“Seventeen gold, eighty six silver and six copper.”
The look was priceless on Teufelia's face. Since it wasn't often I'd catch my sly cousin compeletly off guard.
She took another sip from her glass of wine to wash the taste of debelief off her tongue.
"Freyian...you sure...it was ok for me to lie to you?"
I didn't even bother to hide the smirk "This one time, you're forgiven."
I think her eyes crossed when I said that..but it was hard to tell since she up ended her glass to drain the rest of it's contents.
"Listen Freyian, when you come back to your senses or sober up whichever comes first. You can yell at me about the lie." She set her glass on the table and slipped away from the bar. Off to committ some form of skullduggery somewhere I'm sure.
Everything was... fuzzy.
Nothing seemed real when her lashes fluttered open and quickly squeezed shut at the bright unapologetic sunlight that bore down on her from the large floor to ceiling window across from her bed. With a soft groan, the woman twisted beneath the sheets that were keeping her warm to find a more comfortable position along the cooler side of her mattress.
The loudness of his own voice woke Teslaan with a jump. Gasping, he brought his hands to his throat, feeling for the injury that felt so real to him a moment ago. There was nothing. Eyes wide and glowing in the darkness, Teslaan wiped his sweat-covered face with a shaking hand. His eyes darted around the room looking for an assailant, but found no one. He was alone. Despite his recently acquired status and lands, he had yet to hire a full staff and the estate was maintained only by a handful of garden tenders. Covered in a thin sheen of sweat, Teslaan peeled back the silk covers of the large bed and stood slowly.
Hello darkness, my old friend
I've come to talk with you again
Because a vision softly creeping
Left its seeds while I was sleeping
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Within the sound of silence
~ Sounds of Silence, Simon and Garfunkel
I'd gone to the Dawnfire estate full of fire – I was ready to finally tell Darroc no. I was ready to tell him that I would not go through with this marriage...could not. That he should find a way to nullify it, or I'd just...have to take things into my own hands.
That's not how it happened, though.
(Related to Orders: Part Two
Also events not long after Research)
Stormwind, a bustling city even in the dead of night. While many of the shops have their doors locked in the night, there were enough open yet to serve her purpose. The Alchemists, whose wares are always on a time limit, kept their doors open well into the night. She approached one such shop, allowing the various sights and smells to flow over her for a moment. It was peaceful there, no fighting, no blood, no need to worry about that which lurks. She felt at peace with the many alchemical compounds. The bubbling concoctions, the various salves, they all soothed her already frayed nerves.
I lied to him.
“You had something to hide -
Should have hidden it, shouldn't you?”
He wasn't supposed to be there, granted. I wasn't ready for him. Hadn't prepared.
He'd get what I had, then.
What my raw nerves would give him, that is.
“I didn't expect...”
Just past two early bells, a brawl breaks out at an inn, Broken Arms, in the harbour of a small port town. One of the two brawlers is killed in the fight, and as the guard tidy up his body, they find this scrap of a note.
The whispering call of Azshara in bloom stirs the woman's heart as quick as spring rises from the barren winters. Synn floats endlessly trapped inside the yellowed landscape as she pounds at the glass futilely. The warm wind grants no aid as she slams her skinny, scarred body against the 'surface' of her globe. Trapped in eternal spring. Trapped as the world squeezes around the vulnerable girl. What remains. His shell.
Synn moves over the Dalaran apartment with a slow steady gate. Her face hurt. Her soul felt rubbed raw from the night before. The strange determination to make sure that Iloam didn't pay the price had cost her Jericho. How odd.
The air swirled with a chill as she moved through the grass, heading to her new home. It nipped and gripped at her skin, but the girl didn't seem to notice. She pushed now dark purple bruise on the back of her head, frowning to herself.
((The opinions of the following character are a paid advertisement for SuperDrugs and do not represent the opinions of the player. Thx. Rated explicit due to drug use and profanity.))
The door of the office opens and Kozha strides in, beads and charms rattling as he moves confidently toward the large desk. The middle-aged goblin behind the desk looks up from her ledger, gaze traveling up and down the young troll appraisingly. He stands before her in a vividly colored robe, with fetishes dangling from his sleeves and several fat pouches hanging from his belt. A feathered headdress stands tall on his head, beaded braids trailing down from underneath, and his expression is one of smug confidence.
