Ythgar

As I was walking out alane
I heard twa corbies making mane
The ain unto the tother did say,
"Whaur shall we gang and dine today?"*

I paced the small inn room. I'd made it Lakeshire as dark was falling and taken a room in a lower class inn, just another anonymous, scruffy sellsword. Not for the first time, I frowned and thought about my next steps. The gold I spent had brought a name, a minor noble and Redridge landowner. Unfortunately, the man had gotten wind of the hunt and had left town in a hurry, accompanied by a Kaldorei.

Why, why have I given my word to try and save the life of one I so loathe?

 Petitioned first by the Marquis, who wouldn't give me any solid details as to what the issue was...

 “Lilliana, I am an enemy of the Horde, due to the Forsaken. It would be remiss of me to explain. If your employer thinks you ought to know, then he shall tell you if you ask. Your skills would be useful in this instance.”

Love.

Many claim to know it.

I am not one of them.

The crimson-haired, amber-eyed elf watched the slender blonde toss and turn fitfully in sleep- the covers forgotten, the sheets twisting around her legs, clinging to her lean curves as she scowled at whatever dream didn't seem sit right with her.

Swallowed in the bed's luxurious mounds of comforter and pillows, such a scowl – or look of utter worry - shouldn't be playing across the dainty girl's face.

Eryth's lips tilted down a moment- should he wake her? No, she needed her rest. Even if it was fitful.

Dear Ythgar,

I and a companion will be travelling to Dalaran in the cold north  and shall be staying at the Inn between the 26 and 28 days of the fifth month. It is my hope that during this time you would be willing to return to me a package you have kept safe for me.

If you are able to do so please send word to the Innkeep, for mail to Silvermoon is, at best, unreliable.

Yours,
Thienna Fen'Relah

((There's some chess termonology in the title/ending haiku. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Glossary_of_chess#En_prise ))

Jericho had offered, hadn't he? Would that be enough to suffice, to take the place of him?

She would do anything for her people.

Her people that had turned back to demons, once more.

They were still her people.

((I was feeling artistic this weekend, and was going over older sketchwork I'd done. Almost 2 yrs ago now or something, Kharris Dawndancer went for an audition at Ythgar's club. Ythgar was a very thoroughly undead man, and their conversation was frankly quite clinical once she succeeded at her job interview. At one point, Kharris asked to see Yth's deathwound, and I chose to draw that scene, and honestly, I loved how it turned out, but was terrified to colour it. After a very enjoyable time trying out colour theories on my tablet, and avoiding writing a syllabus, I revisited that lineart, and produced the following.

The assistant changed hurriedly in the crew's bunks, throwing discarded clothing towards her bunk, mind buzzing with recent events. Chestnut bangs fell into her eyes as she leaned to pull the shorts up long legs - she needed to get off the barge before Iloam came to talk to her. She wasn't ready, yet. She couldn't sift through her own thoughts - much less put them into words.

A lavender sky

  * (This blog is set during Fox's(Adalynn) abduction. It took me awhile to get this written.)

The distant thudding had been like a heartbeat- muffled by walls and mortared brick.                                                                                                                                                                          

Above, was the city of spires- the very picture of elegance, and dignity.

Below though, below were the slums- where the ragged wallowed in filth, tattered clothing hanging loose on gaunt frames.

Below...was Nathrezim.

(*in lieue of recent events, this entire post and all events have been ret-conned. Enjoy the read, nonetheless)

Her thoughts were a jumble..where to even start?

Joyia.

Lily had decided to make up with her best friend, the girl she considered a little sister. She missed the easy comfort of her trust - her honest advice, and opinions.

Whispering to each other during ATS's drinking parties- laughing at the others, admiring the 'view', and making private jokes.

The talks on the top deck of the barge – watching an orange sun, setting slowly over the frothy whitecaps that were the sea -

enjoying a warm Durotar evening, and a gentle tease of a sea-breeze.

She had sprinted to the top deck of the barge, heart in her throat. Plate boots loud on the wood.

The Warden Aktarin regarded her gleaming office in her quarters in Feathermoon with some level of contentment. The dancing lights of fireflies coruscated along the burnished wood. It wasn't quite her quarters in the mountains at the stronghold, where lamplight would have painted the walls a deep auburn and gold, and brought the ancient carved figures in the wood to brief life with every gust of the night breeze.

