Irihapeti

((A short letter written to her deceased mother, Marion Victorine. She would keep the letter in her quarters within Frostmana Citadel.))

Dearest Mother:

I know you’re around, looking at me and all I do. I am well, as I can be. It turns out that there was indeed a man who loved you, enough to help conceive me into this cruel and yet warm world. I stumbled upon a friend and caretaker of his house, Miss Raeril (or Rae for short). Here I thought you were making stories up to pull the wool over my eyes.

Lightning frolicked with peals of thunder ahead. Azures eyes squinted in amazement of the combination, the tautness of cold hand gripping a heavy runemace. The other hand held the tome of despair, pain, and of a love he failed in cultivating.

"You could have done things with more vigor. Made broad and narrow strokes in ensuring your Duchess love to you would be absolute. You failed, and in doing so, she found another. His name is Destruction, with kinsmen of Malice and Pride." Such thoughts ravaged his mind as he looked onto the tome, reading further still.

"In my pursuits of dominating the elven populace, it had occured to me that the Baroness would be my staunchest enemy. She had many parishoners, but very few who could be considered able champions. It was to this end, albeit others, that I set back to work. I had many things to do, many projects to embark upon in order to challenge the weak and cull the strong.

"I could not betray the sad tale of my fate, doomed with a broken heart to the man who nobly fell before our Lord, only to fail him in our finest hour. I could not tell this delicious woman that I knew love, but never as intimate as surely they had consumed. My love was such that I pierced mine enemies and gave them the gift of eternity in service to the Scourge. She would never understand, as my husband did not."

(After John Mayer's song - hence the title! To continue reading...)

In bold letters, scrawled across the page fueled what only could be a woman's scorn he's endured yet again this time to read.

"HE HAD THE NERVE TO ASK FOR MERCY! WE DESERVE NO MERCY! WHAT A COWARD! I AM FOREVER ASHAMED TO BE LADY STARSCYTHE!

((This is Star's discovery of reading the mind of Irihapeti from Light's Hope until her untimely demise -again-. Click here to read more!))

((hiya. I wanted to create a story of Starscythe defeating Arthas, and having the OOC proof of such for RP. You can click here for the soundtrack to this piece, which I feel is appropriate. Without further ado, I give you this piece. Enjoy, and as always...criticism welcome. Thanks for reading folks.))

Paws. Feet too deformed for shoes to wear. Linen shoes. Leather moccasins. Mail boots. Platemail greaves. All made one sound: Audacity. Yes, the brazen audacity to walk through the portal from the center of the Upper Spire unto the Liege-lord of the Scourge's throne room. To challenge winter's champion. Perhaps to try their hand at death's version of roulette.

((Havenites! I give you Failure, the final episode of Honor and Ardor. What happens to the unwilling noble Lorthanel Starscythe? Will Irihapeti go bat****? Who are they assaulting this time? Tune in and freely critique! As well, I strong recommend youtubing V for Vendetta's "Evey Reborn" and "Remember, Remember" as they are fitting themesongs to this final installment! As always, critique is welcome! Thank you! And without further ado....))

"We did horrible things, too numerous to count as a couple together. I suppose that is what people do when they are in love, even as demented as the unholy blaze in our stilled hearts. For my heart had sipped bitter words and actions from my love, as one could ingest fresh wormwood and flinch. By the time we were on course to receive our next commendation, we both excelled in our billets...."

For more, click here!

Also, Youtube Bruno Mars' "Grenade" and Thomas Newman's "Somebody Else" for the theme music that's help me create this! As always, critique is welcomed! Thanks for reading folks!

One day, it was a day of reckoning...but not in the way you'd expect. Two members of the Scourge fighting for personal supremacy of the other. One would win, the other would lose.

Deep within the bowels of Naxxaramas, lie a training center for the newly chosen Ebonites. Back then, it was a supreme honor to -even- be considered for this billet. It didn't matter if you were a pawn, or a bishop of nightmares in this game of chess. To be one of -us-, you had to give your all to the Scourge. The Duchess and I, now fallen elves, were there, one nightmarish eve. With unholy fires blazing above and around us to light our way, we held hands strolling together to the training ring.

to continue...

((The latest installment, goes even darker and grimier for Star. Come find out about their training, How certain NPCS used to behave back in the 'old' days, and more! As always, SEVERE NSFW, or for the faint-hearted. Battle on, heroes! Oh, and I love CRITICISM, so bring it.))

The motorcycle roared to a halt in front of the shop, engine dying as the elf riding it shut it off, pushing the kickstand down.  He walked into the shop, saluting the shopkeepers who waved idly back, then walked up to the apartment.  No one in sight, Tiradell shrugged, beginning to loosen the harness holding his sword to his back.  The familiar, comforting smells of their apartment always helped him to relax and put behind him the stresses of his duties.  The smell of last night’s fish lingered faintly in the cooking area as he walked over, a small bowl on the wooden table holding the single remaining fruit from last night’s dinner.  He smiled, eating it swiftly.  He knew he was lucky; usually Kagg would finish off all the fruit.

