alone

Urilla stands in the empty valley, clutching the note from her father. The winds of the harsh Icecrown spring bore just as much lethal and withering force as they possess in the winter. Her hair flying in the whirlwinds of the northern winds, left snowflakes crusted upon her eyelids and eyelashes. Shivering, she drops her heavy coat she brought along from the citadel. It was another moonless night over the valley of the dead, and if one listens closely enough, they could hear the dead still stirring about.

She screams out in a feral voice of frustration and anger. “Why should I take up his failed responsibilities? If I am not some ‘vagabond child, born of a whore’, then why have you treated my mother and me so poorly?”

Asilia held up the flask with a sigh, gazing in at the alchemical liquid within. Delicate hands swishing the reddish brown goo around in a swirl, Her heart weighed heavily of late making it hard for the kaldorei to focus upon things she normally enjoyed. Such as flowers and trying to make potions, things had actually gotten so distracting that every mixture she'd made kept exploding eventually. She just couldn’t keep her mind from wandering to thoughts of Taneel. Wondering if he was still alive, and if he was if he’d vanished because of her.

As she reached the the Wetlands, Ame gazed out towards one of the Dragonmaw posts. She wasn't sure if she should try to find the army out here, but she doubted they even knew. None the less, she should at least try to find the troups and ask about Gawain, to see if they knew.

Ame, before the events that where she chose to take from herself her fel powers and hide them, would have probably searched alone, but as with her memories dim and powers still slightly unfocused, she doubted that being alone would give her any benefits, let alone benefit Gawain if he was missing and captured. There were times that she wished she hadn't chosen to give up her fel powers, especially now, but it was a choice, and she had taken the lesser of two evils... For now...

Hmm....It's warm....

A stiff wind blows over  the sleeping hunter, and his brow creases before he opens his eyes. I must've fallen asleep....He looks around him.  

In a meadow. I better hurry. I'm going to miss the dig!

Liore scrambles to his feet, only to realise he was without his armor. Just a loose white shirt and green trousers. No boots. The wind comes again, this time with a voice.

"Liore.."

The strawberry-haired elf whips his head around. "Who's there?"

"Open your heart.." From behind again. He turns, more slowly this time, to find a Draenei floating there, her armor glittering and glistening with gold.

"What the f-.."

"Liore." The Paladin's eyes opened. "You're troubled."

".......Khourne?" He guessed.

"Yes. Why are you sad again? You're always like this."

~~Written in a broad, scrawling hand in purple ink on yellowed parchment~~

~~Page Three~~

My summer is gone, but stll the autumn leaves burned hotly in my eyes. . . My tears fell like a warm summer rain. . . But the wind that touched my heart was cold as ice. . .

Qiu stood on the railing of his ship, the Crimson Dawn. The massive druid hung over the edge, holding onto a rope, so he could see the lay of the ocean. On the horizons, he had spotted it. Prey. The opposing ship's bold Alliance flag, waving in the wind, beckoned the young Tauren in. He knew how to do this, he had run the same routine a thousand times.

I wore our shared soul like a muzzle.

Insomnia stained his eyes like soot whilst raven hair tangled about his face.  His vision cast downward -- and it was many a day he sat in such silence at the arced window, gazing through frosted glass to the dark snow embankments that lined the Northrend hillside. The wind blew through the trees and the groans of the wood were the cadence of the night, scattered pine needles caught in tow.

The saunter of snow was constant and it didn’t so much howl as a blizzard would, but instead it steadily fell in small wisps of frigid air. A continuous breathing of the slopes and curves of the land lost to humanity, deep and finite. No longers in the cluthes of mortality.

“It doesn’t suit you,” the ranger says, looking up from where he’s laying the fire. The damn mutt doesn’t seem to register the look of disgust he directs its way.

“It’s an animal. It does what I tell it to. Suits me just fine.” I wave away the complaint without shifting off the spread out bedroll.

“It’s rough, damaged. The low wolf,” he answers as though I didn’t know all that already. I do actually pay attention sometimes, contrary to popular belief. “It’s like hanging a sign tellin’ people to take advantage of you.”

I told Thrall’tukk once, that if I had my way, I would stay at home, be a tailor, and never fight again.  He didn’t believe me, and I’m starting to believe he was right.  I am certainly at home more now that I have been in recent days, but I find there are times when I just have to, move.

Pand is kind enough to check in on Leiral those short times I’m gone, and I’m terrified that she’ll wake up when I’m away.  I believe she’d forgive me, she understands the need to go, but I don’t think I’d ever forgive myself.

I just can’t seem to help it.

Journal Entry: 3rd day of my return

(( Originally posted February 14, 2007 @ RealmPortal ))

Change descends, sudden, unexpected, welcome or unwelcome? I cannot say.

For a moment, everything is chaos, lost. Old forces and new play together.

At a table by a doorway a young dwarf sat, an empty mug at her elbow, a large book spread before her. The book itself – full of blank pages – was unremarkable: a simple, leather-bound volume often used by merchants to keep track of orders and reciepts. The spine still smelled slightly of glue, the paper crisp and dry. In the dwarf's fingers rested a pencil, lead sandwiched between half-moons of cedar. It drew thick dark letters across the page in traditional dwarven hand.

Pain.

Cold.

Nothing else.

Darkness.

Timeless.

I ran away from the Lodge. I hadn't time to get anything to bring with me, and the idea of going back made vomit rise in the back of my throat. The shouts and hateful screams of my sisters followed me on the wind long past when it seemed they should have faded. Traitor. Last of a handful who've stood their ground... you fell back. Traitor.