#Remington Thornbolt

[fence-macabre]

Scales of Eidolon - Session Two

A cool night sky settled as Fence Macabre pulled into Freehold’s shores on a small rowboat. It had been decided: with the Moa’ki’s blessing, the Fence would infiltrate Freehold to retrieve the stolen valuables.

Remington Thornbolt, at the helm of the operation, relayed the plan to the others:

Step 1. Sneak in without being detected Step 2. Retrieve the valuables Step 3. Shove them into a portal connected to the ship Step 4. Sneak back out without being detected

Simple enough, right? Too bad Fence failed Step One.

One flare and two dead guards later, their cover was entirely blown. It was now a race to get the stolen goods and get out of there! It wasn’t long before they reached the tower holding the pirates treasure hoard, once again meeting face to face with the pirate captain, Arvon Hornsby!! She and the Quillboar Treasurer drew their weapons on our band of heroes and a bloody fight ensued!

Bullets were zipping past, magic slung overhead, steel sang! Fence Macabre managed to overpower Arvon and her lackey, but not without her pulling one more trick up her sleeve, calling for reinforcements on her dying breath. The pressure was on as the Reliquary warlock, Neil, ripped open the portal that was connected to the rowboat a short distance away. Frantically, everyone threw what they could into the portal before the swarm of pirates was busting down the door!

Fence fled to the top of the tower, quickly realizing that jumping off would be a really bad idea. Remington’s quick thinking came to the rescue as she commanded everyone to jump onto a hoisted rowboat attached to the tower, knocking it loose with the combined weight and safely cushioning the fall!

Fence Macabre successfully escaped Freehold!

Back on Fiona’s Pride, Royalle noted the haul to be about 60-70% of the recovered goods with some miscellaneous gold and gems for payment: in other words, a resounding success! Fence Macabre could breathe easy.

Cap'n Fiona called from the helm, they had picked up a strong current. Next stop, the Dragon Isles!

#scales of eidolon

[thornbolts]

The Shadehelm

(The following is written for our guild campaign in Maldraxxus!)

Her crimson eyes studied the leather bracelet looped around Remington’s wrist. The sinewy cord held a silver wagon wheel symbol in place. “That… looks familiar,” Celaryn mumbled. “Fence… Fence Macabre?”

The mask still rendered the caravan master mute, a precaution against dangerous spellcasters the House of Constructs installed when Remington was captured. The older undead’s eyes crinkled as a hidden smile lifted her expression behind the mask. She bobbed her head yes.

“I had the pleasure of meeting two of yours. Do you know a Dezzie and a Calria?” 

Remington dipped her head once more.

“Ah. I apologize for the twenty questions. This conversation is a bit one-sided.”

“Perhaps I can aid?” A voice piped up from the cell’s corner. The figure there looked like a floating suit of armor pieces possessed by blue light. “I was overhearing your talk, well at least the one side of it.” An arcane light lit up in their metal palm as the figure hovered it before Remington. “I believe I can at least deactivate that muzzle’s magic.”

Rem squinted at the strange humanoid figure then peered at his hand. She shrugged then turned her muzzle toward him.

“This won’t hurt a bit,” he offered as he gripped the metal muzzle’s bottom. With a quick surge of arcane current, a crack spidered down the mask, separating the metal in two. Both pieces clanged to the cold stone floor. “Easy!”

Rem rubbed her jaw. It’s like she hadn’t used it in years. She opened her mouth, testing the joint. It made a sharp click. She’d get it fixed after she was back with the Fence. “Thank ya kindly.” She tipped her chin toward the strange figure. “What’re ya in fer?”

“Me?” The figure pressed a palm against his breastplate. “Let us say I am quite the thorn in the House of Constructs’ side.” He laughed. “My name is Kavar. I’m a Broker. And, yes, I would do it all over again.”

“Remington,” the one-eyed forsaken introduced. “If we’re doing icebreakers, s’pose I’m just a caravan master. Lead a lot of folks in the livin’ world. No idea if they’re okay right now.”

“I’m sure they’re doing fine!” Kavar chuckled. Though his tone did soften with sincerity. “Meditating on negative possibilities does no good.”

