Ghost Scions

     Denryk flipped over the nearest dwarf, sighing as he saw her head flop over, her lifeless eyes staring at the sky she would never again soar in.  He ran a gentle hand over her eyes, shutting them forever as he whispered, "Be at peace, lass.  Be with yer ancestors."  But he knew her ghost would not rest easy.  Her home was a blazing ruin, her gryphon slain beside her, and Twilight cultists murdering everything and everyone they could find across the Highlands.  He knew he wouldn't be able to rest under those circumstances, why should she?  He shook his head and gripped his mace tighter, feeling the old, familiar burn of anger in his chest.  Damn the Twilight's Hammer.  

Sophia's hooves rung out across the burning plains of the Steppes, kicking up ash and dust into the acrid air of the volcanic land. Thanks to his steed's swift hooves, he'd been able to long ago eliminate the pursuing guardsmen and break into uncontrolled territories. Now he just rode as hard as he safely could to return to the North and hopefully get things back under control, before anyone he called friend could get themselves hurt.

Only the barest glint of light on metal gave away his attacker's position as he twisted in the saddle, just barely managing to dodge the flying attacker who'd flung at him from the rocks above. The shallow canyon  he'd ridden into had been a decent place for an ambush, but the Blackrock orcs had never been ones for such subtlety, and the Dark Iron activity in the region had been all but non-existant, so that left...

I'm in perfect health.

“Ambassador Niall, there you are!”

Leaving the Citadel was less of a relief than I had been hoping. On the way to Stormwind, there were just as many hungry reborn shuffling through Icecrown. I'm told they are weaker now that Arthas has died-- and they do seem less of a threat. They just look lost, somehow more human.

In Stormwind, we wished the wise Nuadhu well as he settled to rest after so much struggle. He certainly earned it. I sat in the damp earth next to him as our little group dissipated-- everyone having their homes or families waiting for them. I fell asleep trying to decide where to go next.

My dreams took me back to the Citadel, and it felt like more of a home than the little cottage I had tended a year ago. I woke up and I wanted nothing more than to return to the Citadel, but I knew I would never go back there.

    The orc was crouched in an alcove, stringing a bow.  I studied him for a few moments from afar.  Confident that I was unnoticed, it came as a surprise when he sprang upwards and loosed an arrow aimed at my neck.  Before I could feel a sting as the arrow grazed my cheek, I took control of the orc's mind.

    He resisted like a child would struggle while being carried to bed.  I searched his mind.  He had spent several hours in hiding, after he faked his own death while Alliance soldiers exterminated his brothers and sisters in arms.  I could taste the bitter tears that had run down his green face.

    The putrid professor's dead eye was staring at me when I awoke under his table.  I had fallen asleep back at base camp, but I wasn't surprised to be here again.  I was a little surprised that I could no longer smell the stench.
    A quick search of the lab yielded a journal of sorts.  The first few pages were written by a steady hand, filled with terms I could not comprehend.  I skipped to the back.  Diagrams began taking over more and more of each page, the few comments became increasingly affectionate.  His monsters were his children and his friends.
    One page was a picture of a gift box, scaled to house Precious.  The following page was a picture of one of his flesh-monsters grinning with child-like glee as the monstrous dog chased his tail.
From the balcony, I could see that very same flesh-monster as little more than a broken down island on the cold stone.

This year, a bunch of The Ghost Scions (+ Gavrisom!!) once again got together, this time at my house.  Much fun was had by all.  Here are a few pics! (Under the cut!)

(And now, for the long overdue and suitably absurd conclusion to "Absent without Leave." Thanks to everyone who participated and helped craft this experiment in long-distrance RP! For reference, this is where events left off. This finale takes place several months ago prior to Turrin's return to "real" Azeroth. For the conclusion, I've opted to revert back to a 3rd person narrative, since it's no longer so much an interactive story. I should also forewarn any prospective readers that the following will make very, very, very little sense without having read at least part of the previous events from the "Absent without Leave" thread, particularly as I have a tendency to gleefully skirt the 4th wall, the fact that this is dealing with a dream-world reality, and due to all the prior events that this conclusion builds upon).

Dear friends and random people I speak to infrequently,

Over the last few weeks I have grown unhappy with this dull, static world inside the World of Warcraft. Before WoW I was a creator, a designer of beautiful and imaginative things. WoW is a lovely distraction, but I am unhappy frolicking in the rendered fruits of others.

After a long night of binge drinking and heavy thinking I've decided to leave the game and concentrate on other more fruitful ventures. I know this is a tragic loss, but I am positive you all have the strength and willpower to continue on without me.

