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About Aetheril

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  • Birthday 08/08/1989

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  1. <p>The guy below my comment is a scrub!</p>

  2. (( MUCH later, after Aetheril's release from Vanderzee's custody and a meeting with Visca)) Rayfeather stood stripped of arms before the council, his eyes smouldering with latent fire, his voice welling with sincerity and intensity. In the short span of an hour he had related to them everything: the rendezvous with Saturna, his strange encounters with Visca and Evershine, and his one terrible shame. His hands were drenched with Galen’s blood, and now he seemed to have set it upon himself to scrub them clean at last. It would not go easily. “My brothers and sisters of the blood, closer than kin, I beseech this of you…” In the silence, he realized now that they had borne his story with heavy hearts, and perhaps compounded by their own mana-exhaustion of late he’d stunned them into silence. He had stilled the beast that was the review, only to realize that he’d beheaded that beast when he slew Velorne. Even the cold lady of the council who had given Velorne’s accusations a ready ear now sat at stony attention, unmoving. I’m getting off…I don’t understand…are they awestruck or disturbed? In a strange fear and confusion in the final stage of his escape from the lion’s maw, Aetheril hesitated for a moment, stumbling on his words. He bent head of the grizzled councilman leant closer, waiting for the report to again deliver itself up. Aetheril caught his gaze and fought back a momentary shudder. He ran one hand through his hair, finding it difficult to continue. Then the account closed, at last coming to when Velorne had taken him aside. “And when Velorne spoke to you,” the cold voice came from the chair, chilling Aetheril’s heart. “What did he ask of you?” Looking noticeably perturbed, Aetheril stood forth, presenting the scrying crystal. “I have heard…many things from him. Disturbing things, damning things…as I told you before, he forced me to lay blade to my comrade,” Rayfeather said, using his own natural fear to play up the performance. It was real, and yet…fake. He felt dirty for using his emotions, however real, in any manipulative manner. But now was not the time to fear. He placed the milky scrying crystal in his palm, raising the fragile sphere aloft. In this tiny cradle lay his salvation. “This…?” questioned the woman, looking with an arched brow at the crystal. “Where did you obtain this?” “I didn’t,” said Aetheril, quietly turning his gaze upward to the chair. “It came to me in a most curious manner.” “Elaborate, young adept,” came the piping voice of the old man, his eyes widening and losing their bleariness. “That is most certainly the property of the Magisters, with that workmanship.” “I believe this was placed on me at some time prior to the attack. It was interwoven into my scale tunic, and was dislodged during the felblood assault,” Aetheril said, simply. These words, in their implication, however, fell like a bombshell in their midst. There were some murmers in the back, and the woman at the front paled slightly. The lines around the old man’s mouth tightened. Another man to the left, ruddy of complexion, smiled knowingly, not surprised in the least. “It isn’t in the least surprising to me,” Aetheril said, meeting this man’s eyes. “That the Magisters would keep tabs on our organization.” He felt a small bubble of audacity force itself out of him, and he spoke openly for a moment. “The implications will…make themselves clearer soon.” And Velorne’s condemnation of the knights, his hasty and foolish declaration to Aetheril that he would throw his chips in with the Magisters, became apparent. As the images flashed through the air, casting their sickly light on the entire assemblage, eyes narrowed. Confusion became contempt, and words of open hatred bled at random from the red-clad audience. As the recording ending, all eyes turned back to the Adept who’d brought this corruption to light. “We’re tools. This much is clear,” Aetheril said, sealing his fist around the crystal. “At last this seed of corruption has been removed. Velorne Arcwhisper has paid dearly for his hunger for power. He has cut down any who stood in his way…I have been his instrument, I have cut down a fellow initiate at his coercion. He will never be avenged as long as I live.” He bowed low, his feet together, his eyes to the ground, his hair hanging about him. Aetheril straightened up again, speaking low but clearly, stabbing into the heavy air. “I ask you to forgive me. I cannot say if I am worthy of this knighting any longer…but if you do so choose, I will take this mantle upon me to correct all that Velorne has wrought, and all that I have failed to do while he lived, nay, while we still served Kael’thas.” At this, the tension built to a volatile chord. Aetheril shamelessly played that chord like an instrument, drawing them in. He fixed them with a piercing gaze, positioning himself carefully, his stance