Dearest Chaplain. My dearest Olaff Isenkopf. Dare I call you my beloved even if only in my mind? I do love you. I cannot express the depth of my feeling in words for though we have spoken only briefly, I love you still. Though you were gone for months on end, I loved you and love you. As I attempted to open your mind and heart to the possibility of forgiveness for the human race, I learned to love you. Perhaps it was a child's fairytale love at first. Perhaps it is still.

I awoke late in the afternoon fearing that I dreamt you once more. But there you are! Glorious as a summer's dawn, stern faced behind your fearsome helm and when you pull it off, your face... oh Light, how my heart does contract so with my love. I wish to wake every day to see your face, your eyes, your hands...

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.

Kharris danced.

Moonlight and surf courted her on the waves, and her bare feet were wet from where they hovered and over the ocean’s chilly, tentative touch.

The beach was close, but each step took her farther. Bonfires from Shadowprey dotted the coast, their own shapes dancing in the brisk wind. They marked the town, but Kharris did not see them, her eyes were closed.

She was lost to the rhythm of the sea and the dance. Light skirts snapped around her legs  but she was unhindered—she was dancing, her body would adjust. Her hair was pulled back from her face in four tight braids that hung down her back and with beads threaded in by nimble trollish fingers, clacking like conversations in a language unknown to any elven ears.

She was lost to the rhythm of the dance and it was the closest she’d been to peace in months. But it was not peace. Peace was an active process, in its way. This was something… blank.

The events of the past few days had lead to this.  I had reached my limit.  Torn through emotionally, beaten down physically…. What was left in the aftermath was the ruin of the gates to my home.  The spattering of battle and bodies along the smoldering ground of a once healthy garden.

Dearest Olaff,

Light, how I do miss your eyes right now. Though you are dead and I come closer to accepting that fact and letting you go, I write these letters and mail them in the hopes of prolonging my own delusion that you still live, that you will come in shining armor on that hill. The sun will shine, dispersing all storm clouds, and you will sweep me off my feet. And when we kiss, even my toes will tingle with joy.

((I was listening to Altus Silva repeatedly when the idea for this post came to mind, the events of the post happened close to two weeks ago, it's just taken me a while to hammer out the post around the song.  Listen along http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DHxCmwa-lQM ))

(Trying to get the hang of galleries yet. Here's an image of Ixinane, Iloam and Ythgar set in an alternate universe, as inhuman semi-demonic thingies, with their fellow supervillain, a la Matt "Batt" Berring's 1990's somewhat goth comic Ascension.))

(The notion of drawing and colouring our notorious trio as 1990s comic book villains in the same style Matt "Batt" Berring made so well with Witchblade and Ascension sort of bothered me happily until I did it. So here it is. I have to versions - one without lens flares on every glinty bit.. one with. Here's without first.)

“Every act of creation is first of all an act of destruction” -Pablo Picasso-

There are tests we each are given, twisted paths and lines written with warning signs.  I was never good with rules, with limitation or with a set of standards to follow.  But there are some lines never meant to be crossed, ones where the civilized gives way to carnal beasts and base reactions.  That line was so far from me I couldn’t even see its horizon.  I had crossed deep and so fast its realization was a brick wall to my brain.  Not even healed from my last dance I already found myself treading into another two.  One with a demon who always was lucky enough to be a few steps ahead, and the other with a beast who drove syllables into my soul.

"You are most certain?"

"Yes, Deva."

Auctus luna refulgere id niger vultus
Sanguis ex donum virgo fervefacere in Ahenum
Et in ara id summus dominus tenebrae benedicere

...nobis...

I have done my duties. The wine flowed in honor of Lordaeron. The man known as Ythgar seemed pleased in my choice.
I have his blessing. The man understands my intents and yet I believe he wishes more to have the matter settled for more than duty of the ruling patron of his lineage.

In quinque hominis nobis occludere id quinque acuminis
Ac sicut donum virgo juvenil eam Satanas
Non sine id sanctus pugio ego tolere manus caellum
Ac profere verbum ex odium affinis invocare dei

...sopire Inferna...

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.