Fighting

((Redone, and much shorter as I desire to do it in several installments.))

Embers crackle, the wood groans; Flames licking the brick, another log tossed onto the roaring fire. The cozy heat illuminates Urilla’s room and its occupants within. Ever since that fateful day Raeril noticed Urilla’s medallion, the half-elf woman’s world has been blown apart. She came to Frostmana Citadel to find out the meaning behind the medallion, and who she is.

The faithful stewardess over the entire citadel, known only as Champion; prods the fire with an iron pole. Retiring the pole to its stand, Champion’s purple eyes assess the descendant of Duke Starscythe. The younger elf sulks, fiddling with the medallion in her right hand.

 “What are you looking at me like that for? Nothing to see here, I promise you.”

The large black worg pounced into the air at Nelenna, the worgen shifted her weight forward watching as the leaping beast's jaws opened. Bringing her arms up to protect her throat from the pounce, feeling teeth clamp down upon the protective guards around her forearms as the worg slammed into her with a snarl. She fluidly shifted backwards using the force of the impact to go into a hard half spin as Nel pivoted around. The jaws around her arm slipping off the guard and the worg's weight carrying the animal into the nearby wall.

“I want you to go out in the battlefield and kill as many of those forsaken as you can, in as brutal a way as you can. We’re going to put the fear of the worgen in them, Lineya.”  Lord Godfrey spoke mutedly to the worgen before him,  she stood a tad small than the other cursed females, not that it was a big difference. The cursed gilnean gave Godfrey a rather unsettling grin full of teeth, almost like she was looking at him as food. The look caused Godfrey to slowly move a hand toward his firearm until Lineya spoke.

Blood splatters on Tamlin as he skins the prize laying in the grass.

A few months ago he would have killed me on sight and maybe done the same to me.

The light faded from my life as it faded from the Scarlet Crusade with the death of our beloved General.  We became the hunted and to survive,  I walked away from New Hearthglen into the arms of the alliance.

Unsure if they would spare me but they did.

(( It's been quite awhile since I've made a post on Aranak, but in case you were all wondering, yes, he is alive and well. =) ))

Sounds of pitched battle were everywhere, and a thick cloud of dust was constantly being kicked up by the combatants that filled the melted snowfield. The scene would've been almost idyllic; the faint sunlight casting glows upon the ground, while snowflakes fluttered and drifted slowly down. Yet at the same time, the beautiful surroundings were marred and tainted by the spilt blood of thousands upon thousands. War had once again proven that even the best of things could be torn asunder.

He paced on his usual walk down the bustling street of the Trade district. He was returning to where he'd tied his Charger up for the time being, having sold some things at the local auction, his purse felt a bit heavier to carry. A smile upon his face at the success of such. "Who knew those blasted Orbs would sell..." He chuckled softly, pausing as he came upon a small news stand. His face sudddenly melted every bit of relaxation and casual attitude it had upon it. He stared at the headlines, as it outlined the massacre in Arathi. He grabbed up the paper, tossing the coins at the man working the stand. His form moving, bumping carelessly into people as he made his way to the horse. He tossed the paper aside, and undid the horse, slinging himself atop he, he tugged at the reigns. "....And so it begins.." And with a swift jolt to the beasts sides, the hooves galloped off towards the Gryphon master.

Jaffry Galbraith watched the room as youths danced away the night. Galbraith, proprietor of a prominent enchanting shop and son of a once well-regarded magister, was acting as chaperone at the usual club many students attended to unwind after studies, and many of the adventurers who used Dalaran as a base found their way here as well. It was a safe, respectable establishment--not like that place that death knight lord ran. Galbraith wrinkled his nose and sipped his drink.

Twenty-five years ago he had been one of the youths on the floor, trying to sneak around the watchful elders who’d report misconduct to masters and families. This was a place to come and be seen, to mingle publicly with less scandal and suspicion than other locations. It was a landmark full of tradition and history.

He stood quietly on the bridge, arms crossed calmly. The breeze blew through his lengthy hair. The water sloshed back and forth underneath the stonework of Stormwind. He shook his head and sighed, tugging briefly at the tabard he wore. "Why am I here? What purpose in the grand scheme of things do I serve?" He glanced skyward, as if expecting some answer from the Light... unfortunately, only silence fell upon his ears. A heaving sigh left his lips, before he turned and paced down the sloping bridge 

Her escape from the city had not been flawless. The wound on her arm left a trail that even an unskilled tracker would have been able to follow. But once she got out of the city she took some time to bandage the wound to prevent any persuit. Not even Akrish knew where she was going. She just knew she had to leave.

