Ashenvale

Some days were better than others.
Other days seemed perfectly fine until the very moment they suddenly spiraled out of control.  Like the morning he saw the woman in the Exchange…

They told me there's a new Warchief sitting on a throne of bones wearing the desiccated remains of a demon on his shoulders.

What did anyone expect would happen?

Vindicator Haran rode at a brisk pace atop his scarred and sinewy Elekk south down the road from Astranaar. There had been the briefest of pauses in the constant battle in the town following the death of Senior Artificer Uktal, and although no formal word had been passed regarding the matter, he fervently prayed that the Orcs had not been responsible. The acting Warden had given sincere promise that whoever had done such a terrible thing would pay dearly—the Kaldorei held the man in great esteem, and the murder of any non-combatant, especially one already severely crippled as he was an unspeakable act. Still, it was with regret that said promise had been a tally of fifty dead Orcs with his name carved in their chests. The Kaldorei Wardens could be fatalistic and grim it seemed.

“This would be considerably less difficult if Nemos would allow us to make use of these trees.”

Artificer Jorut wiped the sweat from her brow, laying down the glowing spanner wrench now blistering from use.

“This would be considerably less difficult if Nemos would allow us to make use of these trees.”

Artificer Jorut wiped the sweat from her brow, laying down the glowing spanner wrench now blistering from use.

((Continued from: http://www.rp-haven.com/blog/meladela/simple_test ))

((Mairead past: http://www.rp-haven.com/blog/mairead/endings_and_beginings ))

There were a few misgivings about coming to Ashenvale at Mairead and Tyne’s insistence.   My failures to fully rebuild my wards was enough to prod me into attempting a different course of action before I went down some dark path I might never return from whole in mind and body.

Tyne will be joining me later teach and guide me in new ways to repair the damage done, he promised me only the spirits of his people would inhabit the shores of the lake and they would not trouble me.

What was supposed to be a quick dip in a secluded cove on the southern shore of Lake Mystral to remove the grime and dirt from traveling proved him wrong.

The image of the body floating a few inches below the surface of the water next to me was both beautiful and troubling.

Akiri was sent out the next day with the same sentinel following her through the forest. They were sent to Northern Felwood which was typically a hotbed of demons and corruption. Nyla was certain more direct conflict would provide a chance to be rid of the evil creature who called herself Akiri. Nyla didn't want to send her near any frontline of conflict with the Horde because she would certainly turn on the Night Elven forces and cause some damage with her reckless arcane behavior.

Akiri had at least been provided with a simple robe for this trip since the escorting Sentinel had assured Nyla that parading the girl around in her underwear was not having the expected outcome of shaming her, but it did make the sentinel uncomfortable.

Akiri had been chained at the top of the tower in Ashenvale for about a week. She had been on the receiving end of quite a few beatings during that time, but they had left her alive as they waited for the response from Laciuna. They had taken away all her things and made sure she wasn't able to get access to anything magical.

Akiri heard a voice coming from the corner of the tower and she cowered down as much as the chains would allow her. She whimpered about not getting hit and looked away as the figure hiding in the corner approached her. Her week of captivity had been so terrifying that she had not recognized the voice. The figure was in front of her now and she braced herself for the blows that were obviously going to come. The figure told her to look at her, so she reluctantly peeked at the Elf kneeling down in front of her face and did a double take. "Laci! Get Akiri out of here!"

The Orcs were much better prepared to handle the enraged mage that was burning through the lumber workers. Orc warriors and Goblin shredders converged on Akiri as she wildly threw magic around. She actually had to attempt to shield herself as axes and saws attempted to cut her down. She was covered in blood, bruises, mud and cuts.

She could feel the last of her magic leaving her as the potency of her attacks was weakening and the blows from the Orcs were feeling more severe. She was beginning to feel weak from the pain, but she would not relent until the intruders paid for their destruction.

Akiri pulled as hard as she could on the magic around her and she exploded in a torrent of arcane energy as it flowed up and around her. The vortex returned her energy to keep fighting them off as it threw them back and gave her a moment to regain her footing.

After returning to the spire in a pool of blood and gore, Akiri spent the next few days in bed and refused to eat. The world had changed and dragons were to blame, of course. She had not expected those Goblins and Orcs to help the dragons in destroying the world; those damn greenskins.

