grief

Lost

Not again. I can't go through this again.

Shattered

((Following Until the Shadows Disappear))

It feels like a weight has lifted, while the heaviness of guilt for thinking such things presses on me.

My father has passed on; with a dear friend's help, he has been guided back to the Light and those who went before him. His illness was long and difficult. The release from his Broken mortal body is a relief.

But that doesn't mean this little girl can't miss her papa.

Larosa advanced with unsteady legs, her arms lifting her short sword to attack the target dummy infront of her.  She could barely see the wood and armor plated contraption through the beads of sweat and tears in her eyes as she lunged forward, weapon sharp and gleaming in the soft gnomish electrical lighting.  What should have been a healthy war cry was a strangled croak as the Night Elf weakly followed through the swing of the short sword.  Her battle blade bounced of the armor of the target, there was barely any power behind what should have a devastating neck wound.

"Blame the rum, the past few hours in the morgue ..." Larosa thought to herself as the target blurred out entirely and she began taking quick hiccuping breathes, "Blame the fact you just spent all night closing out ... No lying through my teeth about what happened from the moment I left the Keep to answer a dead woman's summons."

The houses in Mar’at and Ramkahen were all constructed of the same white stone, with elaborate carvings on the walls and paintings on the floorboards.  In this particular house, the tiles were patterned stone, set in gold sunbursts and the triangular symbol of the tol’vir.  These tiles were covered in most rooms by thick, plush rugs of intricate woven patterns and myriad colors.  And the room that served as the personal study of Aelberyn Bloodsword – that’s me in case you’ve forgotten – was no exception to this.  The richly stained wood of my desk had been piled with books and notes, and the book shelves along the walls were by no means filled; yet.  Give it time.

Dear Diary,

I know, it's been a while. I'm sorry to have neglected you so, but things have happened of late that kinda kept my attention away from writing. Which, I should really fix that, aside from right now. On an upside, I have good news and bad news. Well, good news and depressing news, anyway. Guess I'll start with the bad, and cheer us both up with the good, huh?

*sigh* Boss is gone. Lor's dead, and while I don't blame him, I still wanna smack him for going without saying goodbye. He went willingly, actually looking for it, so I can't really say much...and don't even start, I'm not disrespecting the dead. I just wish...

Several hours after the shattering of Azeroth...

Alynore walked into the cluttered training room; it would probably get filled by injured refugees soon, but for now it still served its purpose. She stripped out of her armor, until she was only in sports top and shorts. She didn't bother trying to find the tape for her hands or feet.

Her eyes stung as she stalked to the heavy punching bag, swaying gently on its chain. She slammed her fist into the sawdust-filled canvas. Then the other, and again, over and over, faster and faster.

Nore had felt like this only twice in her short life.

 The Cathedral was packed with casualties to the point that they had begun to spill down the steps and into adjacent buildings; Healers swarmed trying to save who they could. Some were too far gone, and hard decisions regarding those people had to be made. The shrieks and groans of the injured and dying echoed throughout the space and masked the quiet hymns being sung in the corners of the large space, the air smelled faintly of copper and sweat, covering the delicately scented incense that continued to burn as it did every day; Priest and Paladin healers rushed around, splattered in blood that was not their own.

It wasn't something she ever expected to see in Stormwind. 

The spirit had been a tall, thick-bodied troll with powerful-looking arms.  Kozha glanced around briefly; he’d received no vision but he could feel this was the place.  The small collection of bones that had washed up on the log looked small and fragile.  The forest around them seemed dim, the sun shining weakly on the small, empty beach.  Tirisfal, Quet had called this place.  Ko’ thought the name sounded unnaturally cheery.

“It’s him,” Quetsul said, the certainty in her voice helping to shore up Kozha’s own doubts.  He nodded in reply, looking around the sand near the log for more bones.  Quetsul stood up, moving back to where her raptors and his kodo stood patiently waiting.  “Come on, I … I’ve got a blanket with the raptors.”

((This precedes Quetsul's post Finding Resolve))

“Quet?  You here?”  Kozha asked, his voice echoing strangely in the shifting, grayish-blue haze that surrounded them.

“What did I drink?” she replied, looking around at the landscape, alien yet recognizable.

“It’s something that helped  us to sleep so the ritual could bring us closer to the world of spirits,” he said; the apprehension he’d normally feel at telling a half-truth somehow not present.

