(( Because...well, just because! I miss the ol' girl. Though $15/month is a bit too much for me right now, especially with her RP dead, and the X-pac being so unbelievably boring at present...but, well, I couldn't help but delve into her madness for just a little while. Its like an old, comfy shoe...miss your faces! ))
I’ve gotten time to relax after the war and I can finally reflect on everything. The SI:7 became quite quiet now that nothing is happening. But if a dream I had does end up happening, I will be called in soon to investigate a murder.
I thought long and hard with what I want to do with my life other than combat and training, and I’ll try to write a few novels and a documentary of the war at Gilneas.
I hope this letter finds you well. How are Veriana and the children? I spotted what had to be little Melly with a group of her friends in the City recently, and was shocked by how much she’s grown. She will be a fine lady one day, won’t she?
The evening sun sat low in the darkening sky over Eversong Woods.
Springpaws and Dragonhawks returned to their dens and nests as the tired Farstrider and Blood Knight patrols switched with the fresh eyes and ears of the well rested. Through the manicured woods the scar of unrest continued to be inhabited by the dead come to life, though they moved without purpose and ambition.
The Nightingale was a seductress, a charmer with a golden tongue, and a lady of the night. But she was also going to be something else she didn't expect. This whole concept had been unfathomable to the performer in earlier times. But the crimson-tressed songstress had left most of the world she knew behind to become a student in the Arts. Most shocking of all, she was going to be a mother.
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.
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.
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.
She was simple to follow.
She moved through the crowd with ease. They might have thought they stepped aside out of courtesy, letting the blind find Her way unhindered, but I knew better of course. For I could see what She was – both guided and guiding. She shone with her calling.
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.
Sometimes the most exquisite flowers raise their heads from a bed of weeds.
It had been a month since I’d made you safe from the machinations of your family, my darling, a lonely month, but one with the satisfaction of our triumph still fresh in my mind. Everything reminded me of you, as it should. My every thought, every breath I drew, every beat of my heart, all were for you.
But love is never selfish. It grows and spreads and thrives...
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.
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.
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.
And yet, he had his duty. He had his machinations certainly, but more then anything he had his duty. The raven haired beauty that had captured the Arbiters eye was an interesting creature. Not the sort of girl that you would bring home to Mother, but that can change with a blink of an eye.
Chameleon. Changelings. They lived in the Dawnfire Estate, didn't they.
I don’t think I slept in a week, my fevered thoughts burning through my mind in frantic floods. I knew you trusted me to find a solution, my darling, and so I evaluated idea after idea in desperate haste. I would not fail you.