I hope things are going well back at the estates, that my lovely boy is behaving himself, and that you and the rest of my people are safe. Things have gotten out of control here and the cries for vengeance are overwhelming. Even Lady Proudmoore has left behind her pursuit of peace.
A storm is brewing.
Too many hints and whispers over that damned box to deny the rumours.
Another year ends. A year where I am my own woman and yet trapped by tradition and family. I suppose there are many things to be grateful for at the end of this year. Many things that have happened, many changes. Both in the world and in my own life.
Elemental lords are destroyed, or kidnapped. And Neltharion – no, Deathwing, is no more. The time of the dragons is over. It is time for mere mortals to take charge and look after and protect Azeroth. What a charge for us all to have. I wonder if we will be able to live up to it. Though with people like Wrynn and Hellscream in command, I worry that we will fail miserably. I wonder if Urien will be up to the challenge when he grows up.
Not again. I can't go through this again.
There is too much to do. I have done my duty to my line, and I have my heir. So why do I feel so incomplete? I have locked away that piece of my heart that loves the Tiger... no, the Wolf Cub, as he is now known as. He will never look at me the way he looks at his precious jailor. Ever. Ignoring, or even forgetting all he ever showed me, all we shared. I must forget the feelings I have for him.
And what of the Fox? Will I forget him too? I must. He has walked away from me, likely blinded by his devotion to his flame-haired mistress, not to mention the loyalty he seems to hold for the one named Lion by some, and Wolf by others. I am a fool, to think that I could deal with him, that I could even share a tiny piece of him.
The Ametia heir has come. My love, my child, my life.
Born with a Priestess of Elune nearby and brought into the world, under Her blessing.
It was finished.
The tall sculpture rests on the table before her: several birds of carved gemstones in a barren tree made of obsidium wires twisted and tangled up around each other to make the illusion of bark.
Yet within the chaos, there was order as well. Just like her thoughts.
The Lady of the Land paced the borders of her property, and estate that had been abandoned to war and plague. She still believes that with enough time and love, the fields would grow again. She knelt down and sliced her finger open, offering the blood to the earth, reaffirming her bonds.
Now though... now her lands are wracked with tremors, elemental rifts and cultists and her bond to the earth is holding her captive, in pain, as the earth is in pain. People swarm around her, their voices a meaningless babble to her ears as she shudders in time with the rocking land.
((I figured I'd give this a try, only three to start with, but I'm interested in writing something for the entire list.))
She still remembers her first taste of the dark liquid. Bitter and energizing. Rich and decadent, mixed with chocolate. A smooth treat that would haunt her memories as she studied the rituals and nuances of demonology and fel in the murky depths of a Stormwind pub; a front for darkness.
The morning light filters through the windows of Mairead's Dalaran apartment, revealing a suddenly-pale young woman gaping in shock at the letter in her hands. One slender hand rests just above her left breast, covering the black rune tattoo that Ulric had given her; that night when they had undergone his ritual, a ceremony to bind them together forever.
“Tamed.” That is what he called himself.
Even under the shattered eyes of the fox there is still a bite, a fire.
To offer friendship is perhaps dangerous, but the Lioness knows how to handle barely-tamed creatures.
Offer hope to the hopeless, oh Lioness. Offer hope that the tamed spirit can be released again.
Next time, if I get tainted by a demon, I am NOT letting myself get tossed into a raw mana stream. The end results are too chaotic for me.
Mairead grimaces as she works on a new gem carving, the light in her work room catching on her raven hair. The silver streaks some mana-high mage had placed there as a thank you for allowing her to tap some of the raw mana that had been coursing through the warlock's body now faded, thank Elune.
I doubt Iloam will tell me what in the Hells happened during that 'party', but I will have to ask anyway. Perhaps when I next see him.
There are those who would say I am playing with fire.
Why shouldn't I?
I cannot have the one I love, why shouldn't I have some fun?
So, one is an elf and the other is one who served grandfather.
Let me be burned.
I have little else to live for.
Let the games begin.
Mairead enters her small apartment in Dalaran and locks the door behind her. Her green eyes focus on the bare floor where she had sketched out a summoning circle earlier in the day. Her voice raises up in a soft song as she moves towards the nearby table, her hand brushing against the overstuffed pouch at her side.
Mairead approaches the dock at Auberdine, the envelope clenched between tense fingers.
It is over and done. We will go our separate paths. Oh, Elune, why did you show me this path? Why did I walk this path?
She pays her fare for the trip to Stormwind, requesting a private cabin, where she curls up on the bunk, her green eyes dry.
Yes, you loved him, and you love him still, but that is not enough anymore. It has not been enough for months. We both know the truth.
The trees whisper in soft welcome to the warlock as she approaches her camp overlooking Lake Mystral. Her entire body screams of defeat and weariness as she clambers up to the wide branch which hangs out over the waters.
Conceal your scent. Be where he least expects you. Seek for the one who knows him best.
Keep moving. Do not camp in the same place.
Mairead sits before the small campfire, the forest of Ashenvale silent around her, clad only in a simple white and black blouse and dark pants, a large purple and black bruise visible through the thin fabric of her shirt, covering her left shoulder and down her side and back. The light of the campfire glints off of the delicate figurines she had created while spending time with Tamlin.
How did it come to this? Summoner I may be, but how is it possible that I am able to see the Dream when guided by Tamlin?
The noblewoman strode into the Hall of Records and smiled at the guards before moving to the clerk’s desk. Her usual white and black robes absent, in their place, a rich green dress, the luxuriant fabric swirling about her body, her back straight, every inch the Lordaeron noble. The aged human glanced up with disdain. “Yes?”
The lady inclined her head slightly, holding out a scroll. “I am the Lady Ametia, last living descendant of House Ametia of Lordaeron. These are the records of my line, if you wish to verify them.”
The clerk took the parchment, unrolling it and giving it a cursory glance. “I am the clerk of the royal herald, what is it you want, Lady Ametia?” The functionary rolled the parchment back into a neat scroll and handed it back, satisfied with the seals upon it.
The sound of unearthly howling snapped Mairead from her reverie. Eyes now dry, she looked around the abandoned and desolate house that she once called home. Why had she returned? Oh yes, the hunt. The hunt for Stephan, who now is the captive of her uncle, the warlock-turned-necromancer.
Mairead sat at her desk, staring at the unfinished letter before her. How was she to continue? She had made her promise, and now she was struggling to find the strength of will to leave, to accomplish what she had to do.
Sitting back, she let her mind drift to the last time she had spoken with her grandfather, coming upon him in his townhouse in Stormwind. She enjoyed being able to discuss things with ther grandfather, and today she was seeking to speak to him of their family.
Mairead stared blankly at the walls of the inn, a flagon of mead sitting in front of her. Speaking with her grandfather had given her a sense of calm that she had not felt since before she had hunted down the family of her birth, for both revenge and mercy.