I should be sleeping not writing

((Please mind the tags for this post before reading! It gets worse before it gets better...This is the final planned part of Ark's backstory that's been rattling in my head since I unexpectedly rolled him.))

The landlord had unceremoniously dumped Arkav’s few remaining possessions in the gutter. The man kept what little of Greg’s old furniture Ark hadn’t already sold or ruined himself. There was a new lock and an eviction notice pasted to the door.

Ark looked at the soggy bundle at his hooves while rain trickled off the end of his nose. He shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets, and began walking.

“Yer fired,” Fergun Goldweaver grunted, arms crossed as he glared up at the bewildered Arkav.

Engineering sketches lay scattered across the sitting room floor.
Empty mugs sit on an end table while music plays on a staticky machine.
The resting building creaks and groans.
Stormwind’s bells ring a ridiculously late—early?—hour.

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.”

((For those who may have missed these lectures in the "Tales of Azeroth" series. While there are multiple speakers, Arkav focuses on the religions of Azeroth. Heavily edited to remove extra poses and convo; sorry!))

Arkav looked quite a bit more ragged then usual as the horn rang in the time through Ironforge. “I uh. Hope to um, keep it short tonight, if uh, possible. I um, may not uh, make it to the uh, tavern afterwards. For now though, uh, we l-look to our kaldorei allies and their uh, veneration of the goddess Elune.”

Arkav closed his eyes and recalled his notes. “Elune is associated with healing, tranquility, and harmony. She has been revered by the kaldorei and even the tauren for countless generations. We do not know where she came from, or how she came to be worshiped.

Monday Morning

Darcy sat on one of the paired sofas in her apartment. She cradled her head in her hands as she listened to Raeyth clean out a cabinet in the kitchen. She’d kept it locked since the Abbess congratulated them, and inadvertently informed them, of her pregnancy in early November. So the Blood Knight wasn’t supposed to drink, by her doctor’s orders.

I thought it would hurt more than this. Odd. When I compare it to all the other injuries I’ve sustained in my short existence, this doesn’t even crack the top ten. I feel detached, floating. My mind is aware of what is going on, but seems highly reluctant to acknowledge or register the pain of it anymore.

It almost makes me bitter, being robbed of my pain. We have a strange relationship, us two.

Then again, maybe I’ve just already lost too much blood.

I can taste it though - the blood. It’s choking me now.

Why was this one word – four simple letters – so hard to write, this time?

It is more difficult each time.

Warily, she lingered in his office a moment longer. This was his territory, his space. It smelled of him, it carried his distinctive mark. Even now, she could picture the man leaning over his desk, forest-green gaze narrowed at one report, or another – chocolate strands of hair dripping down into his refined, yet somewhat wild, features as they struggled free of their binding.

Crawling up her arm,

His gift, his warning.

“You couldn’t get a girl to touch you without paying them, you ass.”

The poor little girl had spat that phrase out with malice like he’d never seen. Sure, his lips were rough and chapped. Sure, he hadn’t shaved in a few days. Sure, his nose was crooked. Sure, he’d robbed her blind while he’d held her jaw tight between his calloused fingers. Her cheeks got so very red when he pointed out that she liked it, after he’d chased her down. After she’d lifted his own wallet. She tried to throw that back in his face, she’d robbed him. Amateur.

Her fingers, and leather-clad toes found easy purchase on the crumbling stone wall. The climb reminded her of scaling another, much higher wall in Stormwind. When the Marquis' runeblade was stolen, and he'd begun to fall to madness...

Damn him

The first thing she noticed as she stepped through the nether-portal was the fact that it was still raining. It was a wonder this continent managed to stay afloat, with all the rain it got.

The second thing she noticed was the very audible, sickening crack her body made as it slammed into a tree.

That was a rib.

Eryth had been terribly displeased that she was gone longer than expected – and even more perturbed that she'd removed her ring, again.

Lilliana's long, lean form was draped over one of the chairs like a large, indolent cat. Her legs dangled over one side, as her head tilted back over the opposite arm. Her gaze trailed over the smooth, stone walls – carved out by magma long before her people had fallen, most likely.

She'd told Mairead she wouldn't come back here. But then, she wasn't here for the 'normal' sort of reasons, really. A whimpered groan hooked her thoughts back into the present, as she came to the decision that it would be best not to tell her human-friend about this trip.

Meanwhile, Xannivard's succubus lay writhing in the floor.

"Speak Politely to an enraged dragon" - J. R. R. Tolkien

Here I am - in the farmlands of this awful land, now. When I left, it was the miserable humidity, and constant rain of the jungle.

One portal later, and I'm back with my unit. Except the scenery here is verdant, rolling hills dotted with farm-houses on stilts. Assorted livestock roam the various properties, and the produce is larger than a devilsaur. It is breath-taking, for a moment.

"She's trying to come back to life," he murmured against his partner's warm skin.

Her hand stilled as she stroked it through his silken black hair, "So what does that mean? Is she going to try to kill me again?"

The sky burns...

Crimson, orange, gold... colors bleed over the water until the world is aflame.

There are no ravens this dawn.

