truth

In my left hand, I hold pain.

My right holds redemption.

Both are symbols, not reality.

Yet, there is no sharp distinction.

This box is ancient, and speaks only evil truths.

The rosary is newer, inviting only silent contemplation.

I prefer silence.

Truth is overrated.

The ghoul collapsed and momentum dragged it forward, the piled snow crowning his head jerking the lifeless corpse to a crumpled standstill.  A goggled eye stared upwards, already calloused before he had met permanent death by the priest’s hands.  Jaw dislocated hanging to one side with a rolling purpled tongue catching snowflakes.  Meters from him Melidane drew in a breath, the whipping wind and oncoming warning of a blizzard made the simple act of breathing a burning line through her lungs.  

A moment of clarity as I sit by this river.

  Mother is a double word, one split into two just as I am split into many. I am split because my mothers are split, because my father is split and a part of both mothers.  Don’t understand? I doubt you do, and you will not unless you are within me, the others I am understand, even Mother and father do not understand, it is something so deep in the rivers of my veins that its surface will never coat my tongue.  

She had met his advance with firm footing, and held her ground as he had tried to force her to back down. Teeth were bared and smiles exchanged. An unheard rhythm they both felt compelled them into this dance, a battle of wills. Tusks and teeth, feet and fists; all instruments in the music they would make together.

A rumble in his throat spoke words he would never allow himself to admit. He had her pinned and could only smile. She was better than this and he knew it. He had challenged her to fight, not to take a beating.

“Quit playin’ and––”

The Singed Page.

The question that still haunted this entire world lingered upon the lips of the closet of friends and family. An evil question that strayed in the tense air left nothing more than the linger afterthought...

Who is Skythe Hawkins?

Fingertips caressed slowly over sated bandaged, tracing over the spots of forming Blight. It seemed that no matter how many times he had cleaned and repaired them, the Blight found its way through eventually.

The battle with it seemed never-ending and Skythe was on the losing side of the war.

"Does it hurt?"

There is a certain bitter irony to my current situation.

Despite years of conditioning myself to sever my personal feelings from cold enforcement of the law, the emotions of others have kept me from my sworn duty.

In which Lineah smells a rat, and not the ones that live in her dungeon.

“You were not dying, you were changing.”

  He spoke to me with his fingers laced in my hair, my wrist caught in his hand and the warmth of his breath on my lips.  There was distance between us, a hair’s length that brushed fabric and speech, but nothing more. 

  I had lead this dance, taken the steps that assured one solid truth, our skirmishes were over. We had been circling each other for years, part of the same intrigue, the same games.   Each time we brushed past one another, always on opposite sides and something keeping the distance between.  It was only a matter of time..and we both had seen it coming, a demon such as he and a warlock such as I cannot coexist without the inevitable heading of a balanced overturned.

"I need to examine your soul. That will require rather an odd blend, and no small amount of trust on your side. I am loathe to involve other warlocks in this matter, as I hope you can understand."

Kyp had finished all of the food on the tray, and was wondering what he was supposed to do now. He had no clothes and the thought of trying to break into his own office while standing in the hall in the buff was not appealing. So instead, he sat and replayed things over and over in his head. Muriella had made some kind of decision because of his current state, and he was grasping at what to make of it.

Laurai half stands, slumping back against the wall. She winced painfully as the shadows disappated, leaving her mind free at last. However, she seemed stunned despite her new freedom. "I... see the truth... now..."

"Mother..." Tears came to her eyes as she looked up at Ashe, haunted as she tore her gaze away to look at Cerwis, then Lirriel, and finally Liore.

"I... understand now... Liore, tell Apollo... my son... and Cori that I'm sorry... that I love them. Radiae... she won't forgive me." She looked over at Ashe again, the death knight staring back.

Lirriel looked at her. "Tell them yourself, Laurai..." She seemed on edge, but kept her voice calm.

Ashe was not so much, anticipation making her restless. "Yes, mother... tell them... tell everyone the truth! I need to hear you say it, I need you to say the truth."

In every lie, there is a kernel of truth.

The ravings of madmen contain seeds of wisdom.

Hints and whispers are signposts to lost secrets.

What has been hidden, I shall find;

What has been buried, I shall uncover;

What has been lost, I shall reveal;

And what lurks in the shadows, I shall master.

I have seen her in heavy armor, fashionable robes, beautiful dresses, and nothing at all.

What more can one say for a brother than that he be true? I have used the word, never lightly, but not quite in the capacity that Tanas has exemplified while being named such.

((mature for violence and sketch))

  It would have come down to this eventually, that I had known since Blackmarrow and I had first evolved into being more then just an angry blood elf who hired an assassin.  It seemed like ages ago since he had confronted me in the Undercity about the task I had set him on.  We never did manage to find that man…..

  The plan started as a disaster, something I could completely place on Blackmarrow, it was his idea after all to never tell me that the priest he had chosen to help us separate Iloam and my soul was Kharris.  Apparently they had struck a deal, something again he had never told me about, something about the truce that he wouldn’t end Iloam’s life if she agreed to spare mine. 

Everything was prepared as I watched Wraithlyn set my staff down by the small case of items I needed for my trip.  Later today I would be diving down into the depths of a place forgotten with Azaryel, all in hopes of correcting the mistake I had made with Iloam.  I wasn’t about to keep this link if I could help it, despite what it might entail, to much was at stake and his life was not worth the cost of mine.

Dear Stormwind,

There is something very very wrong with your county.

The guards patrol the streets looking for something like their life would depend on it.

SI:7 Agents have been murdered.

Mage Tower researchers have gone missing.

{{ Repost }}

They say at death your life flashes before your eyes. It's only a partial truth.

Most people that die in battle never know what happened. It either happens too suddenly or you're too busy to notice it as it creeps up on you. One second you're a friend, a comrade, a sibling, a lover, a parent, a child; the next, your life seeps into the mud and you're no more than an obstruction.

It's the slow death that gives time for introspection...

There is a power which moves within me, furious and uncontrolled. The thread that binds our worlds. The creator and the destroyer.

"I need you to tell me these things, Dria. Tell me. If it's the truth, by the Light, I don't know – I don't know who or what I am anymore, but if you could tell me…"

"I know who you are."

He had information, Alex knew it… even if the father didn’t. However, instead of helping… all he did was recite laws, and regulation. He gave her a hundred reasons why he couldn’t help… but all that it came down to in the mage’s mind was he didn’t want to.

If you deny sheep their Shepard, how long will those sheep live? How long till the hungry wolf eats them one by one, until none are left?

Alex walked into the cathedral and back towards the sleeping quarters for the priests that resided there. Much as she expected the door was locked. However, she had no intention of turning back now. She touched the lock with her bare fingers, the metal of the lock chilled, distorting the color slightly. Then finally froze as ice crystals started to form on the edges. Alex rammed the door with her shoulder, the small amount of force was able to shatter the lock into small shards.

    The Lady Crisinla Stormcren lifted one delicate arm, twining the trailing silk at her wrist.  She brushed a hand with well glossed nails through shinning wheat blond hair, and sighed.   Night had descended over the Stormcren manor and the lady of the house was preparing for bed.  She pressed herself into a chair