Original Challenge

I guess I'll post first today instead of right before midnight.

How can losing someone I never had hurt so much?

Hunter’s journal entry

It has been some time since my last entry, it might be a long while before I write again life has become overwhelming and my path is no longer set before me

** Tamakï Firestrider scratches his brow as he sits with his journal his hands shaking in the bandages from his practice twenty full quivers of arrows in multiple targets across the Farstrider training grounds, the disapproving look of the recruits as they arrived for their morning practice to find every target and attack dummy riddled with arrows. The only reason he stopped was because the blood was making his arrows slip, His hands probably will not recover for days.**

You had a half-sister Tamakï.... those words from Lilthessa were funny at best a half-sister get out of here.

The Ranger-General showed up to the city's gates eventually.

It simply wasn't in the expected manner.

The stench was over-powering, as the first monstrosities lumbered into sight. Fleshy mockeries of the living shambled, shoulder-to-shoulder...the foremost of the gruesome army being freshly slain elves, along with a handful of...spirits.

One of whom was quickly introduced by the white-haired Arthas as the “former” Ranger-General. 

   Flickering candlelight and a faint, sickly green glow emanating from the fungus under her threadbare cot were the only sources of light in the small, crypt-like room Relianna had managed to procure herself in the heart of the Undercity. It was in this room that the dark robed theologian sat at a slightly moldy desk, listening only to the faint skittering of a rat moving around somewhere in the walls and the crackling of an incense that only barely covered up the smell of rot and pestilence that permeated the city. Relianna grimaced as she brushed a cockroach away that had somehow found itself in her long, unwashed hair, and briefly wished that she was in a location where washing herself didn't just make her filthier before squashing the roach underfoot.

The amber-eyed, red-haired elf slipped noiselessly into the sleeping woman's room, to peek at her - his friend, and his charge.

She had her own kind to guard her, now...but that didn't mean that his duty was done. That didn't mean that his friendship with the elf was over, by any means. They were bound in ways immaterial. 

The dragon-in-disguise hovered at her bed-side, watching her slow breaths. It was good to see her eating again. And getting rest, on top of that. No amount of cajoling, threatening, or begging on his part had convinced her to slow down. No, it was her vassals and her friends to finally convince her to take a moment for herself.

"Daddy, can you bring me some candy when you come home tonight?"

"Of course son. Don't worry, I won't be long." Came Gilthånås' reply. He ruffled his son's hair as he slid his coat over his shoulders and put his hat on.

"I just have to go deal with some business a few blocks away.". With that, he was gone, stepping out through the door of his suite and vanishing from Gilthås' sight.

              "Evenin Sir." chimed a well dressed elf as Gil approached the stagecoach the man was currently sitting on top of.

"Evening Selerius, how are you this evening?"

((This series may not get finished due to school. Or it may culminate in an ending of epic cliches. And yes, it is posted on the correct character.))

She smelled like water. I learned numbers by counting her toes. The only blanket was too short for her. She taught me to multiply when the bed got too short for her. She'd crouch by the cloth and straw, raise her fingers into the moonlight and make me learn until I slept.

Father drank all the money. He never understood numbers. Mother cried. Father drank. Mother left. Father gambled. Father lost. Sister left. Father sold her.

Might not have been my father. Mother wasn't a saint. He sold Minelle. Might not have been my father. But he was the only one left for my hands to find.

I left. Found Minelle. She smelled like dirt and stone.

Okay, so this is really personal, maybe too personal, but I'm excited, and I don't know which of my old buds are still around and what names they go under now, so here we go!

WARNING: Boring Teng personal stuff. Which is like boring Teng story stuff, but minus most of the Teng (and some of the angst).

I'll repost what I sent out to people the other night.  I feel it communicates my feelings on the matter fairly well.

So,

Like a number of us out there, I've got mixed feelings about WoW. On the one hand, I think the game, in terms of mechanics and gameplay, keeps getting better and better. On the other, I find myself a little bored regardless. I've seen and done pretty much everything the game has to offer. Or perhaps better put, I've seen and done everything I can get out of the game playing solo.

The amazing thing about roleplaying is that opportunity to collaborate and see something you've already seen from another perspective. When your buddy's character for whatever reason takes an interest in Thousand Needles, that zone and its story that was more or less a speedbump in your own character's progression can become a place of interest for you. Ditto your character who's just come to the horrific realization that their favorite flavor of ice cream is actually made out of Slithid goo. 

Ah HA! For now I get to post first :O (and only because there was no parking on campus so I missed class) 

Original Challenge

Cerwis done did me a comission, and a little bonus pic, I love the way they came out!

