friends

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.

His knees and hands hit the snow at the same time, the vomit quickly following. Blue drops of blood dripped from a deep gash on his cheek. The stench of the Nerubian bodies rose with the swiftly dissipating steam of combat. Sweat under his armor chilled Arkav’s heaving body, his heart pounding in his ears.

Tavrilla helped him stagger back to his hooves, her hands glowing as she healed the worst of his wounds. She also offered him a canteen. He swished some icy water in his mouth and spat it out before taking a real drink.

Sergeant Hicks shook his head at the young draenei. “Thought you said you fought before, boy?”

Arkav returned the canteen to Tavrilla and glowered at the middle-aged human. “Ogres. Some orcs. Nothing like...this.”

Most of Neltharian's remains were upstairs.

It took a few minutes to convince Palomia to let me take his skull from her fingers

She was a mess

Laying on the floor holding the last physical remains of him.

For days it appeared.

She hadn't eaten

My friend

Breaks my heart to see you like this.

(Teufelia doesn't believe in tissues...so suffer, she's got none to hand out.)

I woke to find the morning's streaming light coming sideways through the silken tapestries hanging from the windows at the Inn in Dawn's Blossom. The light had bounced off the mechanical chair Del had made which was off to the side of the bed.  Golden rays somehow managed to aim themselves right for my eyes, which is what had woken me up so early. My love still slept sweetly next to me, silver tresses loose in a curtain of moonlight. He hadn't heard me shift slowly to place a kiss upon his brow and lips before I carefully placed two socked feet on the wooden floorboards.  Just this simple movement left me breathless.

"I've got the answer to all your problems, babydoll!"

Gwen grasps the corners of her work table tightly and cringes in anticipation as Lomzy's high pitched voice announces her uninvited visit. The well dressed goblin walks in brisquely with several cask-laden hobgoblins in tow.

"Put 'em all down over there by the machine of infinite happiness," she points over at a complex and decidely unhappy looking device.

"I told you not to call it that," Gwen growls.

How do I convince a Noble family?

About the last thing I was expecting to hear after we got to Nidhoggr was Kharris’ voice on the comm asking what the heck was going one. Afraid I almost blew her ears off, I squealed so loud. Of course, no one had bothered to tell me she was back - just like they hadn’t bothered to tell me she was missing and that’s part of what started this whole mess. Almost made a fool of myself when she said she would come to visit, I was so happy to hear from her.

Nidhoggr’s a gloomy place, buried down in the forests of Duskwood. Ythgar uses it for things he thinks I don’t know about, but aside from that, we hardly ever go there. I’d dragged one of my senior maids along to cook and help with the cleaning, aside from that it was a boy’s club. Ythgar, Iloam, and a half dozen guards, with Stormcren and Bloodsword off doing whatever the nether it was they were doing. So I was bored, lonely, and worried sick about Ythgar when Kharris arrived at the door.

“Free! Freeeeeee!” The cry was desperate behind closed doors. “I’m dying!”

“You’re not dying.”  The rogue pushed the double doors to the original Lady Stormcren’s room with a hip, hands full with a wood carved tray laden with everything from spiced tea and black coffee to rolled bread and honeyed oats. “You’re hung over.”

  In any other house it might be considered a strange sight, a girl sitting on the floor surrounded by leaves of paper a mile long.  Crumpled and crinkled about her legs and tangled around one arm.  

  She should have been as pale as the moonlight that leaked through the high window, she sat directly in its grace, but Small Lady was neck deep in one of her moods and shadows as unnatural as half the things she said moved over her like a second skin.  

Thanks to Anu’s treatments, the memories are coming back steadily.  Not fast, per se, but I’ll take what I can get.

Bow

The arrow flew past the target and THUNK’d into the building behind it.  I rapidly fired a series of expletives after it.  My instructor smiled at me.  I don’t remember his name.

“Better.  You were only about a foot off from the target that time.”  His smile was warm and genuine.  It pissed me off that much more.  I tossed down the bow and picked up a rifle, all without breaking my glare at the instructor.  His smile widened.  I turned and blew the living hell out of the target.  It wasn’t precision shooting, but at least I hit the damned thing.  It didn’t really make me feel any better.  His voice didn’t help.