calculated and powerful. His eyes swiveled, fixing themselves on members of the crowd in turn. “If we are to be pure…I ask that we expel corruption from our midst, and from within ourselves!” The words of Draco Gladius Visca came back to him, these words that he now echoed before the council. Did Aetheril mean them? His mouth spoke them boldly, and his heart shivered. He felt the fel taint now more than ever, and did not know whether it could ever be excised. His hand reached for his heart absently, and he spoke, his speech slowing for effect, softening. “I am unworthy. Who among us is worthy? If we must stand and act at the will of the Magisters, if we must perpetuate the evil that dwelt in Kael’thas, if we must suffer that corruption we have taken into our hearts…we shall fail at last, from within.” Murmers. Aetheril felt the pause, and continued, speaking again, pouring his words into their waiting ears. He could feel a favorable response from most of the crowd gathered there, and wondered when the council would at last cut him short and pass their judgement. “Our blood is tainted by the demons. We have taken a monster into our hearts, and it will show itself in our vice. I ask this of the council,” he said at last, kneeling. “I ask that we draw it out. The felbloods are too foul a reminder of what we may become.” “I request the formation of an Inquisition!” The room almost burst with the speech that ran through the crowd. There was much scoffing, much alarm, and a surprising amount of agreement, of sharply declared seconds to that motion. The outrage of before had fed into Aetheril’s gambit. I have taken the plunge… After ten minutes of tumultuous debate, order was finally brought about, and Aetheril stood alone again, at their scrutiny. The woman spoke, her voice rising about the lingering quiet – cautiously – speaking favorable words. “Your motion is noted, and will be considered. This must go beyond a simple review council…I shall submit this to the full body at next chance…and you are,” she continued, reluctantly. “Not the first to bring this request forth.” She averted her eyes for a moment, before turning to the young adept again. She wore a guise of coldness, but he could sense she had some small measure of respect for him now. “Thank you, Knight-Champion Silverwind.” “As for your knighting…it has been decided. In light of recent circumstances, we must take unusual steps. This may have seemed rushed to me at first, and I was highly skeptical. I will admit…” Her eyes bore into Aetheril’s. “You, Rayfeather, have exceeded expectations. I believe you are ready. Before you became a knight you succeeded in exposing one who has long eluded justice, one of our own, who sullied our reputation.” Aetheril moved to rise, but she motioned for him to remain kneeled. The old councilman presented a sheathed blade in his shivery, knotted hands, and she withdrew the sword. It shone forth cold and unforgiving, and she stepped forth from the bench. “This would have been presented by the Lady herself, but she is otherwise occupied. By the power vested in me as Knight-Champion, I grant you what has long been your destiny.” Her lips closed, and she smiled at him for the first time. “Young Rayfeather, of high name but lowly birth, shamed as a bastard. We have long watched your rise with apprehension. Many have fallen of higher repute than you, and you survive your peers with greater deeds to your name.” She drew forth a crest, like the one he’d first taken upon himself as an adept, from a knight fallen in battle. It was of greater workmanship, inlaid with onyx, the token of a full knight, trimmed in blood red. “This was taken from Velorne’s body. He is now posthumously stripped of his rank for his treachery. It now has no rightful owner, and shall not be buried with him. Only fitting, that it be yours…as a token of your victory…and a reminder of your promises today.” She placed it about his shoulders, clasping it, and he felt a great weight upon him. He did not raise his head. Silverwind laid the sword on each shoulder in turn. “Aetheril Rayfeather, I confer upon you the title of Knight of the Blood. Henceforth, you are Sir Rayfeather. It is not often that one of lowly birth rises to so high a station. Perhaps change is ahead.” He rose at her command, and spoke, his eyes hardening. Indeed…he felt confident. At last, he’d drawn a step closer to his goal. But how long would this last? “I accept this honor.” He bowed low, and smiled to himself. The room narrowed in scope, and he was alone at last. Alone, nearing the top.
  3. (( I thought it was quite good. It fits well with the whole Saturna and Aetheril deal, from Faelenor's perspective ))
  4. Nah, I get exactly where you're coming from. I'm just seeing a bit of a discrepancy in the justification for preferential treatment...so I thought I'd throw in my two cents, as a guy here. Not that preferential treatment is ever excusable, it's just part of an instinctive mindset, I think, that's hard to break out of. And I'm sure the signs are a lot more obvious as to intent than I make them out to be.
