The air smelled strongly of damp earth and ash, and I wondered vaguely about the hearth. Had I properly extinguished the embers before leaving Compass Pointe? The smooth stone face of the mantel place in our coastal haven was as familiar in my mind's eye as Elaeryn's own, down to the subtlest crease of his brow as he set about his carving. Deftly he drew out the hidden shapes within a simple piece of wood, the same way he summoned forth the very best in each one of his rangers.
But there was no fire save for the one burning in my belly where, only moments before, a crude axe of Amani make was firmly embedded. I could not see it, but I knew the blade was lodged deep by the way each breath I drew sent waves of searing pain coursing through my veins like poison- no doubt along with such a substance- and I was forced to make each more shallow than the last. I had to remove it...needed to stop its flow before it was too late...
I felt lighter than I had in months as my bare feet paced across the floor of my Villa office. Of course Tameena had had to make a few changes to even this room. At least they were subtle. The placement of a few vases of colorful flowers, including a few that hung by the open window to catch the tropical breeze as it rolled in off the ocean, weren't overly intrusive. Plus, she only meant well. Trying to cheer up my 'brooding room' as she playfully called it - though the description tended to be apt.
He kept waiting for Tali to walk around the corner while he sat on the bed in their room. Threadneedle itself was still bright and airy, like nothing had changed. The carpets showed no damage, everything was back where it should be, where it had been. The bedcovers were still turned down from where they had gotten up on the morning of the ninteenth. The scotch and strawberries were still on the nightstand, the sugar had hastened their rate of decay. It was the only sign that they had been there since the eighteenth.
Her dresses were still in the armoire, her things still on the table by the window, make-ups and accessories still scattered around the bathroom. She would walk in at any second and throw open the curtains, saying what a lovely day it was, while trying her hardest not to look as sick as they both knew she had become.
Except she wouldn’t.
The soft wheat brushed the under palm of her scarred hand. She exhales low waiting for him to come to her. The world was cast in soft yellow light, Azshara had become golden in the mid-afternoon light and she felt her tension easing. She recalled the scene from the night before. Liliana was a harmless flighty girl that shouldn't have summoned such rage in her. It had startled all of them, Jericho most of all. She had been so calm lately.
She had been fine until Liliana spoke about 'him'.
“The Delivery Boy?" intones Jericho, with a soft laugh. "Who cares, have fun Synn," Synn wondered absently, if this was fun. It seemed mundane. But then...
(I have edited the dates to reflect ICly, Shryn's timeline! Thanks for your patience <3 )
I stared across at Vandethir, a memory of Kagg distracting me from his words. I blink and shake my head certain I had misheard him,
“I said, I want to burn this city to the damned ground,” growled the Blood Knight suddenly and I nodded to him slowly. “Your joking right?” I say carefully, raising a brow.
Cerwis crept into the apartment she shared with her husband, closing the door behind her and tossing her bag onto the couch in the front room. Things were a mess; clothes were strewn about without care, bandages were unrolled and piled everywhere, empty antiseptic bottles littered the floor and coffee table. The mess irked her.
She picked up the empty bottles and threw them into the kitchen rubbish bin like a Battle Ball player trying to score a point. Next were the clothes and bandages, they could be washed. She gathered them all up and carried them into the master bedroom and dropped them into the laundry hamper right inside the door.
They lay together, bodies clasped, the afterglow of the moment still lingering as their heartbeats echoed a descant to one another’s. The moon playfully delved through the open sheers to splay errant beams of light upon their sweat dampened flesh.
Nightsonge lay on her side, her long indigo hair cascading loosely off the side of the raised dais to pool onto the floor. Kaedarn’s body lay protectively over hers, his pale skin in stark contrast to her golden complexion. One calloused hand gently caressed the edge of her silken shoulder as the newly mated pair relished in the diminishing ache of Ma’kado answered at long last.
A few words can throw a bloke off balance with the same weight of a mace or great sword. Resulting in a stumble. A trip. A staggering fall.
Decided to unpack my Wacom tablet and play around with my new CS4 tonight. Tried a bunch of old things I've never been good at: drawing directly from the wacom tablet, Trolls, clean lines. Tried some things that were totally new: odd perspective, watercolor brushes.
It's not awesome but its mostly just to get myself drawing again. Thought about cleaning up the coloring, but I kind of liked the bleeding watercolor effect. Still not as pretty as using a good old real pen and watercolor set. But meh. Gotta practice with this new fangled digital stuff!
I wanted to do a doodle of Iloam and Balla napping in the grass after a good day of fighting and wrestling with other Gurubashi Trolls. Inspired by this awesome set on Flickr of the Kırkpınar Oil Wrestling Championships in Turkey every year.
My participation had cost me. I stumbled out of the front doors of the club, catching myself with hands and knees on the cobble stone. The guards at the door paid me no mind, I was just another drunk patron and there wasn’t enough blood to be concerned about. Dalaran spun around me, blurs of colors, faces, walls I would collide into. I was disorientated, sick, fel raced through my blood like so much fire. Everything on me hurt, the teeth marks on my neck and collar bone and the deep slices on each palm were the leaders in the throbbing melody my body had become. Warlock magic is a fickle thing, one must give to receive, the only reason I was so dangerous is because I held no self preservation, I drained myself dry on a regular basis, laid my life in the hands of my magic, and would expel my very soul if it meant I accomplished my means. Just another half mad warlock…….
There are hundreds of miles of pipeline down here, but I can find her just as easily on instinct alone. My eyes dilate and burn brighter in the dark catacombs, fingers sliding along damp stone, my boots alternating between crunching gravel and rancid puddles. If I listen closely, I think I can hear the distant sound of horse hooves and shuffling feet above us - but it's only imagined. There is only the sound of rushing sewer water, the shrill squeaking of rats, the snap of bones under my feet... and the loveliest sound of all - my siren call - the echoed sobs of a little girl.
The morning tea had gone as usual, the women filling one another in on their own comings and goings while keeping some of the more intimate details to themselves. There’d been lots of laughter and joking as Niviene regaled the group with the events of the Hallow’s End celebration that the Darkshire Academy and the Shrouded Dawn had sponsored the night before.
Artisania Marveloso tried to catch her breath.
She was smiling, a laughing grin pulling her cheeks to wrinkle the corners of her eyes, which couldn't have been brighter. She had been dancing, for the first time in… so many years. With one hand she reached out, steadying herself against the stone fireplace of the White Hart tavern, while the other came to rest over her chest where her heartbeat raced to the rhythm of Blackmarrow's jig.
Still the Forsaken man played, with such animation that his corpselike state melted into a natural vitality. Heulwen was still pulling at Liore and beckoning to Iloam, both of the fellows so reluctant to join in. Before them, a young dwarf's heavy platemail boots dented the floorboards as she clogged alongside the strange little gnome. Such a party she had not seen in a long time.
((Explicit Warning: Nudity and implied sex))
I’m nervous. I can feel my heart fluttering in my chest as she watches me. That doesn’t bother me as much as you’d think it would – I’m used to that. The shabby wool of the blanket below my bare skin is far more irritating as I fight to regain my breathing, coming in post-coital gasps. More than anything, I want a cigarette. Some kind of distraction. My mind is on the soul shard clutched in my sweaty palm.