((First blog I've done in a while, I may be a bit rusty. I think I may really get back into things now, and Stell's blog seemed like a nice way to get into a story.))
One thing that I like about Elwynn, it has a lot of waterfalls. And rivers, those are nice too. Very nice places to meditate. The soft noise was a nice stimuli to help me begin meditating. It starts with a subtle relaxation of my muscles, which would normally mean one is about to fall asleep. That was the key aspect of going into the Emerald Dream, sending the body to sleep while keeping the conciousness from going with it. As time goes on, it begins to feel like a heavy blanket settles over my body, then it feels like I begin to lose the ability to feel. But even I'm not perfect at meditation, yet. My mind begins to wander, then I begin to see things in my minds eye, fantasies, hopes, dreams...memories.
The room sways between madhouse and manor. The delicate filigree of violet and grass green swirls along a border of dusty beige curtains. The color of disuse, coupled with disinterest holds no mirror up to the couple that sleep opposite on the dirty rug of the Tranquillen home. A picture window that was opened by a careless fist one night is the culprit for the air that was perfumed in salt and despair.
Nibzy wrapped her stubby yellow-green hand around her very last bottle of Limited Edition Banana Kaja'Cola left in the fridge. She’d been saving it since the unfortunate happenstance at Kezan, may it rest in pieces. Hesitating another moment, she finally yanked it unceremoniously out and slammed the door shut.
It had been a disappointing past couple of months. After a making a grand entrance into the GobEx delivery empire with her unique magical delivery skills, and then a big splash with handing out those ingenious rabbit’s feet with GOBEX stamped on them for good luck at the Song…things had really died down for ole Nibs. She’d not gotten any commissions or jobs in a while, and Tabs and Jun seemed to be really buddy buddy. She really had to come up with something to stand out! Hmm...
((I'd like to start by saying that this plot will be the most awesome if other people pick it up and run with it. If my tiny mage is the only one picking up on these supposedly Big World Happenings, it...won't be very believable. But it could get totally epic if more people get involved, both H-side and A-side. So that's why I labelled this "cross-faction". Comment or message me if you're interested -- or, you know, just start doing stuff, but please let me know if you are so I'm not totally oblivious!! :-) ))
"What must be done." And so Stell heard what her elemental had been trying to say all along. This wasn't really repayment. This was another favor. A solution to a problem that she would never, herself, be able to implement. It was so simple, really, if awful. "I...I grant my permission," she murmured, and closed her eyes, as if that could hide her.
[We are grateful,] the elemental said, and the liquid surface of its body began to ripple. [Truly. And I have one more gift to give.]
[You will remember nothing.]
The sight of blood never troubled me before today
He cleans up nicely,
it's a big improvement from last Confession.
Ovorion Goldendawn paced back and forth in the sunroom of his son’s chambers. The breeze gently brushed past the glass chimes that hung from the open doorway onto the balcony and the quiet tinkling of the chimes filled the space as the warm, afternoon light reflected off of the gold and jewels of Ovorion’s chain of status. He cleared his throat noncommittally and his son hastily stepped out of his room, the boy’s valet chased after him with a clothes brush held as if it were a lifeline. Ovorion waved a single hand and the poor valet bowed and murmured a simple “My lord,” before hurrying out of the Vicomte’s presence.
Rhaen grinned at his father as he made some adjustments to the finery that mirrored his father’s in silver, ruining the poor Valet’s handy work in a single motion. He made a particular point of taking off his ornately worked circlet and repositioning it before commenting offhandedly, “Father, I fail to see why you force me to go to these soirées. The King will not even be there even if they are his gardens. You know I could care less for picnics and teas overburdened with so much decorum you cannot even enjoy them.”
The carpet is soft, and plush between my toes. My dress is stiff, and constricting.
Even six months pregnant, my aunt manages to try and make me into something "presentable," despite how I've "shamed" our family with this Sunfury bastard in my belly.
Me, though? I glare at the woman in the rows of mirrors along the walls. What about her?