Both the broker and the forsaken looked to the elven figure who stared back at them with crimson eyes. “Celaryn,” she averted her gaze. “Just Celaryn, a wandering sword.” Her eyes fell to the floor.

Rem knew that look in other forsaken. Her voice softened as she scooched as much as her manacles would let her toward Celaryn. “Ya’ve been through a lot, haven’t ya?”

A knot choked Celaryn’s throat, partially blocking a shaking breath. Her jaw clenched, and she couldn’t bring herself to meet Rem’s eye. “I’ve… Lost family,” her voice threatened to break as she gripped the iron sword insignia looped around her neck.

A long silence passed. No words needed to be spoken to fill the air. Rem reached out, placing a cold hand on Celaryn’s shoulder. “Tell me about em?”

Celaryn shut her eyes. Her jaw trembled as she fumbled for the first words. “They were rowdy, reckless, and loud, but they cared and would have your back no matter who you were if you were one of their own.”

Rem squeezed Celaryn’s shoulder. “Ya cared fer them a lot too.”

A smooth gemstone slid into Celaryn’s palm. She looked down to the lapis lazuli shard in her hand. Its azure surface glimmered in the cell’s fading torchlight.

“This is the Good Stone.” Rem smiled. “Years ago, someone gave me this when I was in a dark place. Said it’d help good come to me, help me get through the hard days.”

 Celaryn peered at the stone, turning it over in her pale fingers.

“Gave it to me with one caveat,” Rem added as she held up a claw. “If someone needs it more, give it to them.”

Celaryn clenched the stone and cradled it to her heart. “Thank you, Miss Thornbolt.”

“Call me Rem.” The caravan master scratched at her nape with a short chuckle. “No need ta be so formal, Celaryn.” Rem’s pulled her hand from Celaryn’s shoulder and let it rest in her lap. “Ya know, when we get outta here, if ya need a group ta roll with. Ya can come with us.”

“I’ll… I’ll think about it. Though those thoughts must fall to the side if we must focus on escaping first.”

Kavar raised a hand. “Not to intrude on a tender moment, but I’ve already a semblance of a plan in mind.”

“Which is?” Rem shifted her gaze to the broker.

“Have you heard of the Veins which lie below Maldraxxus?” Kavar pointed down at the floor. Both undead raised eyebrows at the question. “Tunnel complexes below the land,” Kavar clarified. “But first: We must gather allies and supplies. You are a caravan master, so your caravan must be outside, yes? I know of a way to smuggle messages. All we need is a coffin, corpse, and phylactery.”

#celaryn #remington thornbolt #guild campaign

[flo-machina]

"Billy," Remington called out as she emerged from the mist surrounding the Respite, a fire-blackened coat draped over her shoulders. "What's yer take on the Dark Lady now considerin' recent events? What do ya think our future is as Forsaken?"

Perhaps surprisingly, Billy does not take long to respond. With a simple shrug he returns to shaking a pail of slop into Popcorn’s trough while responding simply:

“Hain’t much diff’rent than it was before. Never knew her, never spoke to her, never met her directly. Never had any particular attachments on account of everyone told me I was a’spose’d to and I ain’t never cottoned to followin’ someone just for that reason alone outside m’family.”

He taps against the bottom of the pail, the dull clunking shaking off the last bits of miscellaneous foodstuff that not even Billy dared ask the contents of, knowing full and well likely it was probably leftovers from the Haunted Hootenanny. 

“I guess tha’s really th’line. She may be, or have been, our Lady. I know she’s responsible for me bein’ risen again. And… though I don’t regret receivin’ such a gift… I ain’t never asked for it neither, y’know?”

Billy hangs the pail on the fencepost and turns to look at his dear friend Remington, his cheeks puffing into a little smile as he soaks in the company of his Rhetorical Sparring Partner.

“Did you? Did Miss Loira, or Jousu… did any of us ask for this? Am I obliged to this Dark Lady jus’ because she wanted me here? Does her raisin’ me make her my family, or just my Queen?”

Finally, he puts his hands on his hips and looks out into the field. He clicks his tongue. All that dancin’ means he’s gotta re-till it before it’s useful again. 

