OOC: A quick warning. There are elements of attempted rape in this story. It may be disturbing to those affected by such topics.
"Theralda, are you certain about this?" The younger Shryn'Dael eyed the crowd with a bit of trepidation, outside of the normal circumstances the young elf would normally find herself in. Her companion, an elf a few years older than her and a cousin several times removed, flashed the blonde teenaged elf a grin that was in no way reassuring.
"Come on, Shryn," she said, arching a reddish-blonde eyebrow at the girl. "There's more to life than socials and teas. You need to get out and experience LIFE away from your family and your title. Which reminds me, I'm Therrie, and you're Dayana."
"Dayana? Theraldra, that's awful," Shryn grimaced. "How do you even nickname that?" Her cousin merely laughed and grabbed her by the elbow, dragging her through the crowd and into the even more crowded indoors.
"Wake up, Nagmos."
Such simple words, He'd heard them before. Never so beautiful as then though. He awoke slowly, blinking blearily.
"Good morning," he said as his brain woke up. Looking up, he spotted her. Shryn. She was still beautiful, even gaunt as she was now. "I feel like I've slept too much..."
"Sit up, that's probably the tea. This should help though." She said, offering a mug of coffee. A grateful smile flashed across his face as he took it. He took a deep drink and she settled behind him, beginning to rub his back and shoulders. Nagmos slumped forward, his head hanging loosely as her fingers dug at knots. "I've questions for you," he mumbled, his eyes closed "But they can wait." He felt a brief hesitation at his words, then her hands fell away and she slid off the bed.
"If you're hungry, I've prepared breakfast" she gestured to the balcony. "It's waiting for us."
Dawn's Port - Sunwalker Estates
-Private Gardens of Shryn'dael Sunwalker-
Rage clouded his vision, his heartbeat pounded in his ears, drowning out what the blood elf in front of him was saying. He had been used, simply a tool to be manipulated and then thrown away. He had been made an unwitting pawn yet again, told to blindly carry out the orders he had been given.
Damn it, awake again. I wonder how long till morning?
Even the comforts of my sisters home can't ease my mind. Damn you Shryn'Dael.
This was so much easier when you left your son out of our affairs.
I wonder if I should go check if Jinah or Saeran need any food or water, must be boring sitting outside.
I have no fucking desire to remain at your home but damn it. You had to include your son in this.
I am so fucking trapped. I can either be hated by you and my family hunted down by you. Or I can help you and be less hated but none the less hated, till the next incident. Fuck!
(( I will post more later in depth, this had over 15 witnesses, so, hopefully this is Kosher.. Will update in detail later.))
The decaying smoldering brothel on Murder Row stood ablaze in front of Synn.
At least it was quiet. Tiradell sat on the bed in his private room in the Blood Knights' sanctum, alternatively rubbing his temple with his fingertips and running his hand through his hair. If he kept his eyes closed, he thought to himself, he could almost forget the inky mess on his desk, the grubby coins scattered throughout the seashells and the half-eaten, stale pretzel. He couldn't even be angry with the guards, really, they'd let stranger people in through at his request, and the trolls and that idiot Locavera had mentioned his name to them.
The Magister saw stars, bright white and blue and red and yellow explosions of light in a world gone suddenly hazy and dark.
She dropped to the ground in a heap, dazed and stunned, even as her guards leapt to protect her and Tiradell clamped a hand down on her assailant's shoulder. Saviero squealing about pretty coolours behind her, somewhere.
She tasted blood. Her nose. Oh LIGHT he had broken her nose. The thought horrified her more than anything.
Fortune Velstand had punched her and broken her nose.
She should have killed his damn cat.
Incidents of discomfort around water increasing, becoming disturbing. Elementals displeased when summoned, elusive with answers. Element feels sluggish when working it. What is going on? Must seek out shaman. Hire Iloam, maybe.
The magister put down her pen and leaned back in her chair, glancing out the window and at the Northern Sea, the vast ocean that stretched out endlessly, beyond the horizon. Almost immediately, her stomach clenched and she felt nervous, anxious even. Scanning the dark water, the sun's dying rays burning an orange swath from east to west, she could detect no threat and so turned her eyes back to her journal.
