife, standing defiantly across the square. Her ring, still black on her finger. He takes a deep breath and focuses his anger and grief into a single bolt of dark fel energy.
"You do know she understands what you did, right? She was in so much agony having that dreadlord control her. She would have done the same to you. You know that right?" His shadow places its hand softly on Azrexil's shoulder.
He's used to her carelessness. Bruises and scrapes are par for the course. She doubts he even notices them these days. By sheer misfortune there is now an arrow in her shoulder and that he certainly did notice, even from deep in the throes of a blood rage. Gul'dan has fled, but the Iron Horde still has boots on the ground and the more entrepreneurial adventurers are more than happy to put an end to them, too. So Lyhanna was shot. Not really a big deal in the grand scheme of things.
Okay: so the shaft was some sort of metal and she couldn't break it with her hands; Durelian had to freeze and splinter it and light that had hurt. The cold was worse than the force of it snapping and being pulled through – like literal ice had been shot into her veins. He had made a face that was probably supposed to be apologetic but it turned into a grimace when she has scrubbed her hands over her eyes to hide the tears. It's all building frustration and the most bitter anger that even in the shameful moments where she thinks 'I want to go home' it's just impossible. Her longing for home is ephemeral and hopeless. He feels her anger and pain and accepts it like his own.
It's the rest that she tries to hide.
She did try to go home. Just once, to precipitate her brother's death. As the last remnant of the line she made the official declaration that there would be no more. The bannermen and representatives gathered to say their apologies and wish her well, when just days before any one of them would have had her head just to receive a pat on the head. Lyhanna had smiled and been gracious as it was expected, and silently celebrated in her mind every time someone's eyes flinched away from Durelian. Something should make them fear. Someone should teach them that playing at politics when there's a war on is a fool's game. The weight of her distaste for the whole situation had made it easy to leave behind the only home she had really known.
The desire to reach out and take something that won't otherwise be offered is perhaps a family trait. Lyhanna is very good at wanting to say and do and posses things that she can't possibly.
Once Durelian has her back in Lunarfall, once he is fairly sure she won't run off and do something foolish, he relaxes enough to let her out of his sight. He's made certain the only possible danger to Lyhanna here is Lyhanna, and only really allows that because he can't keep her still long enough to wrap her in blankets and rope. If he wonders why she doesn't heal her shoulder he doesn't ask, just watches when she runs a curious finger over the ragged hole.
It does hurt, but that's sort of the point. As long as that's at the forefront of her concentration she can think on things without the possibility of Durelian prodding at the undercurrent of other emotions. Pain makes people sad and grumpy and all sorts of things and Lyhanna has never been above letting him know when she's in pain. He probably finds it endearing. If he can.
That's really the crux of the problem, when you get down to it.
She sits on she shores of Shadowmoon with her bare feet buried in the white sand of another world and tries to make sense of her life. It's austere and peaceful and she can see the world she was born on hanging in the sky like a reminder of everything that's gone wrong. Or is it the same world? She doesn't really know. It wasn't in the vacation guidebook, okay? This is a stupid thing to be upset about. Back up.
The little ball of sensation in the back of her mind that links her to Durelian reminds her that she doesn't have forever, so she reaches to her shoulder and scratches lightly, watching dried blood flake away like rust before pinching the corner of the abused tissue and tugging viciously. She gasps at the tearing sensation, then has to suppress a chuckle. If there's one thing she's gotten really good at in her years it's taking a body apart and putting it back together. Just ride it out. Okay.
He'll probably just assume she doesn't want him to see her be weak and it's not wholly incorrect. More blood flakes away and new wells up around her fingernails. There's always some satisfaction that comes with a job well done, and since the job was to make her conscious mind focus on the pain, well... Lyhanna folds her arms and stares at the foreign tide. She remembers dreaming about having to find an elf, but there are lots of elves and dreams are non-specific just to be inconvenient. There's the tall ones, and the smaller ones, and some that are trolls and not elves at all. She knew that the elf would keep her safe and happy and she would be cared for. That was probably misinterpreted, looking back. It's probably due in part to the fact that she's a child, or that she cares about people too quickly, or any number of other things that the logical part of her mind says are all really good reasons to just not dwell on this at all. It's a conclusion she's been trying very hard not to come to for awhile.
She might be in love with Durelian.
Obviously the solution would be to find someone else to fixate on and pretend to like them more but her mind is cluttered enough with all the acting. They've never been intimate, except every day because living in someone else’s head is probably the most intimate thing she can even imagine, and the idea of trying to even hold hands with or kiss someone else seems wrong because he'll always be right there. And that's not fair to anyone.
With a little forethought this wouldn't have been an issue. Good job, Hanna, you've chosen to tie your life to someone who can literally never return your feelings. That's got to be some kind of record or something, if she just knew who kept track of the worst plans ever. And god that is just not the point.
She briefly and desperately wants to be drunk or some other form of incoherence. Go with what you have, right? Peeling away at another bit of flesh to stop her mind entirely, Lyhanna pulls her knees to her chest, rests her head in her arms and closes her eyes to wait.
I like this blue but can we consider purple :^)