research

I envy him for a moment.

 Monday

My skin is like the moon, luminous and glowing.  The power is like the tide as it moves through me; waxing, waning, pulsing in time with my heartbeat.  I have never been so aware of my own body, of the spirit that fueled it, as right now.  I could count the atoms as the air moves over my skin, I can taste the steam, and the blood, and the power in the air.  Especially the blood.  So much blood; I am drowning in it.  So much power; I have already drowned.

((Explicit rating for the presentation of miscarriage in case it's a sensitive subject to some readers.))

Artressa flexed her fingers experimentally.

You know, there was something to be said for a warrior's way of life. Really satisfying sometimes. With fireballs, you didn't get to feel your opponent's nose crunching underneath your fist.

Koina sagged against the wall, bound with arcane rope.

"Welcome to my home."

"You're not...Imbrey..." Koina mumbled, her eyes heavy from the effects of sedative.

Artressa let out a long sigh. "We've been through this." She reflected that she probably should've used a lighter dose of sedative, but this girl was dangerous unless she was drugged enough to make an elekk yawn.

Rustforge: The Perfect Solution to the Alterac Problem

Here, sits one of the blackest hearts you’d ever meet, and dread. The very execution of their solutions.

The fireplace within the expansive office carries a spirited glow, flickering the whims and passions of the heat against the immolated wood. Gray eyes peer into the maw of heat, flames, crackling embers, and blackened stone. Wrinkles arrayed as fault lines across the mug of the face pondering the next directives, reveal a lifetime of struggle and challenges. Raven hair, cropped, yield to two stallion silver streaks on either side of the ears. Stubble on the sharp, rugged face, his facial features resembling more of an eagle.

She had to take the plain jackets off the little books, they were irritating and hard to keep on while she was doing research. Honestly, why Lirriel hid them in the first place sort of baffled her. These were tripe, so what if you enjoyed reading them.

Of course, she'd eventually have to put them back or replace them with new copies, but right now they were being 'borrowed' and filled with multiple slips of paper marks to denote “important” passages for Alynore. It might be fiction about a reportedly mythical man, but if the rumors floating around really were true, copy cats were out and about, and they would be taking cues from these books. 

Upon request, here is the information I have currently been able to find on the subject of Hallow's End. Keep in mind that there are few manuscripts speaking upon the matter and even fewer people seeming willing to talk about it.


Another thing to keep in mind is that the holiday has been contorted by multiple companies trying to make money off the establishments that participate in handing out candy for the occasion. Originally the sweets were a simple gift given between those whom celebrated the holiday, but now it is rather common to see people specifically looking for the treats without knowing the reasons they are handed out.

An old weary Elf hunched over a wooden table lit only by candles. Some magisters had brought a list of names to him earlier in the month while acting like a bunch of uppity and impatient youngsters. They were indeed uppity and impatient youngsters, but with good reason; the convocate wanted answers.

He rubbed his eyes and pushed his reading glasses back up his nose before looking over the last report he had compiled from the records the Sin'dorei had kept over the years. It was very curious that the convocate would desire records of missing Sin'dorei soldiers. He had gotten all the information he could on each individual and compiled pages of data to send to the convocate. It had taken him a few weeks of gruelling 20 hour weeks to complete the order, but the last of the nine reports were completed and he could get some rest.

He shifted the papers over and looked at the shortest of his reports; the seventh report in the pile.

Part Four: Northern and Western Kalimdor

 
Not so many definitions exist for the word Sundering.  “Split-apart” is the first to often come to mind.  If one can imagine Azeroth as it once was, a whole continent wrapped around the Well of Eternity, then in that tragic shattering the western lands of Kalimdor were cast farthest from the center.  And yet, through this distance so many retain an ancient sense of continuity, as though so far from that explosion little else can touch them.  Even in the north, which once cradled the Well, change occurs slowly, and the ruins still stand as though little time has passed, and they merely wait for the second great civilization to rise from the warring factions among their stones.

Qoruul shifted against the mossy bark of the willow he was propped against, the glow of his crystal recorder-pad the only illumination on his sober features. A few touches of his large, but deft fingers on the crystal’s glossy surface saved his notes thus far, and returned him to the document he had been plucking at for the past few weeks.

There was still data to collect, and he kept fussing with the title, but the Draenei was confident he was at least framing his discoveries in a way that might actually entice the archivists at the Exodar to read his work, instead of simply filing it away as he suspected they often did.

“A bad thing never dies”

                ~Spanish Proverb

     When love is fresh and new, those who share it inexorably exhibit a desired physical proximity that is quite noticeable to others, who are not swept up in the heat of the experience.  It was with that closeness that Sherinne  and Thuaynel now walked down the halls of the Dawnwalker Research Center, passing doorway after doorway of busily laboring magi.  Their budding love affair had been no secret, and in the light of the boss’ upcoming divorce, the only real scandal of impropriety was the notion of a human and high elf being together to begin with.  For all their grace and charm, Sherinne had come to find an ugly bigotry in Silvermoon, thinly disguised beneath a veneer of propriety.  It seemed she was thought of as Thuanyel’s ‘pet,’ as often as not, and she had spent the last few months fighting hard against the preconceptions of being a simpleton and savage.  It was infuriating, to say the least, but she refused to allow societal norms to cast a shadow over her research.  Nor her love.

A stray piece of paper growing more ragged by the day that seems to float around Nagrand in the general vicinity of Clan Watch.

((Please click "Read more" to see the full image.))