Much of the Company noticed my growing belly, now that I am almost halfway along and have gained eight pounds. My armor fit me like normal until yesterday, when this bulge popped up in my sleep. Why does this child think he can just roll around and stretch out my abs, rubbing against the backside of them until it is smooth and comfy? I may have created the little thing, but that doesn’t give right to abuse my insides.

No matter whether the individual is knight or magister, no matter what armor they wear or what weapons they wield, individuals who fight must constantly practice and train with their chosen tools.  A soldier who allows his blade to rust will find it broken in his hands when he needs it most, and spells stumble on the lips of those who do not study and memorize the incantations.  My House, House Akh’Argar, has dedicated itself to fighting for Quel’thalas since the days soon after the Highborne first stepped on the shores of the Eastern Kingdoms.  Throughout my entire life, our practice yards have always been busy, our soldiers constantly training and testing themselves in preparation for battle would mean the difference between victory and defeat. 

It seemed an age since she had last set foot in her former home.

At that, it had been quite some time...

The last time she'd seen these glittering walls, she'd been suffering from the curse of mortality.

The sandstorm swept through Silithus. Winds uncommonly strong kicked up a curtain of sand, obscuring all sight and sound. The inhabitants of the crystal dotted wasteland buckled down, huddled within their buildings and tents, waiting, unwilling to face the elements.  It was not as bad as it had been though, the Cataclysm was over, and the continued torture of Azeroth’s very soul by Deathwing was over. These winds were but the healing pains as the world righted itself once more. It was vicious weather, weather that the Twilight Cultists and Cenarion Circle had no desire to confront unless there was dire need.

The same was not said for Xannivard and his Creations.

"I am too young to die, too old for a lullaby... too tired for life on the edge..."

She scuffed quietly back towards the Row, looking slightly thicker than usual due to the day old bread loaves and slightly moldy cheese stuffed into her pockets. She made her way, feet barely making a whisper of a sound, towards one of the oldest and most run-down brothels in a the battered and run-down Row.

Past blissed-out 'nobility' and nouveau riche who enjoyed the more potent smokes brewed up by dubious den mistresses. Smoke twisted and curled from pipes and hookahs, caressing and binding the patrons who imbibed. The smoke was thick and choking, and Mouse held her breath as she slipped through the Thistle Den like a shadow.

Day, n. A period of twenty-four hours, mostly misspent.
~ Ambrose Bierce

     Oh, you've been told. Everyone has the same number of hours within their day...

to do whatever it is that they need to do. I'm quite sure you've been told, rather.

Wether it is by your parents, a guardian, a boss... or even myself. Who am I, exactly?

Nobody, really. Nobody

      Just a simple man that likes his old things, especially stories.

You knew that, though.

O lo! There she stands, amongst the bustling crowd of the morning market.

The man's voice was coming closer. “Help” the voice came again. Mara inched forwards, lantern held high to see the blood elf behind a rather large boulder that obscured the remaining light.

Hey all! Today's drawing Challege was Favorite Pet!  So get out those drawing sticks and doodle pads, and make something up :)  

The Challenge was posted by Castien here.

The late night was always beautiful in Silvermoon City, Walking back in after my three days away now to face Mara, I left with only a note telling her I had a solo hunt and would be gone a few days.

A small smile broke across his face at the thought of her reaction as he walked through the city cutting through The Arrow Song in search of Luck before he went home, he walked out the other entrance to find the barkeep Miss Lacey sitting alone staring at something within her hands.

   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.

                "Ahem.". The Eulogist cleared his throat.         

"Niari Soth was a proud woman, a devout follower of the light...A loving wife...A doting mother." He glanced in the direction of the late elf's family as he talked.

"She strove to do good. In a time of turmoil she was a pillar of normalcy to her family. She was charitable, she always gave to those in need and asked nothing in return.

              "I'm not going to be here much longer Gil..."

The half-elf shook his head, his bloodshot eyes staring at his wife, his hands tucking the covers tighter around her to make sure every bit of warmth stayed within the bed.

The winds rose around the aged hunter like vengeful spirits, crying out their fury and tearing angrily at the ragged hides draped around his imposing frame. There was a storm coming, faster than he'd expected, and it seemed he would not quite have time to return to the small Taunka village before it was upon him.

No matter. He would seek shelter for the night elsewhere.

A fortnight he'd been stalking these frozen valleys and snow-capped ridges, accompanied by his beloved tigress, Belmaria, and burdened by both a worn leather satchel and a heavy heart. The bag- of Ranger-issue, and the last vestige of his former life he'd allowed himself- was clutched close to his body as he trudged through heavy drifts of knee-deep snow. His finely trained gaze methodically scanned the nearby crags even as his thoughts turned to the precious cargo he carried.