Immediately, the worry vanished. What was going on?
I hate cleaning the fish tank. Pirahnas leave the most disgusting reddish-brown waste behind after a large meal, and having to mind-control fish requires a lot of effort. Small brain, and it's hard to think that basic. I'd prefer to have flesh left on my arm, though.
The tank was almost cleaned - glass scrubbed, pebbles washed, plants replanted, new water and fish added - when Fortune arrived. He checked out the house but couldn't find out how an assassin got in either. I could see it rattled him, though. He is a protector sort. He promised to protect me, and he failed. And he failed to my cousin, a woman he despises.
I wonder how much he would despise me if he knew I was the one who provided her with the drugged wine, that year past? But it is not something to come up.
((Rated mature for drug use))
Notice of Trials
The accused, Tareyn Foxfire of no known house, is facing charges of kidnapping, kidnapping of nobility, casting magicks on an unwilling subject, magickal molestation, and insult to dignity of a noble house.
Vanista Nightfire, accredited by the Legal Societies of Silvermoon, will act as Justice in the case.
Foxfire will be tried in public in Silvermoon at six late bells on July 21.
The accused, Thienna Fen'Relah of House Vinguld, is facing charges of kidnapping, kidnapping of nobility, assisting a criminal after the fact, and fraternization with humanity.
Vanista Nightfire, accredited by the Legal Societies of Silvermoon, will act as Justice in the case.
Fen'Relah will be tried in public in Silvermoon immediately following the Foxfire case.
There is something I've noticed about a lot of people, they don't like Shryn'dael. I can understand that to a point, but as mean as they are when they talk about her, that just seems to go a bit far. Of course I've only seen one side of the fence. Maybe those people who talk about her behind her back should look at Shryn'dael the way I look at her. She's nice to me, to some extent, and I think she really tries to be nice to everybody. I remember the first day I met her. I was just some gangly little girl in the streets of Silvermoon, rusty armor, dull blade, awkward footing, and a bad habit to pry into peoples business. The tall bronze haired elf named Xannivard standing only a few feet from me, neither of us aware that in some ways we were father and daughter. Shryn'dael sitting at the head of the table surrounded by all manner of people, Tauren in alien armor, a undead pirate, a hunter who stood by her faithfully, a shadow of a rogue flitting around the room.
((OOC: As usual the penmanship is laboured and crude))
Lady Shryn'Dael Dawningsun
Dear Lady Dawningsun,
Recently, you have asked me to visit your estate and to witness your armies, and were even gracious enough to offer me accomodations for a two-day stay. Unfortunately, my security officers have urged me not to take you up on this generous offer. From my staff, I have chosen the most competent person to go in my stead: Sir Hamlen Prideux.
I have asked him to contact you to arrange for a time and date.
Moving through these motions... these simple motions, as if I had them from birth. Killing... it's not a big thing on it's own, it's one of the few ways to make it by in this world, killing. I make a forward thrust, twisting the blade so I can follow through with a lateral swing, bring it back around dragging their weapon away from me and carving up what's left of the body with a diagonal slash. A time ago I might've felt a little sad or might've gotten a little high from the bloodlust after killing something, but now it's a dead feeling... now I think I'm starting to understand why all the old veterans act the way they do. There is one thing that is starting to happen more often now when I killing a person...
I see faces, not just one, but many. Crystal clear as if it's the actual person to whom the face belongs to.
Mature for lots of bad language and drunken ranting. You've been warned. =P
On a long march, you hit a point beyond exhaustion where there is nothing in the world but the next step. Then the one after that. And the one after that. A soldier can march for miles simply because the thought of stopping never occurs.
"The Brotherhood appreciates all you've done for us." I said, the red silk mask muffling my words a bit. I let a smile crinkle my eyes as I opened a decorated wooden and took out a mask that matched mine.
"Take this with our thanks. And know that you are a valued member of the Brotherhood."
