Elrin's blog

((As with any of my blogs about Anka, she wasn't warned beforehand.  As always, if there's anything she doesn't approve of, it will be remedied.  And, as you should know by now, I have no artistic skill and so big thanks to Lorith/Echo, for drawing me a picture while I beat my computer with a hammer))

His boots drummed out a march on the cobblestones.  He was losing touch with the beast.  Dun Modr had been the last time he had felt that old, familiar rage.

Even news of Hron didn't stir him up enough to coat his sight in red.  There were no facts beyond a lost hat and worg pup.  Ironbelly was probably holed up somewhere with a mountain of cheese, a couple kegs and half a dozen Wildhammer girls.  He needed a body.  Needed to smell the rot and struggle to recognize a face.

His boots stamped their way out of Stormwind.  He must be losing it.  Slipping.  Wasn't even drinking that much anymore.  Gotten domesticated.  He even went swimming the other day.  Swimming.  The last time he killed a man, he found himself wondering if he'd left the burner on in his laboratory.

He ground his teeth until his jaw hurt and let his feet take him far from the city.

((Written on a keypad smaller than most blood elf waist lines, here's a look at my 3 mains.))

The first tremor knocked a man out of his bed. He thumped to the floor, growling at the shaking ground. Grabbing the nearest weapon he threw open the door.

"Oh...shit."

---

She pumped the ignition, bellowing the gas pedal with her foot. "Haaaaaaaahaaaaaa!". Clouds sped past, the ground growing closer and closer. Her little game. Stall out and start before she slammed into the ground. The flying machine spluttered, coughed and rattled to life. "Haaahaaaa--whhaaaaaa--". Deathwing blew past on his mission of destruction, leaving death, fire and a little scared gnome in his wake.

---

The elf vomited into the grasses that grew on the heights of Thunder Bluff. He retched and gagged. Coughed. Stood. Burst into tears.

"Not again...not again." He begged in the old tongue.

Blood and rage clouded his eyes.  Nothing gets past.  The narrow passage of the Thandol Span choked and clogged with corpses.  Nothing gets past.  Gore slicked the stones, dripping and oozing into the river below.  Nothing gets past.  They clambered over the growing mound of bodies, or burned and pounded their way through with elementals.  Nothing gets past.  He heard nothing, felt nothing, saw nothing but where that thin line of blood had been flung from Rothmal's blade.  Nothing gets past.  Some dull pain in his side.  He spat in the face before him.  Nothing gets past.  Rothmal tumbled past, swordless, grappling with a vaguely humaniod mound of earth.  Malifor disappeared beneath a wave of bodies and fire.  He didn't know if either rose again.  Nothing gets past.  Something or someone tugged at him from behind, pulling him away. 

His plated boots made a dull clanging sound as he spun at the edge of the Thandol Span. Graysapper's siege tank rolled past, chugging as the dwarf expertly turned it to block the bridge as the last of the Horde and Alliance forces stumbled past towards Arathi.

Antony Crane leaned against the siege tank, panting, wheezing and bleeding from a vicious gash in his back. He forced a smile, struggling to even lift his shield. “My boys make it?”

Elrin nodded, watching the banner of the 29^th Arathi Foot disappear behind the safety of the siege tank. There were maybe ten or fifteen left. “They made it.”

“Kast...” Crane slumped against the siege tank.

Elrin bent closer, keeping an eye on the regrouping cultists forces. “Yeah, Crane?”

The bladed claws strapped to his wrists rested awkwardly on the handles of the great door. He drew a deep breath. Leather protested as it was tightened. Steel clinked dully against steel. Echo's rifle clicked as she drew back the hammer. Rothmal's knuckles cracked and popped, preparing them for a tight grip. Frost snapped and cracked over Credence's armor. Malifor's hooves scrapped the dirt and Krauss snorted in anticipation.

He spoke without turning. “Graysapper, your tank still work?”

The dwarf's voice came from the back. “Yeh bet. Only Ah know 'ow to get'er runnin'.”

Elrin nodded. “Everyone stay tigh'. We'll use the tank to blas' through. We reach the Span an' block the bridge with it. No one gets left.”

A figure moved to block his view of where the Grand Marshal Krauss struggled with Malifor.  The lens over his eye revealed the truth behind the young human who raised his sword in what the old fencing trainer Elrin's father had hired called: “la poste di falcone”.  The guard of the falcon was only beaten by speed, which Elrin had in spades over the poor boy.

He stepped in faster than the cultist could bring the sword down and quickly eviscerated the boy.

