Love

It had been days since they talked at the beach, his admittance of receiving training from the demon he called Mistress Ava causing holy fire to rise her temper like the high-tide swells of the ocean.  Anger she had never known to this degree before welled into her.  She had sent him away to fix the damage he caused. Mara even had threatened to sacrifice herself to the waters if she would loose her love for him.  In this, there was truth.

“This card represents your hopes and fears.”

The young warlock flipped another card, “The Demon, reversed.” Here sat a winged, horned creature on a throne – with a man and woman chained to his pedestal. Though, it was upside down.

So many of these cards spoke of being bound by something.

“Upright, the Demon is all about addictions - about the temptations or obsessions that lure us...capture us - which we, ourselves, refuse to escape even though we have the key to our chains.”

"If I must fall from high,

may my fall be gentle."

His beard brushed across her face, as the human pressed his lips to her cheek.

"And yet, I would like to recover my innocence -

but nothing makes sense anymore, and nothing's fine."

She'd  quivered like a frightened hare.

"I'm looking for a soul who will be able to help me." 

Confessed, as a sinner to the priest.

~

 “Heavy breaths, a trail of blood, and an empty room in the darkness of the Ghostlands…  A trap, perhaps? It has to be a trap, there’s no way it could be this easy. But if he’s truly wounded, then now’s my chance…”

 The wounded man clasped the daggers close to his chest for a moment, the continuing labored breaths of another elf seemed almost threatening. Hesitation, for the first time in a long time, and even fear began to play across the male’s lips. Earlier in the day he had also been overcome by such a grave situation, and even then, he was not afraid to go out and fight… He was afraid for them.

 Tamaki had even contracted the known assassin for a mission just earlier that day, and without a second to think, Velanth had accepted. Morgannah specifically warned him not to accept the mission, and even offered a solution for the problem she had put before him.

Togy sat there, looking at the chess board. He could not figure out why he lost game and game again. No strategy worked. How could he plan to outwit her if he couldn't even win
a game of chess, until saw what he had missed time and time again, and that gave him an idea.

He makes me feel like a child
He makes me happy when he smiles
He makes me sad 
Makes me mad
Want to give him all I have
And I have tried to treat him good
Show support like I should
Did my part, he's my heart
And I've been faithful from the start 

((As with any of my blogs about Anka, she wasn't warned beforehand.  As always, if there's anything she doesn't approve of, it will be remedied.  And, as you should know by now, I have no artistic skill and so big thanks to Lorith/Echo, for drawing me a picture while I beat my computer with a hammer))

Time passed,

love deepened...

One day, to his complete astonishment, her aunt came storming into the shop, dripping rain and bile, waving her umbrella, shrieking like a fishmonger: hysterical, unintelligible. The poor woman, he thought, has finally gone mad. She'd always been eccentric – although harmless and quite charming in her way – but now she seemed to have turned violent, whacking him with the umbrella, thwacking him with her handbag. Kicking him, repeatedly, with her unfortunately pointed shoes.

When, to his relief, she finally collapsed, a weeping heap, on the floor and he took her in his arms, realizing – suddenly, and with such emotion that he almost began weeping – how much he'd missed this cracked woman, she calmed considerably and told him about Rebbecca.

The perpetual cold of Northrend; Come to the fire, be warmed by heart’s hope…

He'd once nurtured dreams of a perfect love, a perfect mate, a perfect life – but, in his years of wandering, Noah had learned that perfection was slippery, at best. He'd been with many women, loved his fair share of men, lusted after even more; but it was always a matter of time – days, weeks, occasionally years – before the adored face turned suddenly lined or cruel; the golden hair, thin as straw. A sweet voice became strident. A body that had once fulfilled all his passions grew cold and sallow as a corpse.

The foyer is as I remember it and I recover from the disorientation of translocation by dusting at my skirts and looking around. Hesitating. Stalling. I can’t breathe, but I pretend. I finally start across the small guest lounge to the bedroom door, fingers tucking at my hair and smoothing over my clothes. My bangles chime when I knock.

There’s no time. Now. Now. NOW. I can hear movement beyond. The door is not locked. Both of my hands are on the latch and it swings open from my weight where I lean. “Iloam?” There is a high note to my voice, though it comes out soft. I’m so scared part of me wants to bolt. But what am I scared of? It had been building: I needed to see him. To reassure myself. I was worried for him and he would tell me nothing when I’d asked. Fluttering uncertainty felt like a bird trapped in my breast. Seeing him was the only way to try to understand. The only way to move past the trapped feeling of worry and keep it from moving into panic.

In 30 minutes I will see me wife.

She’ll walk t’rough tha door an look as stunning as ever. She’ll smell like jasmine an lotus oil. She’ll make a wee sound like fairies laughin as she walks wit ‘er bangles an jewelry jingling toget’er. Her skin will be t’e color of milky tea an just as warm an comfortin’ on me lips. She’ll --- Wait—will I kiss ‘er? Should I kiss ‘er?

