blood

Fealydra is upon her drakes back tugging at the reins to guide the animal; the feeling of the wind hitting her face as the beast soared through the clouds was welcoming.  Fea’s long blonde locks whip behind her wildly in the breeze, she already felt uneasy being it was the dress or that fish she ate at the ball. More than likely the dress, this corset has been grabby in all the wrong places.

   Darkness descends on the haunted woods of Silverpine. A wolf howls at the moon, the ruined remains of Pyrewood Village stands defiantly against the forsaken who have invaded these lands. A single trail of blood along the cobblestone road leads to the fountain in the center of the town. Aeloran's jet black hair shimmers in the moon light as he clings to the rim of the fountain and peers in at his own reflection. His fel green eyes illuminate his young adolencent features. Blood stains the bottom of his servant attire robes. The boy winces in pain as he bares the pain of his wound.

Such lovely suffering...the night is long when one is shut off from all that is good..decent and loving your other self..shutting herself away..apathetic..the husk..filled with rage..hatred...all that makes you a slave to the trapped King overwhelms all that is near..becoming what you truly are...a predator..hunting those filled with such nourishing blood...What is this? A hunter blocks me..an odd fleeting moment...should I know of this hunter? Orc..fel flows in him....it I feel his life within him..it must be changed..it must taste death..to have order once again. To be enslaved by the trapped King..It must die...painfully.

...GIVE me your life...

She quickly pulls the pin that holds her hair in a lose bun. With a slow shake her dark hair falls  to just past her shoulders.  She sits on the soft bed as a man brings a large bowl full of a strange liquid. She nods to him with a seductive smile then turns her gaze to the bowl. She pushes her right hand into the still very warm liquid and allows it to fully coat her skin.  With a quick movement she raises her arm above her head. The warmth of the liquid starts to drip as her long slender fingers reach to the heavens. Her head falls back as she lifts the other hand just above the knuckles on the still coated hand. She slowly rubs the thick liquid down her right arm. The warmth of the liquid makes her skin tingle and the corners of her mouth turn up into a very pleased smile.

     Mournful cries fill the air of Hearthglen as the rain falls from the heavens. A freshly dug grave sits behind Gothran's massive office tower. All the members and residents of Hearthglen gather around the grave, dressed in black. Gothran kneels infront of the marble tombstone placing a single rose on the grave. The stone reads "Amivexandra Mirkblood, A mother, a friend, a sister." Familiar faces fill the crowd. Grexan wearing his black hooded cloak stands solumnly as tears fall from his hood. Ami's children stand next to raya weeping as she comforts them.

         The wind blows through the woods of Silverpine as a young boy walks the cobblestone path. He is smiling and cheerful as he hums to himself. The sunlight shines off the boy's long ebon hair, and his black formal robe rustles as he walks happily. A beautifully crafted sword bounces oh the elven's boys him as he moves care free through the woods.

      The sun shines bright in Eversong woods. Birds are chirping and a gentle breeze rustles the golden leaves in the trees. Grexan enters Falconwing Square dressed in his combat suit. The faded brown and red leather suit has seen many a battle from Grexan's days as a rogue. The death knight adjusts his glove, flexing the fingers as he does so. The elf adorns his crimson mask, moving his brunette hair to tie it. The Death knight looks like a walking armory. A scythe and katana bounce off a strange purple book labeled "Stormbound"((http://www.wowhead.com/spell=59493)) which is strapped to the back on his leather armor. Under the book in a horizontal Sheath is what appears to be a broad sword. Lastly two twin blades are sheathed at his sides.
       

So happy birthday! Have a picture.

There were always quiet, abandoned places.  Shujaa had years of practice being where nobody was.  Red blood mixed with red dust behind him as he walked slowly, carefully out of the canyon.  Eyes steady, mind watching, steps measured, careful, muscles relaxed, ready to tense.  Weakness will betray me, he thought to himself, but I will be strong.  For her.  A vision of his tall, beautiful mate, tattoos outlining her face and the remembered sensation of her long, graceful legs against him stiffened his back, kept the fatigue from days with no sleep from causing his body to collapse on the ground to rest.

