warlock

I glanced upwards into the heavens while standing on the dais  gazing into the infinity around me. I was once again in Outland. My eyes drawn towards the swirling orb filled with aquamarine and sapphire hues. This was the peaceful globe of my homeland; Azeroth.

A melody my mother used to sing sprung to my lips. I sang it softly so none could hear me :

Drawing Done by Castien :)

Thankyou so much, this looks great!

He sleeps now, my little angel-in-disguise. Crimson tresses surround his beautiful, lithe frame.  Hush now the morning dove! He rests.

Taking a deep breath, I drew the ten of cups with the beautiful rainbow dancing across the golden-inlaid card. The ten cups overflowing with the sunlight that glistened over the engraving filled with hope. 

I lay entwined within his crimson hair

The winter sun shines bright, a new day here

He has coaxed my sweet heart to ever dare.

His lips do kiss away the nightmare’s tear.

He sleeps so quiet, eyes closed in restful peace

The lark does sing yet my Prince still doth rest.

My love, the moon’s song, wish I ne’er cease.

Though foes and fancy put new love to test.

I never believed this could happen to me.

A crimson flower has bloomed within the snow

His words sharp like swords to my young, bleeding heart.

I found him in the morning, with his chest bound tightly. A large, ugly gash threatening to flood underneath the fresh bandages.

The perpetual cold of Northrend; Come to the fire, be warmed by heart’s hope…

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

"...You are probably sick of, by now, these missives flooding your mailbox but I told you I’d write every day that you were gone. I stay true always to my word.”

“What was done is now undone.”

This is a pic of Togy drawn by Occult! ZOMG! THANK YOU! He looks amazing!

Togy awoke slowly stretching his unusually sore body, it felt like every single muscle was used to their breaking point. His mind swirled wildly.

'What happened yesterday?' Flows into his mind as he mumbled low to himself,

His mind still in the dazed of sleep euphoria at this point he was unclear of the area still, the sheets they felt different. Softer than the ones from the inn that he had been staying at. His eyes opened slowly after a few blinks to clear his vision fully. Finding that he was in fact not at the inn anymore but it appears to be a room of a woman, the room had a Starwood vanity with a small stool; a lovely mirror behind the polished wooden make-up dresser framed in silver that he could see.

There have been coming and goings and endings. Sometimes new beginnings come at the endings of others. This is the cycle of all we know. Life and death are the ultimate balance. Here, I am talking like a druid or a shaman now.

Things have been spinning so fast out of control lately. Even in my hunting I have been missing a few words here and there with my casting. Nothing too significant , but enough for me to notice and take pause. Before something really disastrous could happen.

I just wasn’t expecting friends to step into my circle while the tides of darkness washed over me. That once again this fragile heart of mine would break so easily once again. So easily led. So simply weak.

I am scared as I look to the Dark Portal before me, it’s tall, towering façade making my heart pound even faster. The swirling purple and greens at the edges of  the portal seeming to solidify the grandeur and mystique. The lightning around the doorway of sorts set me on edge each time it hit the blood-red desert.  But a warlock must be strong else the demons of the Fel would take every advantage to control me. I was sent to go inside this gate, to a new world beyond everything I have ever known. I have never left Azeroth, or my home in Silvermoon, for so long.

 “Just ride on through and talk to the commander on the other side.” The goblin spoke to me. I looked to him and then back to the glistening gateway, then back again. The goblin, this tiny thing, seemed unworried. Why should I be then?

Moonbeams.

 They dance upon the walls of my room here in Silvermoon City where I am for the moment. I have no desire to return to the dusty sandlots that are the Burning Steppes quite yet. I prefer to be here, with the sheets of satin and the comfortable words flowing through the lips of my native Sin’dorai. I had enough time getting out the sand this morning in the bath. It does seem to get everywhere.

 But yes, gazing up through the gauzy window shades up to the heavens my mind turned like an hourglass. I knew it is quite late, but my thoughts kept me turning. The wind turned colder now,  the blankets not quite warm enough to hide the chill running through me.

Lovely when we started,

The illusion of control,

Sorned flesh sinks to bone,

Weaves nettled nets around

A readied frame.

“Some say the world will end in fire, some say in ice. “     ~Robert Frost

     My dreams soar to a different time, when I sit perched at the very lip of a volcano.  Atop Blackrock Mountain, the world stretches out in a dizzying vista far too grand to take in all at once.  The mind simply can’t handle it, like attempting to see all the stars in the night sky in the same moment.  To one side, the Burning Steppes buffer our outpost from the hated human capitol of Stormwind.  To the other lies Searing Gorge, equally as barren and scorched as far as the eye can see.  I vaguely recall hearing tales of how the stunted little half-humans they call dwarves had called upon powers they did not understand, and the lands paid the price.  For some reason, I remembered feeling as if that story had some personal importance, but that’s lost beneath my past-self’s hazy miasma.

"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 heat was comforting and the light cast by the fire shimmered and betrayed Zindanii in the welcomed darkness. Her purple skin was only covered by simple black kilt and poncho. The heavy black chain hanging from her neck seemed to drink in the light greedily; the purple gems’ glow seemed to look all the darker. If it weren’t for the fire, she’d be a shadow, the wind whispering through the leaves of Felwood. She looked over the small clearing next to the road that lay in front of her with those unnerving pale yellow eyes that shone brightly even when a shadow was cast over them. The small bells laced into her crimson braids softly jingled, scarcely heard over the crackle of the fire. Her royal purple hand idly reached up and turned the smoothed fetish at the end of the closest braid over, her fingers tracing the grooves without thought. The mask of black war paint on purple was broken by a pink tongue as she licked her lips.

The enemy consumes,

Our trenches never deeper than her heat,

Our walls never higher.

Smoke withers eyes to weeping,

Metal burns deep into our palms

As swords rise against choking ash.

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.

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I am many things.

I am Te’kuja, Bone Reader, Soul-drinker, Hakkarite. I am Etherwalker and Devourer. I am Zion’deh and Gurubashi.

The question has never been what I am, for I am many things.

What fills my heart with dread, in these long daylight hours and deep into the night,

The rush of pressure was familiar. 

“You are Se’ala’s father?” Moshir asked, standing in the doorway of the small hut hanging from the side of one of the marsh’s massive mushrooms.  The rain’s steady rhythm beat down on the roof of the hut.  Inside the dim shape of a troll sat, sharpening an axe.

The older troll looked up, eyes suspicious as his gaze traveled up and down the gaunt-looking youngster.  “Maybe.  Who are you then, boy?”  he asked, a frown on his face.

“I am Moshir. The others said I should come speak to you, about your daughter?”  Moshir replied.  He craned his head forward as he spoke, the phosphorescent glow from the brightly-lit fungi outside a sharp contrast to the single candle lighting the hut.

The stillness of the night was broken by nothing but the soft buzz of cicada.  The large hut was empty now, save for the still, linen-wrapped figure and the skinny, worn-looking troll sitting next to it.  Moshir smiled, looking around.  The night’s darkness cast shadows around the room, the soft wind blowing away the heat of the day.  The brash, loud one with his heavy armor and hard voice was gone now.  He reached into his robe, pulling out the two envelopes he’d found left in his room in Orgrimmar.