IC

    My name is Aranion.

    I'm from Suncrown.

    As a boy I played a game with friends.

    We called it Hero.

For being a ruthless and brutal race, Ogres were once again proving to be both shaped and controlled by a middle aged dwarven housewife, much to her annoyance.  Honestly, dealing with Ogres reminded her of taking care of her child, the mannerisms and reactions being fairly predictable with both.  The trick was breaking into their rather chaotic pecking order system.  Darlain had edged her way there in a rather unlikely manner, not through strength or cunning or backbreaking labor, but through fashion.

Working in showbiz is a tough gig. Sometimes your boss decides she'd rather be a flower and decamps for Darnassus, and sometimes an imposter comes along masquerading as your former employer and fires you. These things happen. And when they do, a self-sufficient woman such as I really has no choice but to return to her previous line of work. For an unfortunate few this means hitting the streets when the sun goes down and half of Silvermoon (if what one reads is true) follows suit. For most of us, however, this means returning to the far less disreputable world of murder-for-hire. "By the Light!," you exclaim, "you don't mean you. . . !," to which I respond, quite matter-of-factly as not to offend your delicate moral sensibilities, that death in this city is a contractual affair, a legal matter carried out with the utmost professionalism. What they say about looks that kill is absolutely true, so it really should not surprise you that, the pictures being all about image, a lot of people employed in the industry meet what is euphemistically referred to as an untimely end. Again, these things happen.

((Here's the second part. Leave comments, because I'm wondering how my story is going,))

“Now,” the forsaken said, “You have the option to run from me since yes, I am a rotten corpse, or kill me.” He turned around and looked away from me. He actually looks like he’s sobbing.

She is there in the mist. Pale fingers grasping for me. I catch her. Watch her cough blood. She exhales once, broken. Her eyes go cold. I watch her hair fall out. Her eyes fall in. Lips part. Skin and meat sloughing over my arms. I count her ribs and teeth before she turns to dust. I wake up smelling dirt and stone and moss.

The bed creaks. It's too short for me. I see her now. She bleeds from the shadows, smelling of ink and water. She's the girl on the corner, before she turns and I see blue where brown should be. She stands in the mist when I close my eyes. Drawing closer. A step or two each year since Brill.

I bump into him on the street. Clearing my accounts, liquidating assets. Large words for other people who care for the smell of gold. I only have one use for it. He is buying flowers. We collide. An accident.

“Fuck, sorry mate.” He bends for a dropped blossom.

It had been days since they talked at the beach, his admittance of receiving training from the demon he called Mistress Ava causing holy fire to rise her temper like the high-tide swells of the ocean.  Anger she had never known to this degree before welled into her.  She had sent him away to fix the damage he caused. Mara even had threatened to sacrifice herself to the waters if she would loose her love for him.  In this, there was truth.

It was another uneventful day for the most part for the small cub. He had been following his adopted two-legger around the jungle like terrain of the Sholozar Basin for most of the day watching her do things for the odd Gorloc creatures. The cub found the Murloc-ish creatures amusing at least, chasing and wrestling with the smaller hatchling from time to time while his two-legger went about her own work. Eventually he grew tired of following Wisp around and decided to go off exploring the odd landscape of this jungle place. He knew his two-legger wouldn't notice him gone for a little bit so he had plenty of time to look about and took advantage of it, darting here and there through the air as he scouted out the landscape.

she looked out at the barren lands from where she stood , merely a day ago she was still a priestess of the light , the Fel energies surrounding her no longer pushing in from all sides but now flowing with her.

((Not too many people here know me, but I've been thinking about a storyline that's been bugging me for a few days that I want to write out. So just bear with me))

Gilneas is lost, everyone is going to be leaving tommorow for Teldrasil..have to make the best of it, and by that I'd mean about hunting down the Forsaken around these parts...

The transformation has proven to have nothing but benefits, when you're in control at least. The ability to go between human and wolf has indeed helped to keep my identity a secret against the Forsaken. Once I left a near by town, I let my self shape-shift-which I'll discuss about more later. I climbed up a tree in the wilderness and stayed hidden.

Lucå walked through the shadows in Murder row the place so familiar to him, once he ran this road playing around with others, back when the only worry was being in the way of a noble. His old home was still there though nothing like his bunk back at the Manor he walked inside the empty apartment long since abandon but never re occupied.

"Tamakï Firestrider what have you gotten involved with!" His inner voice was yelling after tonight's revelation. The quick walk from the Bazaar through Murder row to his hidden home was quicker than usual but he had reasons to get home fast, he muttered the password which revealed the twin lions and the gate letting him on the property and within seconds he was inside the house careful to not wake Mara he went to the small desk and sat quietly his eyes closed now reliving the conversations from earlier and the scene he walked in on.

Lorith just didn't get it.

For the fourth week in a row, her meat and cheese platter rested before her nearly untouched.  Sure, a draenei had ordered a slice of kimchi pie earlier.  But no one had come in looking for a tender slice of roast raptor, a juicy bear steak, or a carefully-sliced selection of cheeses. The breads were growing stale with every passing moment. She didn't even want to get the donuts out of their protective wrappings if they were just going to sit unasked-for on her dessert plate.