“Get the fuck outta my way.”

((Meh!  More to come))

((Title and lyrics stolen from Amon Amarth/High on Fire.  Image provided to maybe help with knowing what's what.  Thanks to Neesy for helping me with it.  HNNNGHH!  School sucks.))

Sacrificing sons and daughters rolls the war-machine.

((While school continues to kick my ass (never take fasttrack courses, ugh), blogs will be out less often...but weekends are great :D))

((school is kicking mah ass so this is a bad blog that I should feel bad about.  Echo's blogs will continue where this one leaves off))

Stride by stride the Wetlands and all its overwhelming greenness passed Elrin and Sophia by as they trudged up the road towards Menethil Harbor. Elrin wrote while he walked, giving Sophia a break after the hard gallops of the past few days.

    R.

    I'm not very welcome in Stormwind. See what you can find out about that ambassador.

    E.



    G.

    Get me Grand Marshal Remus Krauss' records.

    E.

There were several more letters and the saddlebags quickly filled with folded notes and sealed envelopes. Sophia nudged his shoulder roughly, jarring his hand and smearing ink across the crude handwriting of the letter he was working on. Elrin looked up to scowl at his near-wild horse and saw what she wanted him to.

He spat mud and Sophia finally slowed as she crested one of the many hills overlooking Dun Modr.  Elrin swung down from the saddle, tugging the reins to point her at one of the many streams intersecting the Wetlands and nodded at her. “Go on, getcha drink.” Slow and heavy with fatigue, she plodded down the hill towards the water.

Below the road curved where it forked to wind up to Dun Modr while its other branch lead to the right, over the Thandol Span. To the left, safely tucked behind the hills and cliffs that surrounded Dun Modr sat the Alliance army, abuzz with their pre-battle preperations. Elrin stretched his legs and lit a cigarette, all the while gazing intently down at the Alliance forces.

A small force was mustering. Two and a half score. A testing force. He spat again and exhaled. Hoof-steps behind spun him around, his sword coming to hand as he whirled.

Sophia gladly stepped off the Deeprun Tram, shaking her head and snorting happily at being able to move under her own power again.  Elrin patted her neck.  “Good lass.  We're home now.”  They both stopped a few feet from the tram and stared at the mass of bodies crowding around the exit to the Dwarven District.

“Who cares?!”  Someone shouted.

“Let us through!” Another yelled.

A head above the rest stood a young Stormwind guard flanked by a few other Stormwind soldiers.  He held out his hands, one holding a notebook, in a desperate plea to calm the crowd down.  “Now, now listen!  Everyone will get through, we just have to check papers!”

“Abuse of wartime powers!”  Chirped an elderly gnome by Elrin's knee.

The lines moved slowly and Elrin found himself nodding off more than once.  Ages seemed to pass until finally Elrin awoke to find the young guard looking him in the face.

The bullet ricocheted off the walls of Dun Modr, just inches away from Rothmal's head.  He spat back at the dwarf who had taken the pot-shot at him from across no-man's land between Dun Modr and the dwarven barricade.

“Almost got ya!  Yeh green-skinned cunny!”  Came the mocking shout after the crack of the rifle left the air.

Rothmal stood, thumping his fist against his chest and roaring back at the dwarves.  “Come a little closer and say that, half-pint!”  

Another shot rang out but Rothmal remained standing, laughing as the lead whistled over his head.  Gortag and another orc finally pulled him down as a few more shots sounded across the distance.  Rothmal chuckled darkly.  “Where's our fucking evac?”

Gortag shook his head.  “No word yet.  Hammerfall should have reached us by now.”

The spyglass clicked shut.  Elrin scowled.

There were two siege tanks now.  General Krauss had been slowed for only a day and now his advance towards Dun Modr would snowball until it eclipsed the small fortress by the Thandol Span.  He wheeled Sophia around, the young Arathi mare eager to gallop.

“Woah girl.”  He pulled the reins a little, stopping her excited turning.  She stood, still stamping her front hooves and snorting with impatience.

Elrin squinted, trying to make out the flags of units.  He'd broken the spyglass.  

“Alrigh', there it is.”  He clicked his tongue and Sophia flew across the Wetlands.



“Luciana.”  Elrin nodded as he tugged Sophia to a walk beside a rough looking woman.

Razyel Windblade's ears flicked as the wind changed direction ever-so-slightly and he flattened himself to the ground.  Only a few feet away one of the Dun Modr patrols stopped, the three dwarfs conversing softly amongst themselves.