Each drop slides into the grooves carved along my horns, tracing the intricate silvered runes etched therein. I tilt my head back to revel in the warm summer rain, and laugh. Only...I hear nothing. I'm outside, looking in: watching her laugh, and twirl in the rain.
I'm back, laughing soundlessly. Perhaps I've gone deaf.
This doesn't taste like rain. This is wrong. Water won't answer my call.
A few months passed after Mickah first taught me how to cast frost magic. I came over to his personal library, thinking that today's training will be the same old thing-which was casting frost bolts, making ice, frost novas and making ice fall from a few feet above me at a location I mentally pick. After I learned to cast a frostbolt, the rest of the schools of frost came easily.
"Today, I will be teaching you to make fire." I got so excited that I felt like I was bouncing off walls even though I actually wasn't. Mickah told me the first step of casting fire would be to look at the area around my hands or at the target I wanted to set on fire.
"Concentrate on the particles around your hand...imagine trying to speed the particles up and imagine fire and heat coming out of that reaction." I nodded and gave it the best I got. The first few times I tried to do it did nothing, and some how managed to make ice but not fire the third or fourth time around.
I am not broken. I am not beaten.
Ranharr was not alone. He stood amongst a handful of weary souls, all victims of the pressgang that had dragged him to the docks that night. Chained together, they took slow and reluctant steps along the deck. A handful appeared to have been recruited this way before. Men, goblins, an ogre, and Ranharr. His coarse, black fur rustled under the caressing touch of the sea breeze. There was something calming about it that removed his mind from his current conditions.
Dun Morogh’s snow was blinding while the cold air stole breath after the warm embrace of Ironforge’s interior. Arkav shivered and drew his cloak closer as he strode up the narrow mountain path.
He eventually had to grasp at the rock wall, pulling himself higher, the air thin and sharp. His limbs burned, and snow packed into the base of his hooves. The view at the top was worth the effort as the draenei looked over the frosted landscape, his breath puffing before him rapidly.
Arkav settled into a meditative position, his cloak protecting him from the snow. He took the time to clear the bottom of his hooves; he’d never achieve balance with hard-packed gunk in them.
"What's it like to fly in a spaceship?"
This place thrums with the energy of infinite potential. Even in quiet, the place vibrates with a soft resonance. A pulse that all who enter can feel if they listen hard enough. Strands of melodies flitter through the air like butterflies. A jangled dissonance for a moment before the threads intertwine in demonic harmonies. Then, like a breath, all is gone to only memory. In this velvet-lined place true stars are born.
“Once upon a time, there was a woman who lived in a small glade surrounded by a ring of thornbush.
Tonight will be my final test. I think that I should be able to pass it, but there's always a small chance I won't. Alot of people will be watching me and they would see every single little mistake I do. There were 3 judges that would be watching the fight with me and Taran Zhu. I've been drinking alot the past few days to calm myself down. And I couldn't focus on the test these past 2 weeks because of what I learned about the other worgen soul inside of me, Lunofsky's worgen I believe. I learned that the other worgen has to eat other worgen souls or else it will kill and consume me.
A sharp crack came from the centaurs skull as Olathe brought her mace down upon its head. Without missing a beat, she spun the mace around to smash into the side of another centaur.
“They just keep coming!” she hollered, pushing another group of screaming centaurs into the bonfire in the center of the camp.
Honaw had just finished strangling two centaurs, “What’s the matter, Olathe?” he called back with a grin, “Afraid you might not handle them?”
“Handle them? I’m afraid we’ll run out!” she laughed, body slamming another centaur into a rock and pressing especially hard to hear bones crack.
CHAPTER 3: Intrusion
The SI:7 agent stepped cautiously on the floor, knowing that any foreign sound would probably set off an alarm. But it wasn't such a task for Litao, as subtly was his methods of working. He continued following the lackey that would lead him directly to where this twisted man he has heard about. The more he followed this man, the closer he got to his destination. But also, he got closer to the sounds of torture and pain echoing acrossing the halls. They were faint only minutes ago, but now he was so close, he could even hear the breathing.