Slowly but surely, the memories are coming back.  They are scattered, jumping back and forth across the timestream of my life.

Friends

There are too many people to keep track of.  Which people are from my past, and which have I met after the memory loss?  It's so frustrating when I see a face that I'm certain is familiar, but have no name for them.  There have been so many awkward conversations that start with my blank stare, and end in... well.  Laughter. Tears. More blank stares.  Ugh.

Island

The story was not a new one. It was not even particularly unique. Nonetheless, the hunter could not prevent the years from falling away in memory. The girl had the moves of a killer. He knew that his own were no match. Not yet. The eagerness in his step beside her seemed lost upon the waves of training. He moved as she did. Step for step. He knew she would not see him. He was not even a name to her. A faceless peer that walked in the shadow of her skill.

But not today, today he was her enemy.

That infernal list had brought him to the displaced and gilded court of Silvermoon. He watched them dance, play, like young girls often did. Her laugh sent a shudder down his spine. She was standing in front of him. Within reach, but unnoticed. The Sunfury called them insurrectionists.

Adeleine looked just like a girl. A happy one. It stayed his hand for the moment. Why had she left them?

Adeleine had grown soft.

Friends

It was a funny feeling, having friends. People to talk with and be similar to. Even if it was mostly just Koina. Quaithe counted too, even if she was bad at being ferocious. The tiger in question rolled onto her back, paw in the air, as Cyrena looked at her. They were alone today, and that was okay.

Koina would come back from Arathi. That was what friends did.

Friends

Sometimes she pulls out a feather, even though it hurts.

They were special to her. They were a piece of her. They meant everything.

It is the highest offering she can give to those who matter.  A piece to take away; one to keep.

Two understand. One does not.

She has another feather in mind.

Island

Events continue to swirl around her in ways she can’t control.

She watches with a timelessness as things spiral out of her hands. Sometimes she tries to influence it, but the whirlwinds that follow don’t often seem worth it.

She keeps trying, anyway.

Sometimes she wishes she had an island to stand on. Safe. Dry.

Milk

He drinks milk because it’s better than the alternative.

He says that he drank heavily during the war. She could believe it.

It had been a lot worse for him than she thought.

She'd only pretended to fall asleep.

With her back to where he slept on the floor, she had counted out the minutes until his breathing became measured. The room still smelled faintly of the tea she had made, specifically to help a busy mind find sleep-- but she didn't think she would be sleeping. As long as he did, that was all that mattered.

She rolled over after a few minutes more, cheek pressed into her pillow as she looked down at her friend sleeping on the pallet she'd hastily pulled together for him. He'd once sat vigil over her to ensure that she got the sleep she needed. She told herself that's all she was doing-- making sure he got good rest. Inside, she knew that while she might have that good intention, she couldn't have slept, anyway. Not after what he'd told her.

Xavior ran his fingers along the spines of the books that were perfectly aligned in the shelves.  He’d only ever walked inside the book store on a few occasions and even then, he’d never paid much attention to the merchandise.  There were so many choices!  The books were separated by subject but Xavior was still lost.  He had no idea where to begin.  Behind him, Melersian followed along in silence.  The redhead was having much better luck; he’d already pulled four books from various shelves.  Each one had a picture of a scantily clad woman or man with some sly title written at the top.  Clearly, he preferred the romances.

Winter is coming to Silvermoon. Though you can hardly even tell, as Brewfest is just wrapping up. Winter, darkness. The time when my mother passed on. I can still remember her too; her gentle face, those deep green eyes that seemed to know everything. She passed to the next life in the wintertime. Has it really been nearly 20 years? Then again, what is time to me, a Sin'dorai? Father loved her greatly. I wish to find that love someday as well. But it seems I am cursed to do so. My heart, as open as Spring, yet is laid bare like the Winter that comes before us.I have mostly given up, despite what others have said.

  "Troll!"

  "Gnome!"

  Lomzy launches herself at Sinlaise with full force.  She hits her right in the abdomen and knocks her down on the ground.  She falls in the mud and slides a few feet from the impact; mud splattering all over her and her blond, calf-length hair.  

