It’s morning and birds are singing outside my tower suite.  A lovely spring breeze wafts in through the open glass doors, toying with the curtains and making them dance in the sunlight.  For my part, I am tied to the bed.  Alas, it is not a sex thing this time.

“Not that I have any problems with MAKING it a sex thing…” I tease suggestively as I grin up at Iloam.  He glances at me as he untied the knots binding my wrists, then lowers his gaze back to the knots with a scowl.  His long, nimble fingers tug, then pulled the silken rope away from my arms and tossed it onto the floor.  He doesn’t answer me, and, unfortunately, doesn’t seem inclined to take me up on my hint.  Admittedly, last night was pretty awful, but I had been hoping he’d be glad to see me in such a good mood now.

  In any other house it might be considered a strange sight, a girl sitting on the floor surrounded by leaves of paper a mile long.  Crumpled and crinkled about her legs and tangled around one arm.  

  She should have been as pale as the moonlight that leaked through the high window, she sat directly in its grace, but Small Lady was neck deep in one of her moods and shadows as unnatural as half the things she said moved over her like a second skin.  

The first life she had ever taken was that of a fish in Southshore Her father had refused to teach her how to fish, but her brothers , decided private lessons behind father’s back were necessary.  She watched it struggle in the open air before watching its eyes.

She saw the light leave its eyes, and hers were probably the last thing it saw as it struggled for water.

Wynevra always had a macabre fascination with death, it was something to be feared, and for days after her fishing trip she wondered what it would be like to die. She held her breath and closed her eyes, buried herself in snow, but still, she could not properly imagine it.

It was something she would have to wait for.

(( Another throwback to "Perchance to Dream," and then "Thus Conscience Does Make Cowards of Us All."

I decided to keep with the Hamlet motif, and all blog titles are shamelessly stolen from Hamlet's "To be, or not to be" soliloquy.))

I instantly know that it is a dream.

I've been here before.

8. Shorts

I found the latest fashion in Stormwind during the hotter months was to wear shorts. What are shorts but pants that are cut to a particular length and then worn upon the body. Most of the time this is made of a linen or silk cloth. I tried to wear shorts one day but my legs didn’t look quite good in them.  The other ladies in the shop said nothing but I could feel them laughing at me. Right, remember not to wear blue shorts when I am blue myself. These crazy fashions.

9. Armor

You live, breathe, and die in your armor. As a paladin my life is my honor, and my armor. It must be upkept every day. If the armor is dinged or has minor cracks within it, then you are sure to have trouble when battle comes your way. The current armor I have retrieved from various dungeons around Azeroth. Though, how I do manage to get the slime and other such entrails of my foes off my armor is a trade secret.  Holy cleaning service, anyone?

After the hateful words Darroc had slung at her last night, the Spider needed to kill something. It didn’t matter overmuch who, just as long as the deaths wouldn’t be anyone who’d be particularly missed.

He didn't realize it yet but Tantarus had only been the beginning. The chaos that still seeped into his mind writhes and churned, being pushed back to the darkest depths of Knar's mind as he sought to maintain his sanity and seal away the chaos. No longer was he surrounded in a storm of the random energies but the chaos still was working on him, though it had grown bolder as the seemingly sentient energy saw it was being pushed back. Instead now of trying to cause insanity bashed itself against the sanity that remained, the blows causing cracks and strain in his mind until his psyche snapped without his knowledge. The chaos gathered up the darkest portions of his fractured psyche and knitted them together to form something sinister.

I'm trying to give myself some time of not working quite so hard on the stern recommendation of family so that I can get back to working frenziedly.

I don't know what to do now or where to go. What's my purpose? Every thing is different now, I can't go back home like this... I should go ask if anyone needs help with anything, I need something to do to distract myself,as hard as that might be. Maybe I should ask that lamp post guy for something to do.

I still need to regain more of my memory. Maybe I should try to get guidance by someone who knows what I'm dealing with.

Random thoughts are going through my head. Involving death.

When you die, you lose..   What is the point of death?   Your bones are the only thing that doesn't rot when you die... Will my brain rot?... Calm down....

No..I have to stop this and get it together. No more confused fragmented thoughts like this. I hope that this isn't a problem Forsaken have to cope with everyday. I'll go ask the lamp post guy of something to do.