She took the road west to the dead scar and turned south to follow it. The dead scar was silent near the city since the Rangers did a good job of keeping the undead away from the city walls, but as she moved south she could hear the shuffling and moaning of the pathetic undead that still wandered this region.

As she waded through the stream that washed across the putrid stain on the landscape, she saw a scraggly undead that silently stared at her. He displayed no emotion; no hatred, no hunger and no sadness. She stopped and looked down into the glassy water at her own emotionless reflection.

Alynore woke up and moaned. The light filtering through the room's blinds was too much for the pounding behind her eyes. Sowelu Taggert was still sprawled out, asleep. Alynore tried to remember what time they'd finally got in...this morning?

Click and clatter

Pit and patter

'Ware those hives,

And cut the chatter!

Ready knives,

And prep to scatter!

The wyvern roared in mocking triumph as Azu’mah slipped off the edge of his nesting grounds. The flight had seen it, and Tenz’tazal felt certain his consorts would reward him, their Alpha, accordingly. He was a young wyvern, but he was strong, quick, and clever. The two-legged tusk-face hadn’t stood a chance against his might. He was lord of the skies here, and any who would dare challenge him would try in vain. He was Tenz’tazal, Son of the West Wind! He took to the air instantly, in a proud show of his strength before his flight, and any observers who may have been watching him. His shadow dove down the mountain side in a static display. His mind was filled with self-praise up until the moment he banked left and saw the troll, very much alive.

 The ghoul snarled.  After only a moment, it leaped into action, its teeth gnashing as it covered the distance to its target.  Nephirin rolled backwards, using his feet and the ghoul's momentum to send it flying overhead and into a snowbank.  The ghoul struggled to free itself until a dagger drove into the base of its spinal column.

When she'd arrived at the usual staging ledge for those who sought entrance into the Lair, a Gnome sat perched on the ledge, waiting. Cerwis sighed and moved to sit on the railing a yard or so away, giving the stone-like female space to watch the entirety of the Molten Span. 

She didn't know how she was going to do this. Claim the head of the current Broodlord...She'd worn her heavy plate, something she knew she was going to get flak for. Cerwis rubbed her forehead and looked down at her shield, it had been far too long since she'd done any sort of defensive fighting..

A few words can throw a bloke off balance with the same weight of a mace or great sword. Resulting in a stumble. A trip. A staggering fall.

You can run on for a long time
Run on for a long time
Run on for a long time
Sooner or later God'll cut you down
Sooner or later God'll cut you down...

(Continuation of a long left off story! And a return to RP!)

The cold snow, painted red. The shouts of men and women a like almost drowned out by the roar of undead beasts. The Death Knights of Arthas pouring through the gates. The Armies of the Alliance and Horde marched forward, united in equal purpose. Tauren and Dwarf alike fighting side by side. It was a magnificent sight int he lease. They pushed, and pushed hard. The sounds of officers shouting loudly filling the air over the roar of clashing steel and the thud of warm bodies, and cold bodies alike hitting the ground. One voice rang out loudly, a familiar voice on the battlefield, the small dwarf leapt through the air shouting with feverous contempt. "ARGH. FORWARD! DUN BACK DOWN LADS!"

She traveled from the Tundra, taking the longest boat rides she could find to the Howling Fjord. TIme was not important since a blood lust didn’t fire her body. Instead the gentle movement of the ship as it glided forward between the waves, settled her soul. The endless panorama of ocean waves, punctuated by the dorsal fins of sharks and dolphins lulled her into a state of contemplation.

For days on end she would lean against the ship’s railing, just watching the sea. She’d move out of the way when needed, once moving to lift her sword against a pirate ship and it’s invaders. Some sailors thought she would jump overboard. , but each gentle slap of a wave against the aging wood of the bow, each spray of salt onto her face was just another small reminder of the little bit of life within herself.

[ Had a blast with a mess of awesome folks last night mauling Sylvanas. Got inspired by all the brilliance in vent. :x ]

[ For more about Ythika, and the Blood and Felfire storyline, check out bloodandfelfire.blogspot.com ]

On the fifteenth of April, Death came for William Marston.