  5. Maybe the issue of male players giving female avatars special treament isn't always an issue of them considering the female too weak to do it on their own. That sentiment may be in part a feminist construct..not necessarily untrue, but it's not always the intent. I think a number of guys will instinctively look at a woman and think "ooh, a potential mate", and try to be nice in order to win her over. At least, those are the sort of vague feelings that occur to me. I know my date is perfectly capable of opening a door and paying for part of the meal on her own. I do it for her because I'm hoping I will earn her favor. I'm much more concerned about her looking down on me as an unworthy date to even think about looking down on her. Simple as that. But perhaps I'm not enough of a chauvenist pig to properly understand that I should be treating a woman special because she needs all the help she can get, and couldn't possibly survive without her man. There are nuances here beyond that...don't always take special treatment as someone looking down on you. Some guys (myself included) are eager to please someone who is seemingly of the opposite gender, and will do anything, even for someone out of our league. I know preferential treatment based on gender is sexist. That's why I avoid it in WoW...I rarely, if ever, give such treatment, and its based on if I enjoy playing with the person, not if they're female or male. Ironically enough, however, it happens all the time in the real world. I'm sure we're all aware of the customary "chivalry" a man is expected to undertake in courtship, at least as far as opening doors and picking up the bill goes. You have to forgive men sometimes. The preferential treatment is almost hard-wired, I think. More along the lines the innate desire to attract a mate than anything else...you show that you are a provider. And of course, that can come accross as condescending. And certainly, that's probably the case with some men... I can't say there's much proof for what I've said, but at least to me this is what I imagine when I catch myself being extra-nice to a woman for no justifiable reason.
  6. "Sir Arcwhisper, acting of his own mind, has accompanied a strangely subservient Adept Rayfeather to the docks at Booty Bay..." "Well...after that display, I certainly hope he succeeds in what he's doing...perhaps Visca can be taken out...and at the same time we can pretend Arcwhisper hadn't made his...advances to assist us..." A hoarse, almost gravelly female voice broke into the conversation, supressing a sharp cough: "Aetheril will come back, however, and if he reveals Arcwhisper's words--" "Oh, listen to your voice, you're not well, madam. Please, go back to your quarters..." A shaded figure, garbed in magisterial robes, hurried the coughing woman past the silken curtains. The room was dark, only the light of the hellish crystals bathing all in a ghastly glow. With the quiet siphoning in the pauses between planning, the Magisters kept themselves strong for the time being. The remaining Magister returned to his duties, seeking the next course of action. His brows furrowed, thick, graying eyebrows knitting and unknitting, looking like great drooping moth antennae. "It's only a matter of time before the crystals are taken...they're too closely associated with the Prince," he murmered fearfully to himself. An attendant came forward, with a platter. On it rested a jewel-crusted wine glass, and beside the glass lay an opaque mana crystal. "Man lives not on bread alone," he murmered, downing the goblet and pushing it to the back of the platter. Hungrily, his eyes fell on the crystal, which he seized and began to greedily siphon. The Magister placed it with a disturbing moan to his chest, ignoring the attendant. "If Rayfeather is indeed aware of the scrying crystal," he began to say, his thoughts clearing as energy flowed back into him. "We can only hope Arcwhisper's words aren't taken at face value, no? After all, beyond the planting of the scrying device on Rayfeather, we...aren't implicated in this." The attendant nodded blankly, eyes resting on the crystal from a drawn visage. The Magister looked up once, and noting his own returning vitality, shrugged, pulling away from the crystal with some effort. He presented the dim crystal to the attendant, whose eyes widened with a tiny grin. "Here, finish this one. You've earned it. We...all have..." Fel eyes glowing from many darkling faces, the room fell into murmers and quiet machinations again, and all the while Velorne was led by Aetheril on, as it seemed to the hapless adept, nothing more than a wild goose chase. ------------------------------------ “Raphael Sunblade,” the wharfmaster said, looking up with beady, suspicious eyes at the two armored blood elves. At Velorne’s order, both he and his young companion had donned dull-grey mail, unadorned with the red pigmentation so characteristic of the order. A great bundle of cloak swathed Velorne’s neck, all the way up to his mouth, and his great cloak hung about his shoulders. His fel green eyes drew from the elf back to his young charge, bubbling with impatience. “Do you know where they are or not, Rayfeather?” he growled, impatiently and almost oblivious to the thoughtful wharfmaster standing below his eye level. If Rayfeather had truly been telling the truth about this... “I know one Raphael,” the wharfmaster said, giving