I miss her scent.
I can feel it like a dull ache in my belly. I wanted her to be here besides me.
Even now, even when I was like this.
This thing I have become.
TELL me not (Sweet) I am unkinde,
That from the Nunnerie
Of thy chaste breast, and quiet minde,
To Warre and Armes I flie.*
Zalinara sat on the balcony and watched the sun rise over the Dawnfire estate; her estate in a little under two weeks. It was an odd thought. As a girl, she had rebelled against her family's plans to marry her off for property and politics, a rebellion that had led her down dark paths, and now she was making a far better marriage than her parents could have hoped to arrange.
Somewhere in the bowels of Draenor.
The air was nearly static as I circled down towards the outcrop of pebbled floating rock. I fell to a grinding halt, my claws digging into the rock, sending skittering debris into the violet and sickly green atmosphere. I moved back to huddle over my mentor. His skin was clammy and his eyes slammed shut as he shudders and shakes in his rumpled scholarly clothes. I pull his head to rest in my lap; the tattered robe seems to hold his head at a strange angle, his lips turning nearly bluish despite the fiery heat that poured from the magus.
Iantoh Stardust was badly hurt. I could smell it on him.
His impending death was a perfume of weakness that I could not ignore.
I saw his Diogenes dying before my eyes.
Iantoh had given up.
He was ready to accept that beyond.
He was perhaps too old, too weary to sustain in the face of his suffering.
He wanted me to end him.
Fel knows, I will do it too.
Zalinara frowned in annoyance at the sudden rapping on her door, "Yes, who is it?"
"Your arch-nemesis", came the muffled answer, "Open the damned door."
She rose, chuckling and shaking her head, and opened the door. "What's up?"
Synnaquin lurched against the doorframe, haggard, an expression of annoyance painting her circled eyes. "Something is going on with Cynrick, he is acting weirder than usual."
Zalinara motioned her into the room, frowning at her words. "What do you mean?"
Synnaquin pushed past her, exhaustion tugging at her motions. "He can't focus, he is losing control of himself. Spending hours ... He's acting like a succubus is controlling him or something. Insatiable, hedonistic and utterly depraved and he can tell something is wrong. I think he is possessed."
Zalinara blinked in surprise. "Wait, what? Insatiable? Depraved?"
It was night time at the Dawnfire Estate. The day fruitful beyond a doubt. Embraelle safe. Arya contained. Sibling rivalry squashed. The murder investigation closed. Lord Firestriders issues resolved. Silent's descent prevented. Darroc Bastion Dawnfire sleeps finally and his thoughts are scattered like so many drops of blood and each tear as important. Each stain sank deep to take root.
Somewhere in Ratchet, Iantoh Stardust sleeps.
The relative comfort of the peculiar man's sleep lasted only so long as it was dreamless. When time slipped away into brief thoughtless moments, and hours of his life were reduced to a short, merciful blur. Iantoh was a man of many talents, and many more years spent surrounded by the oddities of a sorcerer's trade. He knew immediately when his dream ended, and when Silent's visit began. He perceived more of her than any other aura she'd entered, and the creature was momentarily shocked by his understanding of where she began. Sweat was rolling down his temples, he could feel her fangs in his mind.
The rich tang of iron hangs in the air.
Just go to cakes and find him.
He's run off.
Braedyn directs me to someone who could find Iantoh.
He's with a woman
They went to a quieter place.
Pretty young thing is leaving his shop, when I approach.
He just vanishes.
So you're sleeping with more than my sister.
Not good for you sir.
She leans in and he catches her hands moving to his chest.
“I think I see what you mean.”
His mouth murmurs against hers, and he chuckles, encouraging.
“I can be forward too.”
Her red wet velvet tongue slips from her soft lips to brush his.
His hands move to her hips, a passionate kiss.
The old manor house was strangely comforting; its eclectic mish-mash of books, antiques, and artifacts. Centuries of Eleth’ir family collections housed under one very large roof. He took much more time traveling back up into the house proper, compared his rushed entry to the secret basement. Now his fingertips lingered over traces of dust, caressing the spines of books, pausing over the fragile reconstructions of skeletons.
Took a moment to realize the alarm was raised...
Paranoid or not, I’d not dreamed they’d be breached.
In a flash, I materialized within my domain of books and dust,
Only to find a mere RUNT with one my precious artifacts.
He shook and stammered, begged and pleaded.
Facing my flame, he dropped his prize.
I brought the runed skull to hand,
Cobwebs and a layer of dust as thick as his fingers were there to greet him as he stepped across the threshold of the ancient manor house. Spiders skittered and scattered like dark splotches of shadow; a crow cawed out its melancholic cry in the distance. A snap of his fingers, and he reached out to bring the two lanterns on either side of the massive oaken door to life.
A heavy sigh, and the dust of decay and decades filled his lungs as he focused golden eyes upon the door itself, ancient and arcane mechanisms grinding to life under the scrutiny of their master. A wave of his hand, the gentlest motion of pushing forward, and the cumbersome door creaked slowly inwards upon the manor.
Flakes of metal and powdery shale crumbled in the wake of her footfalls. Freed from the lip of the aged Dwarven edifice, they sifted blithely through thick, searing air towards the molten sea below. Embraelle’s tiptoed dance along the ledge mirrored the heedlessness of their descent, moving like molted feathers caught in an ashen breeze.
