Well I was really anxious about my impending marriage and the ongoing war against Hellscream.
Anxious doesn’t begin to cover it, really. I went through the full stages of grief in regards to Iloam’s brilliant plan to “take care of my future.” I am sure when this is all over, I’ll go back to that, but for now, there are more pressing issues on my mind. And to think, Sunday night started out so well.
Thistle smoke drifted toward the ceiling in lazy spirals. Ace lay on the floor of her new bedroom, the stonework cold against her back, and enjoyed just how empty it was. She had a bag of course, full of what clothes she'd managed to get cheap as well as some towels and toiletries lifted from the Inn. Her pillow and the sheets the pooled around her waist had also been "gifts" from Wayfarer’s. Proper furniture would have to wait until she wasn't broke. The remainder of the money she had that wasn't frozen in Dalaran had been used to buy this place; A small two bedroom flat in Fairbreeze Village.
I did as you asked. The true purpose for the salvage op was a success.
After the salvage team departed, I stole away to the Archivium and used the disks to access the full Titan database on the Old Gods. I'm pouring over the information now. Hopefully there's something here on how to combat whatever Garrosh intends to do with Y'Shaarj's remains...
P.S. After Monday night, I have this odd compulsion to find a beat-up black leather jacket and cruise around on a motorbike.
There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, so a sharp crack and the rumble of thunder roused instinct enough to make even the two children raise their heads from their play. Their bodies shifted in unison where they were squatting, and her dark hand drooped to scuff a cornhusk doll against the dead scrub of mountain weeds.
The noise swelled to a deafening roar and she felt it rattle up through the earth and jar into her bones. Kharris clapped her hands to her ears and her doll tumbled unceremoniously to the ground. Kieran lifted a hand to shade his eyes as he looked up toward the winter sun, puzzled. It wasn’t thunder at all. The unhappy roar was coming from the mountain itself. Reflex twisted Kharris’s back protectively toward the noise, but her eyes were riveted on the mountainside and the haphazard herd of parked gypsy wagons that were shadowed under it. Her breath hissed through her teeth and time seemed to stretch.
Dear Diary, it's been awhile since I wrote in yo Stop right there. I'm not some love-starved preteen twit whose ex is flirting with the head cheerleader of the Fishball team.
It's been awhile since I wrote a journal. I think I destroyed my old one. Tattered pages torn from bindings and shed up and down Storm Peaks and Icecrown. Maybe in twenty years some dwarf will happen up and offer dimwits a few gold to collect all the pages, off wandering monsters that somehow swallowed them whole without digesting them. The cycle continues.
This is my attempt to start writing a journal again. Lo once suggested I take it up again someday. “Writing is the voice of the spirit." (or some nonsense like that)
I miss him.
“No. I can’t do anything with that.”
“Surely, you’re over reacting. Someth--”
The little girl’s ears couldn’t help but perk toward the other room and the pregnant pause within, but otherwise her poise remained unflawed. She continued to stare over the patterns on the hallway wallpaper opposite her. The first voice echoed down the narrow hall ahead of two sets of steps. “What is the use? It won’t go anywhere. I have better investments to work with.”
“Is not worth my time.”
“--ily is able to pay your teaching fees. You can’t just--”
“I can. And I am, Lady Gal’diel.”
Signing the legal documents for the transfer of ownership of the Barge in Durotar in the event of the death of one Kharris Dawndancer-Blacksong had been the hardest part of the night. His hand wouldn’t stop shaking, whether it was the alcohol or the absolute fear as to why he was signing those papers, he couldn’t tell.
She still smiled and laughed like nothing was wrong. That was all a façade-- He understood now, how she felt. Why she felt it. Try as he might there was absolutely nothing he could do to help her; maybe it was because was in his own slump, if he couldn’t help himself, how could he help her? He’d told her, while drunk, that he just couldn’t see things getting better, not right now. That had been the wrong thing to say, but whiskey made him talk.
