Lieutenant Imbrey Daybreak stopped at the oiled mahogany door and looked at the newly engraved nameplate which read, “Lt. Imbrey Daybreak, Aide.” She inserted the key in the lock and pushed the door open. A plush office chair sat next to an empty – no. Not empty. Imbrey walked into the room and activated the lights and they flared into brilliance. The desk was piled high with paper. Stacks and stacks of it.
She crossed over to the desk and glanced at the papers. Reports. Letters. Unopened and addressed to the Convocate-General.
Minnarra had said “don’t let work take over your life,” didn’t she?
Imbrey plopped down in her chair and smiled. She was back. Promoted to Lieutenant and back in the military where she belonged.
Funny. So much had changed in three years. She definitely wouldn’t have imagined she’d have been here, so far removed from her silks and jewels and social events.
But she also never thought she’d be dead.
Mause breathed heavily, blood dripping down his furry muzzle. He fell back onto his rear, the soft grass of Nagrad cushioning his fall. Blood drenched his claws, axe, face, and painted the clearing he now sat in. The bodies of orgres strewn about, with giblets and other delicious insides trailing near them and mangled limbs were thrown about this horrible scene of what could have been a cheesy horror movie. It was almost unreal, the amount of complete destruction to the bodies and the area itself, dieases still lingered on the faces of the dead, and bugs festered in the earth below. Limbs were strewn across the once green grass messily, and still twitched slightly with dying nerves. The awful stench of death was heavy and thick, yet Mause did not care. He loved it; though he wished he did not. Nothing sickened Mause more than his own horrible need for bloodshed.
The inky darkness I tread through is palpable - but I don't fear it
It is familiar, it is home. It laps at my fingertips - presses against my back, like a reassuring hand.
Suddenly, she shook violently. I gasped for air when I felt the random touch on my arm. Lith was struggling even further to that one thing I could not yet realize. I rose to my feet and replaced my arm for the stuffed animal I gave her. Gods, she loves to hug that thing. Tresses of my hair flowed down my chest as I urged to find a rag to wipe her sweat; for she was soaked in her agony. It felt as if I had opened thousands of drawers in my search.
Her movements made my sleep a torture. I simply couldn't take her constant pushing and rolling; but, how could I be mad at her? My feet met the carpet over the stone floor. Within the penumbra, the only light was the one of the almost completely burnt out candle on the night stand. I finally stood up and wiped my face, for I was soaked with sweat that night. Then, I came to check on my love. She was struggling with something, clearly not escape from the constricting sheets that she seemed to so tightly grasp within her hands. Lith rolled around the bed, urgently, while her chest rose and fell without stop. I acted instantly, stripping her from the sheets of the bed just to find her whole markings that once were black now were shimmering with violet. I had thought she might be asphyxiating, but this was apparently not the problem.
My master had left me continue my focus training in the abandoned barracks near the Stormwind docks, I usually come here to sleep but the old paladin thinks that its a suitible place to practice channeling my energies. Lately my master has been bothered by something ive tried to ask him what it is but he just smiles and tells me that its nothing to do with me which may be true but something tells me it has everything to do with me. *breaths heavily* "Alright... thats enough for today I think..." I mustve pushed myself to hard today cant even lift my sword that well. I open my eyes and see the ruined barracks with all its holes and empty halls and chairs its quite peaceful compared to the ignorant people who insult and condemn me outside of it. I still dont understand why these people cant accept that im different now...
The old man observed the night elf as she sat with her eyes closed sword on her lap and summoning all her power causing a tremor of dark energies to gathered around her. The old man was a pale gray bearded paladin with scars that were covering his entire body, Although old his body looked to be very strong. He breathed deeply and then said "This power you optained, do not ever believe that you have full control... for if you allow it to overpower your being it will swallow you." The man and women were in the training grounds in old town in stormwind it was very crowded but everyone was to to focused on there practices to pay mind to them. The night elf open one eye and asked "Tell me...why are you helping me?" her voice was very calm and the man answered her with a tone that sounded sad "Lets just say... that ive travelled down this road before." The night elf closes her one eye and continues to focus again.
It was dark. Dark. Dark. Always dark.
Since she had known it for so long, the inky blackness didn't scare her. Assuming she even knew what it was to be scared. She didn't know how long she'd been in this place. She didn't care. She didn't even know if she was a "she."
She just "was."
Things crawled on her. She grabbed them up and put them in her mouth. Just because.
So she wasn't surprised, even if she could have been, when a voice entered her mind.
Dig, it commanded. So she did.
She found her ghoul claws useful for digging in the soft dirt. She dug, and dug, until the chain around her neck restricted her from moving, and then she stopped.