Pen

I was hunkered down in an empty stall of the stables.  I had an array of papers laid out in front of me, and I was bored as hell.  I hated the little office they gave me in the keep, so I often brought my work out here to be near the animals.  I was looking over a particularly mind-numbing list, and chewing on my pen, as someone knocked on the stall door.  I jumped a little in surprise, and bit down on the pen.  I could feel it snap, and ink poured down my cheek, chin and neck.  Cursing like a sailor, I tossed the broken pen aside and leapt up to open the door of the stall.  Marcus was standing there, smiling.  He looked me over, eyebrow raised at the ink all over my face.  I gritted my teeth, trying to smile, and my heart was beating so hard with embarrassment that I thought it wouldd erupt from my chest and hop around on the ground. 

"Heeey Marcus."

My fingers trace along the edge of the page as my gaze skims over the printed words.  There are numerous records of runeweapons breaking off within a warrior who faces a Death Knight.  There are just as many records of what happens to such victims; some healed, some died, some took their own lives before becoming another tool in the hands of the Lich King.  I am not certain how Ivor became so mortally wounded, but every bit of information can only help me save him.  Every cure I notice, I write down to come back to later.  It helps to have something to think about, helps distract me from the sadness that seems to weigh heavier and heavier on my heart.  Why am I sad?  I think that frustrates me the most.  I have no idea… well.  I suppose I have some idea.

I met a lonesome traveller, in tattered garments clad,
A going up the mountain, it seemed that he was sad,
His back was heavy laden, his strength was almost gone,
He shouted as he journeyed ‘Deliverance will come!’

So I’ve been hunting Wretched for a couple of weeks when this guy looks me up and says he has a job if I’m interested. And I’m interested because turning in ears is pretty boring and doesn’t pay all that well. Turns out the job is finding a guy who owes him a lot of money. It’s even mostly legal since the guy has a warrant and everything, just needs someone to find the deadbeat and haul his ass back to Silvermoon.

The harpy relief starred at him, bronze sightless eyes seemed to threaten, to promise death without so much as a word.  Vormon shoved his glasses higher onto the bridge of his nose with boney fingers and diverted his eyes.  He preferred the old crest, the cranes backlit with a storm not this beast with wings outspread and the old storm still raging behind it.  He fiddled with his glasses again, in his current risen state he really didn’t need the small lenses rimmed in gold, but they had become a thing of comfort.  A shield between his unsettled nerves and the outside entities that set him on edge.  This crest, this house, this family had always been one of them.

He hadn’t had to physically expel the elf from his hut, but it had been a near thing. Glowering down the dusty street, his ears still caught the melodic tinkling that heralded the dark-skinned Sin’dorei woman’s smooth steps. Good. She was leaving. By the jangling of those bangles, she was moving fast. She was angry; but he didn’t care. He wasn’t going to be a part of this anymore.

He turned on his bare heel and grunted. The effects of the sapta were still on him and his vision clouded between the concrete evidence of his worldly senses and the hazy hues of the spirit realm. His body wavered with the resonating call of the spirits and he felt drawn tight inside, near to snapping. It was too close. He was too close. He knew better than to do this. The Nether’s energy sizzled through his nerves. If he wasn’t careful--...

He had done the ritual for her three times now. No more. He would do it for her no more.

Silent pain shot across the man’s features, biting back a groan of horrendous pain. The demon had lodged Fel-Steel shrapnel deep into his shoulder, from the shattering of its blade against his armor. Both pieces of gear had buckled, leaving Dash with enough of an advantage to vanquish the Doom-Guard. Were it not for his fortune, perhaps the male would be dead, but he was free of that fate this day.

Having settled down against a rock, he looks up to the sky as it rains down what feels like acid, the entire atmosphere being tainted by demonic presence. This was Hellfire, and while it did not produce rain to help cultivate the land, it DID offer painful droplets of water to fall upon victims for a short while. Dash grits his teeth even harder now, removing his gauntlet and tearing away the remnants of his pauldron to reveal a bloody-mess.

I could feel it like a thunder in my veins.

It was night time in Eversong. The sky impression was violet and twilight hues of gray and fading red that suited my mood. The stars wink back at me and the sudden fragrant air cooled my rage. The scene with Faye and Cynrick at the Inn was infuriating. I walk across the path of trees that lead back to the estate. The grounds are expansive with rare blooms that were procured from all over Azshara. My nostrils twitch as I pass the hothouse.