She woke up in the middle of the night after having a nightmare of the forest burning down around her. She imagined herself back where she had killed the Goblins and felt a rush of joy in as the images of their deaths played out in her mind. When she opened her eyes, she was back in that place. The blood stained nearby structures and the road under her feet. It would still be a while before it all washed out.

(( Title from Don't Drink the Water. ))

Had been kinda strange, listenin' ta da Taurens, hearin' claims ta da land, no matter who be on i'.

The air is crisp and cool and I
Roll over, groan, and blink my eyes.
The hammock sways as I climb out.
I stretch my arms and look about.

My armor lies where I left it.
I put it on, adjust the fit,
Pick up my pack, and leave the inn.
The wind picks up, freezing my skin.

I stop a small way up the road
For hot tea to keep out the cold
Then heft my pack again and make
My way toward the western gate.

The guards ignore me as I pass,
Another face among the mass
Of trolls, Shu'halo, elves and orcs
Departing for a day of work.

SUMMER

The summer sun beat punishingly down upon Dustwallow Marsh, trapping the moisture between ground and canopy in a stifling vacuum of humidity.  Though the sweat rolled down her back, Sinobel Alayna was happy to be on patrol.  It suited her talents, and at least she didn't have to wear the platemail of Her Lady's Elven Guard. 

Sinobel tried to wind down in her Venomspite apartment, but she was too on edge.  Her dreams had been shadowy and disturbing.  She felt unrested and unsure of so many things.  So instead she paced, back and forth, hands wrapped around her daggers, drawn for no purpose other than to keep her personal demons at bay. 

After the Hallow’s End costume party a few days ago, when Sinobel had handed the Seraph’s private missive to Aelberyn, pointing out that she didn’t care what it said enough to break into it and read it…

Ugh.

I want to remember this place.  I want to remember where else the trees were so thick and embracing, where their foliage fell in such poignant color, where roots and fern swept up to my ankles in welcome.  I want to remember why such peace entered my heart when I stepped into this forest, and why I should sit by the water so long under the canopy of the Ashenvale.

A wise one once taught that memory is like a river.  Close to the source, it runs crisp and clear as a mountain stream. Nothing is hidden in its clarity, and it washes over the senses with tingling reality.

The idea of blaming Varnbek for the influx of patrons was an inviting one, but Sintu didn't immediately stoop to it. Surely there was a perfectly reasonable explanation why complete strangers were knocking on her door to ask for specific products or, more often, to sell her junk they'd acquired from places best left unimagined. The latter occurred with infuriating frequency, but she sold her wares for several times the amount which she had to give up to the hawkers.

She had done a very bad thing.
She knew that.
But she just couldn't stop laughing.

Tyi'jin forced back a yell of pain as the human dug the small dagger into his side, yelling something in Common. Tyi'jin thought it was ironic that the group he just saved would bind him to broken cart and try to torture him. The dwarf laughed as the troll growled and spat on the ground as the human withdrew the dagger and asked the question again. "I jus' be savin' joo an' ya tink dat I dese've ta be stabbed? If it not be fo' me den joo be dead frum dose naga ova dere." Tyi'jin nodded his head to the dead naga. The dwarf in the group looked dumbfounded at the language and shook his head to the others. The human nodded and stabbed Tyi'jin again. "Ouch, what'chu be doin' dat foa', joo be stoppin dat!" The troll reached for his sword and felt the dagger pushed deeper as the human yelled. Tyi'jin stopped and sighed, wincing a bit.

Astranaar.

“All things human hang by a slender thread; and that which seemed to stand strong suddenly falls and sinks in ruins.”
    ~Ovid

     Being ‘silent’ in water is not like being silent ashore.  People seem to think you can submerge and flail around like a beached fish, and though it’s true that the sound won’t reach those on, say, a ship’s deck, those that dwell in the ocean aren’t so constrained.  In truth, sound carries much better in the water, and most of the inhabitants down here can feel ripples of vibration as clearly as if they were struck.

"Call it a clan, call it a network, call it a tribe, call it a family.  Whatever you call it, whoever you are, you need one.  "
    ~Jane Howard

    Every step in Ashenvale is akin to walking across jagged shards of steel.  Lit aflame.  I hate this place, and yet I remain.  Why?

    “Hey, troll!” the orc had bellowed to me as I walked past, lost in the sea of half-glimpsed… memories?  Hallucinations?  I couldn’t say any more.