Break it, the voice commanded. She tugged at the thick chain. Nothing happened. She uttered a questioning, "Mmmrrrgggh?" her tongue vibrating with the effort.
A warm wind blew over the grassy hills of the Hinterlands, carrying with it the sweet scent of flowers and nectar, along with the scents of the bonfires celebrating the Fire Festival. The rustling of the trees and grass drowned out the sounds of far away work and celebrations carried out at Aerie Peak, seat of power for the Wildhammer clan. Among these trees, only two figures could be seen for miles.
It's holding me, morphing me
And forcing me to strive
To be endlessly cold within
And dreaming I'm alive
Zatharia licked her ebon lips. How utterly delicious, yet at the same time completely unsatisfying.
Zatharia breathed in deeply. The joy, the pure ecstacy. Trapped for so long, her soul and her body severed from each other, her body discarded in the north by the Scourge when her King and Jailor was killed.
Now, it was time to have her fun.
The swirling gale drove the falling snow into a nigh-impentrable wall of white, erasing any trace of hoof-prints mere seconds after they were behind her. The Vindicator's hair whipped against her cold-numbed face and icicle-covered pauldrons. She smiled, even as the wind threatened to tear the Me'dun Menis - the strips of cloth with the Naruu's Benedictions written on them - clean off her armor. At least she wasn't in danger of being lulled to sleep.
The workshop and impromptu prison had grown dark. Zahur crouched watchful in front of the stairs. His ears flicked at the sounds of the Keep as the echoes reflected off the stone.
Lift this blade in my name, kill all those weaklings here! Obey me, slave! Zahur’s eyes narrowed. You are nothing more than a weapon, created with one purpose, to cause death! Worthless, broken thing, how dare you defy me!
He twisted his head slightly, the handle of his blade resting next to him on the ground, within easy reach. Are you too weak yourself, then? You spared that little green thing’s life, when it stood against you! Zahur remembered lifting the blade over the goblin, ready to strike. He had been confused by the strange lack of fear in her eyes.
The heavy door was pounded with the obvious beat of a frantic person. The guard unlocked the entrance and opened it enough for the man to speak his message. "Worgen! They have overrun the village, Lord Halister must be warned!" The man was allowed in and a servant desperately tried to dry him and remove the blood splattered across his furs.
The heavy door was struck several times by a large claw before it was opened and the Worgen in light armor entered. Halister turned from his dinner of boar and nodded to the Worgen as an invitation to speak. "Scourge fiends, attacking the dens." Halister rose, knocking over the table of the raw meat. "Then let them come, they will know the claw soon enough."
The Vindicator scowled from under her helmet, past the grating. Cheers erupted as the clashing of metal and flashes of magic became more intense. Finally a deafening roar echoed in her ears as the sounds of the battle subsided.
A plated palm tapped her shoulder. "We're up next, babe. Get your game face on."
Her scowl deepened as she looked back at the armored human and the Sister-Farseer behind her. "Tell me again how you convinced me to do thi-." Her words were cut off as the gates flew open in front of them, the human's hand pushing the Vindicator out into the arena.
"Go, babe. Don't want to linger!"
He was not the man she remembered.
She did not remember much of him, of those brief days and nights they had spent together. A smile, a laugh, the warmth of his hands and the strength of his arms. He was lucky--no, blessed, he said. Blessed to have her, favored by the Gods. He had promised to see her again soon, before he was called away and the Keep fell.
Now he was cold, and scarred, and scared. The cold she did not mind so much. It was pleasant here, in the oppressive spring heat of Silverpine, and when they traveled to other, warmer, places. She could lie against him and imagine herself at home. Of course, wherever he was truly was home now.
I come for you.
I bleed, knowing that each drop is in your name.
I will chase you in this choking, binding smoke. Through the dark, no matter how deep I must push.
I felt you break away from me...
For the second time.
So tired, my Ku’kul, she fell asleep in my embrace, curled up tight against me. Weary from the fighting, she rested beside me, her warmth against my cool touch. I found my name, I found my purpose. Now I watch to protect. To kill the enemies of this Horde we now live amongst.
They learn to fight together, this shield. We have a home now, together, my Ku’kul and I. She shows them thought, and teaches them to plan and prepare. I show them ferocity, and teach them to do what must be done.
Where am I?
It was like being thrown into choking, icy waters. The breath left his lungs; abandoned, and forlorn. Slowly, the darkness filled the twin pools of crystal that were his eyes. Nothing but blackness. Emptiness.
Darkness - The absence of light; blackness; obscurity; gloom.
