Liore

The day had started and ended much as most others had: wake up, eat with the unit, head out to Silvermoon and do her job as a healer. Occasionally meet with Sephral, or return to the Aegis base around sundown. The Keep was fairly quiet when she returned, beginning her usual thoughtful wanderings even if she could hardly remember after what she had been thinking about.

The marksman's call startled her out of thought, an odd and uncharacteristic wave of annoyance zipping through her for the briefest moment. It's just Liore...why am I suddenly annoyed all of a sudden? He's not that threatening...usually... she thought to herself, offering her usual shy smile and quiet conversation.

Stardrifter. Stardust. Starwhisper. Mu'sha, it seems like everyone's either you or the stars. Even in name...

     The balmy heat licked against her skin, causing a layer of sweat to cling to her slightly aching frame with no way to escape, the muggy time of day was to blame for the unpleasantness certainly. The day was dragging to a close and she awaited the cooler evening patiently. Lifting her arm, she wiped the perspiration away from her forehead with the back of her hand before using her fingers to draw the dark chocolate strands away from her eyes.

It was hot.

-Image Below Break-

Moshir took in a deep breath, savoring the sweet air as he walked further away from the goblin slums.  The thick, stinking lake around which they had built their homes fell behind.  The ground, bare and littered with small castoff items, gave way to the wooden walkways atop the marshy land of the trolls’ Valley of Spirits.  The troll walked slowly, shoulders slumped, breathing heavily as he walked toward the inn.

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.

"You've -got- to be kidding me?!" Fox waved the piece of paper at the Blood Knight before her, glaring daggers at him. He gave a slight shrug, "Have a good day, Miss."

"Paladins! UGH!" She thrashed, flailing her arms in frustration. This had to happen after breakfast?!

She had received a citation. For not clearing her mail from the local mailbox, the city was issuing her a citation and a fine. What utter bullshit!

Daraman sat at the bar, peering into the jug of burboun Synnaquin had given him earlier in the evening.  He had been staring at it for a good long while, his mind racing with the events of the day. 

It had started out like a normal day, Synnaquin and her crew were discussing entertainments and club business(and something about male dancers in thongs, but he hoped that idea was quickly squashed).  Some business was being discussed in the Royal Exchange, duels were held outside Silvermoon's gates, all in all a standard day.  He'd had an interesting discussion in the Inn with some of Synnaquin's empoyees, a brash, plain-speaking accountant by the name of Kharisa, and a paladin by the name of Rylost, and watched another of Synn's mob, an overly enthusiastic young elf by the name of Garenik, run around covered in snakes and shrieking like a girl.  He chuckled at the memory, still funny after everything that had happened today.

“Duke,

I want her.

You can’t have her.

KABOOM! BITCH!

S.O.”

Leshana awoke, hands and feet expertly tied together. It was a single line of rope, leading from her binds to the back of the male’s talbuk. They were walking, the male edging his talbuk along even through its complaints of the heavy thing its dragging. The female was atop the talbuk as well, holding on to the male. Leshana finally sputtered, as the dust of the Barrens covered her and her untended wounds.

The one called Liore looked back to their captive at the sudden sound, a beyond angry look etching his features.

“She’s awake,” he whispered to Adalynn.

The female, Adalynn, looked back as well for a moment, but decided to ignore the warrior. They were almost to the Stonetalon Mountains anyway.

Her eyes shot open as she moaned, "N-no!"

A dream? She quickly surveyed the room, hoping she hadn't woken anyone.

     She laid in pain. Coughing hurt, it felt like she shattered her chest with each involuntary spasm. She had awakened this way...

-------

"I stopped.

Why? I cannot say. There was something in the look of that little Sin'dorei woman.

She and her boy-toy had put up an unexpectedly satisfying fight, I must admit. And yet, I let them live. It would have been so easy to put an end to their arrogance, their worthless lives.

But I stopped.

The young one said she recognized me. She had said something about Stonetalon Mountains. I do not recall her face. Under normal circumstances I would not give this a second thought. What happened?

I had stopped.

The older one, the male, threatened my kin, and I let him go. With a warning, A WARNING.

Why did I stop?

