pets

“You look like an unhappy woman, who is trying to make the best out of a bad situation,”

Syrahe moved with ease into the tiny hut that she had purchased in Orgimmar. She still had not accustomed herself to the dust that accompanied the terrain of Durotar. She stamped her plate boots against the mat outside before entering the plainly decorated sleeping area.

She summoned a reservoir of patience as she saw that again Rameikos was gone. She knew he owed her nothing. She had betrayed him, but since coming to this place, she could feel them slowly moving apart and it bothered her. She could not put her finger on it, but perhaps he was bored.

“Idle hands, …” She murmured as she moved to drag a wilted piece of lettuce from her bag for BunBun. She dropped the morsel to the ground at the feet of the fluffy white rabbit.

Lirriel looked at the puppies playing among the heated rocks, tumbling over one another and their mother's feet as both heads nipped at each other.

"NO." Drauglos said firmly.

Seething with anger Melicinth turned and with a harsh chopping motion of her hand banished Volmat and Ormmon to the nether. Betlia had not returned since the night the warlock and voidwalker had come home from Northrend. The succubus’ flagrant disobedience infuriated the forsaken woman so that she trembled with rage as she made her way to her workshop at the back of the cottage.

Stepping through the door Melicinth paid no mind to the piles of gems that cluttered a tabletop or the spools of copper wire, boxes of settings and ore that she used in her jewel crafting. She made her way to the back of the room, hooked a rug with boney toes and tugged it out of the way to reveal a trapdoor.

(( Posted through Rhan's Twitter ))

First time I held an axe was when mah father took me huntin’. Gave me on o’ his, old but sharpened near new.

Was winter then, an’ food was scarce enough everyone needed tah be out lookin’ fer it. Even iff’n they weren’ quite old enough.

I knew I shouldn't have brought her here.

The wind came down swift and strong from the northern mountains of Dragonblight, snapping down the rocky slopes to catch the tips of her wings, curling ivory feathers up. She struggled, attempting to compensate for the updraft with a desperate kick of her massive rear paws and a lashing of her long tail, but no maneuver, I knew, was going to avoid the frostwyrm's attack.

There are times I wonder how this world managed to survive before I put down my fishing pole and picked up a weapon.  Honestly, these people seem incapable of managing to accomplish the smallest thing.  It is neither hard nor dangerous to go from Maestra's Post to Astranaar, and if my child were sick, I would not hesitate to do so.  But no, I must do it for you, out of the goodness of my heart.  I wonder sometimes if my goal is a worthy one, if we truely deserve our immortality back.  We seem so weak and corrupted, unable to see where we have gone wrong or how to come back from the edge of disaster.  

But that way lies madness.  I must cleanse the world of all evil things, and then Elune will bless us and the dragons will help us restore ourselves.  She told me so.

Neun stood over the body of Kael'thas, or what appeared to be his body.  She knew fair well he hadn't died here, in the Magister's Terrace, he was too busy inside the plateau.  She reached down and severed the head from his body, examining it closely.  It was a very good replication, he certainly possessed more skill than she had given him credit for.  She stuffed the head apatheticaly into her bag and turned her attention to the ruined phoenix egg. 

It was still hot to the touch, a pile of ash lie inside the dismantled shell.  A single plume of smoke spiraled from the center.  Neun moved her hand to stir the ashes. 

"Magister de Serrat, we've secured the Terrace, Harbinger Innuro would like a word with you."

“It doesn’t suit you,” the ranger says, looking up from where he’s laying the fire. The damn mutt doesn’t seem to register the look of disgust he directs its way.

“It’s an animal. It does what I tell it to. Suits me just fine.” I wave away the complaint without shifting off the spread out bedroll.

“It’s rough, damaged. The low wolf,” he answers as though I didn’t know all that already. I do actually pay attention sometimes, contrary to popular belief. “It’s like hanging a sign tellin’ people to take advantage of you.”

 The damn mutt died.

Stupid thing, got overwhelmed.  Too many at once.

This is a log from a little out-of-game AIM log between myself and Truebow involving our respective pets and their feelings towards Sporling Snacks. I can't help but share this:

Esti dumped the contents of her bag out on her bed, grabbing for the roll of woolen bandages she had made earlier. With a deep sigh, she wrapped the bandage around the length of her left arm, securing them tight and collapsing onto the soft sheets. She felt movement on the bed, followed by the soft hiss of her trusty spider, Sangria.

Sowelu was in high spirits thanks to the dress her friend Tashal had given her. She'd always wanted one like it and was so thrilled to get it that she tried it on then and there. Then, despite having no shoes to wear with it, she fairly danced through the streets; beaming happily to everyone she passed.

The little brown squirrel skittered down a nearby tree-trunk, leaping to the soft grass and foliage below, whiskers twitching and eyes wide.  Tanner perked up his ears but did not rise from his position beside Lorith, but Timothy, lying as flat as possible in the grass, twitched his tail, intense eyes following the squirrel’s every move.  Suddenly, the little silver tabby burst into motion, speeding toward the squirrel… which promptly leaped back onto the tree to hide amongst the leafy branches.  Three times Timothy circled the tree trunk, undecided on whether to climb, before sitting back on his haunches and letting out a soft mew of frustration.