“I don’t remember who said it or where I heard it from but one time I heard someone much smarter than me say that ‘The Power of Rule Comes from the Consent of the Governed.’ After Miss Anizah explained me what that all meant, I realized that it applies to each an’ every one of us. This Dark Lady ain’t never asked us for that. Or anythin’, as far as I’ve ever known of her in my short time walkin’ this rock again. An’ the last time a bunch of us common folks asked her for a favor, it didn’t go so well... as I’m sure you might’a heard.”

Billy looks deep into Remy’s eyes. Pleadingly, almost.

“So I ask you, Miss Remy… if she’s gon’ be the type that’ll shoot her own people in the back for darin’ to run away from her… where’s the consent lyin’ on that? Am I supposed to think that’s Good Leaderin’? Am I supposed to thank her for not killin’ me yet?”

He finally squorks out a long, heavy sigh. It seems like he’s wanted to say all of this for… quite some time.

“Frankly, Miss Remy, I think whatever our future is, it’s gonna be a lot better from here on out. Why? Because I can say these things now, and not be afraid I’m gonna get kill’t by our Dark Lady for sayin’ em.”

(( Mentions: @hinahinagray, @ms-winford, @alchemicalglow ))

{My muse will be accepting 10 personal questions. All answered with 100% honesty.}

#Fence Macabre #Wyrmrest Accord #WoW RP #Billy Highman #Remington Thornbolt #Full Honesty 8/10

[hugs-not-anonymous]

@thornbolts || cont. from here

The amount of fighting and troublesome situations Jasculs walks into should absolutely concern him more than it does. To him, though, it’s not the situations themselves that concern him; it’s how he always seem to notice those important little details, all because of his paranoia. At least it’s good for something, he supposes.

This time he’s stretching his own wings when he notices four people, their auras sharp and focused on the same person, their hands hovering over their weapons. 

Jasculs can’t help it. He let’s his wings carry him to the ground, trees keeping him hidden. As he glides, Jasculs let’s his spectral vision take in the targetted person’s aura; relaxed but wild, battling itself and the magic clinging to it. It smells of rot.

A Forsaken. Sindorei form it is, then.

Stepping onto the road, he leans against a tree. When the Forsaken gets close, he gives them a smile, the sun catching in his fangs. His face is laid in gentle folds as he steps closer, bowing his head in greeting.

“Hey. Pretend you were waiting for me. You’re being followed,” he speaks calmly as his face is out of sight from the pursuers.

Well... he will admit that wasn’t the reply or reaction he expected. Jasculs supposes it’s good, though, seeing as it shows that this person is familiar in a fight. Still, he is not about to leave someone to fight tooth and nail for their life on tipped scales, no matter how good at fighting they may be.

“Trouble is my middle name,” he replies calmly, something akin to a joking tune in his voice, fingers fiddling with the bracelets around his wrists. “Forcefully adorned to me by my family.”

#.planned parenthood.thread #.remington thornbolt #.not a bloom for demonic screeching and nightmarish howling to rot.main verse #i hope this is alright! #tell me if i have to change anything #& dont worry abt matching my length i like to ramble #.beating hearts beating wings.ic #.partner.rem #.thornbolts

[gale-heart]

If you want numbers from that ask meme, how about 22, 40, and 49?

It has been a week. I am sorry.

22 - Who are their friends? Lovers? ‘Type’ or ‘ideal’ partner?

Friends:

Mel: easygoing ex-conman slash older brother figure, jokes and punches real good

Cyri: impish ex-crow, mischief buddy (and apparently unrequited crush?? Ily’s still trying to wrap her head around that one)

Marbelma: angry dwarf! Lots of cusses and fire and more cusses! Brawl buddies

Luminess: Beacon of Light, a great DJ/singer, perpetual “This is fine” face

Remington: undead gunslinger, head of the Fence Macabre, real good folk

Fiona (and the Fiona’s Pride crew): Ily’s new coworkers/friends! A good bunch of ragtag weirdos

Zamarad: fashion, jewels, gossip, and incurable dry wit

Lovers/“Type”:

Girls, mostly. Pretty girls, jock girls, dangerous girls—just, girls, so long as they’re nice and like cats. (Although broad shoulders and strong arms make her all but swoon on the spot.) There was almost an exception for one man, until he turned out to be kind of a jerk to Ily’s friends. There’s also Ily’s VERY briefly-fake-husband, who was very much not her type save in legal convenience and is very dead now. Right now she’s single and setting romantic interests on the back burner while she works on her own recovery and growth.

