priest

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.

“Oh light, that keeps us all within the golden embrace, watch over all those whom I love, and those I have yet to love in their own way. Let not arrogance, or blind foolishness lead them into too much danger, or death…”

It was time to return to Silvermoon, and all that it held for the young couple. The rich lands of Moonglade would forever be in their memory as they moved forwards in their life. Bonded together as a new life.

The honeymoon was short and sweet, they could return to the lands all they wished within the moon. Returning home, Mara was greeted by Luck and Hathrien who promptly wore frowns. Mara nodded and turned away towards the spire for the evening. This was not her business, but her beloved’s. She could not do anything for him beyond what was fated.

Her eyes closed and eventually he returned to her in the spire, but he seemed irritated and concerned. She would have to ask him in the morning if all was well.

 Young, crimson-haired Lord

 Shy, yet with own state of grace

Amamara gathered her courage and asked him, but in the end, he politely refused.

These are the lands of the Lich King and his Death Knights, where the cold indeed could freeze the very heart of anyone.

The Light was strong that night, to be found in the most unexpected of places.

 Mind, body, spirit after all. The balanced and contented soul could ward off sickness better than any tonic she knew.

There were no words to describe the heat, though stifling, hellish and lacking in breathable portions could be a start.  It was punishment, it had to be. Although it wasn’t so much the heat that made the day near intolerable but the lack of moisture coming from that brilliant blue sky painted mercilessly without a single cloud.  Give me a tropical sun bake any day, not this dry heat that lays your skin open like a desert floor.  Of course the heat could be intensified by the lack of brain I have left, one drake sized hangover and a ninety degree march wasn’t a very good mix.

  I hate mead, I hate the barmaid that served it to us, I hate Stormwind, I hate Westfall and I am not a fan of my fellow student priests at this moment in time either, lucky dogs were all still in Stormwind suffering their hangovers in peace.

"I wander through these barren lands

Path of the bare and raw

From the frozen world within my soul

To the rocks I walk upon" - MS

  Two months had come and gone since she convinced the warlock to go north with her, the mistake in that choice still rode like a thick blanket on the air of the house.  Ixinane had been quiet about what had transpired, unlike Dante whose childishness had yet to catch up with her growing body. 

The lantern hovered just over her shoulder, shedding a cool blue light on the narrow figure that lay on the bed. He huddled in the blankets, shivering in spite of the oppressive heat of the small apartment. Se'ala knelt, setting a spoon and bowl of broth on the stool next to the bed, and reached to touch the thin troll's shoulder.

"Violet. Wake up, time to be eatin'."

Moshir stirred, groaning a bit, and she stood to help him sit, carefully pulling the pillow out from under him and standing it at the head of the bed for him to lean against. He kept his eyes nearly closed, wincing and squinting against the lantern's light and the few specks of sun that found their way through the heavy curtains they'd hung the week they moved in together. He looked worse than he had last night; the bags under his eyes were just a bit heavier, his movements slower and more sluggish, and his purple hair hung limp and sweaty on his brow.

Continued from Betrayed...

"I am sorry."

"No joo ain't." She said it quietly, though, and her voice was lost in the crackling hiss of the cell's bars. She stood and moved closer, fur rising to stand on end as she neared the bars of uncomfortably violet light. "Joo gonna pay for dis."

Continued from Cornered...

"Dey be comin' now, get ready!" The quiet exclamation caught the attention of everyone in the room, and there was a rush of clanking armor and weapons as those around the fire moved to take their places. The first wave of naga came with a hissing, shrieking cry, scaled bodies scraping over the rough stone of the ruins, spears sparking and crackling with captive lightning. Two fell to axe throwers, one to the elf with the bow, and then they were pressed against the hurried line of shields that had been erected across the entrance, howling and snapping.

Six trolls, two orcs, an unusually scrawny tauren, four draenei, three humans, and an elf of some sort huddled in the large ruined building, keeping a wary eye on the exit. It had been a good two hours since the naga's last attack, which might mean they had another hour of peace before the next one. Or it might mean they had only minutes, if the scaly creatures decided to break their pattern in an attempt to catch the combined groups off guard.

After that, if she was still judging time correctly, there would probably be one more attack and then a break of four to five hours that they could use for sleep. That was the pattern the last eight days had followed, at least.

1.  Guardian spirits, his mother called them.  The other young ones in the village thought him touched, and would avoid him.  He didn’t mind; his friends would let themselves be seen by no one else.  When his mother called him special, he knew it to be true.

2.  The robes were loose and cool.  Moshir did not envy the warriors, with their heavy armor and axes; he knew the Loa would protect him, shimmering shields and wards turning away enemies’ blades and arrows.  The war-cries of his tribesmates were all the louder because of his chants and prayers.

3.  Searing agonies ripped through Moshir, the high-pitched cackling of Zalazane, his new master, shattered the serene beauty of the Islands’ jungles.  “If ya wanna run, yah free ta!  Yah nevah escape me!”  The young ex-priest’s body lay still on the ground, his sobs drowned in the mocking laughter.

The bells woke Helewyn Southcliffe from her slumber, and she groggily tried to wrap her sleepy mind around the ringing sound. It was still dark outside, but that was no wonder this far into the year's circle, but it still felt too early for the Dawn's Prayer.

