reflections

The workers kept shooting her strange glances – what was she doing helping?

Since when did nobles get their hands dirty? Especially with hands as dainty as her own.

The long, lean blonde picked her way through what was left of the Whitedawn estate, after the fall of the Sunwell – long after the scourge, the wretched, and looters had picked their ways carefully through it.

She'd push aside debris here, and there – pausing every now and then to cradle some broken object thoughtfully, before dropping it to wade through the wreckage of her once-home.

Pretty lasses.

Silvermoon is swarmin' with 'em.

It wears a man out.

Thing is, they're all the same eventually: blonde, brunette, red-head, raven-haired...short, tall, voluptuous, petite.

“It’s frustrating.  There are so many things I don’t know, but I cannot ask direct questions because it offends people.  I cannot even ask them if someone can overhear and be offended. It is no wonder there are no quantitative and objective studies of behavior other than a few Gnomish texts.  And even those are suspect.

What a week.

I rubbed my hands over my face and laid back in the bed that I now had to myself. I sunk into the soft blankets and it reminded me one of the things I'd missed about Dal. I could rough it with the best of them, but taking a break once in a while was a welcome change. I propped some pillows up behind my back and grabbed my enchanted tome from my bag. I began taking notes, trying to catch up on the jumble of thoughts in my mind.

"Please, my lady, stand still!"

Daraman sat on the shores of Eversong Woods and watched the waves come in, his mind racing.  So much had changed in the past weeks, both inside and out, that it made the upheaval caused by the Shattering look like a minor scuffle by comparison.  He had been reconnected with the elements, and so much of that hatred and self-loathing he once carried within himself was gone.  He thought he would wrestle with that for the rest of his life, and he had been glad to see it go.  Then, a few days ago during the club, he had met a woman, a blood elf by the name of Astraldra Dragor.  She was beautiful, smart, and funny.  There had been something about her, something he couldn't quite place that had drawn him to her.  Part of it was her pursuit of him, he knew.  He had never been the one pursued in a relationship before, and it both excited and scared him.  They spent the next several days together, talking, exploring each other's pasts, their likes,

Cynric grunted as he hit the ground, blood flowing from the open wound in his chest, he spat a autumn leaf out of his mouth and turns his head, trying to find the center of the pain spreading across his body. He stared blankly at the open wound, unable to comprehend what was occurring. As he lost consciousness, the last thing he saw before he passed out was his own face reflected in the blood pooling up beneath him...

“Good morning, ma’am.” The bank clerk gives me a polite smile through the bars.

“Good morning.” I reply, smiling back and sliding one of Cutter’s notes across the counter. “I’d like to cash this, please.”

“Of course.” The man takes the note and holds it up with a frown. “Just a moment, please.” He  steps back from the counter to put his head together with an older man. I am starting to get nervous, wondering what the problem is with the note. Part of me is curious though since if it was reported stolen he ought to be checking a list.

     Ashle walked down the stone path of Eversong woods, late in the night, she had been walking for hours, carrying her boots in each hand when they began to hurt her feet.  She didn't feel the pebbles poking into her skin even if her head faced the path making no attempt at avoiding the stones.  No matter how much a stone hurt her thoughts were else where.  It had been a few days since she read the Dalaran Daily only to discover her close friend Liore Sunstorm was murdered.  She hadn't heard from her friend in many months, he was always off on some adventure or making some delivery to some side of Northrend.  Her work had kept her in Silvermoon City and took up alot her time.
    Approaching House of Ral'Kas front gate, she looked up to the wall.  Thinking back when Liore had climbed up there in attempt to find her.  This was after the treatment he got to fix himself.

“Ow.”

Zyjiin immediately stuck his finger in his mouth to ease the pain. He was stabbing himself with the needle far too often, and with a greater ease than he could have imagined. He was a tailor, for Light’s sake! Admittedly, an unemployed tailor, but had he really allowed himself to grow so soft? The callouses on his fingertips had faded away, and now he suffered the penalty. He held the seam up to the light, judging his craftsmanship. He took note that he’d want to emphasize the cross-stitch a bit more. Maybe add some of the azure thread he’d found on sale in Silvermoon. Satisfied, but knowing he still had a ways to go, he sat down again to apply the needle and thread to the rough cloth.

His mind wandered as he went through this familiar routine. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her for some time now; After their last conversation, his easily worried mind begun to draw conclusions that he’d rather not dwell on.

((Very long post :) ))

A soft wind of moist air escaped through the opening of Corruptions portal. The dark swirling threshold held open by six skeletal hands, holding aside the fabric of reality as demonic persona of Corruption stepped from the nether and onto the golden grass of Azshara. Several feet from the portal, the earth dropped off into a sheer cliff overlooking the ruins of the shattered coast. His robes fluttered lightly as the ocean breeze swept over the edge of the land, peeling aside the front to reveal the lean, myrtle colored scaled chest. He shivered slightly as his scales loosened about his tall athelitc body, spreading apart to allow the pleasant air of the coast to caress the soft flesh beneath. His main of red hair dancing soflty in the wind, silken strands framing a somewhat handsome face.

The last pale-orange streaks of sunset had faded from the sky. The moon was bright and full, reflected in the dark waters of Stormwind Harbour. A cold wind blew along the docks from the north— a reminder to Rhahasia Inzil that she must return to the front the next day.

She pushed the memories of the field from her mind with a grimace. They would return to her soon enough, as they always did when she spent time away from combat for long, or on the occasions that she could sleep. Rhahasia wondered vaguely how Menae was coping—she had seen that look in men before, and knew he was haunted by his memories.

My, my, my.

Things sure are interesting. It would almost appear that recent events have simply been random coincidences.

But you know better than that, Kiodormu.

Diary Entry, Start Here:

It has become my habit to speak my collective thoughts and musings in my mind when I cannot commit them to paper.  It is my hope that I will be able to recollect some of the musings that I speak into my mind, although I know some will be lost.  It has been weeks since my last private thought session.