I let them go with a smile, that is not like me. Not at all."

Leshana finally drifted off to sleep with her mace cradled like a child in the Kal'dorei's arms, armor neatly piled next to her.

((The Journal is actually a Voice Recorder.))

Dearest Journal,

I started with hot apple cider bought in the morning from the bazaar; the apples were actually from a human farmer, but when you are in goblin cities it isn't that hard to get the rare gems. Apple cider is amazing when it is fresh with a slight amount of cinnamon added in, especially when the mornings are chilly. Only moments after I had finished the drink had I turned on my newest style of communicator and received multiple messages about the day. I might just give this thing back to the creator, Throgmorton, if I have to listen to all the nonsense that goes through the contraption.

It seemed Acelynn was still down with something or another, making it difficult for her to do her job or even to take care of her own children. Iloam was having a hell of a time getting things done at the Booty Bay office, something about having poor penmanship, so I offered my services as a scribe so he may get the letters he needed sent done with.

It is funny, really; of all the people in ATS that I have encountered, Iloam is the only one I actually like.

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

Running a hand through his hair, Tiradell stared at the wooden door.  His armor was dirty and scuffed, soot still clinging to it, a myriad of cuts and bruises on his face where shrapnel from the explosion had stung him.  Behind that door, he knew, lay danger and a terrible fury.  He lifted a hand, knocking firmly on the door.  The door swung open sharply, a snarling orc shaman in full armor, war-mace lifted ready strike standing behind it.

“Where the hell have you been?” Tanakyll bellowed, hand gripping her war-mace relaxing slightly as her eyes bore into his own.

Tiradell winced, the booming voice sharp against his ears.  “I had to save a woman from bleeding to death, first of all,” he said, trying to muster up a smile.  Tana’s eyes continued to drill into him as he looked at her, wearing her full armor, weapons at the ready.  “Is everything all right, Tana?” he asked.

Somewhere off the shore of Eastern Kingdom lies a small cottage, previously belonging to Dellissa's ex husband and his family, a door slammed open.

Banging her way to the table the blue haired female glanced around the small cottage with a twisted scowl upon her otherwise pretty features and with a defiant gesture, she dropped her mace onto the table, the despised table of her ex husband's mother's. Satisfied by the sound of the creak of the wood as it bore the impact of the big two handed weapon, Dellissa peeled her gauntlets off before she went to close and lock the door.

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.

Liore likes his Potcakes.

Image below the break! 

We've only arrived home from our weekend holiday early this morning, but I decided to come in to the office as some sort of show of support. I can't say it's a strong one, really. Mostly I'm a warm body and the lanterns are glowing, but I'm useless to any sort of actual work. Ace is in the lobby and there's tea and coffee brewing while she tackles the bulk of everything I'm not doing. There's all sorts of letters and scrolls on me desk to go through, and an unusual parcel wrapped in brown paper addressed to me from one Ixinane Stormcren. I'm avoiding that one.

The rain outside is keeping the office a bit chilly. I watch it come down sideways in thin, icy sheets of grey needles. The docks outside the window are slippery and miserable and most the veteran workers 'ave good enough mind to stand under Port Authority awnings an' nibble on hot fried sausages or chips until the dark, angry clouds pass over.

I pull me mechano-guitar into me lap and lean over briefly to flip on the amp. An electric pop fizzes to life and fills the quiet office with a low, expectant hum. Leaning back into the comfortable leather of me captain's chair, I cross me boots at the ankle on the windowsill and adjust the guitar to a lazy angle in me lap. Me fingers slide along the metal strings and pluck out a few tentative notes I've been putting to a song I've been writing off and on while my mind wanders away from the work I'm avoiding.

Polidori peered through the curtains of an upstairs window down into Falconwing Square until she was certain Liore wouldn’t turn around and come back inside before she dug her hearthstone from her pack and gave it a good rub. It was a roundabout way of getting back to her flat in Booty Bay but then almost any trip from any location was. “Too bad I can’t afford Dalaran.” She muttered to herself as she stepped of the wyvern’s back and made her way to her apartment.

