Felsworn

Tydrill rides his raptor through the Blasted Lands wanting to get away to the outlands and be as far away from his so called family as he can. He frequently looks over his shoulder as if he was being followed.

 They're to get into your head boy. I can feel them probing around trying to pry open your thoughts.

 "I know..."

 If they get in, Which they will. They're going to see the letter you sent.

 "I know..."

 Going through the Dark Portal to escape is terrible idea.

 "I've been there before on multiple occasions, I can handle anything it wants to throw at me."

 Thats not at all what I meant.

 "Oh? Then whats so bad about the outlands?"

 The Volanthius Estate is Nagrand which is in the Outlands.

 Tydrill and his raptor immediately come to a hault as chill goes down Tydrills spine.

 Go to Silvermoon.

((a bit confusing at times, but I tried to make the dream sequence flow without any names for the animals))

  "I love you."

The Lynx purred as the elf sitting beside him stroked his fur. His senses were filled with her scent and his body rumbled as her hand continued to stroke his furry back. No thoughts traveled through his mind as he lay there, all of his being was concentrated on relaxing and forgetting about the hunt. He rested there with her for what seemed like an eternity. But suddenly, as quickly as she had arrived, she was gone...

Movement.

The blazing hatred of the zealous Death Knight... Not much can be said for this unfortunate and wretched soul. While rambling away in Shadowmoon Valley, he enlightened even himself as to future plans that he would carry out. His very intentions, to use every last entity that trusted him and even a few that didn't. Deathlord Nightsworn believed he was invincible. He also assumed that he could use his old friendships to manipulate those around him. Perhaps his rambling has driven him mad, for he believes he hears the very influence of the God of the Twisting Nether.

The heat was what first met the druid as he awoke, blistering heat that burned his lungs and eyes. The Orc was gone, as was the watch tower, instead Helfentt was under a fallen tree at the bottom of some great rift in the earth, lava flowing extremely close to him, had he been a little bit over more, he'd have been dead. A sharp pain shot through Helfentt's leg as he shifted. The Tauren managed to unwedge the shattered limb from under the downed tree with his remaining adrenaline before drifting off.

"Another day, another candle...another hour of reflective contemplation..."

A familiarly soft female voice drifted through the small chamber, pensive in tone as a single candle flickered to life. Heavy drapes blocked out the dim light of the moon and the stars, the only illumination being the candle, a small, gently pulsing crimson orb, and a pair of faintly luminescent, Fel-distorted eyes that rested on a small lockbox on her table. Slender fingers gently traced over its contours, the rough edges snagging on thin silken gloves every now and again.

So...yeah...I'm fucked.

Bend me over the gateway to Stormwind and screw me sidways, I'm fucked. Ya'd figure that, with all my ingenious plans, they'd niver back fire. Ha. Yeah, 'bout that. Turns out, I'm no' ingenious! Nor, do I know how to hide bo-A large black scribble covers the next few sentences- And those fuckin' Volanthius minnions found him before I could do anything! I'm getting rusty, I swear...

A stream of muttered cursing flowed from the balcony outside Tiradell and Tanakyll’s Orgrimmar apartment.  Tiradell lay on his back, wiping the latest stream of thick oil off his face.  “Why it couldn’t have been a halfway competent kidnapper, but no, I get the mad possessed one,” he scowled, throwing the filthy rag onto a pile of other filthy rags.  Despite the swearing and the mangled pile of metal and parts that used to be his flying machine, Tiradell smiled, recalling the aerial pursuit.

Tiradell’s eyes opened in his room; the single candle in the room sufficient to see what he needed.  Information had been gathered, help summoned, and everything prepared.  He smiled, the first time in many days as he strapped his heavy armor and harness on.  Well we’re just going to have to go find her then, he remembered Raeril saying, feeling just as foolish now that he’d not thought of it himself.  He drew his sword from the rack, hefting it.  He pondered the blade, long and sharp, gleaming from hours of polishing.  His smile widened, teeth showing as he swung the sword up over his head, nearly slashing the ceiling.  “Once again,” he said, feeling the weight, relishing the strain on his muscles as he held it high.  The smile sealed itself once again as he swung the sword back, almost habitually, settling it into its harness.