"And how can I be of service to you today?" Peraline asks, lacing her hands in front of her.
The bread for the dead recipe had been followed perfectly yet the dough would hardly rise. ‘What am I doing wrong?’
“Did you add yeast to it?” The Marquis’ grand-daughter asked over the chatter box and she went on to further explain something about the dough needing warmth and moisture to rise though she may as well have been speaking Nerubian. Baking had never been something she was very good at unless she was making cookies and even then, she could only make a specific kind of dough which only varied by her choice of which nuts, chips or berries to add. Her skill with cooking food was also quite deficient. Aside from salads, the only recipes she was able to reproduce in an edible manner could be counted on one hand and consisted of various grilled fish and a hearty vegetable soup.
‘I have spent too many hours trying to perfect this recipe. What a waste of a Sunday.’ Suddenly her eyes brightened. ‘Wait. Today is Sunday. Fancy Cakes is open...I’m saved!’
However, she arrived at the baker’s shop just as the two ladies were leaving. ‘Damn...I’m too late! Now what?’ With Hallow’s Eve drawing to an end, time was running out for her to gather a suitable offering for her dead loved ones. As she dragged her feet back to the inn and had a nice long smoke from the hookah, she wondered what she would do and thought about the previous year’s offerings. ‘I want them to have bread that is soft and supple, not the hardened bricks I usually bring mother and it seems wrong to steal someone else’s bread offerings.’
I don’t know how long I lay with the dead. The light in that place shifts so little between day and night. Or perhaps whatever has replaced the functions of my eyes simply cannot tell the difference.
It was the rain that brought me back to myself. Cold, fresh drops that struck my face, and plinked off my armour. Though I was convinced I would never feel again, the discomforting damp and chill broke through the layers of my shock and forced me to move.
I could not bring myself to take shelter in the tomb again, nor did I think its keeper would welcome me back. Instead I followed the worn path to a ruined village, and took shelter in what may once have been an inn.
Warmth. I had not expected that, and it brought with it a relief that left me sitting by the fire, so happy I could still feel it, that for the moment I could feel nothing else.
He is sitting on a park bench as I approach, checking his watch and looking annoyed.
“Colonel Goswell.” I keep my tone as flat and official as I can to hide my nervousness.
He looks up at the sound of my voice, a puzzled look on his face. “Yes?”
“Miss Zemynovna will not be joining you, I’m afraid. She seems to have left town rather suddenly.”
His puzzlement changes to a frown. “What? Why?”
Yunari clung to Tashorr, her arms wrapped tightly around him, clutching his belt for added security. Despite her grip, she felt as if she might fall from the wind rider at any moment. The beast beat down with its wings again, leaping higher into the air, and she closed her eyes as once again her stomach was left behind.
The satchel bouncing against her side only served to make her feel more off-balance, and she pressed herself against Tashorr's back, feeling his warmth through the leather he wore. He wouldn't let her fall.
Fingers of wind tugged at her clothes, an icy hand reaching up under her skirt to stroke her leg. She shivered, gritting her teeth. This was Air's domain, after all. It was his right to inspect whatever travelers passed through.
I’m pretty sure my jaw was broken, teeth felt loose on one side of my mouth and all I have been tasting is copper. I hate when I do something stupid…. Especially since every time I found myself bleeding.. It was usually for someone else. This was no exception. How long have I been here?
Do they not know where we were in the world in the times they send us to? Or are the threads of my lives so tangled even a bronze cannot trace them? Whatever the reason, the result is the same.
“We have tah leave. Now.” He’s out of his seat and on the stairs before the words are finished. As she comes out to clear the tables, he keeps his back to her, though there’s no chance of her recognizing him, wouldn’t be even without the illusion. We haven’t met yet.
Reginald made his way to the Keep gardens, finding Lirriel relaxing there post-Harrigan exam. He held up an old, worn, leather-bound journal.
Lirriel smiled and waved. “Hey Reggie. What's that?”
“My mother's only journal. It was in with the rest of her effects...I haven't gone through it personally but, I know you'd...expressed some interest in her after that whole debacle with Vanavywn.”
“We can look through it together. Have a seat.” She patted a spot next to her on the stone bench. “Want me to start? And where'd you find it?”