She had come to me just a short time ago for the second night of her “refining,” so to speak.  I could not leave Irihapeti an empty vessel waiting to be filled, after all.  When finished, I sent her away to return to the Spire, but then I saw her pause only a few yards away to speak with Seven.  Seven was a very interesting individual.  As time has progressed, she’s become a more consistent figure in Silvermoon.  Previously I have found her somewhat fascinating; her uncompromisingly logical outlook coupled with her current pursuit to adapt to Sin’dorei life and become socially interactive was utterly intriguing to observe from a completely intellectual standpoint.  Nevertheless, even though I am actually rather fond of Seven, seeing her and the mindless Irihapeti pause and converse for a few moments filled me with a sudden cold shiver of apprehension.

The… thing on the bed in front of me used to be Sin’dorei.  Once she had been born of the Highborne just as I had been, and though I couldn’t possibly know her background, once she had fought and died and was raised again by the Lich King.  It was a story like so many others that have returned to Silvermoon with those cold blue eyes, but it was something that I made myself think about when I looked at the collection of flesh and crumpled skeleton.  It was right to remind myself that this was a person and not an object, it was only appropriate to remember that what I was dealing with here was not some toy to amuse myself with and discard.  Perhaps I was thinking about it too much, but I wanted to see for myself if that would make me stop, or hesitate.  I could not help wanting to test myself and see how far I was willing to take this, how deep I was going to go.  This woman used to be Sin’dorei, one of my people; I let the thought linger in my mind, sett

Sometimes it felt like the world had gone mad. Felsworn, pretenders to any number of thrones, cyborgs, mad bombers, killer constructs… Sid knew he was forgetting a lot of entries in the growing list of woes, but he was too tired to think much on anything. Not wanting to risk falling asleep in the saddle again, he left his charger stabled in Tranquilien and trudged home on foot. He found no opposition on the road, Scourge or otherwise, and it was just as well. He wasn’t in the mood for any more bullshit. He felt a delirious sense of relief as he approached the estate, that was until he noticed the letter attached to the gate. It was held to one rusting metal bar by what looked like a small magnet.

Everyone has a limit, as I’ve assured many distraught warriors and guilt ridden soldiers in the past.  People have varying thresholds of pressure they can tolerate before they are simply pushed too far, and when that happens the consequences can change a person forever.  Maybe in small ways, minuscule ways that no one will notice, but once an individual is pushed past the limit, something in that individual is altered, shifted.  The past three days I have been pushed, just a little, just a little more.  There was Liore’s mind broken and enslaved; another shove.  Ace’s attack and Liore’s home, the mailbomb that could have killed me and the mailbomb sent to Maras, the attacks and explosions and plague in Orgrimmar and in the Exchange:  they all pushed a little harder, just a little more. 

Well.  Everyone has a limit.

Seven was approached by Irihapeti who had spoken to her before about protecting the Sin'dorei. Although her methods were counterintuitive, she could see the value in her end result. Seven was naturally suspicious of her words and even more of her veiled threats. The undead elven woman was confusing and incapable of being direct. Before she had finished spouting her ideals to Seven she left just as quickly as she had arrived.

Sindrasa began discussing her upcoming wedding with Seven and how she would like her to attend. A local engineer struck up a conversation about the wedding invitations when a metallic construct charged down the street towards them. Akrish prepared herself as the other construct stopped and declared its intentions, "If you will not join, you must be terminated." The metal skeleton fired a volley of arrows towards Akrish who dove out of the way, but took a few arrows to the leg.

The stars overhead were disappearing against the glowing light of dawn when Aelberyn finally concluded her sweeping inventory of the protections set around Bloodsword Hall.  A few standard traps and alarms, a few magical ones, but for the most part the wards and alarms were composed of Blessings, Holy Shields, and carefully prepared Prayers.  Maras had made his own rounds, using his own far more offensively focused Paladin skills to prepare protections of his own as well as prepare the guards of Bloodsword Hall for a possible siege.

Aelberyn had no doubt a siege was imminent, and could only be profoundly thankful that her forefathers had built their home with such a thing in mind.  Even so she could not help but wonder how effective their defenses would be against an insane Death Knight and the destructive creation she was apparently using to rid herself of opposition.  First Acelynn, then Liore and Tiradell; but Aelberyn knew damn well who the Duchess co

Somewhere in her secluded Icecrown fortress......

She looked deep in thought at tonight's events, staring out at the blank landscape of mountains and cold, hard glacier.

"Ace nearly blown up, and stabbed. Well, she had to cover her tracks didn't she? So she spoke with Iloam and others the entire time, while her blade did the work of powering the construct up, just enough to move it into position to do the dirty work. She was a stong-willed woman, but too damn neutral. Putting an end to that miserable cur would do her just right. She lived too long and had a weak sense of 'honor'."

"Then, pitiful Iloam. Trying to get the best of ME? Really? Come now, threats do you no justice. Let's see your weapons and how fast you can swing them.

