Sometimes she felt like she was drowning.
Most of the time it was just drifting. She hid it well, at least she thought she did. It was easier to pretend like everything was fine when she was working, so she threw herself into it one hundred percent. That wasn’t hard. Being Doctor Vines assistant was almost a full time job, between people blowing off their fingers or needing reconstructive surgery or even just collecting rare alchemical reagents, there was always something that needed doing to keep her busy.
Love is weird. Really weird. It is such a paradoxical emotion. I do not even think it is an emotion, really. More like a state of being. Yes, a state of being that is both simple and complex, wonderful and terrible, humbling and empowering. So, yes, paradoxical. Whatever it is, it is weird, and it is a pain in the ass. But it is also a great deal of fun and makes life a lot more brilliant than it is without. Then again, maybe all that is dependant upon what inspires that state of being.
“What are you doing Luca…” he muttered under his breath, walking out from the small cabin in the rocky outcrops of Hillsbrad. His fingers moved through his hair as he scratched the back of his head, lips dry as he placed the cigar between them. “She’s a nut case…” he says again, lighting it and allowing the plumes of smoke to surround his head. One hand reached out idly, waving them away from the door.
My world had filtered down to somethin less than gold and red edged in a depth that promised oblivion.
Braedyn crouched easily on the marble roof of what had once been a bank. Twilight’s warm light was coloring the marble steps below her perch a deep purple, away from the original Quel’Thalas blue that they had once been. It seemed fitting to Braedyn, shifting in her leathers to get a better look, that blue and red made violet. She snorted silently as her lips pursed. The city of Blood would yet bleed over here into the ruins of her memories.
This whole section of the city was like one slowly decaying bruise. Years had passed, but there had been no serious time or resources available to devote to the rubbled ruins of western Silvermoon City. What would be the use? The city as it was now was nearly empty, too few to fill even the half of what the city once was.
Pandaria is indeed a mysterious place. The things we deny at home have faces here: hate, despair, doubt, fear. Here, we are - ready or not - tested. My Compassion leads to me pit my faith and magical skills alongside the Shado-Pan in their quest to contain these malevolent spirits.
It is so very dark here. My companion, a member of the Shado-Pan, and I, have made our way deep into these catacombs at the behest of the Black Ox to investigate the Ghastly Confines – the former prison of the Sha of Fear. Here and there, former Shadow-Pan guardians lie supine, frozen in death in rictus fear. We give them honor as we go, shutting their eyes and rolling them over. I can’t help but whisper prayers for them as well.
"Happy deathday, Maggot."
Her eyes went wide with wonder. She was excited.
Like a child on, well, their birthday.
The priestess slept on clean cotton blankets. Her pooled hair a golden ribbon of sunlight through the slanted windows. This place was unfamiliar and cold, preserved like a museum. She couldn't run forever, and eventually her body needed time to rest. It had been two days and the priestess hadn't stirred from her slumber.
It had arrived for me last night, settled carefully on the steps to my front door. How it managed to pass the wards without my knowledge, I hardly knew.
The rain created a soft serenade of sounds upon the rooftop from our cabin in Karasang Woods. It has lured Eleniel to slumber with its soft, unassuming presence. But I lay awake listening to the droplets fall one by one.
Life aboard the ship is different than expected. I half expected the crew to scowl, hiss and slur their words like in the books I've read. I don't know whether I am disappointed or impressed by this. Captain Robin's was right about one thing, there is a lot of respect between the crew and nobody is without something to do; Except for me.
Joyia tapped her pen against the paper on her desk, trying to figure out how exactly to write this letter to her sister. How to tell her that they should meet up without worrying her too much? She was smiling as she quickly penned a note to Rykka, making certain to tell her everything was well but she would like to meet for tea as she had some news. She quickly folded up the note and sealed the page with wax, setting it on the tray for one of the servants to deliver before standing. Nodding once to herself in satisfaction, she went on to the nursery to get Koray.
She chewed her lower lip lightly as she looked at the ring on her left hand. A gold and silver band perfectly intertwined with a simple solitary diamond that almost seemed to glow sat proudly there, embracing the slender digit. The band carefully engraved with tiny little runes along the band, each rune a different color. It was beautiful, it was simple.
Mix together one smart-ass girl, one angry Death Knight, one detective who couldn't keep control of his own body, and one strange little Forsaken with big purple wings. Bring to a boil, adding liberal splashes of overconfidence, posturing, and condescension with a dash of misconception. Let sit for a monologue or two, but don't worry if little creature-shapes that itch for a fight separate themselves from the whole, that's supposed to happen. Simmer for several hours after removing all the ingredients but the Death Knight, mixing in a bit of concerned dissent.