The man sitting across the table from me smiled, basking in the praise. I extended my hand and gave his a firm shake as I passed him the mask. "I'm sure there'll be a bonus in it for you as well."
"Thank you." He took the mask and returned my handshake. "It's an honor to serve the Brotherhood."
I turned to Marty, standing there in his own mask. "You've done well recruiting this man. I'll see that Headquarters is notified."
"Thank you, ma'am. I'd better get him back before someone notices."
At least I got over the cold. A combination of healing magic and alchemy can kick about anything.
So now I just wait.
Soon enough I'll be called up in front of the Major and Commander, and maybe Taneel, and have to give my explanation. Cerwis told me what she'd told Harrigan. Well enough, but it won't help if they grill me for further details.
And no one else seems to get this situation.
"Where do I belong?"
No answer, just silence.
"These things in the back of my head, they bother me..."
The silence resumes.
"I want to be normal." Tesstirina says staring methodically at her palms in the dark bedroom. Vanista spoke first...
"You can't be normal. We won't forget all the stupid things you do... you've dissapointed us time and again." Vanista sneered. Shryn'dael steps forward to speak now...
"You fail me as a agent, you've failed the Blood Knights as a paladin, you've fail countless times. I only keep you in Pox because I take pity!" Shryn spits the last word. "You would be dead or a slave were it not for me..." Shryn stepped back.
"Stop... stop tormenting me... please." Tess's voice rattled with the dry sobbing of a death knight. It is odd to hear... a death knight cry.
Somedays I have to ask how I get myself into these predicaments.
The answer is, obviously, because I’m an idiot. Or a bleeding heart. Or they’re one and the same. I can guess which the Commander’d say.
That’s assuming he doesn’t just execute me for treason on the spot. Spinning this is going to be…
Fel, who am I kidding?
"Mommy Faceless, where has nameless fourteen gone?"
"Eliza, child... her name was Eliza. She has left us, but do not worry, she will be returned... in a form far more obedient."
"Why would she betray you, mommy?"
"Because that is what children do when they become adults, they become rotten inside... I was unable to save her from that horrible fate, but worry not, sixteen, she will not suffer long." Faceless rubbed the boy's head, if her mask were not already smiling, it would seem she smiled again.
"Are you not an adult yourself, mommy?"
There was a slight pause, then a chuckle. "The worst. Now, children, the adults will be coming for us, with their killing and their suffering, they'll wish to kill me, naturally, and find out just what it is we are up to... but, we don't want that happening, do we?"
"No, mommy Faceless."
((Written in a fluid Thalassian script familiar to the recipient, penned in a rusty red ink, and left atop a pillow, held fast by an impaling letter opener.))
Don't waste time trying to scry with this note. I believe you'll find, should you be sober enough to bother with the arcane, that both this bit of parchment as well as the ink scribbled upon it come from your own quarters. I wouldn't bother leaving the estate, either, if I were you. You might be dismayed to discover that a number of lesser properties suffered collapses earlier in the week due to unforeseen structural flaws. Do not fret -- no one was injured. However, the resultant oil fires have rendered them total losses. You really should remember to put out your lanterns.
The weather was perfect for scaling the ratlines up past the tops and well into the cross-trees, finding meself a nice perch behind the main topgallant mast. The winds were light and carrying a warmth from the rising sun that brought a sort of wanton abandon after spending the past few days in Winterspring. I’d left most my clothes, besides pants and boots, in my quarters and come up here while the rest of the crew rested for tea.
I took a deep breath, sharing the moment with a kit of pigeons that had built a nest amongst the shrouds, and could smell the aromas drifting up from the below decks: spices, lime, the warmth of rice, the smoky char of spit-roasted meats, and the sour tang of spilled ale seeping into our boat. I couldn’t help but smile. It was going to be a good night.
The breeze tugged at the parchment between me fingers, as if impatiently insisting I make the decision I’d come up here for.
“All right, all right,” I scowled at the wind, earning a flutter of pigeon feathers to my right. “Blimey.”
