I am not too sure how this whole idea came up, it might of been when some elves were staring at me like I was a monster or a murderer because of the killings going on. The killings were supposedly from the shadowcult and the murders were mainly forsaken. Or I decided to go along with it because I just wanted to be holy again; my family -has- priests. Even though I am dead, my tendancy for the light is some what high. I also wanted to stop the lightslayers from harming any more people, and in order to be prepared, I will have to increase my tendancy.
We met up at a bar a few minutes before we left to the spire for my session. My anxiety at the bar was unbearable, I could barely stand up. Everyone at the bar was curious to know why I was so nervous. Drinking the 2 or 3 bottles of alcohol didn't help me.
"It's her first confession in the Church." She said, but it was a lie, and I had to go along with it.
“She’s perfect,” Grul hissed with his swollen tongue and rotten purple lips. He couldn’t open his mouth too far, the studded straps holding his head together wound tightly to his jaw. The rest of his decayed body hid beneath his blood red robes, stained by past sacrifices.
Ytis, her pale, naked, and thin blood elf body shrouded by the night, knelt beside the gagged sin’dorei teenage girl. Where the girl’s hands and feet were staked down to the forest floor, spread eagle, a beam of moonlight shot a area of spotlight. The girl’s young, frail, exposed body shuddered in pain as tears streamed down the sides of her face. A strap over her forehead, staked into the ground, forced her to only look at her torturers out of the corner of her eyes.
An eerie howl crept through the woods, causing Nelenna to clutch her rifle tighter. Mind wandering briefly to the stories she’d been hearing about wolf men roaming the woods. Paranoid excitable farmers, was all it had to be. She’d been hunting in these woods for years and never seen or heard anything like a bloodthirsty murderous wolf man that people kept going on about. It wouldn’t be to long until they discovered something new, like a, magical zombie cockroach or some such. Then all this wolf man business would be done with.
Sinobel hummed to herself absently, looking at her reflection in the waters which kissed the port town of Mar'at. 'My hair's grown long, and I hadn't even noticed' she mused as she ran her fingers through the strawberry locks, the dark blonde tinted as it was with henna. She stared at herself, at her hair. The reddish tones marked her connection to those myseterious desert folk who had changed her life so very much over these last few weeks. She didn't look like the same person she used to be, and gods knew she didn't feel like it.
She was starting to like herself and her life again.
Malvina blinked at the goblin postmaster. "A... package?" The young priestess mumbled. Who's left that would bother sending me anything? "Alright, I'll claim it."
"Well, uh, actually, miz, it's a few packages," the goblin added, a little too innocently.
"Alright, I'll claim them."
"Too many to carry, I figure, so I'll get someone to lug 'em around for you... for a small fee..."
She rolled her eyes. Goblins. "Fine, whatever, just get me my damned packages, you little vulture!"
Her hand stopped at the edge of the mailbox, fingers resting heavily on the metal hinge. There was blur of blue as she slammed the door shut, taking a step back from the mailbox hesitantly. Her eyes darted to the room upstairs, Ryodan wasn't back yet. Her hand moved to the com at her side, pushing the button with a frown. “I go' some sorta package-”
~~Written in a broad, scrawling hand in purple ink on yellowed parchment~~
I have feared that which is undead since the first time I encountered them personally. . .Stinking, mindless heaps of flesh and bone. . . Shambling along, heedless of all but their King's call. . .I ran from them. . . I fled, dropping my sword and heading north, across the river into Elwynn. . .
John Whitall lived in Theramore, making an honest living with his wife and children. He worked by day as a minor politician in Theramore, lobbying bills to help put an end to piracy. He fought long and hard against such things, and was soon going to made large headway. As he lay to sleep the night before, he had no idea as to what horrors would awake him.
Unlike a lot of my friends, I dream a lot. But it's almost never nightmares. I haven't had a nightmare in a few years. I guess I've been getting cocky...
I scratch my head. My head doesn't even itch and I do it. A nervous tic? I'm stepping lazily up the stairs in the central ring of the Undercity. The place stinks of chemicals and rot. A sour combination that even Venka can't stand, and she waits for me in the throne room. Money's been tight for me lately, And I've been considering selling junk I've kept that I don't need anymore. Hoarded off useless gems, random pieces of armor that wouldn't sell on the Auction House. I'd sold it to the blacksmith. He'd probably melt it down into something useful for me, like arrowheads.
Thomas Truxton was considered a good man. Studying the rare fauna and flora living in the Un'Goro crater, and helping those in the region. Unluckily for him, it seemed that Bloodsail Pirates made use of some of his research to create a rather deadly poison to use among competition. He did not expect to be targeted.
Parengo swam naked through the sea, dim moonlight her only illumination.
Swallowtail sat on the plateau, her heart throbbing inside her breast. The man she had seen in the Tower.. Ythfas.. his foot ground into a slave’s broken hand, face twisted with demoniacal hunger – this was not her lover.
Noctilia cried in the darkness. Terror gripped her, a vague feeling of dread creeping up her spine like a ruptured sack of newborn spiders. Night elves don't know true darkness. Even in the dimmest darkest part of the forest, their keen eyes see as well as midday. This night though seemed unwholesome and uncanny. Only the ghost touches of her feet on the smooth surface on which she stood gave any grounding of up or down. No horizon, no differentiation, all was the suffocating void. It pressed in on her. Noctilia's ears swiveled as she tried to fix the insubstantial sounds of the space, trying desperately to gage any direction of escape. She imagined she felt breath on her neck and Noctilia spun, lashing out but hitting nothing.