The lackey stopped before a set of guards leading to what happen to be the entrance to the source of all the painful screaming. Litao leaned his body into the shadows and listened in, jotting notes in his leather-bound book as he surveyed.
She made sure every belt and buckle of her uniform was fixed straight and proper before she ever stepped outside. The wind greeted her, a cold slap to her reddened cheeks, where freckles hid under a remaining flush, still bright and apparent. She couldn’t do anything about it, and not much more about the tangle of hair at the back of her head, an amber mess which defined poker-straight any other time but now. A gloved hand wouldn’t do much to smooth it, so she pulled her fingers through it only once before walking away into the internment camp compound. Eyes turned to her, as they always did; she walked through the gazes until they drifted away.
So you want to hear a story?
I know exactly where I went wrong.
One year. 4 months. 6 days. 9 hours. 51 minutes ago.
When I sat in th' middle of the Farstriders’ retreat, my father’s long-forgotten bow across my lap, and looked up to see him starin’ at me, jaw almost to the floor in disbelief.
Then he turned tail and ran like a startled rabbit who just missed the brush of a hawk’s talon and hoped to make it to the underbrush.
I had no idea that my next decision would set me off, wrong-footed, on a path I wasn’t ever meant to tread.
Thicker than thought,
Wings replaced words-
That jagged form steady against the dream it would build.
His joints clicked and popped as he slammed his fist against the target dummy, the thud resonated through the empty ranger training square, and kicking the wooden dummy he launches himself into a back flip as two daggers sailed through the air slamming into the head and chest of the dummy.
Landing silently his breathing hard Luca narrowed his gaze drawing his blade, charging forward his felt the familiar sense of ease as shadows surrounded him, and within a moment he was behind the target slashing up and around. “Shoulder to shoulder.” He thought slamming his fist between the shoulder blades of the figure he imagined in the place of the dummy. “Knock their air from their lungs.”
I remember when the forsaken first came to Gilneas...I was still learning more about my new form and what I was now able to do. When I turned into a worgen, I had to teach myself everything over again. I learned to rely on my hearing and sense of smell in addition to sight. The forsaken were pretty easy to smell though, that was a good thing and a bad thing--they smell pretty bad, or at least some did.
( Part one of this blog can be found here. Thanks again to Lilthessa's player for the proofread. http://www.rp-haven.com/blog/teslaan/new_hearthglen_campaign_noble )
Eight days after Angrathar
Twenty Sixth Day of the Sixth Month (Estimated) after the breach of the Black Citadel
I touched a star today.
Even now, as I write this, I do so with the light of a million stars assembled in a glorious constellation. It is artificial, made of lights and impressive phantasms of my mind, but I cannot help it as my eyes wander towards their beauty. For many days, I have gone without light and my supplies now dwindle into portions that I cannot survive upon. My body will begin to wither and I will fall from exhaustion. I do not know why I write these words upon this script. I know it will not bring me food, nor water, nor shelter. I have questioned myself why I have done many things of my life, if it is all an inevitable struggle towards the same darkness we all seem predisposed upon.
Waiting was, easily, the worst part of any incoming punishment. Waiting in a room that had no defining features, save for worn bloodstains that had seeped into the porous stone floor and a simple, carved stone post set into the center of said room was infinitely worse. Castien’s stomach rolled as he tested the chains that bound his hands to the top of the small alabaster column with a sharp flick of his wrists. They held, and his heart sank. This room had been hidden, Castien hadn’t known about it until he was unceremoniously shoved into it by the small, female guardian of his temporary captor. A brown, boring silk scarf covered her hair and everything below her enigmatic fel-green eyes. Every now and again an unruly wisp of curly, crimson hair fell out and graced her pale forehead before she effortlessly tucked it back away with unassumingly plain and unadorned hands. She’d watched impassively as a manservant clamped the heavy manacles around his wrists.