  "So it's like that is it?" she asks wiping some of the mud from her face.

  "Yeah, toots, it's like that."

  "Bare-knuckle?"

  "You know it."

He could move into the larger hut now that it's empty. Instead, he nails a tarp over to keep the rain out, and stops by most mornings to dust.

It's not that he thinks she's going to come back--he knows she won't. But just in case, he'll keep it ready.

It's sort of a prayer.

There is no need to fear, we are your friends as ever before, why struggle so hard to drive us out?  Just let us help you, as we always have, the soft voice whispered to Moshir.  His only reply was a soft grunt, his arms quivering with effort as he strained to push himself up from the sleeping mat on the floor of Te’kuja’s hut.

“My friend, she has not written back to me.  I want to see her, see if she is alright,” he whispered, gasping as he strained to rise to his feet.

You lie, the harsh voice rasped back.  You seek comfort from her; you think she will be able to drive us out?  Moshir gritted his teeth as rough laughter echoed through his mind.  He clung to the letter he’d written, the words branded into his mind as if with iron.

Rap-a-tap-tap.

Rap-a-tap-tap.

Rap.

Tap.

Tap.

The idle sound of sharpened claws dug into beautifully carved stone of the fountain in the Bazaar. The body that the wicked weapons belonged to had been leaning against the marble more so than usual, almost in a nearly depressed manner. Did she know she was sinking against it with each passing thought? Had anyone bothered to take a glimpse at hollowed eyes, their answer would have been no.

Her life had become so dull... So... Normal.

She had been tamed, of all things.

Yet there she stood night after night by herself, lost in devastating thoughts that would have driven any normal man insane. The only sign of her life had been the faint movement of damaged hands. 

(*in lieue of recent events, this entire post and all events have been ret-conned. Enjoy the read, nonetheless)

Her thoughts were a jumble..where to even start?

Joyia.

Lily had decided to make up with her best friend, the girl she considered a little sister. She missed the easy comfort of her trust - her honest advice, and opinions.

Whispering to each other during ATS's drinking parties- laughing at the others, admiring the 'view', and making private jokes.

The talks on the top deck of the barge – watching an orange sun, setting slowly over the frothy whitecaps that were the sea -

enjoying a warm Durotar evening, and a gentle tease of a sea-breeze.

((Part of an on going larger story between the two, starting with Again. ))

Akiri was sent out the next day with the same sentinel following her through the forest. They were sent to Northern Felwood which was typically a hotbed of demons and corruption. Nyla was certain more direct conflict would provide a chance to be rid of the evil creature who called herself Akiri. Nyla didn't want to send her near any frontline of conflict with the Horde because she would certainly turn on the Night Elven forces and cause some damage with her reckless arcane behavior.

Akiri had at least been provided with a simple robe for this trip since the escorting Sentinel had assured Nyla that parading the girl around in her underwear was not having the expected outcome of shaming her, but it did make the sentinel uncomfortable.

1.  Guardian spirits, his mother called them.  The other young ones in the village thought him touched, and would avoid him.  He didn’t mind; his friends would let themselves be seen by no one else.  When his mother called him special, he knew it to be true.

2.  The robes were loose and cool.  Moshir did not envy the warriors, with their heavy armor and axes; he knew the Loa would protect him, shimmering shields and wards turning away enemies’ blades and arrows.  The war-cries of his tribesmates were all the louder because of his chants and prayers.

3.  Searing agonies ripped through Moshir, the high-pitched cackling of Zalazane, his new master, shattered the serene beauty of the Islands’ jungles.  “If ya wanna run, yah free ta!  Yah nevah escape me!”  The young ex-priest’s body lay still on the ground, his sobs drowned in the mocking laughter.

Alynore walked into the cluttered training room; it would probably get filled by injured refugees soon, but for now it still served its purpose. She stripped out of her armor, until she was only in sports top and shorts. She didn't bother trying to find the tape for her hands or feet.

Her eyes stung as she stalked to the heavy punching bag, swaying gently on its chain. She slammed her fist into the sawdust-filled canvas. Then the other, and again, over and over, faster and faster.

Nore had felt like this only twice in her short life.