[[Occurs two days into the Scourge Invasion… I know I’m behind. A long post.XD]]
It had been a harsh week for Xannivard. Though, it was hardly as bad as those denizens of Azeroth who were forced to watch their infected friends and loved ones turn to the mindless zombies under the service of the Lich King. The soldiers of Pox watch their comrades in arms fall as well, many of them deciding to head out into the country side to cleanse away the infected, others searching for the origins. Xannivard was among the investigators, easily finding the plagued insects and grain crates. It was not as dangerous for the demon as it was for the mortals, his own blood searing away the disease, and when that did not happen, he purged himself with his own magic. With the chaos, it was easy for Xannivard to collect several insects and Crates himself.
Shryndael extended her hand, and for the first time in a long time, he was surprised. It had been sheer luck that Xannivard saw her leaving the Estates, walking through the thin, golden gates afoot an almost exhausted look upon her face, holding a small tome close to her as she did so.
Needless to say, Xannivard had followed. This was the first time she had seen her merely walking about. The last few months she had appeared only at gatherings of her faithful Poxites, passed important orders down from her chambers through hastily scrawled letters often times vague and incomplete. The meetings were always brief as possible, where she would open a portal and return to whatever kept her attention. Now, with her walking about, Xannivard had a chance to solve the puzzle.
I’ve been doing this for so long, I should have known when things were going well that my luck would eventually dry out. Stealing the reference books from the University library had been as easy as if I’d been knicking copper pieces from Grandmum’s candy dish. Of course, it may have earned me a spot of momentary popularity with the Bluffwatchers, but that would blow over in time. I still didn’t know how Artisania had fingered me for suspicion, but the old biddy was likely as paranoid as a kobold and named every bad seed she could possibly think of to bring in for questioning. A bit over dramatic for my tastes, personally. She had plenty of resources to get to me with just a little bit of effort.
Maybe that was the point though. To insult me. My name in bold inscription below Heulwen’s, posted in all the major cities of Azeroth; “…and Iloam Blacksong, WANTED, for questioning.” She was telling me I wasn’t worth it… her time or her primary suspicions. Smug old trollop.
No matter; the job had moved swiftly forward. My luck had continued after White Hart, taking Kaisienna back to Everlook with me for the night. Pretty thing, dark skin and big brown eyes, a curve in her lips that told me she didn’t trust me. It’s a shame I didn’t get to taste them, but fate had other plans. Her magics nearly sent me on a bender – I hadn’t had that much mana pumping through me since Shryn’dael fell off the wagon and dragged me down with her. But she’d managed to trick the locks open on Artisania’s carefully guarded secrets and I finally had a location, a solid lead taking me straight back to Silvermoon’s carefully guarded stacks.
Of course the Tome hadn’t been there. Lost once again in the annals of history and me back to zero. My luck had dried out, and all I’ve got riding on it is the last shred of my soul.
Aktarin sat at her goldenwood desk and regarded the neatly penned scroll before her with weary eyes. There were days, she felt, when she just wanted to hurt things. This was one of them. Evidently in the Tempest Keep, her new commissioned officer - commissioned very much unwillingly - Ta'Srith "Snowsinger", had caused some trouble.
It was Monday morning. Mail day, now that she wasn't conveniently at the posts everyday. She would trudge over to Shattrath, clean up on Scryer's Tier then head to the apartment for a quick tea and then a romp around the big city for a few hours before hiring an engineer to send her to Everlook in Winterspring. It was becoming a tradition.
Kharris smiled with satisfaction as the click on the mailbox processed her letters. She always liked the way the mail symbol flashed to let you know it was doing it's job. She sent ou
(( A little outdated. Things have happened. But I am a very slow blogger, I hope it doesn't cause too much confusion. ))
The wind was singing up here, and Kharris smiled slowly to hear its song. Any number of people would have been cross, or more, had they seen her up there, but none of them knew. The dancer was careful not to let their warnings or admonitions intrude on her peace. The wind whispered freedom and carried away any thoughts of reservation. She let it awaken her senses and carry her mind away.
It had been weeks—months?—since she had been on a roof. Too long.