“It was in a box one of her servants had placed her things in, I found it burried under silk scarves and jewelry.” Reginald ran his hand over the cover and opened the journal. “Right, might as well get started.”
Lirriel reached over and gave Reggie's shoulder a friendly squeeze, and looked down at the journal. “Interesting drawings..." She frowned, headtilting as she looked them over.
Trark wuffed and scratched at the door. Aerie set the teapot on the stove and peaked out a window, smiling as she saw Lirriel stabling her talbuk before turning to the house. She opened the door for the priestess. “Hey sweetie...” Her greeting faded as she saw the stormy look in her daughter's gray eyes before the younger woman had a chance to look away.
“What's wrong?” Aerie asked while Lirriel looked around the room. “Did you and Drauglos have a fight...?” Trark looked between the two, and then slunk to Aerie's bed behind the curtain in the back of the room.
“No. We're fine.” She turned, hands on her hips, eying her mother. “I know about Lormar.”
The stench of blood filled the woman's nostrils. She clung to the tabard tightly in her hand. From first glace you would think that the fabric was coated in the crimson blood, however if eyes were to peer closer you might find the tabard she carried was that of a Scarlet Crusader.
We had an Arrangement, the necromancer and I. He would teach me enough of his art to keep my mother alive, and I in turn would do whatever he asked. It was simple and I liked it that way.
It started out well enough, at first I could go and see my mother every few weeks or so. Then weeks turned to months, and months to years. It had been nearly three years since I last saw my mother's face. And if it hadn't been for the loss of Deatholme it would have been a three more I'm sure.
The trap door swung open with a crack as repeated blows finally took their toll on the flimsy lock that had been put in place. Asilia climbed out first followed by Mirage warping back up, her jaws still bloodied with cultist blood. She looked up intime to hear several gun clicks, and a line of footmen stood on the other end of the kitchen aiming guns at her. She spotted Blythe stepping infront of them, behind him was the cook that had let her down into the cellar to begin with. She blinks abit at them before kneeling down and petting Mirage.
"Can....I help you?"
Aaron watches the alley entrance wearily, hidden behind a large pile of boxes, readying himself as he sees Mandy walk into the alley. She looks around for May, frowning a bit when she does not see her friend. A hammer of light suddenly strikes her back and Aaron steps out, sneering at the stunned girl. He draws his sword from his cane and slashes her shoulder with the poisoned blade. She looks at him, shocked and confused, and she stumbles a bit as the stun wares off and she fumbles for her dagger.
"You humans are such strange creatures. You seem to have no sense of loyalty at all." He raises his blade "And yet you're still so very gullible."
Asilia sat at a barren cold desk with an ink quill in hand. Her hand moved slow and delicately as she composed a letter. A letter that should help her eliminate a problem that had arose, Lord Kelane was right sneaking into Stormwind would be ill advised since it was the bastion of the Lich King's enemies. A small smile crept up Asilia's face as she wrote.
The time grows near. Soon, very soon, I will face my destiny.
The time grows near. Soon, very soon, you will face your destiny.
... You will do what you must to serve me.
And I will teach you true power.
With every passing day, less and less ties me to this world. Every day, I find that more and more of my life is gone, that more of what I hold dear has vanished.
This life you lead has betrayed you. Those who claim to love you have left you behind.
She is gone, and no one cares. She was killed by those who loved her.
She is gone, and no one cares. She was killed by those who loved her.
My brother has begun to heal. His heart is pure. He has found strength.
Your brother has begun to heal. His heart is too pure. He is resilient.
The candle at last flickers out, dead.
The broken horizon is strangely lit, time immesurable on this dead world.
He still feels the letter, fine paper beneath his coarse fingertips.
The words sink in, bring anger. Niall's fist clenches, but leaves paper uncrumpled.
Why ask father to turn traitor?
Why is the letter signed Kast!?
The plan started as a disaster, something I could completely place on Blackmarrow, it was his idea after all to never tell me that the priest he had chosen to help us separate Iloam and my soul was Kharris. Apparently they had struck a deal, something again he had never told me about, something about the truce that he wouldn’t end Iloam’s life if she agreed to spare mine.
There is something very very wrong with your county.
The guards patrol the streets looking for something like their life would depend on it.
SI:7 Agents have been murdered.
Mage Tower researchers have gone missing.