40 - How is their sense of humor? Do they have one?

Dry, occasionally morbid, and a prime example of “depressed millennial” humor, with an occasional lean towards absurdity and memes. Thank Mel for that influence.

49 - What about voice? Pitch? Strength? Tempo and rhythm of speech? Pronunciation? Accent?

Low, reserved, and often flat, to the point of unintentionally sounding sullen or cold. Ily doesn’t emote much through her tone of voice until something seriously upsets her or gets her excited. Her voice is also more hoarse now after returning from the Shadowlands.

(A good IRL comparison is Taissa Farmiga as Raven)

——

@vaishino

Tagging for mentions @voidbeer @marbelmasnowshoe @glitchflo @bigdumbchicken @thornbolts @amberhearth

#asks #vaishino #ily has…a lot more friends than I realized #f’s in chat for Mythandos

[edmund-valks]

Ilandreline - The Call

"-and that's how you can extract wickedness and disorder from a wayward soul, drawing into a crystalline matrix to use as a power source," the gnome explained, briefly glancing up from the workbench to smile at her.  The expression normally would have made Ilandreline uncomfortable but for whatever reason, she was into it.  In fact, she found herself leaning over the unfinished power pack to clip her grounding cable next to Dresindra's.  Her hand brushed against the gnome's, causing the latter to look up again.

"I can think of something else I'd like to perform detailed analysis on," Ila began in what was her most seductive voice.  "Why don't we slip into something a little more antistatic and-"

Lina!  Come home!

Her vision shattered as the voice tore through her consciousness on a tide of dark power, breaking the dream into countless mirror shards.  Her grandmother’s voice lingered, like the breath of some hulking monster.  Closing her eyes again didn’t help, so Ila sighed and dragged herself out of bed.  “You win, Granny Laine,” she said around a jaw-splitting yawn.  “See you soon.”

The message wouldn’t carry, it wasn’t that kind of spell, but the Eldest had ways of knowing what her kin were up to.  She’d know well enough that her favourite grandchild was on the way.  Still… Ilandreline didn’t want anyone to worry.  The Fence had always made her feel welcome, and sometimes even understood.  A note was definitely in order.  Three, thinking about it.

The first was easy enough, folded and unsealed, though she addressed it specifically to Remington:

Boss Thornbolt,

Family matter came up unexpectedly.  Don’t know when I’ll be back or if I’ll be able to chat the normal ways.  Some of that stuff acts up when I’m back home, you know?  I think it’s something to do with the convergence of transplanar matrices and some other stuff I just realized you probably don’t care about.  Anyway, I’ll be back in touch soon as I can.  Take care of yourself!

-Ilandreline

The second was similar, though she had to scrounge around her workbench for the crystal that would accompany it:

Miss Winford,

I’ve got to see my grandmother, apparently.  I’m guessing everything’s okay, but whatever it was sounded urgent.  I’ll be back soon, I think, and able to help out with any special projects you might want.

There’s more in my workshop, but the door’s trapped to hell and back, so I recommend entering the magic way.  The crystal in this letter’s envelope should be able to let you in if you use it like a focus.  It’s like a key, except it actually will make your portal really unstable in addition to drawing it to a specific endpoint.  You’re good with portals, though, so I’m sure you can figure out a way to make it work.

Your friend,

Ila

The last note she saved until she’d constructed the aforementioned destination funnel.  It was a simple enough circle -- the runes weren’t difficult, merely delicate -- with most of the heavy lifting being done by the crystal shard at its center.  That was where the little piece she’d left for Loira had cleaved from, so it would call to the keystone, at least based on all the theory she knew.  Once satisfied, she began writing again, this time in a simple cipher.

Loira,

My grandmother’s message was a little alarming, but I’m sure she’s okay.  What I don’t know is how long I’ll have to stay at home to handle whatever came up.  She wants me to follow in her footsteps someday.  I’m worried that day might be coming sooner than I want to consider.  If it’s happening now, I don’t know when I’ll see you next.  Sorry about that.  I’ve enjoyed helping with your special projects.  You always have the most fascinating problems to solve.

