desperation

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?”

Sorina slowly opened her eyes, the wind blowing against her body and wings had felt so nice, but something deep within her twisted, something ancient and instinctual. A deep rooted instinctive fear, as she flew on it grew worse and worse, her body began to shiver and she had to take calming breathes to remain in control of the need to flee. It was power that was creating this sense of panic, ancient very evil power that felt oddly familiar. She angled upwards as she approached a mountian range and flapped hard to rise above the stony cliffs. As she reached the top she gasped, the side of the mountian was on fire! Not just the trees and wild life but the very ground itself, heat slapped against her filling her lungs and making her choke and gasp.

This flyer, a heavy good quality parchment, has a simple handwritten advertisement:

Loyal, capable. Looking for work as a washerwoman, handmaiden, servant, etc.

Not afraid of physical labor. Familiar with proper serving courtesies.

Serious inquiries can be sent to Silvermoon City Inn, room 204. 

((Send in-game mail to Imbrey))

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."

 This cannot be happening. This cannot be happening because he would never do this to me. Why is it that I cannot wake up? But I know why. It is because this is not a dream. 

Five days after the storm to end all storms, Ghurab was lurking belowdecks, muttering.  He'd found the barrels of salted beef, the not-much-depleted casks of water, and the reserves of dried fruit without trouble.  He didn't stop there.  There were casks of nails, a crate of metal fittings for the things that couldn't just be hammered or tied back together, lamp oil and extra canvas and pots and pans, needles and fishhooks and a glorious amount of plunder, from bolts of raw silk to cut gems and gold coins.

What he didn't find was rum.

    Sleep was fitful, bright greens mixed with orange, flashes of knives, some sort of alter, red hair.

Thump…….thump……. thump

Milk white eyes those eyes I knew, blind and innocent, this awful depth of love in them.

Thump…thump..thump.

Red hair, freckles…. wait..I know that hair…

Thump,thump,thump

Dark Templar Kardnal Zu’pala peered out from his black hood at the troll before him.  He narrowed his eyes, gripped his belt tighter, took a deep breath and spoke:

“C’mon brudda,” a slight whine worked the edges of his melodic voice “Ah be workin’ fo’ T’chali’s now fo’ two weeks.  Ah done everyting joo said…ah hauled de barrels up from Razor Hill, ah done whored fa joo, pimpin’ yo’ beer t’roughout Orgrimma’, I even cleaned up de vomit and took out de trash jus’ now.  Gimme some mo’ tickets…look how many ah gots!”  Kardnal pulled out wads of wrinkled and mildly damp tickets.

The grizzled Orc's eyes darted back and forth, from shadow to shadow, as he slipped into his coarse brown tent beneath the starry Silithus sky. Laughter and singing and music filled the camp, most of it coming from the large communal tent.

With a heavy breath Lorith collapsed against the trunk of the moist tree trunk, not caring how the spongy ground beneath seeped dampness through her cloak. Tanner, whining softly, padded around her, his ears turning to listen in every direction before he laid down beside her, panting heavily. Lorith's hands were to her face, covered with sweat and muck, her hair plastered back at her temples, a deep gash across her cheek stinging and oozing dark blood. She sniffled, held back a sob, then exhaled deeply, at last allowing her tense muscles to relax, one at a time, so that her legs stretched out uneasily before her, and her hands fell to her sides, her sullied features turned to the sun filtering through the mossy tree limbs.