Prepare to duck the explosion.
The night was slightly chilly as Sierra walked across the ways, the forge was nothing like what she had at home, but it would have to do. She smiled faintly at the smell greeting her, bubbling metals, sweat, the heat was as welcoming as a mother's embrace. Her skin tingled at the change in temper as she crossed the threshold. The latest shipment of metals had finally arrived, Trillium from Pandaria - though the metal was rather foreign to her, it was easy to fashion into what she needed. A small smile spread across her lips as she put the first batch into the smelter, her eyes face glowing orange in the light of the molten liquid.
What a bloody fucking night.
The persistent clink of her spoon against the inside of her china cup is like a portal into the past. Once again, I feel small, and insignificant – the delicate flower of a noblegirl who couldn't hold up to her aunt's standards.
Then its over, and I'm a grown woman – a noblewoman who has been through hell and high water, pregnant with a child she doesn't desire, yet feels compelled to save out of a mis-guided love for the piece of her father that will live on in her. My daughter will be everything that we were not – that we could not be.
“Did you hear, Lilliana?”
Perched across from me, swathed in head-to-toe fuschia and a generous, cloying application of what I’m told is SUCCESS!™ perfume, the be-ponytailed Goblin woman fidgets with her gem-encrusted eyewear. I can’t see her eyes through the hot pink shades, but I can tell by the all-too-toothy grin she flashes that she’s eager to get started.
“Your not the woman I loved anymore,”
The Dawnfire Estate,
Many years ago...
Qorra pushed open the door to her little basement lair, built within the ruins of an old manor of Lordaeron sitting above the Banshee Queen's City below. The room was alit in a soft green glow of various liquids bubbling in flasks. Several thuds followed a moment later as the dead Kor’kron was dragged down the cellar stairs by her large pet spider, Liz.
The forsaken woman glanced at the corpse before stepping up the cellar stairs and closing the double doors, latching them from the inside before proceeding back down and closing the second door behind herself.
She seemed to glance around as if ensuring nobody was around before slowly walking over towards the dead Kor’kron, starting to sing rather softly. Her voice was somewhat raspy but the notes were spot on with a slow gentle melody as she sung an almost forgotten song by this point.
This is how it was in the beginning. In the twilight of my youth I felt a surge of great loneliness, just like this one. I met a man who told me I was beautiful, unique and rare. That I was cunning, sly, brilliant and the stars sung my praises. I grew soft and weak and compliacent in the shadow of that love. I craved it like no other, until it was betrayed. The cycle since then has been endless and twisting. Destined, we were destined. It probably wasn't healthy or normal but it was all I knew. His name was Blue.
Fun. Exhilarating. Risky.
The Darkspear Rebellion’s operations in the Barrens feel different for me.
It feels nostalgic.
Like all those days on the Whitedawn estate harassing garden tenders.
Like it used to be, the reward seemingly almost as great. Bucking their authority.
No Faye, but no matter.
My sword is my companion now.
No relationship is without its differences, and Iloam and I have had many arguments. Often our disagreements are born from simple misunderstandings; at other times, he or I have crossed a line or disrespected each other in a way that is simply unacceptable. I have been just as much at fault from time to time as Iloam, even with his difficulty connecting and empathizing with the emotions others experience. Nevertheless, no matter what we’ve fought about or who is at fault, I do not question his love for me, and I have tried, through the past almost four years, to impress upon him that I will love him no matter how angry or hurt I am. I think I’ve finally gotten that point across to him. Maybe.
Leather-clad, hair tightly tucked.
Nightingale crept in shadows
towards Kor'kron encampment.
Well I was really anxious about my impending marriage and the ongoing war against Hellscream.
Anxious doesn’t begin to cover it, really. I went through the full stages of grief in regards to Iloam’s brilliant plan to “take care of my future.” I am sure when this is all over, I’ll go back to that, but for now, there are more pressing issues on my mind. And to think, Sunday night started out so well.
Violence is so much like a storm, twisting upwards and rolling into the air mixing with all the other violence until it breeds something that never stops. Escalation put to the music of so much suffering. Smoke adds its flavor and a fire’s heat only curls in unison, as a perfect mate.
Tonight is ablaze with every music note I want heard.
I hate Northrend; more specifically I really hate Icecrown.