thoughts

There's none of the white stuff in Quel'Thalas.

There's a place, where Eversong Woods meets the aptly-named Ghostlands, where from a distance the ashen soil almost resembles it. It's quiet there, and the air is cool. Then when you move in closer, that's when you realize the 'drifts' are just a little too dingy, the surface just a little too dull...and it's obvious this place was last awash in flames instead of snow. It's dead leaves that crunch beneath your feet instead of hardened crusts of sparkling white...and the chill you feel in your bones has more to do with the haunted than the hibernal. After all, it's a different kind of quiet that follows the screams of the anguished, as opposed to that sort of hallowed hush that comes over the land with a blanket of virgin snow.

At least, that's how it seems to me.

((Dear Diary))

  It had to be Silvermoon, of all places.

  Sabine knew damn well how uncomfortable it was going to be for me too. Light knows she can be as cruel and vindictive as she is beautiful- though I suppose she is entitled to a bit of rancor; even the most talented of our people aren't exactly welcomed with open arms by most of the folks living in the so-called city of mages. For such a short-lived race, humans are really keen to hold onto their grudges. Wasn't there some adage about grudges backfiring, or something? Ah, not that we're really ones to talk, I suppose.

One word.
               Four Letters. 
Yet it binds me more than chains ever dare to.

        Love. 

               One word.

                             Four letters.

                                                Yet it binds us more than the strongest chains could ever dare to.

Love doesn't mean always agreeing.

It's a funny thing about boats, being out at sea- feels like forever.

But in the same moment, it feels as if the world stands still.

-Caleigh

Amelorah sighed helplessly as she checked a struggling Llorar or La'grima for ticks. She swore to herself she'd never leave her children near the long grass or the trees next to the Goldshire graveyard unattended as long as could be allowed, even if she could see them and had left her ever guarding felhunter, Thoodhum, with them. Hell, he probably started the whole hide-somwhere-by-the-graveyard-so-we-can-save-sissy-from-the-grass-monster-and-scared-mommy-out-of-her-mind game. Thoodhum was smart enough to. Or it could have been La'grima, her youngest. He was, even at this young toddlerhood age, a little too smart and usually the mastermind of these little games despite the fact he wasn't able to form words correctly and was still talking baby gibberish, but that didn't mean the others didn't know what he was saying. Llorar was smart too, but he seemed to be a follower of his little brother. Jen...

With a few small soft poetic words...

I turned the tables…

I made a man see…

Death and darkness as I…

How different life was outside of Gilneas...Yet at the same time, familiar...

And I have a brother...

Grif had been surprised to find out that his older brother Cynric stilled lived when he'd arrived in Stormwind. He'd thought for years that Cyn, two years his senior, had perished in the fall of Stromgarde along with his uncle and namesake. It had been a happy occasion when the two were re-united. Cynric was kind, accepting of Angrif immediately despite having only known him for a short time. It had been a gift that meant more to him than his brother knew. Losing their mother, the only living family that had remained during the Gilnean Civil-War had been a blow that he'd only just started recovering from. Now, with an older brother to look out for him, perhaps he could become a responsible heir to Clan Fangglen after all.

The forests...

Alynore picked up the practice blade and made a few moves with it. She didn't normally bother with two-handers, but she needed the practice, and felt the need to just beat on something anyway. The practice dummy in the training yard would do.

“Who is he, anyway?”
“He who?”
“That guy you were flirting with last night that got me shoved into a wall for commenting on.”

Tirisfal was a sickly place...Devastated by what Arthas had done to it and by what the hypocritical Forsaken continued to do in his stead. But when the sun rose and shone down upon the cabin...It almost seemed beautiful to Gil...If even for a moment.

He smiled softly as he slid out of bed, careful not to wake his sleeping wife. The routine was simple: wake up, chop wood, do repairs, start a fire and make breakfast.

There was nothing that set the day apart. He put his pants and boots on just as he normally would. The axe was in the usual spot.

He was thinking more than usual though...As he began his trek to the Western Plaguelands to cut fresh wood from the trees there, his mind went over his new purpose in life.

A year ago...where was I?

Alone. Burying my son.

And what has changed?

I have a purpose now.

((Post for Gil's one year anniversary Horde side!)

One year...

He found it funny to think that it had only been that long.

Everything seemed like it moved so much faster, like half of a lifetime had been fit into the confines of a number of days. He had aged noticeably over the course of the past year, both in body and spirit.

He was more fit if anything. Muscles and general health had increased over the year as he'd gone about various activities...

His life was on track again. That was something to be thankful for. He'd left behind House V and their corruptive ways and blazed a new path for himself, a better one. Whether or not there were actions he'd take back was irrelevant. The past was a darker place. The future was bright. If he continued to change for the better, he might actually become a worthwhile person someday.

"I wish ..."

Everyone else is doing it...

Gil cursed himself silently as he stood beside Rya and looked down at the fire silently. He wasn't that weak to just give in, despite what others might think, he possessed some if not tremendous force of will.

You're wife is an elf..she won't mind as long as you let her do it too...

He shook his head almost imperceptibly. He'd had these thoughts before and he'd resisted them then as well. Something was different this time though...Each refusal to give in to the youthful, fickle thoughts that his elven brought weakened him more than it should. He berated himself inwardly for calling Rya in his drunken state. 

But...He needed someone to talk to.

Only one who devotes himself to a cause with his whole strength and soul can be a true master. For this reason mastery demands all of a person. - Albert Einstein

This is not a blog. This is not a flame war. Names will not be declared. Actions will be.