Quetsul’s gaze turned back to the tent, seeing their still forms lying inside.  “Are we dead?” she demanded, turning a furious glare on Kozha.  “This is all your fault!”

“No, sis, we can go back any time we—“he stumbled, the words stopping as a tall, thick-bodied figure walked toward them.

“I’m going back, I don’t want to be dead,” she said, turning to move back into the tent.

(( I started this story about the Book after receiving it in an IC interaction with Rockhewer back in November. It first appeared in blogs then and in a few since.  Finally I get back to that tale, and I don't blame you guys a bit if nobody remembers or cares what's going on  ;) ))

Tick

I stood in the center of the village, feeling nothing as around me the Raptors I had unleashed on the Grimtotem Tauren tore into Warriors and Shaman, but also women and children.  They weren’t supposed to be there, it was supposed to be a military encampment, perhaps Sergeant Lukas hadn’t known or perhaps he did.  Either way, I didn’t care.

Done for a blog.

 The letter was only the first to burn, one of a few items on this bonfire in the middle of nowhere. I wanted to burn him as well, but that was not likely to happen, as there was no body. This was the way that humans had once sent on their dead. No simple grave for my love, a headstone that was inconsiderate of the earth and hid the truth. No... For in my heart he was worthy of all I could give him. Had he died in my arms, or died with something left other than a few sparse items in my possession, I would have burned him. The pyre was usually only for kings or nobles. And in my heart he was both. 

The Netherstorm yields nothing. It is its own maelstrom of energy and power, and it can destroy anything as it is a force of nature. It was a wonder that the Jeeves unit got back at all.   

I felt as if a thousand spears had pierced my heart, all at once. My hair and armor, soaked in the labor of trying to find him, felt cold with the realization of what I had found.

 It was early in the morning when he'd shown up in her quarters. A glance at the open pocket watch on her  bed tray told her it was four in the morning, something was wrong. Cerwis put the stopper in her ink pot and set the tray on the floor giving Reggie space to join her on her bed. 

 Kyp rowed down the river in the shadow of the wreck that was the great bridge, and remembered his first trip this way some 8 years ago. He had been unsure at that time what to expect, and the time from then to now had fostered a deep and respect friendship with his mentor. It had not been without bumps along the way, more than a few of them nearly fatal bumps. Looking back though, he would not trade any of those experiences.  

Pausing in his rowing, he pulled the cryptic message from his pack. It had arrived at his mountain retreat yesterday morning by pigeon.

I thought about rating this 'mature', but it's not quite that bad, some slight allusions to sex but nothing detailed.  So here is a small warning.  This is more of a rated "E" for "Eww, gross"  ;)

The worst part of sleepwalking through life is the occasional waking nightmare.  I’ve been going through the motions for weeks now, trying my best to do normal things, trying to find the way back from the dead to the living. 

[[Warning: Violence and Language]]

There it sat, deep within Elwynn. A simple manor, surrounded by walls covered with vines constricting the stone. The sun shined down on the small estate, as the ornately wrought iron gates swung open, a couple of footmen working for the noble that lived here stepping up to the carriage that now sat just outside the gates. The two armored men walked up to the driver, a frail looking man wrapped in black cloth.

"Welcome to Blackwood estate. May I help you, sir?" The guard said quickly, his manners clearly well practiced.

"Ye just did, mate." The black robed man said with a chuckle, drawing a pistol from his belt. The guard started to fall back, but the man pulled the trigger and put the young footman to the ground, death coming quickly for him.

The sounds of Ironforge hadn't changed.  It had been a few months, since Romaine's death, she realized, since she had even been to Ironforge...

Adrazel opened her eyes, staring at the stone wall across from the bed, sleep leaving her to her own vices once again.  She sighed softly, turning over the words of the previous evening in her head.  Tree had listed off ten, (well, nine really) reasons she had been in such a foul mood as of late.  All of them were painfully true.  Even Anu had been upset with her.

She couldn't remember the last time she'd cried so much.  She'd shed so many tears that she was certain she'd run out.  Her eyes felt itchy and swollen.  Her throat felt sore and her chest felt tight.  Her head felt fuzzy, as if it had been stuffed with freshly carded wool.

Stepping into her home, the Dargath manor, she looked about the foyer at the decorations that glowed and sparkled cheerfully at her.  The Winter's Veil tree... The holiday lights...  The tinsel... The ornaments...

Her brother was dead.