Behind her, the ethereal bird squawked impulsively as it saw fit, and she felt a rush of air ruffle the copper waves that drooped down her back as it flitted past on cinder wings. It felt cool against the back of her neck, but only in comparison to the soaring temperatures radiating from every corner of the molten cavern. The air was very thin there, serving mainly to feed the amaranthine flames it had birthed, nurturing in a way that was not really intended for mortal creatures.
Iantoh as depicted by the fabulously talented and wonderously amazing DONUT MOD OF AWESOMENESS!
There used to be a bookshop off the coast of Ratchet. The salty smell of the ocean would lure you to daydream, the warm heat of the sun would lick at your skin, and one could get lost in all the interesting and intricate things that were kept in precious care by Iantoh Stardust.
Adalynn Foxtrot did.
Soot and grime smeared on his face
So far away from his books and studies
From the safety of his shop
In the depths of Blackwing Descent
Muttering to himself about how the hell he got dragged into this place
He’s done his share and more and no one can deny him that
The acrid smoke burned my eyes and made it all but impossible to see. I was suddenly alone. The stench of Stratholme was so overpowering I nearly gagged. I crept silently through the smoke, peering at anything I could distinguish. My hands firmly gripped the hilts of my daggers and I took step after step into shadows and more smoke. There had been plenty of Undead already this salvage run. Poor wretches, risen from the dead...denied any peace. All at once a boney hand was on my shoulder and I jerked around in time to see the face of my former owner and captor...decomposing and rotting before my eyes. He still leered at me with that smirk...
I screamed and flailed, panic taking over. I felt weightless for what felt like an eternity before I abruptly felt my body slam into a hard surface.
The candle flame flickered once. Then a tendril of ocean air reached in through the window of the shop, into the darkness, and curled around the desk, making the candle's flame dance in the dim light.
The shop owner scowled, expression possibly even darker than the shop itself. He reached into his waist pocket, withdrawing an antique pocket watch, and sighed faintly upon seeing the position of its hands.
The wind whipped into the shop again, turning a few pages of the ancient book that rested on the desk before him, illuminating only by that single candle.
He glared at the book, as if daring it to close.
~Weak. Pitiful. Whoooo are you, then?~
TO: MISS ADALYNN FOXTROT
FROM: DATING GAME ENTERTAINMENT SERVICES
TO WHOM IN MAY CONCERN,
WE RECEIVED YOUR DECLINATION OF PROCEEDING WITH THE CONTEST, HOWEVER, TO DO SO YOU'LL BE FINED TWO-HUNDRED GOLD FOR THE CURRENCY LOST IN ORDER TO SET UP YOUR POSITION WHICH WAS ALREADY CARRIED OUT AFTER YOUR ENTRY WAS ACCEPTED. IF YOU STILL WISH TO DECLINE, PLEASE SEND THE FEE ALONG WITH A WRITTEN AGREEMENT THAT YOU UNDERSTAND THE CHARGE AS WELL AS THE FACT YOU WILL NO LONGER ENROLL IN FUTURE GAMES.
PAYMENT MUST BE PROMPT,
"If you could be a beverage, what would you be and why?"
You know, right when I was called down I knew I wasn't going to win. The woman they choose as the Bachelorette was pretty, for a troll, but just from looking at her I could tell she had the personality of someone I would not get along with; I don't generally get along with trolls unless in the darkness of a bedroom where we do not talk about anything. Still, I volunteered to participate, so I might as well play along and be honest.
"Fizzy Fruit Wine ... because, well, I'm a fruit!"
Ian seemed happy for the first time tonight, since someone was paying attention to him finally.
It was rather obvious earlier tonight at the club he’s got it bad for Adalynn. Not that she noticed or seemed to care; nope she just danced the night away performing for others.
Ian was just left standing there and a bit tongue tied it seemed. Until my suggestion for him to return to my quarters to inspect the crates of books Maliandras had gotten his hands on, that broke the foul mood brewing there inside the poor man.
So after a few bottles of some of Shryn’s finer wines and sitting next to him while he described the craftsmanship the stolen books he started to relax a little.
Now and again I'd toss out a few questions about what I should look for in books, things which would catch the interest of collectors so they’d pay top gold for them. This brought a smile to his face.
Stardrifter. Stardust. Starwhisper. Mu'sha, it seems like everyone's either you or the stars. Even in name...
The balmy heat licked against her skin, causing a layer of sweat to cling to her slightly aching frame with no way to escape, the muggy time of day was to blame for the unpleasantness certainly. The day was dragging to a close and she awaited the cooler evening patiently. Lifting her arm, she wiped the perspiration away from her forehead with the back of her hand before using her fingers to draw the dark chocolate strands away from her eyes.
It was hot.
I immediately regretted taking the job for this ‘message’… my shoes, after all, had just been polished. For that matter, they’d just been purchased, due to my generous benefactor. Now, the salty sea air and the layer of dust that surrounds this shaky excuse for a port town is going to ruin them.
Why in the three hells this fellow chose to put up his so-called ‘shop’ here of all places is still beyond me. I withdrew my new pocket watch from my pocket… (another generous gift.. I might add… vest AND watch…) and checked the time. Half-past the hour, good good… Why the old bean had gone on and on about finding Sterrenvolk before noon was beyond me, but… well, to say my client’s eccentric is like saying water is wet.