With a sigh, Lorith shifted her weight to her other foot, balancing on her footstool with her elbows on the bar. She stared out at the empty tables, picturing the many customers who had all come in to enjoy food and drink and company for over a year. Some still came in, usually for a quick bite before leaving again.  But otherwise business had slowed to a crawl. It wasn't helping Colin, and it wasn't very satisfying for her.

((little break from Gil's backstory to do a present time post before i get back to the Murder Row storyline))

"More tea deary?"

Gil shook his head, rocking Lynessa in his arms. "No thank you aunt Leandra." He smiled thankfully, but it was abundantly clear that he'd enough to eat and drink already.

"Fair enough! I'm so glad you finally agreed to visit." She chimed, running a hand through her shoulder-length grey hair as she sat down in an armchair across from her half-elven nephew and great-niece.

"Hows everything been with Lady Brightsinger?" she inquired, smiling warmly as she sipped on her tea.

Was it something about her?

They thought she was too weak to handle it, probably.

Or, they simply didn't trust her.

How was she supposed to lead a people who could not confide in her?

Three little cards with gold-embossed backs, smooth the faces were even throughout time. I pulled them out from their soft home, one at a time upon the velvet tapestry.

Looking out of the small room she was staying to high up for anyone to notice her as she watched the tauren do their daily things , It had been more than a week since Junior had brought her here after her apparent death to hide her from those who would have her harmed. "I am taking you to thunderbluff to the cathedral of light there where you will be safe but detained until we can decide what needs to be done" his last words before she passed out again. She woke here in this room several hours later and has not been allowed to leave since.

He had known Ariava for a short while, but he knew he loved her. He had loved before, of course. He knew the feeling. The book of love, as they say is filled with laughter and jealousy, and trust and pain. But for Tylel, his love for Ariava was as pure as it was corrupted. Pure, because the feeling was overwhelming him every day. Corrupted, because in Ariava lived two souls.

It’s never done
The feeling I had
In my heart still
It’s grown strength
Haunting my dreams

The Thalassian Charger was a rare beast. Few of them lived in the northern part of the eastern kingdoms anymore. Other types of chargers and battle horse could be found anywhere in Azeroth. But the Thalassian breed was rare ever since the end of the Sunwell. However, the Order of the Blood Knight took upon them to actually breed their own reserve. Tylel, upon becoming an apprentice Blood Knight, got his Charger. Merlot was a proud beast, very docile, and completely focused. There were few occasions where Merlot hadn't obeyed Tylel, and in all of these occasions, it probably saved Tylel's life.

My ship is gone.

As my assumption of being safe within the Stormwind Harbor has been abolished, so has my respect for the King and his lackeys. With the highest quality parchment they brought words of the finest inks and a golden seal of the Lion, the Stormwind officials took “military emergency control” of the decently crafted merchant ships that were “safe” at the Capital city docks. No more than twenty-four hours given for finishing paperwork, laying off the crew, and handing over the rutters, my rutters, to the shipyard office. No more than fourty-eight hours allocated to the unceremonious unloading of merchandise, the clearing out of personal artifacts, and the last goodbyes. No thank you, no apologies … just a little slip of parchment telling all that The Mistrunner is now property of the Stormwind Army and is doing service for the Alliance.

He sheathed his dagger as he strode out of the storehouse. Glancing up at the sky for a moment, he caught sight of a few stars in between the silk sheets and other such hangings that would give Murder Row it's near perpetual feel of twilight. Almost no one came out during actual twilight, the darkness having become almost a solid mass filling the Row. Occasional flits of light could be seen, mostly the tell-tale sign of transients or shadow dwellers who lived in the Row. Mostly harmless bunch, all things considered. Not nearly the darkest of dangers that the Row offers.

“Oh light, that keeps us all within the golden embrace, watch over all those whom I love, and those I have yet to love in their own way. Let not arrogance, or blind foolishness lead them into too much danger, or death…”

The merchant still wore a symbol of faith around his neck. His legs were dragged a few yards away. All the soft parts gone from his upper half. The air smelled of fear. The goods in his cart were untouched. His mule was gutted in a ditch. Sinking in a pool of its own shit and gore.

Paw prints stamped in blood ran around the mess. The necklace shone red. I knelt and took it. Some fool in Gilneas would buy it. The merchant couldn't help but smile up at me. All teeth and blood. No lips left.

Shiny trinkets weren't going to save you, you dumb bastard. There's nothing here that gives a good goddamn. Not the trees. Not the mountains. Not the storms. Not the wolves. This is all there is. Fear till the teeth find your gut. Then death. No great Father watching from above. No Light driving the dark away. Mother hides her face deep within the earth. Wolves on our doorstep and she rolls over.

((Continued from "Corrupted - Predator"))

Elros had not been pleased by what she intended to do to this poor young girl.  This had not come as a surprise to her though seeing how his honorable nature was part of what drew her to love him to begin with.  When the choice was placed before him, he had reacted in favor of the child’s defense and now Dark Ranger Ari stood between her beloved, now restrained by Naga Sharkspear, and her opposing Naga mentor, the Enchantress who held the girl-child in her grasp.

Agony.

All encompassing, all consuming anguish.

She thought at first that she'd fallen unconscious – so brief was the warm respite.

The tender kiss of death had been stolen away.

(( Vocal reading of this piece available here.