explicit

                "Ahem.". The Eulogist cleared his throat.         

"Niari Soth was a proud woman, a devout follower of the light...A loving wife...A doting mother." He glanced in the direction of the late elf's family as he talked.

"She strove to do good. In a time of turmoil she was a pillar of normalcy to her family. She was charitable, she always gave to those in need and asked nothing in return.

              "I'm not going to be here much longer Gil..."

The half-elf shook his head, his bloodshot eyes staring at his wife, his hands tucking the covers tighter around her to make sure every bit of warmth stayed within the bed.

"Ya know, my Father used to tell me not to play with my food when I was but a boy." The sanguine-haired elf looked over at his latest prey, tied up and looking worse for the wear.
"But there's just some joy to be found in the activity. Just like you yourself used to find joy in the young birds. You would watch them chirpin' in the trees, their dotin' parents having ensured that they were well preened, not a feather out of place. Down right angelic in their youthful innocence."
He moved the dagger he had been holding from one hand to the next, the candle-light reflecting darkly off the blood red blade. Those darkly glowing eyes almost seemed to smolder as he stared at the bound elf. "This City, despite it's many faults, is still a respectable City. And it's citizens, from the lowest drudge in the Row to the Highest ranked Noble has certain codes and law that must be adhered to."

"It’s been eight years since my eyes looked upon my past home…"

Jadelynna trots up on her skeleton horse to the bridge that enters into the Ghostlands with a reason, the winter wind rolled over the hills of the Ghostlands making the dark blades of grass dance in the breeze, “So carefree anymore.” She says softly looking around slowly with a curious gaze. Though the hills were dark and wicked. But Jade, she recalls a far darker threat in theses woods than the undead.

So! A lovely drink before a brutal blood ritual...Hwat! 

Fealydra is upon her drakes back tugging at the reins to guide the animal; the feeling of the wind hitting her face as the beast soared through the clouds was welcoming.  Fea’s long blonde locks whip behind her wildly in the breeze, she already felt uneasy being it was the dress or that fish she ate at the ball. More than likely the dress, this corset has been grabby in all the wrong places.

What was supposed to be his big break...was nothing more than the biggest mistake of his life.

((As stated, rather descriptive.  Possibly offensive.  You have been informed.))

Death and carnage followed in her wake. The Death Knight known as Wisp Sunwalker carved a path of destruction through the earthly realm of Deepholm as she vented her frustrations on the creatures of rock or of flesh in her way. Her eyes glowed with a fiery red light, revealing her rage had consumed her normal icy runic magic and brought forth the power of her blood runes instead.

She thought of how frustrated she had been, lost, unsure of her path, simply without a goal besides killing or letting Corvelian go. No matter how many times she replayed the scenario she couldn't make up her mind which end she wanted to come true. With every replay of this scenario it just made her more frustrated. Of course that frustration lead to her current streak of rage-induced killing.

     They smelled putrid. The sickening sweet smell of the plague. To a human it was enough to make one  vomit, but to a Worgen...

It was something else entirely.

Ångrif couldn't help but growl loudly as his padded feet thumped against the as-of-yet unsoiled ground as he approached Southshore, flanked by three more of his kind and two men on horseback. His fangs gleamed in the moonlight as he howled and reared up swiftly on his hind legs, bringing the cohort to a halt. His lupine eyes surveyed the ruined town as they stood quietly in the night air, claws itching to tear through the bone of a Forsaken.

What would Faun say if should could see you now?

The tale of a Death Knight. These stories tell of her life before she was brought back by the dark evil known as the Lich King. They also detail her life there after her resurrection and her constant struggle to find her place in the world.

To understand why she is what she is it must be known what happened to shape her into what she has become.

Read on if you wish to know what events created Wisp Sunwalker, the Risen Sin'dorei.

Just wanted to say hey, hope that everyone's having a good season (and has had a good year, or at least an okay one!). Also, Tengmas is on Friday. Will you go out and spread some of that good Tengmas grumpiness?! I hope so!  Or else the Sethlion gets it!

...I'm on the wrong computer, so you'll just have to pretend I inserted the Teng Whipping Sethlion image. Feel free to go wild with it. *waggles eyebrows*

Though far from being a superstitious woman, a deep sense of unease rippled through Aeria as she watched a crimson dawn rise. It was a deeper shade of red than normal, like someone had taken a bucket of scarlet paint and splashed it over the sky to blot out the lighter oranges and pinks. Curious that such a dawn had risen on the day of her dearest brother's wedding, but she quickly pushed it out of her mind in favour of the day's tasks.

Night One.