Again.

***

 I step into the clearing. I’m due north of Brill, and the forest is dense and dark. It’s malevolent and... drippy. I sidestep a trickle of water falling from one of the trees. Probably a gnomish spy, peeing at me. No, probably not.

I’m wearing my work mail- mismatched green and grey and brown, along with a brown shirt instead of my usual red one. My hair still shows against the forest scene, though.

“Alenei!” I call. “Alenei di Capernio! Come out, Alenei!”

Ilkayonne didn’t look over her shoulder as her horse lead the way from dock.  She was too hungover and still reeling from the night before.  Her mount led the way into the Tundra,  just galloping ahead, like they did before when her anger would get too much.  Over and over the steed would stop in a field, where she would get off, tighten her armour straps, and search the horizon for a fight.

Each swing, each thrust was a comfort.  At first she found herself hearing Lord Thorval in her head.  Each step, she found herself grounded with the tundra below her feet, each swing powered by strength and her pain. 

'Meet us under the Inn'

The note had read, it gave Asilia an uneasy feeling. She didn't know anyone here, so why would someone want to meet with her? Thoughts prevaded her mind even as she stepped into the inn her mail armor clinking quietly. Mirage's claws scraped against the wood floor, as the stalker glanced at various patrons giving each one a snort as she followed the Night Elf.

Asilia moved into the kitchen and was surprised when the cook simply nodded at her instead of protesting the intrusion. He even gestured with a hand towards a partially hidden trap door in the corner. The kaldorei kneeled slightly pulling the trap door open, looking down into the cellar briefly before jumping in. Mirage's scrabbling claws followed shortly after and the two landed easily. Looking forward she spotted the small group of humans, they all seemed to be an assortment of peasants, footmen as well as builders and scribes. Hearing her fall they turned and actually smiled at her.

Netherstorm, one day this place would no longer exist. Not if the area continued to crumble and collapse as its magical energies ripped it apart.Asilia merely shook her head as she gazed about the tinted landscape. Her undead gryphon sqawking idly at what the creatured considered to be prey below. The death knight urged the beast forward guiding it towards manaforge duro. It was there that Asilia would find the last ingrediant she needed for her formula.

Asilia raged forward holding frozen star low to the ground storming onward, her mind nearly blocking out the rest of the fight. She sought out new foes like an unholy killing machine. And then attack with a ferocity and strength they were unprepared for. Ignoring their blades, she struck out with pure offensive strength. Soon she approached the entrance of the barracks and a rather formidable force of scarlets were waiting, set up in a picket line behind barricades. Asilia raised her blade into the air before pointing it at the scarlets with an icy flash.

The captive shook as he waited, with only a cloth to provide himself any decency. The human hadn't expected it but he and the others had been given some food and water. He didn't know why, what purpose could the scourge have to even keep any of them alive?

He figured he was about to find out since several ghouls and cultists showed up and shuffled all six of the captives into a large dark room. Their shivering voices echoed off of the stone walls, this place was frozen everywhere it seemed.

"You should be honored, " Came a female voice, Asilia spoke rather calmly as she stepped out of the shadows and into their view. Frozen Star glimmered in her hand as if the blade was excited about what was coming next. "For you were chosen to test Frozen Star on, I only recently reforged her."

The captives shivered several managing to shout out "Burn in hell monster," A few only quivering at the fact they were all unarmed.

((The fight that encompasses this blog is rather long winded just fore warning))

"You must be Janiil." A voice behind Jan speaks, she rips her blade from a ghoul she had just killed to turn. Facing the one confronting her she was surprised it wasn't Arthas since she had begun following him after he had departed the citadel. Heading off into the frozen wastes for one reason or another.

Janiil glared at this armored foe who bore twin blades, Frozen Star pulsed in response to one of the weapons. She had figured out that her runeblade would react when others were near by, this man could only be a Death Knight.

"You fight against the inevitable"

The runeblades clash with mighty clangs.

Hello All!

It came to my attention yesterday that although nobody has come forward to me, the grapevine tells me that some patrons of the White Hart are frustrated with the no fighting rule that is currently in place at White Hart.

I would like to address this issue, open it up to discussion/concerns, and also hopefully address my own concerns with escalating violence at White Hart. Please give it a read if youre a regular, a newbie, or thinking of joining us :)