As she sat in bed, other sounds penetrated her sleep-fogged mind; the sound of weeping, the sound of shouting, and that ringing of the bell, pealing alarm out into the night. That woke the youngest child of Amarad and Bellina Southcliffe completely, and chilled her to her pampered core.

All around her, other acolytes sat in their bed, staring in alarm. They had been woken before by the earth trembles, but this was different. One of the girls finally moved, a stout human girl with the rough accent of a farmer.

It was a strange feeling to be beneath the Stranglethorn sun again. Its rays were heavily filtered through the multitude of branches and wide-reaching leaves that stretched overhead. Here, beneath a makeshift canopy that was beginning to wear thin from years of use, he could see the world that Hakkajin’ju had made for herself. Her personal sanctuary from the troubles of the world. The litter of the rainforest was edging in from the outside after months of absence. Innumerable trinkets and memories adorned the vines and trees that bordered this small corner along the western coast, their meanings forgotten to all but the young girl he cradled in his arms.

Tashorr’s teeth were bared, his eyes wide with panic.  His lynx companion, sensing his distress, was at his side, snarling.  He pulled his knife free of the wolf’s body, looking down at the prone figure that he was standing above.  Yunari’s body was cold and pale, her left hand a bloody mess, a great wound still bleeding despite having been wrapped up hours ago.

“Chief!  She’s hurt!” Tashorr shouted, the voice rough, fatigue and hours of screaming had worn it away.  “We need help, chief, she’s lost a lotta blood!”

"It is better to be hated for who you are, than to be loved for someone you are not."
    ~Andre Gide

    I can't recall the last time I've had a hot bath.

    Oh, certainly the ocean water is warm along the coasts of Stranglethorn, but there's something about watching steam drifting lazily from your heated flesh, soaking in a warmth that saturates your body until you could swear your bones are growing hot… it's a pleasure I haven't experienced in a long while.

"Scorpion asks Frog for a ride across a river. Frog says "But you'll sting me and I'll die. After all, you're a scorpion."
Scorpion says, "Don't be silly, if I sting you, we'll both die."
Frog says, "Well, that makes sense. I'll give you a ride."
Scorpion climbs on Frog's back and off they go. Half way across the river,
Scorpion stings Frog and as they both begin to sink beneath the water, Frog says "What did you do that for? Now we'll both die!"
Scorpion says, "I couldn't help it. After all, I'm a scorpion."
    ~Unknown Source

    You know you're growing too accustomed to waking up from unconsciousness when you can immediately identify the sensation.

((Started way back in Part 1, here. This has gone longer than I anticipated, but I'm having fun with it; I hope you're enjoying the read :D ))

Xannivard’s grimore lay open next to me, in a rare moment of sunlight littering the landscape of Feralas it was an odd image to see its rays spread across the pages, the book looked as if it should be in permanent shadow. But maybe that was just my opinion…. maybe the book, bound in skin as it was, liked the sun..maybe it needed a tan?.. who was I to judge.

Light, but the Druid makes me feel like a child.

I dash out of the Hall, my herb bag in hand, and wince when I see him already there. He towers in the Keep's Garden, a scowl deepening the craggy lines of his face. As the shadows thicken into true night, I submit to yet another lecture about tardiness.

She fell. Her eyes became heavy, and her limbs gave out. They felt numb, and as heavy as lead. The shot had torn a path through her chest, and left wounds on both sides. The wind left her lungs in a sudden, painful gasp as she lost her footing in the sand hit the ground hard. The sand turned dark as the color drained from her body. The world grew quiet, and she could only feel the void around her. She felt cold.

BANG!

All the world froze for a brief moment in time. The smoke from the flintlock was still fresh as its wielder found himself with less of an upperhand, as the rogue he’d held prisoner lashed out at him. The moment he’d leveled his firearm on Zyjiin, she’d gone from a beaten and frightened prisoner, to a fury of clawing hands and green hair. With what remained of her strength she swung her arms to strike Boden as he’d pulled the trigger. A hand shot out to twist his wrist. Another slammed itself home between his legs. He cried in pain as his legs buckled, the shot going wild in a flash of light and thunder.

Midnight in my small garden was the perfect time to think, warm nights like this one with the curling scent of flowers left over from the day. Halodante’s weight pressed against my leg, her soft humming voice, sightless eyes staring off into darkness none of us would ever see. I ran my hand through her fine white hair, it was getting long. Strands of silk run though my fingers, it caught the scab healing in my palm. Another scar, another mark of loyalty, another blood promise to someone else.

“... go somewhere...”

They were waiting for her. The pirates had promised a sum of gold that would clear their tabs at the local tavern, and it was the thought of all that gold that had sealed the deal for Ishwana. That alone should have alerted her: Pirates were never known for their fiscal generosity.

She saw nothing wrong with taking a small trinket off of the hands of a wealthy paladin. In fact, she gloated in the ‘service’ she rendered by relieving others of the monetary burdens they carried. It was the fact that the pirates seemed so determined to acquire such a plain medallion that set her mind on high alert. There was something more to this golden bauble.

"...safe and sound..."