It was always hard to tell whether she was smiling or not; Fyodora didn't have much in the way of a face left.  The harlequin pattern of brightly colored cloth patches and stitching revealing little of her emotions when she made an attempt, and the empty sockets of her eyes didn't help.  Fyodora looked around at those gathered in the old Brill graveyard, the heavily-armored warriors, massive weapons at their sides or backs.  Other in their robes or light clothes, eyes narrowed, hands empty yet still betraying the position of their weapons.

Weekly report - Aug. 10 - Aug. 15

Tuesday Aug. 10 - observed the Felsworn gathered around a cart; discussion seemed little to do with others, mostly of others within their own circle, personal difficulties, and playful banter.  Did notice an open box within the cart filled with weapons and tabards.  I was unable to identify the pattern on the tabards.  There was also a sealed lockbox, was unable to see what was inside.  Later in the day I followed Avaraelia, overhearing her advising an orc who was following their ways asking for instruction in wielding the fel; she instructed him to find a warlock.  Shortly thereafter a young girl, very young, approached Avaraelia and informed her that on her mother’s death, she had been instructed to follow the Felsworn.  I attempted to dissuade her, but am unsure whether my attempts were successful; her name is Lunaliska, her mother was apparently a mage of some power, who has recently died.

General Sidoran Sunlash,

Per your orders, sir, I have been monitoring Felsworn activities within Silvermoon City.  Here is a report on their activities throughout the week as I have observed them.

Monday - No noteworthy activity, they're still getting used to not being able to initiate bloody duels on the streets

Tuesday - observed them in discussion of various foods, complaining about various food's tastes.  (Note: Investigate possible Felsworn reliance on other food sources)

Wednesday - A vicious game of tag ensued, instigated by the Felsworn; possible Felsworn influences among the children of Silvermoon.

 To whomever reads this.

Well, I was barred from the running, not surprising, but I did feel a touch of regret that I didn't get to run.

Still, things are looking up, My position with the Pathstalkers that a friend of mine from Outland secured for me has been going well, I made my first arrest last night and I am thoroughly enjoying this way of giving back to the city.

Another piece of news, Today I joined House Volanthius, the House that Lady Ava is running currently. I feel that in this position, I can make my fallen son proud and myself, I can live the life I never thought i'd be able to.

Wearing dark robes with a dark hood covering his face, Draconar cautiously approached the Shadow Hold. He was on a mission. A mission to destroy it. By doing this, he would secure his pact with the remnants of the Legion. He approached the Shadow Hold’s entry as he looked up at the structure. He did not want to do it.

                The sky was crystal blue like him.

                Or rather, like his eyes; the ones that swirled with a mixture of righteousness and compassion, that burned with drive to protect those close to him. Or was it contempt and scorn for the Unholy? She couldn’t remember. She was slowly losing his face; he had been gone so long, leaving her with nothing but his last words of scorn and contempt:

                “Don’t you see?! You are the very thing that will tear this world apart!”

Zaraek’s reprieve didn’t last long.  The next day, as the diffuse daylight softened into night in the bizarre land of Zangarmarsh, he was mounted on his deathcharger on the bank of an expanse of land separating him from the Darkcrest nagas, considering how to take them out, when his train of thought is interrupted by the sound of wings.  Skeletal wings.   Suddenly, a familiar form, a winged steed of the Ebon Hold, swoops down to appear before him.

            Zaraek knew he was in for trouble the second he saw the elf female glance in his direction.  Standing in the center of admirers, in the middle of Silvermoon City, her white blond hair scintillating as she smirked and smiled and jutted her hip in that way that females have when they want something from a male.  Or when they just want to play with them, break them and discard them.  He could feel the aura of dark power coming off of her.  Trou

I will not fall to him, I have yet to claim my reward. This is a war between he and I now.