Some time later, deep in the bowels of a cursed Vrykul catacomb, Sin woke up; though when she blinked her eyes, it didn’t help dispel the blurriness all around. “Where…am…?” she murmured, blind, lost, and confused. As the previous day's events swirled around via fearsome, flashing, broken images in her mind’s eye, she inhaled and sighed.
“Whelp. At least I'm still alive.”
I just stare at him
Recalled our earlier conversation among the scattered bodies in the grass of the Firewalker Ruins as they rot in the afternoon sun.
Mild language warning. Some words may not be appropiate... I think. <.<U...
After taking down the rest of his drink Jormund moves again to his scrolls. There was a few more glyphs and runescrolls he needed to finish before the weekend. Taking a deep breath he takes the quill, dips it on the ink bottle and starts writing again. The rest of the place falls silent only the scratching of the quill on the parchment can be heard. After finishing two thirds of the second batch of runescrolls, Jormund leaves the quill again on the ink bottle and rubs his left temple closing his eyes for a moment.
The paladin shakes his head and takes the quill again…
Her eyes open a moment, to look into his, and she smiles. "Oh my darling..." Her body trembles and shivers beneath his.
His hand tenses and accidentally knocks the bottle flooding his desk and the rest of the scrolls with ink.
You have been gone three months now, yet I smile as I write this. I never would have guessed it, but being domestic suits me. You have left me - despite your knowledge of my darkness - with full powers to manage all that is yours. At first I was overwhelmed, even a bit aghast. Yet, in that academic part of me which excels at and clicks along with magical theory, I knew was ready for the challenge.
You are a straightforward man; but your mind, always focused on duty and those private, melancholy paths it takes in the off hours, has led to plenty of small inconsistencies and areas in need of improvement or attention during your absence. The estate is organized, but dark and dusty. Your finances are overall intact, but in need of some trimming of needless expenses here and there. Everything just a touch in disarray, something you hide so well from the outside world in your encasement of metallic perfection and measured words.
Echo has already had a little Short Circuit
“The Goddess will not bless our union.”
Echo heard the words, but did not believe them. Her lips parted, tasting the thick evening air of Dustwallow swamp. Her ears rang with the insects singing in harsh discord, her eyes staring unfocused upon the elf before her, so suddenly a stranger. Everything around her fell into a disconcerting unfamiliarity, a different world from the one she had ridden through to meet her lover.
“But Enna, Enna, you said -” She took a step forward, every piece of armor she wore grating and jingling against the gentleness of sighing reeds and weeping leaves. “You said if She saw us, under the full moon... if we only appeared to Her then, together, She would see just how much… She would understand…”
Halinor dragged his feet back to the barracks, Aidrailos padding softly behind. The silvered wolf was troubled. Age had nurtured the puppylike bounce out of his steps, and these days his expression was usually thoughtful and world-weary. He turned his somber amber eyes now upon his master, and felt a sense of foreboding. Something was brewing in Halinor's mind. Something that may potentially put him in danger. Aidrailos let out a throaty "whuff" and nudged the boy's hand with his wet nose.
The ones chosen by the Gods truly shine, don’t they my darling? I think that’s why the old Human painters would surround their martyrs with outlines of gold, but such artistic crudity cannot possibly match the celestial light of the truly blessed.
Remember when Echo was Torn?
“Come closer! Come closer and see!”
The gnome’s high voice carried across Theramore’s market square, clear and ringing in the afternoon air. Shifted by the words, movements of the crowd swirled and sorted, paused before a small stand with a bright green canopy. Echo turned, a bag of peaches hanging from her wrist, looking over her shoulder as the gnome called out again.
“Far from home? Haven’t seen loved ones in ages? Fret no more! The Eastern Kingdoms live on, renewing day by day from the horrors of war. Yes, there is strife and hardship back home, but hope springs eternal! Look and see! Even now it is springtime, and the tulips are blooming!”
Sometimes the most exquisite flowers raise their heads from a bed of weeds.
Vaedrynn was distracted.
He needed to work.
The deams come again. This time they're mostly happy.
Me, GutFace, and Xeldus have been in service of the Lich King for a few years now. I had seen Val'kry before, but this one seemed diffrent. She seemed... familiar.
She looked at me and we both recognized each other. She was my wife.
"Darling?" she says. we run to each other and and we kiss.
GutFace says"Oh well um" he clears his throat "I see that your having a ... private moment. Xeldus, come on."
Xeldus, having one of those rare moments where he speaks in on voice at a time, says "Screw you, I don't need to listen to some second rate MONSTER!"
GutFace blinks,looking hurt and confued. I break away and say "Xeldus go!" He goes.
My darling looks confused, and her eyes flash for a second, studying my magic. "Oh, oh sweetie, I'm so sorry. He took away your holy powers."
Magic swirled around her paws, ruffling through her fur as she concentrated on a single point in front of her.