Coughing, sputtering, and groping. His arms searched for his torso. If only he could find his chest; his heart. Why couldn't he feel it? It was within his reach! Even through shut eyes, one should be able to locate their own chest!
That was it.
The puppet’s strings were cut; it dropped to the ground, limp and lifeless. A wave of memories slammed into it. The body stiffened, a bellowing roar emerging as its muscles clenched and limbs beat on the ground. The drone—he! I am he!—lifted himself up off the cold, hard ground. He looked around, lost. His master—master? No, monster!—was silent; the clear, cold voice that had pierced the suffocating torpor no longer there.
He—name! Where is my name?—turned, looking around at the blackened plains, bubbles of vivid yellow coloring the wasted ground. There were others, his fellow slaves—They kill my friends, brothers, people! They must—“Die!” He screamed, lifting the blade in his hand, swinging it viciously at the nearest body. The limp ghoul twitched, the force of the blows ripping pieces of bone and flesh.
The downpour created a gray haze that denied vision past a few yards. The rotted and dead ground quickly became soaked as the two parties stood across from each other. The banner of the Argent Crusade was held upon a long polearm of some mounted paladin, white armor seeming to light the area around the force of thirty Crusaders. They stood at the entrance of a valley leading to ziggurats that powered the Scourge forces in the Plaguelands.
Crouching over the rocky outcropping, Elriech let his long tattered cloak catch the breeze, pushing hair out of his face, he took another swig from a deep auburn bottle, the vile liquid burning his throat. Coughing once, he shivered under his plate armor, letting the drink seep into his veins like the Forsaken madness seeped into the forest around him. He watched, sitting high upon the mountain, behind the High Command post in Silverpine. It was unlike him to step away from his duties, but the Queen angered him, like the rest of his people, hatred fueled the Knight.
Within the quiet shadows, stood the man, watching a trembling and huddled form as it moaned next to a fire. Thick sandalwood smoke filled the air, the inscent almost stomach curdling, but he was used to it. Unadorned of plate armor and weapons, he stood bare chested in long black slacks, arms crossed, glowing gaze carefully studying. Elriech had visited the Priestess almost every day, but recent events left him troubled and the Knight couldn't bare seeing another of his companions suffer, so he avoided her.
The pair had just left Wailing Caverns, hunting for Raptors. Tied to the saddle of the large Acherus Deathcharger, were two such specimens, black scaled and blank stares. The creatures had a measure of intelligence in them, but it wasn't as if they hadn't killed living beings before. The young hunter on the other hand, had a difficult time sending his pet to distract the beasts. It took all Elriech's effort not to snatch the gun from the man and shoot at them himself.
“You did fine, Dezrek.” clawed fingers deftly tied securing knots, keeping the carcasses still. “A true aim, though your wolf could do better.”
The RP-GG hit the wall, knocking the bricks over in a large explosion. Kloreen, of course, clapped so excitedly that she was wiggling about on Lathaire's shoulder. "Such great quality! Only the best from my stock, of course." The Orc set the stick that once held the rocket down and examined the hole in the wall before nodding. "We'll take them, enough for our offensive on Wintergrasp."
"Sooo." The Goblin tapped her fingers against the Tauren's horn as she did some quick math. "I'll sell you two hundred for two gold each, how does that sound?" The Orc turned, he wore the armor of a Horde officer and from the amount of money he had at his disposal, a higher ranking one too. "Yes, that will aid our attack."
"When is your offensive?"
"In a day's time."
"I can get you some nice catapults by then, about ten. It'll give you a huge advantage!"
"...Fine, how much?"
Limited Time Offer!
Ever worry you were being targetted by some mad bomber?
Are you afraid your life is on the line and nobody can be trusted?
The "heroes" of Azeroth smashed through the thick wooden doorway in the Vyrkul keep. A Troll in chain mail was just finishing off a guard with his large staff as the armored Orc, Sin'dorei in battle robes, leather-clad Forsaken, and a Tauren in armor that resembled the Earthmother's gifts, glared at the four Vyrkul fodder, Prince Keleseth and Lathaire. Immediately the Vyrkul attempted to slay the so-called "heroes", of course they failed. The group of "heroes" took no second thought as they charged forward, aiming to slay the Prince. Lathaire stepped between the charging Orc and the Prince. The Orc gave a gasp of shock as Lathaire quickly avoided the heavy hammer, grabbing the handle with the warrior's hand. There was a shout of pain as the Orc's hand was crushed under the Death Knight's grip. In despairation the green-skinned "hero" swung his shield, bouncing it off the thick saronite plate.
My strength trickles back. The process is so painfully slow, but now that my thirst has been slaked... it is not so hard.