She had met his advance with firm footing, and held her ground as he had tried to force her to back down. Teeth were bared and smiles exchanged. An unheard rhythm they both felt compelled them into this dance, a battle of wills. Tusks and teeth, feet and fists; all instruments in the music they would make together.

A rumble in his throat spoke words he would never allow himself to admit. He had her pinned and could only smile. She was better than this and he knew it. He had challenged her to fight, not to take a beating.

“Quit playin’ and––”

Yunari pressed the vial to her wrist, counting the drops as they spilled out and ran down the smooth crystal. Four... five... six. She'd need more than that, but after tonight she didn't have the strength to risk filling it all at once. Seven... eight...

At last she pulled the vial away, setting it down on the low table beside her. Another two drops of dark liquid seeped out, falling to break and scatter on the woven mat beneath her. The woman made a face, dipping her fingers into the bowl before her and spreading the gritty mud over the small cut she'd made. She pressed her fingers against her inner arm, just above the wound, and closed her eyes in concentration.

Fealydra is on the prowl as normal looking for her next thrill, She thinks to herself. "I need the perfect girl for tonight." Her dark crimson eye's scan the through all the cities bars and whores in Silvermoon city for the one perfect fix, One that looks simple and gullible yet her beauty surpasses all as she thinks. "I hate beautiful whores. But I love taking them off the streets."  Her blood red lips curl up making a wicked smile as a blonde catches her eye as she walks into the bar alone wearing something very appealing to her hungry thrill seeking eye's. Fealydra pulls her hood up watching the blonde's movements in the dimmed smoke filled bar moving through the crowd her ruby eye's never leave her form as her hips sway's to the music. Fealydra thinks to herself her voice echo's in her mind.

Fealydra is on the prowl as normal looking for her next thrill, She thinks to herself. "I need the perfect girl for tonight." Her dark crimson eye's scan the through all the cities bars and whores in Silvermoon city for the one perfect fix, One that looks simple and gullible yet her beauty surpasses all as she thinks. "I hate beautiful whores. But I love taking them off the streets."  Her blood red lips curl up making a wicked smile as a blonde catches her eye as she walks into the bar alone wearing something very appealing to her hungry thrill seeking eye's. Fealydra pulls her hood up watching the blonde's movements in the dimmed smoke filled bar moving through the crowd her ruby eye's never leave her form as her hips sway's to the music. Fealydra thinks to herself her voice echo's in her mind.

I hear voices in my head
They council me
They understand
They talk to me

You got your rules and your religion
All designed to keep you safe
But when rules start getting broken
You start questioning your faith

Sindrasa had been clearly disturbed by what she saw when she snuck into the former residence of Sidhara. She braved two trips into the bloodstained halls of the now dissarrayed estate. Fortunately she had only found a hairbrush and some clothing in her haste. She had asked Seven to assist her, but Seven refused. Seven didn't give a reason for not accompanying Sindrasa, she simply kept silent and avoided the discussion. After Sindrasa returned and gave the stolen goods to Raeril, Seven slipped away into the night and returned to the Cloudsong Manor.

She reaches a clearing in the grey forest. At the center, amidst fallen broken trees, a narrow sharp-edged figure sits--not a troll, nor is he identifiable as any race she know. She can feel the power in him, sense it in the gentle breeze teasing at her skin and brushing across her bare scalp. He's at rest now, but she knows that if she angers him, the winds will rise and tear her apart. She's not sure what will happen to her then, if her spirit body is damaged, and she doesn't particularly care to find out.

Stepping carefully over ghostly grey branches and fallen silver leaves that rustle as she passes, she picks her way toward him. He looks up as she draws near, though she's certain he noticed her before now. "Ah. This one's the young singer, then?" He seems to be speaking to the wind, rather than to her.

She nods.