Part Two: Quel'Thalas and Lordaeron

To venture across Azeroth one must choose a starting place, and that proves no easy task. The continents and seas are vast and varied, full of deep jungles and broad deserts, forests of all kinds, mountains, plains, and fertile farmland. The peoples of Azeroth, both native and alien, natural and unnatural, have each left their mark, like indented thumbprints across the rich tapestry of the planet's Nether. There are valleys and peaks and spirals twined together, intermingling and unraveling, shaping and reshaping the world.

Lady Howell frowned, not for the first time, and considered the letter that lay on her desk.  She reflected how interesting it was that a simple piece of paper and such a seemingly innocuous request could hold such peril.  The Fallowtide woman had written her some days earlier requesting; politely, oh so politely, access to the late Countess Cheraville's books.  Such a simple request, and one that raised the most interesting questions.

How had she known of the bequest?  It was generally assumed that the Countess' library had been destroyed in the fire which had consumed her estate following her death.  The books had been conveyed to her some months later through a chain of intermediaries.

To: Artisania Stillwater-Ell'Karan, University of Kalimdor
From: Dispatcher Lueli, Peraline Proxy Services

(( Co-written with Pylia. <3 ))
 
Ugnh, blacked out again? That's getting a bit old...

Fioren groaned and looked about her. It appeared she was deposited on a park bench just outside of Tranquillien.

Hmm. Guess the Scout brought me back here. The one that took me back to where I ...
... where I died.

She sat up, legs crossed, and massaged her temples with an exhausted moan.

Ugh. I think I liked it better when I didn't know where I had come from. One giant question answered, and a hundred thousand more to take it's place. The memories - it's like the big picture is there, but filled with all these holes that I just can't recall.

I wish they would have just let me rot in the river.

It's been quite a while since I did anything outside the city. I guess I've gotten far too lax because my journey here to Tranquillien was a bit more difficult then I imagined. It's been so long since I actually used magic to defend myself... in all honesty it was a little bit scary even.

But well, I had no choice... I like to think this research could possibly solve so many of the issues we face. I know it's optimistic, but still.

Maybe I'm the only one that see's all the changes made over the past couple of years. I've spent a lot of time looking back at the past, and looking forward to what the future may bring.

Let's go back in time, back when we all still called ourselves Quel'dori, back before we even hear of the word Scourge. Our magisters were among the best arcane magic users, our prince was among the a shinning example of all we achieved.

Two weeks of research ruined,

In one moment, one reckless evening.

She smiled at him, laughed,

And brought his demon down.

May 24th
The Farm
Raining the past three days


Pugnose is going stir crazy inside.  And he is not the only one.  A particular strom blew over a small piece of the fencing along the far side of the Western pasture.  The rams are aggitated, kept penned in the smaller Southern.  And I am getting vexed trying to keep husband and hired-hands occupied.  Spring rains have encouraged the flowers though, and my beds and the fields are a riot of cheer when the sun breaks through.  Thank the gods for small favors.  Rebirth.  Renewal.  Regrowth.  I should be more thankful of the rain.

Just a bit hard to remember that, when your husband is tracking mud onto the rugs--again.

I have spoken to a few people since my last entry.  Sometimes I forget the world moves so quickly for humans.

Othon slumped in his chair, rubbing his temples.

"Welcome back," Solectrin said, smiling at the crowd of Scryer apprentices. "I hope you've all enjoyed your time away."

Hello fellow writers. I don't know about you guys, but I always find it fun and interesting to research things for my writing about characters that I would not otherwise know. I usually try to strive for an almost "method acting" way of writing my characters, and the more I know the better. I was doing some research this afternoon for my rogue, and realized there are a lot of classes and professions we all write about that could have a lot of potential for research.

I'm going to be throwing out some links to articles, journals, and sites that I use. Feel free to add the ones that you do! They're probably very helpful to us all.

Some good articles for "street thief" type rogues, gypsies, orphans, etc: 

How Lockpicking Works

How Pickpocketing Works 

{{ Repost }}

The 26th day of the 9th month of the year 26

My manuscript has been sent, Sashai is still sleeping, the sun won't rise for hours, and I'm staring at a pair of vials. One contains a vile-looking specimen of a plant and the other ... the other a final gift from Arielle. Her blood. Blood will separate within hours, leaving a dark-red layer of sludge beneath a red-tinged layer of water. I've had this for three days now, and it's still mixed; the Plague is maintaining it.

    Engl yawned as she threw open the curtains. The morning was fresh and the sun was shining. Morning sun tumbled down the rooftops and down to the cobbled streets of Stormwind, drying the puddles from the overnight rain. Engl took a deep breath. She adored the sweet smell in the air after a rainstorm.

This semester for my psychology research paper, I have chosen the topic of MMORPGs and psychology.  I thought I would have to collect a lot of data before coming across this website:

http://www.nickyee.com/daedalus/

Enderamon was supposed to be dead. No longer living; deprived of life. The very premise of the thing meant that the magician patriarch of House Quel'belore, secret leader of a hidden cult dedicated solely to himself, no longer even existed as anything more than a memory.

6.26

Today my dark lady asked me to keep record of my experiments; naturally as her loyal servant I have followed her simple request. With all the options available to me, I have chosen the form of a journal.  I find that it offers me that personal touch.   

The pain is the worst part. It's not bad enough the stuff is killing me. Not bad enough that it's going to cripple me first. It hurts. So much.

((Warning: Sex and violence, violence and sex, spam and eggs)) 

Taking this job was a bit presumptive of me. I mostly said yes because I made her skin crawl. There is something addicting about the way a woman looks at me with such disdain, but can’t say no. Especially an elf woman. Truly, they have perfected the look. I smirk, thinking of how I made her blood curdle for me. I believe I may have fun with this Heulwen; she is delectable.

But… truth be told, I don’t know the first thing about these lanky creatures.