So you want to hear a story?
“Five minuets back to the outside world and you come home covered in burns.” The voice was sweet enough. Doting.. concerned…motherly even in its even light soprano.
“It was necessary.”
If I really felt the need to spread blame...then it is my own fault I suppose.
((It is a strange idea, it came to me today so I ran with it... this may not happen.. who knows! 15 year challenge of strangeness accepted! ))
I could see her past the mess she had created. The ground kissed with scorch marks and burned to a blackened, beaten husk. What was left of the tree climbed upward in skeletal remains of frozen fingers, stabbing angrily at an overcast, smoky atmosphere. This place screamed of violence, its natural voice taken over by the cries of the dead and poisoned by the thoughts of the dying.
The human image of Ythgar wept, above us the rage and anger Cymoril fed spurred a thunderous sea that had become the inside of my deathknight, farther above still he moved and ranted against the people who tried to bring him back to himself. None of it mattered, not here… beneath it all was only this weeping figure, his grief and his warlock who happened to know the pathway into his soul.
I had duties to attend to, responsibilities to others and Dante had become a black void of moody teenage angst… so I took her with me. I had things to sort though and evidently so did she, so we hunted and left corpses to become part of the scenery in Icecrown.
Mother and daughter together.
((Takes place after Halodante's http://www.rp-haven.com/blog/halodante/our_melodies ))
My desk had become a vast alien world with mountains of piled paper and seas of writing thick enough to drown in. Too many projects, too many things to look into, to study… welcome back to Azeroth Harpy.
One pile, stacked as neatly as mounds of folders and toppling scroll could be was my past written in stark black and white with my father’s scrawling brining back enough memories to blot out the present.
((Continuing Ythgar's Posts: http://www.rp-haven.com/blog/vinguld/gathering_storm_pt_1
It was a tangled fray; one creature met the other in a battlefield of their making, a show of dominance and a marking of territory. A clash of claws, gnashing teeth and screams as one fell before the other. That was when we feasted. The scavenge was as important as the hunt here, not everything could be killed by the magic in my soft skin, not everything would be moved to lay down to my needs. This place required too much energy and it came in tender hunks of meat in between grasping fingers.
I should have known her when I came upon her, even cast in shadows the form within should have been familiar, she and I have had our rounds after all, fights with words, spells and things far worse.
Kharris Dawndancer. The wife of my rogue, the one my daughter calls Dancer. For a time she was my line to Iloam, when I wanted his attention I tortured his priest and to get my attention he had broken what was mine. I remember his face, in vague detail, everyday it slipped a little more and the beings I knew became memories, taken by the nether and replaced by something else, something far more savage then the love I had given to them.
((Today has been spent listening to too much Rob Zombie and Florence and the Machines, apparently that’s good art music for a sleep deprived individual. So! of course they are not actually colored... because I never get around to coloring anything :) ))
It’s a game played out by everyone, rogues, deathknights, paladins and priests alike. An age old matching of wits between both nobles and peasants, teased by lovers and acted out on the stages of our creation. But it is us, the ones with a just a hint of cruelty, the ones with a touch of ice and shadow in our hearts that play it best, at least that is the opinion of this warlock.
“Do you remember? It wasn’t so long ago..” Wena was speaking, her velvet voice a cool breeze in this blistering heat. It figures the only time my succubus and I ever bonded is when I trapped myself in the world she came from. She hated me once, until I showed her exactly where she stood on the master-servant scale and we’ve had a odd relationship ever since. There has never been real emotion lost between us, no real care or concern. Not like what she was showing me now.
This world feels like a serpent coil, a slow painful squeeze until the life leaves your breath and the soul is devoured by an every twisting eternity… no light, no hope.
Why the hell was I still alive?
It’s never the same. Blink once and the world changes, without so much as a rumble under your feet. The sky lightens or deepens; stars replace clouds, wind and water shift the land. It doesn’t matter, here one minuet and gone the next. Ever changing... as I must be.
"The future is stardust because you can dream it. The present is clay because you can mold it. But the past is stone because you can never change it."
