Fence Macabre

We’ve built the Fence Macabre on many pillars. One of those crucial, anchoring pillars is the celebration of diversity, the fact that individuals are not scorned for their differences in race, culture, gender, or sexuality. Instead, our differences are celebrated. As we enter into Pride month this June, it’s more important than ever to honor and hold firm to this pillar with which we’ve built our community on. We will always be openly diverse, and we would not have the rights we enjoy today without the Black community’s efforts.

Many of us identify across the Pride spectrum, and we have people in our guild who are on the frontlines and protesting. Black people should be safe in their communities; they should be able to walk among their communities and not worry about being killed. Black people deserve to be treated with the fundamental rights and dignity inherent to all human beings. These statements are not up for debate; these statements are indisputable facts.

As the Fence Macabre, we believe it’s crucial to stand in full support with the Black Lives Matter movement. Their fight for racial equality, police reform, and the fundamental rights owed to every human being is critical for building a better tomorrow.

Throughout history, it is the inaction of those who could have made a difference, the apathy of those who could institute change, and the silence of the people’s voice when it mattered most that has allowed evil to triumph. Saying nothing says something, and we will not say nothing. Racial equality is a massive struggle for not only the United States but in every country around the world, and it won’t be achieved overnight. But every generation can make progress toward that goal, and now, it’s our turn to take up the torch handed to us by those who fought for justice and paid their dues.

We understand this statement could be met with disagreement, and we invite those who disagree to recognize that this is a private community, a private guild, who has the right to act accordingly. And our right is standing together with those who struggle for a better future.

Black Lives Matter. Pride was a Riot. If you would like to educate yourself, donate, or find other ways to assist the BLM movement tangibly, please visit and get involved at:

https://blacklivesmatters.carrd.co/

stinkslinger:

Hello everyone! This is the blog of Ryeolan Quillsong! Fence Macabre inkslinger!

edmund-valks:

(( Part I: The Call ))

(( Part II: A Compound Beginning ))

If you listened closely enough, you could hear the emptiness breathing.

It was fascinating to consider, or would have been if it weren’t also slightly terrifying.  There was no reason for this space to sound like the lungs of some unutterable beast, yet it did.  Everything she knew about the Shadowed Path said it was empty, that nothing dwelt here and nothing could.  Perhaps nothing did.  What if the very substance of the Path was alive in some fashion?  The implications were-

Not important right now.  That was her mother’s voice, reminding her that there would only be time for later speculation if she lived to do it.  Smart folk did not dally on these roads, even those who knew how to walk them.  They were treacherous, and Ilandreline did not mean their terrain.  She’d lost a distant cousin to them more than a century earlier, and supposedly even the one who’d known enough to open the First Tree to the darkness at its roots hadn’t known enough to come back.

But they were fast.  She’d used them to get to Kalimdor in a few days, or to get from Tirisfal to her family’s lands in an hour.  Time and distance worked differently here, or perhaps they worked exactly the same and locationality was the odd one.  There were multiple frames of reference to choose from, but they all boiled down to the same result: travel here was vastly more efficient than on Azeroth.  Which is why you need to get moving instead of standing around!

Her feet started moving again, picking their way over what she assumed counted as “the ground”.  It was definitely dirt-like, and there were… grassish things… to either side, but it didn’t smell quite right.  Not for nature, at least.  Most plants didn’t smell so strongly of iron.  No, not iron.  She sniffed again, trying to place it.  Ah, right.  Blood.  Fresh blood, at that, before it dulled to a brown stain on the stones.  She wondered what this place would look like in sunlight.  Would its appearance match the sharp scents?  Could it even exist under such harsh light?

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ms-winford:

The workshop was cool and dark, the only light coming from the pulsing ball of arcane Loira had conjured overhead. The room was cast in a faint, pale light -just enough to lift the darkest edges from the shadows. Skeletal fingers curled around the edges of the letter, lips pursed in in a frown as gold eyes lifted from the parchment. Miss Glimmerbow was gone.

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edmund-valks:

(( Previously: The Call ))

“There’s a hole in the world, dear girl, and not the good kind.  It leads to a place the living shouldn’t be, and lets them get there in a way that shouldn’t happen.  I hate to send you off, but you’re the only one I trust to be adaptable.  Everyone else is too sure they understand everything to realize they’re fools.

“The whole situation is a puzzle – a deadly one.  Examine the pieces, Lina, find the edges.  See how they fit together, how this world connects.  Learn the rules that govern there, figure out how to break them.  Stay alive, too, and come back safely.”

She’d never seen the older woman so uncertain.  It warmed and scared her at once.  “Is it really where the dead go?"  The specifics of her family’s cosmology were still hazy, and Ilandreline didn’t know which had been verified versus assumed.

"Only some of them, child.  Enough, I think, to make it difficult.”

“Will I see family there?"  The possibility was very mixed given the number of relatives she’d had to avoid in the interests of personal safety.  Having to kill the already dead seemed… difficult, even – or especially – in the place where souls went.

"Not if they were sent off properly.  The Great Dark calls us home, not some bizarre ‘afterlife’.”

“But isn’t there a cycle of things?”

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