I'd like to help you doctor
Yes I really really would
But the din in my head
It's too much and it's no good
I'm standing in a windy tunnel
Shouting through the roar
And I'd like to give the information
You're asking for

Alcohol was working... for now. The raging loudness that usually banged around in her skull like a troll toddler with his first drumset was settled to a mostly-quiet snoring Tauren. She took a deep breath, using her feet as leverage against the ramshackle wooden table to push back in her chair. Of course, not accounting for just how *much* she'd been drinking lately, she overbalanced and almost tumbled backwards. She caught herself, and no one except the very observant would even notice the 'almost' accident. Still, her heart raced, adrenalin pumped... and damn! That toddler's awake in her brain again.

 It is ritual before battle.

Doodling sexually suggestive positions from last nights RP while at work. DONT ACT LIKE YOU'VE NEVER DONE IT (;O_o)

If anyone wants to color it that would be super awesome :)

 "An appeaser is one who feeds a crocodile hoping it will eat him last."

     Still, I dream.  I know it's a dream, but it plays out before my eyes as though I hadn't experienced it all for myself.  Truthfully, I don't remember much of my days on Draenor.  At the point in which my sleeping mind chose to rejoin me with my past, months of murder and violence had already unfolded.  The Draenei were all dead, or all in hiding, and there wasn't so much as a single living thing that wasn't a part of the Horde for a hundred, hundred leagues in any direction.  No more battles to be had.  No more blood to be shed. 

My King is shaken.

There is no admittance, no need, it is known. Among us, those of us who do know. The self-titled heroes of our enemies have toppled Naxxramas. Our plans have been set back, they are not going smoothly. Our dear alchemist, the Dalaran abandoneer Noth, no longer stands - what a waste... Utter fools, all of them. If such a key necropolis has been savaged and once-reliable persons are so easily follied, what else can these "heroes" do to my King's lands...?

...No, I cannot question, I must not. 

He must not see weakness... But I wonder, now, when I see 'Barachiel's' face, is it worth losing everything again? Must I suffer for a King, once so gracious, whose maps are being erased? Is there anything left of Arthas Menethil...?

Days since I have come home: 4

Lovers: Still one of course!

Disturbing discoveries: 1

Fights: 3, 4 I believe....

Nightmares: 1

Time: 2 am-ish

Dear Diary....

Here I am, sitting on my bed with the blankets around my shoulders, recovering from a very violent nightmare.... I dont know if it's real... or not....?-

*the pen pauses as the pale woman/blanket mountain shudders in memory of the nightmare before resuming*

It all began pleasantly, as I dreamt that I am in an inn in Silvermoon City,  happily painting Xannivard's nails pink while he dozed behind a book, but suddenly, he awoke with a start. As he stared down at his nails, I had giggled and ran off to hide, not expecting him to do anything to me as he has not done so yet... when something gripped my waist!

It was complete darkness and her head felt like it was going to explode. She opened her eyes and tried to focus. Everything was so blurry. The first thing Valora saw come into focus were the stars; it was a beautiful night. However, the stars were quickly blocked by a man looming over her with a frown. "This one is alive, check her out."

She opened her mouth to speak but no words came out. She had so many questions.

"Where am I?"

"I'll tear you limb from limb!"  Vrykul battle cries were always singularly simpleminded.  

Blood

The man staggered down the cobblestone road, the longsword skipping behind him as he stumbled along. If he was aware of where he was or where his road was heading, he made no indication of it beyond following the curves of the road when they appeared.

Who am I? Where was that horrible place...what were those people doing to me? Why can't-- stop right there--I remember anything? Who was that girl? Did she--I'm warning you!--save me? Where is she--you asked for it!--now?

Dear journal,

I know, I don't usually write in the morning, and I'm sorry I haven't written in a couple of days. So much has gone on, I just really haven't found the time to jot anything down! So, well, I'll see if I can't start where I left off the last time and see if I can remember everything.

Nokrot was sulking.  Demons weren't supposed to sulk. Demons are supposed to be scary, threatening and welll..  demonic.  Not pouting and sulking.. and.. crying?