What an awful week. If it hadn’t been for Jericho staying by my side and keeping me distracted with tormenting him rather than brooding on my own, I would have existed in a perpetual state of melancholy. And all because Iloam had shown up at Fancy Cakes for five or ten minutes, only to inform me that he had to get some paperwork done, and was leaving for a few days. He would be back on Wednesday, he assured me. There was no reason to be concerned, for my part. Things have been going rather well, and we were relaxed, just enjoying the time we had before the Regent-Lord sent orders to resume operations in Pandaria. Iloam seemed content lately, which is the best I can ask for really. He gave me a wonderful Winter’s Veil and birthday. So honestly, I would have been alright, just a bit blue that he was away but confident that he would be back soon enough. Then I went to Shadowfire.
Nothing was going well lately, it seemed.
He’d broken up with Tali-- a fact that didn’t cease to cause him grief even though he constantly reminded himself that it was truly for the best.
Now Kharris was deeply upset. He’d held her while she sobbed Sunday morning.
He didn’t know what she was upset about. He didn’t ask.
It wasn’t his business, that much he knew.
She was his best friend, his only friend, but he wasn’t hers.
Whatever happened at the Shadowfire had cut even deeper than whatever it was had earlier that morning.
There was nothing he could do to help, he knew that.
So he made tea.
I was never sure if it was something in me, or if it was a wider trait of Travelers. Something inherent to gypsies, maybe. I suspect we’re all a bit like this.
I love the Road.
I hardly ever get all that sentimental about objects. I don’t really understand their fixations on baby shoes and diplomas and dried up old corsages. People are sentimental about the strangest things; they’re not even useful, usually. I don’t keep much anything I couldn’t easily part from. I never even used to keep animals that didn’t work for their keep; but then one cat came to me on his Road, and our paths haven’t been parted yet. No. I am not sentimental about ~things~.
I ~am~ sentimental about places.
I guess that’s how I got here: the crack of dawn at the Royal Exchange Auction House. This is where Asarel Solshade first came into my life.
"It's good to feel you again,
It's been a long long time. Hasn't it?"
- Supper`s Ready (Lover`s Leap)
((This follows this blog entry: http://www.rp-haven.com/blog/tylel/trespass_3_guardian
It also relates to events describe from Kharris' point of view here: http://www.rp-haven.com/blog/kharris/trespass_6_til_i_collapse
Yes, we're continuing this story.))
She was struck with the conflicting desire to either pull him into her embrace or sock him good and hard in the eye. When he finally reached her from across the crowded, smoky room of the Speakeasy Lounge, she did neither. Instead, she wills the cool kiss of shadows to well up inside her core. Yet it was hardly enough to quell the holy fire painfully burning from within and it was all she could do to withhold the smiting as she held her composure in his presence.
I felt my eyes bore into the back of the necromancer's head, he was going to fuck it up. I instantly became aware of how stupid the plan was, and how I'd likely given him everything to banish me into the nether that I'd so recently dragged myself from. I was in heaven, so why in the fel had I chosen to step back into the realm body and try again?
Gaelwyn woke up in the makeshift inn there in the depths of Felwood at some odd hour. Once she remembered the night's events, she was more grateful than usual for the isolation of this temporary home. Earlier that night she had boarded the zeppelin in Orgrimmar with a few other Blood Elves, intending to run routine errands. She met someone, though, and from there her night flipped topsy-turvy.
"She's trying to come back to life," he murmured against his partner's warm skin.
Her hand stilled as she stroked it through his silken black hair, "So what does that mean? Is she going to try to kill me again?"
She watches as the beer dribbles out of the bottle at her feet, the shock of seeing the Dawndancer girl beginning to fade as humiliation takes over.
It was the debut of her return to Quel'Thalas society after over a decade's absence and she would be remembered as the woman at the gala who spilled her beer, in front of the brew mistress no less, whom she was approaching to thank and compliment.
But then -she- had been there...
Heaven. This was heaven.
The silken blankets curled around my body as I lay in bed, hugging each curve of my body with memorized affection. The air was cool, but that was to be expected this early in spring. The breeze had caught the window, setting it open to let the scent of jasmine through.