Our pasts are such delicate things, the passing whirl of butterflies, distant calls of ravens and shadows at the corner of our eyes. When born to darkness it is that shadow that follows you, it whispers sweet nightmares as a sword slides against another’s neck, when frost over takes their veins or corruption blackens their skin. One can ignore it, hide from it, but they can never escape it. The light itself breeds shadows, and I have seen some that are a deeper black then anything spawned in the edges of night. We live in a war glutted world, one swelled to the brim with hatred, prejudice and unearthly hungers. A world that rises the evil as much as the good, it is a fine line, for those who chose to walk the middle.
Sometimes I forget what it is to be a friend to another. Then there comes the times the reminder is a brick wall to the very fragile parts of my face. My doses of reality and the roles I should be playing are never kind when they see fit to remind me of my duties.
The Undercity always held important memories to me. It was in those dank hallways, all those years ago I meet Blackmarrow for the first time and offered him the contract to end a man’s life. Three days ago I stood in almost that exact same hallway and took an entirely different contract, this one was to save the life of someone else.
“You must be the well mentioned Ixinane.”
It would be determined by most to have lain to rest hope by now but despite months and no news, I still wish you well and I will never stop writing. I find tonight lonely my dear teacher, though my house is as full as ever...
I thumbed through a book that had far to many bent pages. I had dog eared each one, seeing something of importance, but no such luck for my new task. I welcomed the distraction, though it would prove challenging indeed. I hadn’t tried to teach a warlock since Wraithlynn was still alive but she was a poor excuse for a warlock to begin with. Dante served a greater purpose in the accidental demise of her adopted sister, more then she knew and certainly more then she could remember. Her maze like mind had been ready to bury that atrocity with all the others she had suffered and I wasn’t one to dig it up.
Beyond me I could hear her moving about her quarters. She wasn’t the first dead I have had in my home but this was different somehow. She will have to wait, it wasn’t time. The neatly folded letter.. that I could take care of. It’s an odd thing when someone comes to me for help.
For the past month I was holed up in a tiny town in Minnesota with flimsy internet. It was outside the town on a little farm that I got married :)
I knew my husband 7 years as a friend and two years dating before we were married on April 9th, a not so warm day with 75 people from his family and 9 from mine :)
So this is our chosen path. Today the cold bites worse then anytime before, today the frozen world seems to howl with the task before us. I can feel them behind me both huddled in their cloaks as deeply as I did my own. Dante and Dane my loyal and dear household I could not leave them behind despite the monolith of dread erected like a frozen creature before us.
I must be out of my fel ridden mind. That’s it…finally official, I am completely insane.
Watching her was almost like watching some nightmare unfold. One you are not expecting and the kind that creeps around in a darkness you don’t see coming until it’s already smothered you. Subtle movements, subtle concentration she was figuring it out, not only her abilities but the world they worked in. She was growing up and faster then I hoped.
((Part of an on going larger story between the two, starting with Again. ))
"My lovely Lady Stormcren…."
What had he called us in the letters scattered about my desk, the dried rose he had given me set atop the folded writings? The God-touched man and the Demon- cursed lady, he was right.. what a pair we made.
((part of Tess' story Things, Lots! Time, None!))
"To describe a mother would be to write about a hurricane in its perfect power." - MA
It hung around my neck like fingered pressure below my throat, almost as cold as the north itself, but I wanted the reminder. It’s hexagonal shape was a silver center of grounding for me because once he had been just that. He saved my life, I have never forgotten it and I never will.
My darling Blackmarrow,
As always I hope to find you well in the frozen depths you stay where my fingers cannot reach you. I trust you serve your lady well. Though the blackening marks on the forsaken as of late have brought me to a pause. Was this great plague what you were grooming me for? Was I to be your hand of destruction? I trust you would answer me truthfully should you come back, and I trust you understand that this hand of yours has a mind of her own. I am not sure whether to take this idea that perhaps this is what your long term goal was as a compliment or an insult, but either way, take to heart my love I will never serve any as I had served you and this includes your lady.