Anyway, feel free to use my space (the one you’re in now) for whatever while I’m gone.  I wasn’t kidding about the door being trapped, so I recommend entering only via translocational magic.  I also left out a couple of the other things just in case someone else took that letter.

One: Do not start the forge/furnace without emptying it!  I put a lot of explosives in there along with a couple bricks that will release highly acidic gases if heated.  Please don’t melt yourself!

Two: There’s a small stash of preserved meat in the top drawer of my workbench.  Help yourself if you’re feeling peckish.  I’m pretty sure it works with your metabolism.

Three: If you move my bed, you’ll be able to find a trapdoor of sorts beneath it.  I recommend magic to open it (because it’s heavy and a pain in the ass, not because it’s dangerous).  I’ve got an assortment of reagents there you might have use for -- bones, preserved organs, teeth, etc.  Take whatever you like and don’t worry about replacing it.  I don’t use them as much as I thought I would.

Hopefully I’ll see you again soon.  Please take good care of yourself!  The Respite’s been feeling a lot like home to me, but I don’t know how much that would remain the case if you weren’t around.

Warmest regards,

Ila

The envelope was addressed in simple print to “Miss Loira Winford, Apothecary”.  Beneath that she wrote “From Ilandreline Glimmerbow”, with the initials of their first names aligned in a column.  She put a single box around the two letters, giving her friend the key to the substitution cipher she’d used.

Satisfied that all was in order, Ila tossed two more changes of clothes into her pack and headed out.  Home -- and Granny Laine -- were waiting.

(( tagging for mentions of @ms-winford and @thornbolts ))

#wow rp #warcraft rp #ilandreline glimmerbow #ilandreline #fence macabre

[beekwarcraft]

The Hardest Thing He’s Ever Done

It was a warm, quiet evening for Duke Aldavir as the crickets chirped outside the tent. Tensions were high at Varok’s Watch and morale was becoming strained as the days dragged on. It just seemed like the bad news only got worse and worse… Zori, the love of his life, was out on a mission which left Duke alone to prepare supper for her return.

It was a nice little distraction from the things that weighed on his mind. But he couldn’t keep putting it off forever… He sighed, letting his shoulders relax as he left dinner to keep warm, turning his attention to a small table by their bed.

The blue-eyed elf ran a hand through his hair and pulled out a parchment in the candlelight of their comfortably-made home away from home. He was worn and he was tired but always, somehow, he persevered. He always had a gut feeling that warned him about things to come, but this time, he could prepare if instinct wouldn’t be enough.

His brow furrowed as ink was placed on parchment.

Last Will & Testament

Of

Marmiduke Aldavir

I, Marmiduke Aldavir, a resident of the Valley of the Four Winds of Pandaria, being of full age and of sound mind and memory, do hereby make, publish and declare this to be my Last Will and Testament, hereby revoking any and all wills and codicils by me heretofore made.

I appoint and nominate Remington Thornbolt of the Fence Macabre as Executor of this my Last Will and Testament.

FIRST: I declare that I am engaged to Zori, to which I have referred to herein as my “fiancée” and that I have one adopted child now living whose name is Casiblanca Esclarmonde.

All references to “my child” in this will include the above-named child and also any child hereafter born or adopted by me.

SECOND: I declare that I do not wish to be risen into undeath and that I direct that the expenses of my funeral and cremation be paid out of my estate and be handled by my Head of House, Corneilian Aldavir, as he sees fit.

THIRD: I give, devise, and bequeath to my fiancée our home and fortune if she survives me--

It’s here that Duke pauses in his writing. He stares at that sentence for the longest time. A deep frown settles into his worn features. His heart hurt and he felt it well in his eyes. 

The farmer slowly set down his pen and rested his face in his hands in silence as he took a long slow breath. 

The stress all at once surging from his aching muscles, bubbling in his chest, and threatening to come up from his throat 

as he quietly 

choked out a sob.

