Alenei's blog

 Holy COW!

This Ask the Faction Leader was for the Brothers Bronzebeard. I sent in my question. And guess what:

 It is ritual before battle.

Hey. I'm going on hiatus. I'll be back mid-January. If you want to contact me, send an e-mail to i_rood@yahoo.com . What am I forgetting? Oh, yeah. My account's not going down, so mail me if you want to RP or something. I'd stay, but I'm just... imagination lacking. See you later. 

“What’s your name?”

The night elf looks up through a curtain of green hair, surprised.

“You speak Common?” she questions, rubbing her wrists where they had been bound.

“Yes. Darnassian, too, but I’m worse at that. Now, what is your name?” I ask again, sheathing my dagger.

 The girl’s head hits the stone floor with a crack.

 -The words on the page are scrawled all over, in differing sizes and handwritings-

I'M STILL AWAKE!

Journal entry (plus special stuff!): 

He didn't show up.

Journal entry: 

It rained last night.

What’s the point of love

If all it does

Is end in heartbreak?

 A girl runs through the dark streets of Silvermoon, tears flowing freely and silently down her face. A young tiger keeps easy pace behind her.

She reaches a large townhouse and slams open the door, locking it behind her. As she thumps up the stairs, an older woman pokes her head out of a room off the hall. “Alenei?” she calls, but is answered only by another door slamming.

 A long, long time ago…

The paladin sliced and hacked her way through a mob of humans. One by one, they fell before her blade.

Healing a few wounds with one hand, she riffled through the bodies for the various items she searched for. A twig snapping behind the elf caused her to whirl and slash out. A woman fell to the ground, slashed from shoulder to hip.

“Damn,” the elf cursed in Orcish. “Where the fel do they come out of?”

A whimper from behind a tree silenced her. She stalked around, blade drawn, to see a little child.

“Damn,” she repeated. The little girl sniffled pitifully.

“Mommy?” she asked in Common. The elf sighed, sheathing the sword.

A young blood elven girl sits on the balcony of a townhouse in downtown Silvermoon. Her short red hair is pulled back in a tiny pigtail, barely longer than the width of the band holding it back. Her long, short-sleeved shirt flaps a little over her loose pants as she leans over the railing to wave at another woman on the street.

The woman waves back. She looks a few years older than the other girl by human reckoning, with a similar face and identical hair color. She has a fairer complexion than the girl, however, and her hair is tied up in a loose bun. After the wave, she walks away in the direction of the less popular districts.

The girl on the balcony sighs and sits down in a chair with a young tiger lounging under it. She pulls out a small book and starts to write in it with a pencil.

 I never thought I would be a bounty hunter. It’s never really been a childhood dream of mine, or some such thing. Still, a girl’s gotta do what she’s gotta do. Zaraek rides up the road at the time we had agreed to meet, knocking me out of my reverie.

“Glad you could get here so quickly,” I say, hopping off the graveyard fence I had been sitting on. “Do you know the way?”

“Good to see you,” my fellow bounty hunter replies.

 Chapter Eight, or, The Alternate Ending- Tristan Again

“Light, Caelian. Tell me you’re lying,” I say, my voice breaking with my heart. Tears group in my eyes. “Tell me you’re lying!”

“I’m sorry, Soryne. I’m so sorry,” she whispers. I cover my face with my good hand and sob.

“He can’t! He can’t be dead! Tell me you’re lying, Caelian,” I beg again.

“I’m sorry, Soryne,” my friend repeats. “Is there anything I can do?”

I shake my head, tears flowing freely. “No... no... no...” I moan. She touches my shoulder lightly, and then I hear the rustle of cloth and the door closing softly.

“Tristan...” I whisper through my weeping.

“Sister...” she whispers. And she holds up the charm my father gave me when he told me of my parenthood.

But it’s different. Mine is looks brand new, a tiny silver sword inside a glass teardrop. The one Soryne holds is old, the glass scratched. The silver looks more like it is iron.

I look back at her- Soryne, my half-sister, the one they told me about. Her eyes are closed, and she dropped the pendant. I check her pulse quickly. She’s alive, just unconscious. Like Saemèr.

“I don’t understand...” I whisper, but I know she can’t hear me. I sheathe my blade, and drag her to the makeshift shelter Saemèr and I have been living out of. Then I drag over Saemèr, who is harder to manage.

 I step into the clearing. I’m due north of Brill, and the forest is dense and dark. It’s malevolent and... drippy. I sidestep a trickle of water falling from one of the trees. Probably a gnomish spy, peeing at me. No, probably not.

I’m wearing my work mail- mismatched green and grey and brown, along with a brown shirt instead of my usual red one. My hair still shows against the forest scene, though.

“Alenei!” I call. “Alenei di Capernio! Come out, Alenei!”

 “What?” I take a step back. “I... believe you have more confused with someone else.”

“Soryne Lightblade, rank Initiate of the Blood Knight Order, daughter of Quelama Lightblade and Eran Searinel, granddaughter of-“Oranael begins.

“I get it!” I snap, the first time I’ve yelled at a nobleborn.

“When I was... younger, I had an affair with your mother. She had a daughter. We agreed that Alenei should have a life better than that of an illegitimate daughter of a vendor. Quelama put Alenei in the Orphanage, and Mel and I adopted her.” Lord Oranael explains.

((Sorry, you have to click.))

 I love my body. I am so glad I don’t get hungover from wine. I love my flat. The door is so accessible when kicking out people with hangovers who got a drunken offer of a place to sleep.

OOC 

 I am not like you.

I feel sorry for the victims of the law I enforce.

You- you are gleeful as you slash and burn and ruin, and it makes my heart ache.

I see the lives you ruin with your fire and your steel and your bone sword.

I will not be like you.

((This 55 Words thing- it can be done by anyone, right? If not, very sorry.))

 My dreams are horrible. I usually don’t dream in the barracks, which is why I hate being dismissed. But when I don’t, I have horrible dreams.

I dream-remember when my father sailed away for the last time. I stood on the pier and waved him off into the sunset. My mother stood behind me, trying to get me to come home. Then my memory changes. I go home, and when I wake up, the guards come and arrest me. They take me to the courthouse, and tell me that I’m charged with my father’s murder.

‘But I didn’t kill my father! He drowned!’ I cry.

‘Ah-ha!’ the prosecutor yells. ‘How would you know that if you didn’t kill him?’

            I think I’m going to barf. Light, I hate warlock summons. And summoning from a boat to dry land is twice as worse. Summoning to before a group of important people is four times worse. And summoning from a boat to dry land in front of a group of important people is about eight times worse.

And who says I suck at math?

 “Soryne...”

Beside me, a Farstrider whimpers. His skin is grey, his pupils huge. His lynx echos the sound. I rub its ear absentmindedly.