Haven, I myself am guilty of annoying, pissing folks off, getting myself on the ignore list of others (well known or otherwise), and more. But as I can recall, I have never broken the Terms of Service (nor will I do thus icly or oocly) as far as I can help it.

Some of you flat out cannot stand me. I can live with that. What I WILL not live with, are the following.

1. Double Standards. Join certain channels, and you will invariably find myself, if not others talking in a contentious tongue. You will find person A (myself as designated), with a sailor's mouth being reprimanded because I went 'too far' with said mouth. However, you will also find person B (someone else), not reprimanded for doing the exact same thing. This is Just an example, but this example happens more OFTEN than you think it does, particularly Horde side.

It is 3 in the morning, Delamontre was leading a raid subtlely into an Alliance Outpost.

"Watch out for any Spies, Shandria." Delamontre said quietly, though firm and commanding. "On it, Coldy." Shandria Firearrow, the Marskman of the raid, and second in command there as well, nodded, climbing a nearby tree for a good position. The Death Knight present himself in  matter of peace infront of the guards, as to make them confident and mark himself as bait.

Shandria quickly fired five arrows at once, eliminating the guards from the rooftops of the Outpost swiftly. Once Delamontre saw there were no guards, he quickly grasped Bryntroll in his hands and rushed towards the guards with an strong scream.

I don't like this place. My hands are busy, but I still have time to think. I lean forward, using my weight to force the shovel into damp, rocky earth. Another day, another hut. It's just past dawn, and already I'm hard at work. I like that part. It's just not as mind-numbing as I had hoped.

So he thought about me, even in my absence.

Bright light and a heavy consciousness greeted me, for a moment I thought I was dead.. then in the moment that followed I realized how ridiculous that sounded.  Its not like I haven’t been dragged back from it before once.. or twice…hmm.. Was it three times?  There was no bloody bright light… no shining tunnel.. or burning fires to hell… it was all rather disappointing.

So it occurs to me that I've put a lot of thought into what exactly a runeblade is. And that others might have done the same. So it makes sense to discuss and air our vairous takes on these things, and see what makes sense, so no one ends up blocking someone else's RP.

From the sourcebook Alliance and Horde Compendium it indicates that in order to become a death knight (prestige class), a specific weapon was forged for the neophyte, and they had to swear themself to the Lich King:

Today was a strange day for me. I went with Doctor Nachtengaal to venture into the halls of Karazhan as his body guard one could say. But I can't complain, I had fun and I got a great look at some of the books that Medivh had in his libaries. But as I walked those halls I got a strong feeling of despair as if I should be running away from the place in fear, I didn't like it. The Doctor promised everyone who helped that they would be mentioned in his research paper, can't say I'm not flattered by that but I think the others were expecting more than just fiftenn minutes of fame. I find it odd that the Doctor had me going through the bookshelves as we were exploring the halls, I mean I am only a soldier after all; I wasn't the only one intrigued by that job that he had me do, a woman named Faerune talked to me and asked me some questions about him.

   I see them everyday; they sit beside me in the inns drinking away the day’s tasks. They sweat and bleed next to me on the field. Our bodies have moved together, both against demons, monsters and far more carnal pleasures, but I can’t bring myself to respect them, or at least very few.

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.

His vision widened from the pinpoint it had narrowed to. His consciousness seeped into his immobile corpse like frost riming a fresh-cut rose. The panic flowed with it, the terror, but he was almost used to it now. His intellect was a glacier freezing the fear in chains of blue ice, shattering it with a casual flick to disperse. Fear had no place in him. The clenching horror of waking to undeath was half familiar. The sense of loss as life fled once more, stolen souls escaping him, vitality leeching out of the animate corpse... just a cold log to fling on the icy flames of his hatred.

Korixar stood as stoic as ever against the walls of the Leaf. He had not moved in some time though his expressions had varied from time to time, evidently in thought.

I am being foolish. To believe someone, even my own, on the first meeting is something only an idiot would do. Especially with promises like these on her lips. Love. Who needs such a thing? I have survived these many years without such, stealing my pleasure from those who happen to irritate me. And yet now she demands she be my only while she holds the child of her 'mate' and had been giving her body to my Charge.

He frowned deeply as his brow furrowed at that, crossing his arms slowly over his chest.

"I bring before you a motion on behalf of one Lord Ythgar Vinguld pertaining to the title of Marquis of Vintertrymming, which title being currently held by one Ythfas Vinguld," Zaas called out in a voice that might have surprised those who knew her preference for the quiet background. Certainly being the center of attention bothered her immensely and made her want to do nothing so much as hide behind one of the perpetually-dusty curtains. Yet as with so many things she had leaned in a very short time, that which must be endured... could be. So instead of shrinking back, Zaas Glados Devereaux stood at the Speaker's podium and watched the reactions of the collected Lords and Ladies (mostly Lords, some already drunk).

It helped that a part of her mind was still analyzing her meeting with the Lord Vinguld, another part reviewing Ferala's seventh force diagram and a third over which meetings she still had to perform that evening before sleep. Not to mention a round of aerial combat in Icecrown. The life of a student was never a dull one, to be sure.

At least I got over the cold. A combination of healing magic and alchemy can kick about anything.

So now I just wait.

Soon enough I'll be called up in front of the Major and Commander, and maybe Taneel, and have to give my explanation. Cerwis told me what she'd told Harrigan. Well enough, but it won't help if they grill me for further details.

And no one else seems to get this situation.