The Duchess landed in the port town of Booty Bay, on a cool night with the moon rising over the horizon. Securing the gryphon with the flight master, she sauntered over to the town's local bar. She heard from the group Iloam had ran earlier that there was a party or something going on down here. Upon entering the bar, she found many of the ATS crew, her eyes fixated upon the Baron tending to his drunken Baroness on a table. Perhaps she was drunk, or revealing a side she never knew.

Whatever it was, she disregarded the shenanigans of Liore and Iloam, both whom seemed to be naked save for their undergarments. They stood in the middle of the bar, speaking gibberish about one thing or another. She decided to head upstairs silently and take a glass of water to survey the scene. Indeed, she even found General Dellissa amongst the ATS cronies, so she headed on over to check out that scene.

She sang this as she went about making armors, and engineering projects.

Bloodhound:

I mind you least of all, out of the others. You care for him; it is not your fault he does not share your desires. We orcs are short-lived compared to your people. Perhaps in fifty years or so he will have changed his mind.

Be careful that you do not make your move too soon, however. He is still mine.

Her plans slow but sure.
Liore gave her a prototype of pain.
Salvaging objects around the world, she picked her pawns.
Would they survive well those harsh conditions?
At the end, recruits and veterans would fight.
Cities would be embattled in war.
Her dream unfold.
The world remade in her dark glow.

A stream of muttered cursing flowed from the balcony outside Tiradell and Tanakyll’s Orgrimmar apartment.  Tiradell lay on his back, wiping the latest stream of thick oil off his face.  “Why it couldn’t have been a halfway competent kidnapper, but no, I get the mad possessed one,” he scowled, throwing the filthy rag onto a pile of other filthy rags.  Despite the swearing and the mangled pile of metal and parts that used to be his flying machine, Tiradell smiled, recalling the aerial pursuit.

((Critique welcomed means just that :) Open fire folks, whether you enjoyed this piece or not. I know I did. WARNING: NSFW or if you have a delicate constitution! Piece below the break))

Within the hallowed halls of Silvermoon, she laid eyes upon her trainee with disdain. Wearing a mace that healers would wield, and a shield, Agita stood at the auctioneers making a purchase of some sort. She just so happened to look away for a brief second to Irihapeti, who snapped her finger but once. She immediately ceased all she did or thought to do and ran right to the tall woman.

"Pathetic. What are you, a healer of some sort?"

"Well, I was making a pur-"

"That doesn't matter now. If you're going to be mine to command, you must learn how to better wield weapons of war, as well as pick the -right- weapon." She replied with annoyance. "Go. Hillsbrad Foothills. Now."

At once, the two rode on gryphons hard to the Undercity, where they arrived by early morning. Moving south, they found themselves on the outskirts of Southshore. Iri did not unsheath her weapon as she approached the guards.

*Somewhere within the Eastern Plaguelands men and women were dying. Their eyes wide in betrayal and horror, disbelief even. A singing blade with no mercy cut down both man, orc, dwarf, gnome, whatever donned those colors.*

"Look at you, child, the would-be wielder of souls...you cannot fathom the power that lies at my command!"

The woman ignored the deep voice rumbling in the front of her mind as she froze several of the Dawn in place, their faces sealing in the horror of one rogue Ebonite slicing through their marrow.

"You desire to serve Azeroth by ridding it of the Scourge. You do fine, but you cater to the Alliance. You are not true members of the Horde. MY Horde. Good bye, traitor."

With those words, a howling wind of plague and frost froze a cadre of Orcish calvarywomen and shattered them in place.

((The following is a response to this post, as well as an allusion to something else entirely.))

Sidoran sat in his office and chewed on the tip of a fresh quill pen. He hated formal letters, they required him to dust off long disused knowledge and put it back to work. At least military communiqué allowed him to stick to the damn point without all the florid wording. He took a pull from his flask for inspiration, then dipped the pen in the inkwell. His sense of propriety came back to him more readily than he would ever admit, but he got around that by throwing certain rules out the window. Address etiquette? Fuck it.

Miss Irihapeti,

Moriurya read over the list multiple times and sighed. Of all the items to recover, these may be tough. She never expected to be asked directly to do a job with Atlas Treasure Salvage and had even made it a point to suddenly have things hold her up during times when everyone was setting out for a new adventure. Having somone directly involve her meant she would have to go along on the salvages for the items. She signed again and pulled out a piece of parchment from her desk and quickly wrote down a reply.

Somewhere at an undisclosed location......

Iri strolled in, wielding her Edge of Shadows. A servant had meticulously brewed some tea she had at Fancy Cakes a few nights ago. Holding it for her at her favorite chair of spikes, she plopped down on the chair, the sound of flesh and spikes meeting together.

Wordlessly he offered the warm tea to his Dutchess, she calmly took it and inhaled its properties. "mmm Plaguebloom, aged. With a touch of honey. Delicious."

She set her axe, hilt first towards her slowly near her and began to craft a letter to Moriurya. An archaeologist who happened to be an elven woman with the Atlas Tresaure Salvage company, would be a good partner in her future efforts.

"Suffer Well Moriurya:

I am Dutchess Iripaheti of the Ebon Blade. No doubt you've heard all about us, and who we are. Nevertheless, this should not stop you from engaging in a search of incomparable value.