Velorne a sharp, undaunted look and turning then back to the nervous Rayfeather, his mail almost audibly shivering. At this, Aetheril raised an eyebrow, more out of having more material to stall for time – if Velorne would buy it... and if this would lead in the right direction... “Raphael Vanderzee, a goblin, has a ship moored off the coast there. Sorry I can’t do more for ye...” Velorne looked about ready to strangle Rayfeather, his face boiling with blood under his dark locks. Fortunately for Rayfeather, their eyes were now drawn to the great masted ship, noting, impossibly, what was undoubtedly a ship of Quel’dorei make. “How appropriate,” muttered, Velorne in shock, his anger suddenly bleeding away. As if on a wave, both he and Aetheril seemed a mirror of one another in a brightening of their features. The adept beamed with relief, and Velorne with eager hunger. “Why not...check it out,” Aetheril muttered, clearing his throat. “You’re sure about this, Rayfeather?” Velorne asked, sharply, looking back at the young elf with a shade of a threat in his words. “Is the Order there or aren’t they?” “Oh, don’t mind me; I’ve got lots to do. You’re quite welcome!” came an indignant squeaking rasp from the wharfmaster. Velorne looked down darkly, dropping a few silver his way, before striking out after Rayfeather, who was already heading towards the end of the dock. “Ideas, adept?” “Just one.” ------------------------------------ “This is stupid,” Velorne grunted, over the spray and swell of the sea. The creaking ferry churned, bobbing like a cork, nearly throwing the two knights off balance as they readied themselves for their decidedly-illegal act. “Stupid, yes, but it’s the best way at the moment. Give us the element of surprise, spring on Visca...” “I still think its bloody stupid, and that a damnable fool thought it up...” The ferry was plying its way out of the harbor now. Vanderzee’s ship drew ever larger and closer, and Velorne chewed his tongue, brooding. He spoke up, gruffly. “Why should we do this? What if it isn’t the right ship?” Aetheril swallowed a lump in his throat, feeling Velorne’s doubts now weighing upon him. Yes...what if it wasn’t the right ship? What would Velorne do to him if the hunch was false. “How many other elven vessels are there here? And if I recall properly, the Order laid claim to such a ship not long before...” Aetheril was grasping at straws now, but if he was successful perhaps Velorne would agree with him. He couldn’t confirm the fact, but now they were almost drawn alongside the ship as they passed out of the bay. “Probably,” growled Velorne. His darkling eyes were set on the ship drawing ever closer. He licked his lips hungrily, and could almost feel the presence of Visca. He felt it in his gut, whether his adversary was on board, or not, that he was getting a step closer. Aetheril smiled self-conciously, placing one foot on the railing. “Ready?” A handful of passengers were now at the rail and waving. Velorne did so as well, grabbing a hold of the rope that Aetheril handed to him. “Indeed,” he said, his voice grave, his beard unkempt and his hair sparse in the sea wind. He appeared a graven image of desperation and hunger, and Aetheril wouldn’t dare get in his way. I hope you die, Velorne. You'll go down bravely, and oblige to lay down your life in service of your country, Aetheril thought, eyeing him steadily. You'll have to die to make my way clear, you snake. “Just like in the stories,” Velorne said. And with that, the two elves stepped onto the rail, gripping their lines, and with a mighty heave swung across the gap between the two passing vessels, mail glittering in the sun and their throats tearing against the salt breeze in a battle cry.
  7. Aetheril


    Sometimes I think it would be better if the past stayed buried. This little family reunion is making things complicated...Mardil, what the hell are you up to now? Why did you come back when you were least wanted? *sigh* I suppose he'll have to be filled in on what's gone on while he was away. The balance of power is shifting, and I'm not sure how he's going to react.
  8. Precisely my sentiment on the issue. I mean...should I be worried about the myriad of orientation details with my characters? Nearly all of my RP is purely asexual. It makes me feel alienated as well because I look at people making a big deal about ERP-related issues when I really have no interest. I really can't seem to make sex contribute to my character development, so I stick to other stuff...like killing people, political intrigue, and issues with budding insanity. If you guys can make ERP an actual contribution to your character and the plot, more power to you, I guess. Honestly, it's a skill I lack. In the mentime, I'm intent to break some stereotypes. Perhaps its time for me, as a straight guy, to start playing a straight female character. I suppose I could attempt that...and yet it will just be another personality and plot-development game. I just can't get into ERP, not in WoW where my characters are too focused on killing the big evil baddies and/or making their fortunes to worry about getting it on in Silvermoon. And...another thing. As a straight guy to other straight guys...why do you find lesbian interactions attractive? You're just peeping. They'll never be yours. Never. They like each other, not you. Damn over-rationalization always spoils that for me.