Within Urilla's room in Dalaran, lay a letter on her nightstand. Unlike most of the letters (save Max's), this letter was always kept close to her bed. The multiple creases and small smudges (from teardrops) were evident that this letter was read repeatedly over the years. Here are the contents of said letter:

Urilla my sweet love,

I wish you would not have to suffer as you do, peddling clothes in this rundown store. Our lives were never an easy one, even within Dalaran. I hope that someday you will flourish into an amazing woman, pursuing your dreams. Know that I’ll always be by your side, sweet child of mine.

       When was the last time he'd taken a minute for himself?

        ((was listening to this song when the idea for the post came to me))

         He hadn't felt this kind of pain in years. His chest was sore, his eyes were bleary and his breath came in short gasps.

But it wasn't because of his illness.

Satin drapes carress my cheek as I look upon the morning dew drops glissening off the sunlit clearing of the surrounding forest from my window. The light of dawn has already passed, yet the glow of the awakening earth tingles within my eyes. My heart flutters with happiness, yet a tear runs down my silk covered arm, staining the white fabric with a very fine gray.

I'm weakening.

I don't know how to stop it.

If I can't save myself...can I save Her?

She's all I care about now. I don't want to fail again.

Not this time.

She's weaker than I.

We might not be long for this world.

But I'll happily die in her arms.

I love her.

             He had often wondered what exactly had driven him to join the Crusade. It hadn't been for glory. He hadn't done it for riches or fame. He'd aligned himself with them because he had decided that their values were very similar to his. But deciding to go through the process to become a Crusader had been a different matter altogether. Many of the men and women who'd trained to become paladins alongside him as a boy were now either in charge of Noble families in Stormwind or dead. Yet he'd felt no ambition to become a Noble. Cynric had always been uncomfortable around wealth and decadence, likely because he had grown up in an orphanage, a casualty of Stromgarde's defeat. Stormwind was the city that had raised him, but he had no home. If he were to have one, it would be in the old country if it were retaken, or in a neutral land that the Horde would not attack.

((This takes place before Biarzenne overhears a converstation between Korrelas and Shavarra, while cleverly hidden up high above a mast on the ship, sorting out herbs for drying..))

The gypsy mage glanced up at the slowly descending droplets of rain from the doorway leading down to the cabins of the ship, idly noting to herself that the heavy, gloomy skies matched her mood at that particular moment, her long ears picking up the sound of the rain against the wooden floors, and the soft snoring sounds barely audible.

*** NSFW- some mention/imagery of nudity ***

The city was eerily silent as she made her way back from the quarantine area. She felt numb as she thought of all she had seen. The woman she had grown to love against all odds, her sister of sorts, was trying to sit there calmly. Shadow's words echoed in her head. "Get tested, then if you're healthy, take Van and go."

She reached her home and looked around, eyes blurry with tears. It felt empty and frightening to be alone here. She quickly packed the few things she actually cared about and made her way to Van's home. She knew he wouldn't be there, but it felt warmer and safer than her own rooms had. She curled up in his bed, wrapped in one of his shirts and her fingers brushed her forehead. She definitely had a fever. For a brief moment, she thought about running as fear overwhelmed her. If she was sick, he was already exposed. The tears started to fall down her cheeks as she realized that she was most likely to blame for exposing them all.

Time seemed to stand still as Biarzenne heard him speak of someone who was, in his eyes the most noble of anyone he's ever met among other things. Mentally and physically bracing herself for the next sentence, Biarzenne resumed the tending of the patient, clearly expecting him to proclaim Aramalia's name when hers were called instead.  Gazing down at the bleeding knuckles of a hand held within her own hand, Biarzenne was lost in a world where she only heard nothing but Korrelas proclaiming his love of her, before she reminded herself he were still in grave danger if she did not get him the proper medical attention he needed, especially since he did not seem to realize she was there, judging by his spoken words.

     Fall. What a beautiful season. The Half-Elf had always loved walking in the forest every day, watching the leaves on the trees slowly change over time. It was a very tranquil way to start his day. However, it seemed as if he wouldn't get the chance to do so again this year.

He was under quarantine. 

He still wasn't sure how he'd contracted this new plague, whether it was from the girl who had approached Kade after Fancy Cakes or from Rya. He hoped it hadn't been from Rya. She'd been through a lot lately, she didn't need an illness like this on her plate.

In any case, Gilthånås had a few ideas how to soften the news of his current inability to travel. Ael's servants had lent him parchment and a quill, now all he had to do was word the letter right.

Not long ago I found the one person I wasn't even looking for. But to get to him I must tell you why I landed in his path to begin with.

This must be what it feels like to walk on a cloud...

His heart was beating like a Seventh-legion chain gun. His face was red and the broadest grin he'd worn in a long, long time was stretched across his scarred visage. Everything was perfect. His heart was overflowing with joy. Things that had brought him down and depressed him had faded away to nothingness. He truly happy for the first time in ages. The half-elf could see the scene play over on the underside of his eyelids every time they closed.

"Get out there!" a muffled voice cried out.

( Listen to this wonderful song. )