Cynrick’s projects are enormous in scale lately.  I push open the sealed doors of the enclosure. The sound of vacuumed air sucks and whirs besides me as I pass into the inner chamber to the alien gardens that lay beyond.

Draenor in a box.

O', great being of light!

You claim a divine title, so strangely... An Angel?

That is surely obsurd.

Is it only by chance that we have met?

It would seem the case...

But something, a deep feeling in my soul, tells me otherwise.

Who are you..?

-What- are you..?

Enlightened. Strengthened. Inspired.

Why me..?

So many questions, and as seems common, so little answers.

It doesn't matter... Because I am whole once again.

A vision... A dream, renewed and inspired!

O', great bringer of the Light's Will, thank you for your contribution!

While you are still strange and enigmatic, riddled with mysteries- I trust you.

Do not let me regret my decision, good sir, for it will surely shatter me this time.

I will act as your Hand, your Bringer, and a Paragon of Light in this Darkness.

Hail, m'lord... Arch-Angel Tyrael.

Humbled Service and Old Soldiers

“Harri, you can’t let her get to you.”

“She already hash and she knowsh it!”  Harrigan ignored the glass on the table and took a swallow from the bottle.  “I can’t play theshe damn gamesh!   Give me a shtraight-up up fight, damn it!!”

“She did that once, Harri.  She’ll never make that mistake again.”

So young still .

Golden-haired youth

who smiles so freely

even with my disease.

“It has been a trying time in my life I can tell you that. With my Sister’s passing, and the sudden child I have to care for.” I said to the priestess I had come to see, She was friendly and understanding though the entire session and I was honestly impressed, at first I had thought this idea foolish but she was good, she helped me bring myself back to normality And I am just about ready to rejoin the world. “Mr Firestrider, since we last spoke and I have you the idea on compartmentalizing your memories and feelings, have you felt better?” she asked the question plainly and I rather enjoyed her ways, she was a get to the point kind of woman, she did not waste time with soothing words that would do no one any good, she hit the nail on the head each time and we pushed past my problems within a week and a half. “Yes, especially the ones regarding my wife… I mean Ex-wife.” I corrected myself with a grin.

When Devlin Plume said he was going to send her on a whirlwind book promotion tour, Gilberte hadn’t been entirely sure what to expect - except, maybe if she was lucky, a few cheap wine and cheese events at the local pubs. She had thrown a few of those herself for her last novel, and they were bearable, minus the resulting aching head and indigestion. Devlin Plume, however, did not seem to subscribe to the Gilberte Lachlan school of book promotion. Not only did he scoff at her idea of the wine and cheese parties (“Get drunk on your own copper, kid.”), he refused to tell her the details of his plans, demanding simply that she hire a nanny for the “brat” and pack her bags.

((Continuation of Feldance: http://www.rp-haven.com/blog/lilthessa/feldance_prelude_part_1 and also a companion piece to Delamontre's "Vagaries of Shadow" http://www.rp-haven.com/blog/delamontre/vagaries_shadow_1 (Part 1) http://www.rp-haven.com/blog/delamontre/vagaries_shadow_2 (Part 2) ))

His beautiful, bronzed, and fallen body lay upon the desert sands as my hand reached out to find a pulse. My delicately pointed ear went towards his mouth to hear if there was a breath of life within him at the same time. Nothing. The only sound I heard was the careening of the wind against my face and that blasted sand upon my buried and burned knees. My love was dead.

Not all of us were so privileged to be born into luxury, all these nobles and their posh and cushy robes, their airs of arrogance and stupidity, hell half of them are crazier then loons on a lake and not one of them has a problem they probably couldn’t just throw money at.  Silvermoon has two societies, the up and shiny and all of us belly crawlers, if there is anyone walking that line in between I've never met them.

The evening air was cool and crisp; her thin night gown clung to her freshly bathed body as she moved through the gardens of Dawnfire estate, her lips curved into a satisfied smile as her entire body seemed to react to the cold her skin breaking out in goose bumps.

The blonde sat at her own desk once again - staring at the black and silver filigreed cigarette case that Caelan had gifted her.