  9. <p>You need an avatar.. let me make one for ya!</p>

  10. Pain. A gasp of horror that his brain could only construe as pain, a shock that ran through his body with all the forcefulness of a direct blow. The young knight drew back, his senses rocking as if the ground on which he stood were somehow not stable. "What are you saying?! You can't mean--" "I say precisely what I mean." "You're mad, then! Is this what you meant all along?! You--!" Aetheril drew his cloak tighter about himself, warding off a clawing shade of fear, watching Securo with a growing fear in his breast. He found his other arm reaching for his sword-hilt, as seemed now a bad habit. Securo's eyes percieved the frightened and obvious reflex, and narrowed, coldly zeroing-in on the Blood Knight. "Do not force me to kill you...only your actions now could force that, against my will. Why do you think I have let you live this long?" "You...this is...tantamount..." "To what? Betrayal? Did I betray your expectations?" Securo let out a single chilling, simpering laugh, quelling the thin knight, who gazed back with confusion and fight in his drawn face. He seemed now so much older than N'vena in countenance, even though the young knight was barely of age. He had mentioned something before to N'vena, about the sad elements that could age a man before his time. "This is the way to obtain the power we so require. I believed in your potential, Rayfeather. Now trust me in return." "But...from Arthas? That murderer...He will not abide by your hidden agendas...he will know your mind...he does not share power!" The young knight felt a burgeoning strength welling inside him, and he drew back sharply, setting his boot hard against the soil, almost combative in stance. The young knight with worn and tired face knew only all too well how this would end, the fel energy chafing at him from inside, thinning his will and defenses. "My personal wishes are not his concern," Securo said, marked with the clink of gauntlet on scabbard. "If I do not hinder him, he shall not hinder me." He would not strike down Aetheril if he had no need to, not after so much preparation, but if left with no choice... Aetheril suddenly felt a chill run through him, and found his hand drawn almost irresistably to the stone on the cord round his neck. It seemed to draw the life from him by its mere weight, and he stood down, realizing all at once that he had nothing to support him, the fel taint throbbing like a cancer behind his eyes. "I will not fight you this time...I am weak," Aetheril said at last, removing his hand from the hilt, and drawing back. "If there's one thing you have shown me, it is that I am weak... too small to help you in your designs, however desperate." And with that, he removed the stone from his neck and cast it at N'vena's feet, and made contact with bleary acid-green eye. "As for this...a mere stone. It never had any strength of magic in it. I could sleep well for a time...perhaps that comfort was more out of what I'd heard from you, that there was another way...but now that I see what is laid before me, I don't believe I'm that desperate. Find someone else..." "I have confided my plans in you," Securo said, suddenly becoming at once stern and focused, yet drawn to Aetheril with extended hand. "Because I saw -- and still do -- see great potential in you. Don't let anyone tell you you're a weakling...you are stronger than you imagine, and your intelligence is evident." "Yes, it was but a mere stone that I gave you. You are perceptive. It is but one of your strengths. We must draw them out." Aetheril looked down at his extended hand, withdrawing almost fearfully for an instant, but altogether rooted in place. He looked up again at Securo, his eyes meeting the other man's. Yes, there was a darkness here...he had been aware of it all along. But...was there sincerity as well? Did he desire to help his people, and knew simply what measures had to be taken to do so? "I have placed much stock in you...I need you to trust me as well." Aetheril gulped down another breath, and extended his hand, slowly, taking Securo's forearm firmly in his grasp. The other did the same, and bound so arm to arm they sealed the pact, Aetheril's wavering gaze hardening, recentering on N'vena. "I do not know the way...to excise this taint..." "Yes...it is your mana addiction we must handle foremost," Securo said, releasing his grip, and climbing atop the warhorse, his crimson gaze turned suddenly to the forest behind them again. "And for that, we must head home, to Quel'thalas."
  11. Order of Eversong's not pally-only, as far as I know. Small guild, but good people. I'll be joining them soon myself...
  12. Oooooh, 'nother Bowie fan on here. Ziggy's a classic. Right now I've got...
  13. As a semi-carebear, I really don't gank, to avoid repurcussions...I'll emote to a lowbie, kind of a fair warning. But then again, if they attack me, I beat them down. But, if they're going to attack me when I'm so much higher, that usually means they're bait, and then a higher lvl to jump out of hiding and gank me for ganking their friend. Happened to me a couple times. I wonder where that strategy fits in? It's kind of silly, though...while levelling Aeth, the people who attack me are either far below my level (usually with higher ups in escort or lying in wait) or far above me. I've had maybe one world PvP case where the enemy was yellow. Generally I get along with same-level people, but only because I justify it in an RP sense with "this locale is dangerous, a fight between us is pointless" kind of deal. But that's just my character type... Come later, I think he's going to become a lot more aggressive...
  14. Old banner, or at least something semi-cartoony. It was clear and memorable. This one's a bit on the vague and pixely side. The site layout's pretty slick besides that, and Sanrin's got a good point! New banner contest!
  15. Sweet! That's lookin' good, Swert! Love the murky shadows. Perhaps we could get one with Aeth and Sec in a current or future topic?