'This is always the hardest part, Lai-Ning.'
There were the threads of the spell, dancing in front of her enticingly. Every time, there was that pull, that urge to grab the threads and just -twist-, forcing more power into them that was necessary, using force to get the effect she wanted....
She preferred her method.
Slowly, she dragged her fingertips through the threads, settling them neatly in little rows in front of her, before beginning her crafting.
'For my protector."
There was the powerful Pandaren in her mind, clad in armor with the massive broadsword. There was the earth-shaking roar as he lept to her defense, the deadly skill with that blade as he swept their attackers aside.
'For the Mountain.'
Last time, Echo was recovering from being Crushed.
Echo slid her finger across the map resting on her crossed legs, over the hills and valleys of its creases. The candlelight in the tent flickered, sending tides of shadow washing over coastlines, fording rivers, flooding into mountain ranges. Echo’s fingertip found Hillsbrad, then followed the river up from the sea until it came to a little notch just south of the Alterac Mountains.
“That’s where I’m from,” she said. “And here…” She moved her finger westward through the jagged cliffs until it reached a city encircled in arcane runes. “That’s where Dalaran stood, where I lived before we came here.”
Enna moved closer, all warm soft violet skin, causing Echo’s toes and lips and some winsome happy thing inside her to curl and shiver. The Kaldorei leaned against her, bare skin and long loose hair falling over her nightshirt, silver eyes flashing over the map of the Eastern Kingdoms. “It was a magic city?”
“It was. It was beautiful.” With Enna, Echo could speak of Dalaran. With Enna, she could speak of anything.
Tryggon was never one for long goodbyes. He was never one to wait long before leaving, which was due mostly in part to him having little to no connection with those he was leaving behind.
But being left behind...Well, that was another matter.
He'd dug the grave himself, a hill with the view of the sea, just as she'd wanted. It had been a slow process. Help had been offered, but Tryggon had turned it down. This was his labor, his last labor of love, and he saw it through to the end, patting the last patch of upturned earth down on the hillside.
Catching his breath, and wiping the sweat from his brow, he looked out to the sea. "Fel, that's a view." No answer came.
"You know," He said, lowering himself to sit by the freshly dug grave, "I was gonna make us a place here. A real one. Two story cottage, and all. Room for cooking, sleeping...Whatever else we'd dream up a need for." Again, no answer came.
The estate was lingering between the half-waking moments of a day. He didn't want to leave. Truly, this was home perhaps more then ever.
You were like the first snowdrop of my spring.
I usually catch myself just looking at the waves sometimes, generally when I find time to patrol down there or find some poor excuse to go. I'll just stare for hours out to the sea, that seemingly endless mass of water. Watching as it just expands out forever into the distance, a curious parallel between the sky blue and the water azure, as if two gods looking at each other, each one different if only by a shade. Then, sometimes, if I am lucky, I see the sun come between them, a kiss shared as they both sleep and withdraw into darkness. Are they lovers, perhaps? The sky and the sea? Do I even believe in such a fantastical thing? Should I?
Our love was blessed by the Gods themselves, wasn’t it, my darling?
((This will probably be one of the only love stories I'll ever write, but I felt like I had to get this out there.))
I finally managed to force myself to visit a lover I had from before I died. I've been thinking about it a lot lately and I finally got the courage to go up to him. The reason it's so hard to confront him is because he doesn't know that I've died. He must hate me because of what I've physically become, but I can never be sure about that until I try. Thankfully, Iretia managed to give me a few words of advice on what to do when I visited him, such as lightening the mood and impressing him with a few new magic tricks I've learned.
The sound it made when it hit the floor was a soft hiss like an adder about to strike. It woke them both from a sound sleep confusion mixing in within sleep-kissed eyes.
Just a chat for a simple evening.
The stage was set, a concert grand harp with golden inlays took up most of the stage. It commanded itself to be seen and the woman who was sitting down beside it seemed tiny and dwarfed, though she was dressed just as glamorous as the harp. Fiawyn wore a crimson and saffron v-necked gown with slits at the knee to help her walk. It was formal, showing only the hints of what lay underneath the silken fabric. Her eyes gazed across the awaiting crowd. From the stage she could see everything.
She took a deep breath while the stage lights bounced off her harp in metallic hues. Fiawyn couldn't look at the strings dead-on because it would blind her in the waterfall of silver. It was no matter, her fingers already knew which strings to play. She knew the harp as expertly as she knew the daggers and axes at her side.
He found her praying.
There were voices, hushed and panicked. One stood out clearly, the gruff unmistakable voice of the old druid Artaios, and then suddenly the voices separated and she could hear the soft intones of the shaman Aloaki. Their words seem to make little sense to her, her mind not yet accustomed to reasoning. She could feel the cold hard marble beneath her limbs and she willed herself to open her eyes.
The Seeress dealt her cards