My true calling came to me in a fevered, alcohol fueled dream last night you see...

From now on I shall create sexy calenders of my fellow Ghost Scions members, starting with Elrin.

Cassie raised her head as I entered the room. In an instant, she was clambering from where she had curled herself in the armchair to reach for me, and in two steps I had her in my arms. I kissed her like I had been away for years. I had thought my lips would never be so warm again.

 She broke the spell.

A pile of dead trees has accumulated on my desk. Somewhere between the forest and here, it all got mashed and mixed with water into pulp and woven into thin sheets and covered with the remains of some of it which burnt up before getting wet. Or, when I blink the words out of my eyes, the words on the pages come into focus again. The piles of paper still bespeak the death of at least one great old redwood's equivalent weight of dead tree. My contacts and acquaintances - I hesitate to call them "friends" while laboring under the weight of nigh-infinite documentation - provided me with enough information on various subjects to choke an army of clerks.

Of course, while I was insane, my seceretary quit.

((Inspired by reading through that rather epic thread on the Uldum board, I've decided that, rather than continuing Turrin's AWOL story in a rather dry and non-interactive way, which I honestly wasn't liking all that much in my write-ups, I'd take a different approach and write it as an "open" story, so to speak. That is to say, Turrin is lost in Ulduar and very likely being tormented by the voices of the Old God as he tries to find his way out.

I could try and make stuff up and it might be kinda funny/weird, but really I figured you all might help me take this in a more interesting/interactive direction!

(Given that I am unable to play WoW at the moment, I’ve decided to take the opportunity to do some more focused RP-oriented exercises; what follows is an IC attempt to explain why Turrin has been uninvolved with events and people he’s known, particularly the Ghost Scions, since I went ahead and decided to ditch a good internet connection/PC for 3 months… Also, if you see your character doing something in the story at some point, I'm not god-moding them, it's a projection of the Old God or some such. <_< Though if you want me to add some actual inter-personal interaction as opposed to a man wrestling with craziness I'm totally game, just lemme know. ^_^)

Amara "Flamefist" Niall: missing for two days.

His secure Dalaran apartment, provided by the Violet Eye and shared with Arasminna Moonsong (and sometimes Zaas Glados Devereaux), held a half-finished treatise on Val'kyr and the spirit world next to a cold cup of coffee (one sugar, no cream). The five completed pages were scattered on the floor near his writing desk, with one half-finished page marked by a large, scrawled note: THEY DON'T WANT TO HEAR THIS! WHY AM I BOTHERING!?

The Order of Magicks offices in Stormwind and Ironforge kept for warder master-at-arms Niall haven't been visited in more than a week.

The Argent Crusade hasn't signed him in since Friday.

He was seen passing through Shattrath City yesterday.

In the Netherstorm, he is sitting on the edge of a floating rock, surrounded by a crowd of drakes. He stares at the endless abyss and says, "No, Zoyin. I can't go back yet."

The following document was seized from an office rented to the Order of Magicks in Stormwind, pursuant to reports that an individual exiled under pain of detainment and questioning (Amara Niall of the Ghost Scions) was seen at the location. These pages from a journal identified as belonging to him were taken as "seditious materials proving anti-government intentions," and several office aides were arrested for questioning.

Journal of the 11th day of the 10th month, 4th year after my father's death.

((Since there are spoilers about Yogg-Saron's dialogue, I've hidden this behind the cut.))

Herro.

Due to this RP event being the "end" of a long story-arc involving quite a few different characters I'm doing my best to have it be as epic as possible (as epic as a trial can be).

If you haven't seen the event posting yet, it's up on your top right RP-Haven homepage...but this post is for more clarification and requests.

"Actors" I need:

Jury members.  These can, however, be your main, as long as they can be impartial (if you have a close connection to Lorith or Elrin, chances are you won't be picked).

Witnesses.  I need maybe 1-2 people to play key witnesses during the trial.

Lawyers.  A few people surrounding and protecting (or trying to) Heavret would be lovely.

Judge.  We need a good impartial judge, preferably a human (or dwarf) as this will be played out in Stormwind's court.

It had taken a long time and the elements had been patient. But everything had fallen into place with the efforts of Oshan, Nuadhu and the de Montvalle sisters who she had recently met. She was standing at the entrance to the lair of a creature of earth that was so powerful that she could feed off it's essence. The only issue was that it needed to be defeated since it was not going to give it up willingly.