She fixed a cup of tea and sat, sipping lightly of the fragrant mixture trying to calm her nerves and quell the anger that boiled just under the surface. After a moment she set the tea aside, crossed the room to the bookshelf and dug out a bottle of rum from between a couple of dusty tomes. She returned to the table, opened the bottle with the intentions of pouring a draught into the teacup. Instead she brought the bottle to her lips and took a sip, then another.

Polidori tugged a brush through her tangled mass of unruly red curls and sneered, “The over-coiffed one there is our ship’s mate, Pol.” She said, repeating Iloam’s words of introduction at the Fish Fry on Friday night. Giving up she dropped the brush with a clatter and snatched up a bandana, tying her hair back from her face as the last goblin came trudging in with a box that he put in a corner with about a dozen more just like it.

She tossed a small sack of coins to the foreman of the moving team and turned to the door as her cousin stepped through the opening. “Ah, just in time Pavi, glad you could make it.”

((The events in this blog took place between late May and mid-June 2010))

The days after meeting with the Marquis Vinguld and Hakkajin to discuss how to save Faraji were mostly lost to me now. Most of them I ‘ave no recollection of at all. I had fallen asleep at some point, and the evil in Ythgar’s runesword had sank her hooks into me well an’ good – cracking me mind open and turning me into a babbling, Scourge-obsessed nutter. There were a few vague memories, but they might ‘ave been nightmares or just fragmented images still floating around in me subconscious. I thought I remembered seeing Ixinane, like an angel washed in red light, in a back alleyway that stank of rotted trash. I remembered countless days of fighting side by side with Ythgar in the frozen North, an army of death knights at our command as we pushed further south, slaughtering everything in our wake. I remembered falling asleep in his lap, me arms curled around his thick waist, as I let sleep embrace me. 

The first solid, real memory in days was when I woke up. Me body didn’t ache with fatigue. It felt like I must have slept for hours an’ hours. I felt relaxed, bloody fantastic even. I was lying on sheets so fine that they felt like pure spider’s silk. The pillows under me head were as soft as clouds - enormous, fluffed and lightly scented with some sort of flower. The mattress neither too ‘ard or too soft, and lifted so high I felt like I could have been floating. I could hear birds singing but there wasn’t light in me eyes. It was as I lay there, enjoyin’ the quiet, that I realized it was quiet. The voices were gone. I let me mind wander, searching for them, purposefully calling fer their answer – but there was only the blissful, peaceful silence. Finally! Me lips had curved in a smile against me pillow as I stretched, loosening back and calf muscles that had been cramped with stress for far too long, when I heard the soft breathing in the room. Not asleep, just relaxed into a resting cadence. Deep breaths into a large chest – male, obviously – but so very subtly whistled through thin nostrils over mustache. Ythgar.  

Giminy's Nook was an upstanding engineering shop in the heart of Dalaran, second only to Like Clockwork further down the road. Very popular. Very busy. And thus, needing help. Liore stared at the "Help Wanted" sign in the window for a good 10 minutes, scowling at the idea of what he was about to do. The ebony hair was gone, his strawberry blonde hair was short, shorter than it ever had been before. His posture was that of someone angry at the world, someone who hated it and everyone in it. This was true. But what else could he do? He couldn't be arsed to go treasure hunting, his chance at that had been lost. They needed someone capable, and he needed to catch up on his rent.

The over elaborate bell rings as he swings open the door, sign in hand. The two workers lifted their heads. One an older Gnomish gentleman, and the other a younger but much more dim dark haired human.

"Ellooo!" The human said.

     Ashle walked down the stone path of Eversong woods, late in the night, she had been walking for hours, carrying her boots in each hand when they began to hurt her feet.  She didn't feel the pebbles poking into her skin even if her head faced the path making no attempt at avoiding the stones.  No matter how much a stone hurt her thoughts were else where.  It had been a few days since she read the Dalaran Daily only to discover her close friend Liore Sunstorm was murdered.  She hadn't heard from her friend in many months, he was always off on some adventure or making some delivery to some side of Northrend.  Her work had kept her in Silvermoon City and took up alot her time.
    Approaching House of Ral'Kas front gate, she looked up to the wall.  Thinking back when Liore had climbed up there in attempt to find her.  This was after the treatment he got to fix himself.