Razyel shifted his weight and crept past as the clouds covered the moon again.  He finally reached a spot close enough to Dun Modr where his keen eyes could see Rothmal's orcs keeping watch, mindful to stay out of gunshot range.  Across the open field, the Ironforge dwarves sat; watching and waiting behind their barricades.

He quietly drew his bow and laid out the three arrows he had prepared for this.  Each held a small note that simply read:

Rothmal—Alliance marches—Get out—E.K.

“You hear about that business in the Wetlands and Arathi?”  

Elrin looked up from the bundle of mixed herbs and flowers and blinked at the flower-girl.

“Yeah, sa'mess.”  He mumbled, going back to double-checking his order.  She passed him a cluster of fresh peacebloom and nodded.

“My brothers are going.  They're in the 100th.”

“Good unit.”  Elrin snapped his head up.  “Wait, the 100th is goin'?”

“Mmhmm.  They're marching out of Ironforge tonight.”  She nodded over her shoulder as she snipped roots and dead leaves.

“Huh.”  Elrin grunted.  “Ol' Luciusia still in charge?”

“You mean “Marm?  Both my brothers have a crush on her.”

Elrin smirked and passed over a pouch of coins.  “Keep the change.”

“Thanks!  Tell Miss Langstriter hey!”

He tucked the bundle under his arm and flipped open his notebook as he navigated through the streets of Stormwind.

Duvroc waited at the usual meeting spot: a small rock outcropping nestled carefully between two of the many rolling Arathi hills. The Orc stood as he spotted William Aylmer approaching and stamped the signal fire out.

Aylmer pulled the mare to a halt at a safe distance from Duvroc. While they had together reached an agreement that kept their patrols from conflicting routes and had avoided each other on the Basin fields, it would still be a stretch to consider them friends.

Duvroc spoke first. “They're not supposed to be in Dun Modr.”

((Derp derp plot progression hurp derp))

((Set before and detailing the events described in the newspaper clipping))

They arrived alone, in pairs or small groups.  Slowly trickling through the portal to stand exposed at the top of Icecrown.  Snow swirled around Elrin's legs and his cloak drug a thick line in it as he strode to greet them.

He ran his eyes over them as they checked their gear and said their prayers or passed their hands over each other, sharing blessings and gifts.  Chapped lips cracked again when he shoved his second-to-last cigarette in between them, lighting it with a snap of his fingers.

They were ready.


Arthas pumped his legs faster, flying across the icy top of Icecrown and leaving Tirion Fordring encased in a block of ice behind him.

Amara stood ready.  He gave Elrin a curt nod just before Arthas slammed into him, bowling him over as he scrabbled for a hold in the icy ground.  Elrin stepped quickly, turning aside Frostmourne with a curving sweep of his polearm.

((After a few months of missed or short raids due to real life events and after a welcome break for the Meet and Greet, the Ghost Scions finally got another full night of attempts on The Lich King...and guess what happened?  Big grats to the best little raid team out there.))

((I have no idea if my silly title will work.  Title and line of lyrics stolen from Iron Maiden's song of the same name.))

There were four different kinds of apples, three different pears, two types of mangos, seven types of oranges and two different bananas.

He blinked at the fruit stand. 

What's the difference?

She had asked him to pick some fruits up on his way back to their apartment in Dalaran and dammit, he was trying.  He idly flipped over a couple apples.  A young boy stepped up beside him, quickly picking several apples from one of the bins before moving on to the next vendor.

How does he know which ones to get?  Are those good?

He stared at the bin where the boy had chosen his apples.

They look just like the others.  What if I get bad apples?

A group of 7th Legion soldiers staggered past, clearly enjoying their leave in Dalaran.

((this is a crap blog.  Damn you Lorith.  Set next Friday))

((The Ghost Scions are looking to thrust ourselves hard and deep into more RP and thus here is a selection of information about us.  Please note that we are not recruiting for our 10 man raid group, but we would like to collect in-character contacts, alliances and you are certainly welcome to join the guild if you wish.  I'm really bad at this whole "recruitment" thing.  Some of this information (what works IC) could be found in the form of a flyer, posted around several cities (including Horde cities).  Natives to Stormwind might note many of them have been torn down.))

The little flower girl gave me a rose.  She said every time she sees my scars she feels sorry for me.  She said her father told her not to fall in love with any heroes 'cause they usually don't come home.  I told her to keep the rose and listen to her father.  He's right.

I don't deserve
Their sympathy
I know who I am
My soul is death and misery
I am an evil man

Show no sympathy
Shed no tears for me
I know who I am
I am an evil man