Kharris must have planted them before I'd gotten here..Not surprising, she was as much of a green thumb as I was at times. Oh shit, I'd need to get up soon- she'd be wandering around looking for company on making those portents later. No, portents wasn't the right word- potions...that was it.
“Are you safe now? Did you banish him?”
“I'm working on it.” Means no.
About the last thing I was expecting to hear after we got to Nidhoggr was Kharris’ voice on the comm asking what the heck was going one. Afraid I almost blew her ears off, I squealed so loud. Of course, no one had bothered to tell me she was back - just like they hadn’t bothered to tell me she was missing and that’s part of what started this whole mess. Almost made a fool of myself when she said she would come to visit, I was so happy to hear from her.
Nidhoggr’s a gloomy place, buried down in the forests of Duskwood. Ythgar uses it for things he thinks I don’t know about, but aside from that, we hardly ever go there. I’d dragged one of my senior maids along to cook and help with the cleaning, aside from that it was a boy’s club. Ythgar, Iloam, and a half dozen guards, with Stormcren and Bloodsword off doing whatever the nether it was they were doing. So I was bored, lonely, and worried sick about Ythgar when Kharris arrived at the door.
Looks like it always did
This flesh and bone
It's just the way that we are tied in
Now there's no-one home
I am learning the rules and my thoughts are clearing. I do not belong here, but I am beginning to adapt; I should probably worry about that, but I don’t have time to spend wallowing. I never stop fighting.
The unexpectedly careful voidwalkers; a battle of a patience, then sudden strikes. The bold but predictable succubi and incubi; their confidence is their weakness. The imps are chaotic but cunning; they are easily distracted and weak once vulnerable. Felguards, felhounds, hags, infernals, abyssals, dreadlords, doomguards.They all have their weaknesses.
I am... alive. I think. Any other existence is hazy for me and I wonder if the memories aren’t constructs made to torment me further.
I am surviving, but I am not thriving. I am so tired. If I were dead, surely I wouldn’t be this tired.
There is no choice but to keep going. Exhaustion creeps up here. It feels like a blanket dropped onto my shoulders to drag at me.
(Time passing for Synnaquin was very different for Kharris. I hope that does not confuse too much! <3)
(Per usual, this is pretty late. I'm so slow! This goes with http://www.rp-haven.com/blog/ixinane/past_shadow )
The machine Cynrick employed to bring us here confuses me. I will not pretend to understand its methods. It is some obtuse goblin design that rattles my brain to consider. The hardened warrior has the machine locked into a leather satchel with strange tubes filled with a sickly green liquid that filtered into a muzzle that socketed a hole through the humid Eversong climate. The void that lingers beyond is daunting. The machine whirs and ticks as it travels over each of us in turn. Iloam stares into the beyond as though he could summon Kharris with the glint of his eye. He is worried and quiet. The group was a determined one.
They just kept coming.
The last pack had been made up of some kind imp. Was it a family? One had been larger. They had flung fire and taunts and gnashed their pointed teeth.
Nothing is stable here and it confuses me. At first, it kept shifting, flashing spaces for me. Keiran’s cabin. The apartment in Shattrath. Winterspring. Shift. An open field in the Hinterlands. The Shadow’s apartment. The shore on Lordamere lake. Shift shift shift. But it couldn’t settle. Or maybe I wouldn’t settle. And something instinctively knew it--I--was … wrong. Shift. It is as if some consciousness is sifting through my thoughts, emotions, and memories, trying to anchor me. It cannot pin me down and it keeps throwing me back...here. Wherever ‘here’ was.
In spite of it all, I am amused at the thought I frustrate Hell. It feels like I smile, but I’m not sure.
My smile feeling fades when my sight searches the landscape. Confusion takes its place. This place bothers me. There is gritty, orange dirt under my sandal. I know this. I am aware of this. I am also aware of the heat and the scent of fel. A wind blows through me, hot and dry.
“Bring him to me, alive.”
Asarel wanted the shaman that had robbed him of his lover. It was wrong seeing her laying quiet and unmoving, doing nothing more than breathing. There wasn’t anything he could do but bring back a Shaman.