    “My raiders and I are about to attack the Silverwing Outpost to the west. Our target is its leader, Duriel Moonfire. Scouts report the outpost is defended heavily with sentinels and warriors. The battle will be glorious!”

"It is better to be hated for who you are, than to be loved for someone you are not."
    ~Andre Gide

    I can't recall the last time I've had a hot bath.

    Oh, certainly the ocean water is warm along the coasts of Stranglethorn, but there's something about watching steam drifting lazily from your heated flesh, soaking in a warmth that saturates your body until you could swear your bones are growing hot… it's a pleasure I haven't experienced in a long while.

"Scorpion asks Frog for a ride across a river. Frog says "But you'll sting me and I'll die. After all, you're a scorpion."
Scorpion says, "Don't be silly, if I sting you, we'll both die."
Frog says, "Well, that makes sense. I'll give you a ride."
Scorpion climbs on Frog's back and off they go. Half way across the river,
Scorpion stings Frog and as they both begin to sink beneath the water, Frog says "What did you do that for? Now we'll both die!"
Scorpion says, "I couldn't help it. After all, I'm a scorpion."
    ~Unknown Source

    You know you're growing too accustomed to waking up from unconsciousness when you can immediately identify the sensation.

Xelarus caught his knuckle in his teeth, his green eyes smoldering with need as he gazed across the gnarled, moist, Ashenvale forest floor. He slid a hand down his trim stomach, letting a few fingers hook under the waistband of his silken, ankle length skirt, tugging it down a touch, scandalously showing more and more taut tummy. He dropped the hand from his mouth, resting it on his chest to bestill his beating heart, “Come get it,” he invited, licked his lips. He winked, one eye adorned with faux long lashes, the other left plain.

        The menacing, buzzing whine of spinning saws was deafening to Rueka as she padded a circle around the mechanical goblin construct, her nose clogged by noxious black fumes that gurgled their way out of steel pipes, making her eyes burn and itch. Rueka snorted angrily, raking the forest floor with a furry boulder of a paw. The shredder looked more like a metal demon than anything else, its torso a maw of fire below two burning green lights. “Shoo! Get movin’,” shouted the goblin. “I wouldn’t mind skinning you, you big dumb animal!” The goblin’s bright voice cut through the din, his little hands making dismissive gestures at her in between working the controls of his infernal contraption. Rueka experienced a smug amusement brought on by the midget-greenskin’s ignorance, letting her gaze momentarily drift to the Warsong Lumber Camp looming behind him under overcast skies.

I suppose I never expected her to return.

It's a chapter of my life that I thought was closed, locked with tears and grief and hatred so deep that it burns in my marrow.

Should I cast my mind back into those jagged memories? She cannot help that I do so. I have no solace now to ease them or distract me from contemplating that greatest failure. I have failed often in my life.. in my choices since then.

But it was the greatest and most painful.

I lost them all.

I had thought I'd lost her.

We went singing into battle. But the green-skins had become flushed and red, and with their axes they hewed the Forest Lord himself as if great Cenarius were a log they were tearing at. My sisters died screaming before the demonic energy of them. My sisters.

Larosa slowly lifted her bare chest with shaking arms from the soft pile of pillows to move into a kneeling position.  The soft green blanket, similar to moss was underneath her as a clean creamy linen blanket was draped over her hips. She slowly and carefully rolled her shoulders and stretched out her arms, trying very hard to work out the kinks developed over the past two days.

Larosa's head was still fuzzy from the sheer amount of ale, She had drunk before coming here this time, but the dullness was welcomed.  When the male elf began doing what he did best,  Larosa had found herself thinking of just about anything but the fact that she was starting to bleed from his minstrations, when she was not passed out from the pain of the mad race to finish the job in two days.

She closed and locked the door to her small apartment in Dalaran and leaned her back against it.  She stuffed her hands in her pockets and stared at the tip of her boots as she felt the eyes of Pittch and her menagerie of birds stared at her.  She wasn't in the mood to be interogated by her companions at the moment and let Pittch feel her desire to be left alone to her thoughts for a few moments.

Pittch was concerned, he had never seen his huntress act this formal and especially not with a lover.  He growled to the birds around him, heading her unspoken desire, and doing his job as the alpha of their pack.  He snarled at the hawk owl, also a favored pet, when it didn't flit off fast enough.  The saber turned his head back in time to catch her soft yet firm words.

"He is male and a druid, they will always have their foibles . . .  I am a woman and Sentinal trained."