The lone cabin sat in a clearing, surrounded by alarms and traps. Aerella didn’t try to hide her approach, watching as a young, dark haired woman—a girl, really—slid through the door, latching it behind her. She held a shotgun at the ready.

Aerella stopped a few yards from the door. Winter sat next to the mare as Aerie dismounted. “You’d be Sasha. Ruuna sent me.”

The girl’s eyes narrowed. “Prove it.”

The room couldn’t possibly hold any more people.  They were crowded on every available seat and standing when none could be found.  Voices murmured as they observed.

Harrigan looked at their eyes, all of them focused on him.  Some glowed with hatred, a few with sympathy, most with understanding.  And there was one pair, as unique in their emotions as the owner was in this crowd of humans, dwarves, gnomes, draenei and elves.

“Ignore them, Harri.  Don’t do this to yourself.”

“It’s my fault and my blame.  They know it, I know it, and every damn person in this kingdom knows it.  I’m going to pay for my mistakes.  Who knows?  Maybe I’ll finally get that rest everyone says I need.”  Harrigan couldn’t look away from that one pair of eyes, so distinct and singular.

She was the only orc that haunted him.

    From the second level of the Wayfarer's Inn, Luck stood out of reach from lanterns grasp.  He sipped from his stemmed wine-glass, aged Eversong Wine, while looking over the bars occupants.  He placed the glass down on the golden banister and continued to observe.

Harrigan watched the fire through a haze of alcohol.  He knew his sergeants were on a fishing expedition, but he actually enjoyed sharing stories and whiskey with them.  Maybe they should do it again sometime, only without the ulterior motives.

They were asking about her, of course.  Everyone was.  He understood they needed to know, but he had to make sure they used their own eyes to look at things and not his version.  She knew what he saw and how he thought; if he influenced their actions they had already lost.  Besides, how much could he tell them anyway?

Alynore stared at the slip of paper in her palm. She looked over at Captain Culbraith, clipping a potted mageroyal as he sat at his desk. His office was known in the general headquarters for practically being a greenhouse. “This can’t be serious.”

He glanced sideways, brows raised—he couldn’t lift just the one. “Orders are orders, Forrester. We don’t have to like ‘em, we just have to follow ‘em. It’s not a bad assignment, either, given what you’ve done the last couple years.”

“Don’t have to remind me,” she said, crossing her arms. The transcript crinkled in her fist.

You're standing on the edge.

The earth is firm below you - though small rocks, and wet leaves clutter the ledge.

There's a din in your ears – the waterfall before you consumes your mind at first.

It is vast, and noisy. Demanding your attention.

 A deluge.

 Overwhelming.

She was going to sit up and wait for Koina. Maybe she’d swing by Fortune’s. She hadn’t swung by the flat in over a day.

Braedyn said that was something she did. Vanish. Just leave for periods of time without warning. There was so much she just didn’t know. Little things, like Koina’s habits. Fortune’s habits. Subtle words about Fortune’s cats. Things Braedyn knew and said without thinking because it was common knowledge to her.

Dishes, unfortunately, did not pack themselves. Lirriel wrapped each plate and stacked them carefully in the crate. Soon the house in Elwynn Forest would be finished. It would be nice, she thought, to be a local healer, watch her husband train young people for the militia—and start their family, finally, now that the world-ending threats of the Lich King and Deathwing were dealt with.

For now, a little voice in the back of her mind whispered, bringing with it a brief memory of cold, and burning eyes invoking a promise…She shook herself from those unpleasant thoughts, reaching for a bowl. She almost dropped it when someone knocked on the apartment’s door.

“Hello, Lieutenant! Good to see you again,” Genevieve said cheerily as Alynore entered the salon for her weekly appointment. “Jelinek’s pretty busy, but I can help you out in just a moment!”

Nore nodded. The Gnome barber did seem to have his hands full with a Dwarf gentleman. Genevieve was coloring a Kaldorei woman’s hair. Alynore found a chair, looking at sketches and snappershots of various styles decorating Stormwind’s most popular salon.

It felt like a vanity, worrying about the thick locks of auburn hair she stubbornly wore. Combat could be rough on it; tangled, torn, burnt, soaked in various fluids—some thought less of, the better—so she tried to take extra care, rather than cut it all off. Alynore decided she’d rather be vain about this one thing; the rest of her was battered and scarred enough.

((Written to the tune of: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v0sXoC-VkS4 ))

My first instinct was to drown it all out. All of it, til there was nothin' left.

​Shopping for female Elves was, quite possibly, one of the most difficult events a man could face. Especially when it was shopping for a nice gift to aid and accompany apology. 

​The first question that you always had to ask was "is this thoughtful enough", the answer was usually a resounding "no" followed by an incredible amount of over-thinking. If you could get past that, the second was always "am I going to look like I'm kissing ass," which always seemed to be a resounding "yes", inevitably starting the process back over again. The "will she like it"s and buyers regret came much later.

Of course they're brothers.

And of course they've each got their own version of the damn story.

Caelen admitted to murdering the woman he and Jericho loved.

Jericho insisted that Lily had been manipulated.

Caelen insists – still - that he seeks reconciliation.

 Though his cards showed conflict.

And victory.