It had even been a challenge to get to the mouth of this cavernous walkway. The Horde had not seemed interested in letting them pass into this place unharmed. It did not bring them joy, not all of them at least, to cause destruction and harm to the Horde. But the Horde had stood in their way and no Orcs or Trolls were going to stop them from fulfilling the dying wish they had determined to obey.

**a slip of paper lying half under a bed in a corner of the Hero's Welcome dormitory, appearing as if it had been written in the middle of the night.  The pen has rolled out of sight; the occupants of the bed are soundly sleeping **

It crept up silently, a cold hand around my ankle, and threw me to the ground.

The plague. The Scourge. Their coming. Their... invasion.

When the goblin came to the door and said he was to lease the Rest, and ordered me out of the house, I obeyed out of sheer terror. Anything to escape monsters in the street and the threat of sickness and disease that pervaded the city. I admit to running, and I ran where Kaldorei tend to go when accosted from the outside world: underground, to close my eyes to the world above.

I didn't go to Lorith Stonegarten's funeral. I spent the evening with Shar, going out to dinner in Dalaran and celebrating the ring she had me put on her finger, the promise of our future together and the life that lay before us. I didn't want to think back those many months ago to Arathi, to my own fumbling ineptitude with the weapon in my hands – compared to her. And none of us could save her, none of us could do anything but watch her die.

I wake up before she does. One of us almost always wakes before the other, as if gifted a little sliver of consciousness before togetherness, those quiet contemplative moments where we see the other so still and so silent and so vulnerable, and for that one moment say, “There lies my treasure, there lies my love.”

I smile as I rise from our bed. I don't know when she'll wake and I don't want to wake her. There's too much I want to do before she rises. The bedroom is small and I cross it silently, pulling a loose white shirt over my shoulders, stepping into a pair of worn woven leggings that let the breeze pass through.

((Title and lyrics taken from Amon Amarth (lyrics in italics).  I had a little fun with the lore behind this, it’s all bullshit.  Not just tooting my own horn, I really did get the killing blow on Kel’thuzad on GS’s first kill.  With Howling Blast no less.  Hoho, the irony.))

The ancient legend turned itself over in Elrin’s mind, reminding him of where his ancestors had come from and what they had once been.  He had stopped briefly to listen to the Fateweavers spin the story around campfires of friendly Vrykul.

I know it's ridiculous to buy her flowers. Flowers spring from the earth at Shar's footsteps; she grows them, finds them, collects them every day. I may as well bring water to a well. But I buy them anyway, a bunch of white roses from the woman in Dalaran. They're just blushing pink in the evening light, and the color makes me smile after the cold dark of Icecrown. I give the woman the coin and wrap my fingers around the long smooth stems. No no, take your glove off, Ineesa. There's Scourge bits on it. I pull it off under my elbow, exchange hands, taking care not to drop the bouquet... There.

Oh Light, how it hurts.

I can hardly bend my arms to unlatch the clasps of my chestpiece, and when that leather and metal garment falls away I gasp immediately, hardly able to hold myself standing. I haven't felt like this in ages, the old aches and pains of my back and shoulders, of my weaker leg, throbbing with every movement. Running a hand over the back of my neck, I knead my fingertips into the knotted muscles there, so tense and hardened. They're pulling at me; all these muscles pulling at all these bones, holding me stiffened and straight despite all my desires to collapse.

Over the past weekend, the Ghost Scions (and others) came together in Kansas City at Verisimi's house to have fun in real life.  What a concept!  Over the course of five days myself, Verisimi (Jenn), Elrin (David), his girlfriend Mel and roommate Jeremy, Hron/Crives (Reid ), Flamefist (Ian ), Arasminna/Shar/Teledriath (Steve), Triktaal (Scott ), Pariani (Jim) and on Saturday Lirriel (Alicia) all came together to um, play games and eat food.  We had an awesome time!  Click the pick below to see more of our adventures.

I LOVE YOU PEOPLE!!!

Veri's turn now for posting pics.  =)

I wanted her to do it.

Not because I don't trust the goblin barbers; for all their reputation, goblins are fairly good stylists and have studied (so as to make the greatest profit) the subtle variations of each race's hair. But this time I did not want their trimming and flipping and practiced waves. Nor did I want to do it myself, and perhaps take off too much or not enough in the wrong places and end up lopsided and silly. It was a task to have another do for me, and I wanted Shar to do it.

((I needed to write this before the event passed too far behind but I wasn't as inspired as I wish I could have been.  Title stolen from Zao.  The conversation with Anka took place too long ago for me to remember it exactly))