                The night was cool. A still breeze occasionally shook through the dark trees, rustling the scent from their leaves to waft through the midnight air. Walking the outer post of the camp stood an orc, tall and impressive with the unmistakable mannerisms of an officer. He took a look around before taking in a deep breath to take in the evening’s pleasant aroma. He continued to walk around for a few moments before coming to a stump just to the side of the blacked out road. Sitting down, he crossed his legs and reached into his pocket and pulled out a small metallic case. Opening it, he pulled out a stick of paper rolled over crushed tobacco leaves. He struck a match and let it burn for a few seconds before bringing it to the tip of the small cigar. As he tossed the spent match away, he took in a long inhale and exhale of the cigar and gave a pleasant sigh.

((

NSFW:  SEE THE WARNING BELOW

Sorry for a bit of a long preface here, but I feel it is necessary -- to get to the story proper, you will need to go under the break.  This story is my own take on what Silvermoon would look like right now, given the apparent state of the contagion.  I cannot find a solid consensus among folks as to how far this plague has progressed, but given what I've read, and some of the comments I've gotten in whispers, I feel that it has gotten to this point.  Again, this is my interpretation of the contagion storyline, and mine alone -- I orbit around this plot like many others do at the moment.  And I do not get any inside information, either.

Now then.  This story is flagged NSFW.  It is flagged that for a reason.  There are scenes in this story which may be exceptionally disturbing to some readers.  While I do want you to read this, I will not be hurt if you don't.  I apologize if I'm overly pushy in waving the NSFW tag on this one, but it is shell shock from the last time I posted something like this (which was on another forum).  I won't get into it the specifically, besides to once again say the the story has been tagged, and the warning has been issued.

Finally, this occurred roughly two days ago, before Luck made contact with Biarzenne, and before Aelberyn fixed his brain.

))

((And in the spirit of the CDev post and my week of sitting meeting with students and being intensely bored enough to draw.. here is the final Vinguld piece - at his most wicked. The eye colour is based on the released images of Wrathion in his humanoid guise. ))

           Home. What a strange concept for someone in his position.

His home in Arathor had been razed by orcs when he was but a babe. Not even a year ago the Forsaken had devastated his mother's home and the land that had raised him in a cowardly attack using their chemical weapons when they finally accepted that they weren't skilled enough to win the war that They had started. Everywhere he'd called home had at one point or another been destroyed by a race that owed its allegiance to the Horde. He had not asked for this. He had not challenged the savage green-skinned orcs from the safety of his cradle. Nor had he scaled the wall to spit on passing Forsaken or send missives by carrier pigeon to the Dark Lady as the walking corpses called her to boast and beckon. 

No.

The priestesses moved through the dark forest toward the distant light of guttering flame and spiralling pillars of smoke.

( Ok, So! Everyone I RP with or meet tell me about this song. So, it must be true! I lol very much. What do you all think? lol)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fcbazH6aE2g

He was lost.

No name, no memories, no sense of direction.

All he had to keep him company were bleak sky and the barren wastes around him.

Occasionally he would come across people, but they were faceless. They always seemed familiar, but in the end he could never identify them. He was scarred, disfigured and badly wounded. He bled but did not die, wept and yet no tears graced his injured visage, could hear but not speak. He was dressed in rags that bore numerous scents, all just as hard to recognize as the people he encountered. He walked for days on end, miles of rough road causing his feet to bleed ceaselessly and painfully. Eventually after what seemed like an eternity of wandering, he found something that wasn't open wasteland.

It was a grave.

((OOC Notes: Graphic and descriptive torture scene. You've been warned.))

My mind felt fuzzy and it seemed as though my body was very far away. I drifted, I felt light, but my body was heavy. I don't think I really slept. I think my mind merely retreated from the pain and agony. My brief respite was not to last however...

( Here is the second part. This one is a bit more bold but tasteful as it can be. ~viewer descression is advised.~ But do enjoy.)

            “She’s perfect,” Grul hissed with his swollen tongue and rotten purple lips. He couldn’t open his mouth too far, the studded straps holding his head together wound tightly to his jaw. The rest of his decayed body hid beneath his blood red robes, stained by past sacrifices.

            Ytis, her pale, naked, and thin blood elf body shrouded by the night, knelt beside the gagged sin’dorei teenage girl. Where the girl’s hands and feet were staked down to the forest floor, spread eagle, a beam of moonlight shot a area of spotlight. The girl’s young, frail, exposed body shuddered in pain as tears streamed down the sides of her face. A strap over her forehead, staked into the ground, forced her to only look at her torturers out of the corner of her eyes.

(Warning: Content is not for children! So lock the kiddies out of the room and I hope you enjoy)