#Kingdom Come WRA #duke entry

[haimeart]

Commissions for @thornbolts

Remington Thornbolt belong to  @thornbolts

Cesta Rosewood  belong to   @embersoot​

#World of Warcraft #WoW #ren'dorei #forsaken #my art #my commission

[kharrisdawndancer]

What are her daydreams filled with today? (For Khaeris and for Kharris!)

Today, Khaeris drank a Daydream inducing cider from Darlain, at the Howling Owl event. She wandered a bit, looking for a tarot booth halfheartedly, and thought about what she was going to spend the next few days doing. She bought a candle and daydreamed about what she’d need to buy for her excursions she has planned. She’s planning to go to the Vale and help out--alchemy, healing, whatnot. She just wants to DO something. So she thought about potion ingredients. That let her mind wander to the rings she bought from Remington, and if she could work in the shared dreaming potions she’d made a few years ago, and if so, how that would change how the enchantment worked... And so on. Nothing too terribly exciting, but it’s more daydreaming than she usually does! Kharris didn’t really daydream today. She worked at the ATS Barge, but at lunch she went to the rooftop and lounged.  Her mind did wander some, then, but mostly onto Uldum and what was happening there. She thought about telling Asarel they should go out there and help with the efforts. She daydreamed about taking a small force of ATS acquisition specialists to some of the ruins and clearing some of the corruption. mentions @darbiebot @thornbolts @murmuring-shadows

[fence-macabre]

Rem’s Deathday Closing Speech

Well here we are at the end 'a our night, people from all walks of life, from all corners 'a this world standin' out in the Silverpine cold with firelights in hand. Feels kinda surreal, huh? Hell, take a sec to savor it and be in the moment. Ain't often life brings folks together like this.

The undead smiled, looking over her skeletal hand.

Back when everythin' changed fer me and I became what I am today, I'd never 'a thought this'd happen, but here we are. Kinda feels like I'm in a dream; Alliance, Horde, Neutral, everythin' in between... We've all had our transformations, our moments where life throws ya off course inta a stormy sea.

We've all had times where Change tears pages outta our books and replaces 'em with jumbled words that don't make a lick 'a sense when we look at 'em in the moment. All 'a us have had our hard times, our struggles, our demons loomin' over our shoulders.

All 'a us want perfect stories from beginnin' ta the end. But that ain't how stories work; if everythin's easy and nothin' meaningful happens from beginnin' ta end, then it's a boring-ass story.

Remington craned her head up to the starry sky.

In the same way some poems don't rhyme, some stories don't got clear beginnin's, middles, or ends.

Livin's all about not knowin' what Change'll write fer yer story next. Livin's all about takin' those moments where Change throws ya off course and makin' the best outta the detours it throws ya on. Livin's all about trustin' that you'll make it ta the next page 'a yer story stronger and better than ya were.

Remington swept her one-eyed gaze across each face in the crowd with a hopeful smile.

It's never the end so long's ya still got words in yer book. Keep turnin' the page. Yer the main character.

#deathday #fence macabre #world of warcraft #remington thornbolt #Wyrmrest Accord #moon guard

[thornbolts]

Crash Landing

S-O-S

“Calling all Fence! Where the hell are y’all?!” Nothing but static played over the communicator as Remington fanned the hammer on an incoming squad of six Chosen soldiers coming over the hill. Six shots made six corpses. The earth rumble under her spurs as a gargantuan abomination bigger than a barn charged toward her.

The brute’s massive frame would have trampled her if she didn’t shed her physical form. Fading into a cloud of shadows, she shifted through the abomination and jammed her shortsword into its spine. The construct roared louder than a hundred angry bears. Like a pair of icepicks, she stabbed her way up the abomination’s back and climbed onto its stitched nape. The cold metal barrels of her sawed-off pressed against the back of goliath’s thick skull. Rotting brain matter mixed with gunsmoke as she squeezed the trigger.

“Up there on the corpse!” Rem barely had time to react before the whistle of arrows cut through the putrid air and homed in on her. She scrambled off the abomination. A surge of pain shot up her arm. Her eye fell to the source, a serrated arrow punched through the bicep, shattering the humerus. No time to reload the sawed-off with a dozen pairs of sabatons beating against the ground and converging on Rem’s position.

She squeezed the familiar grip of her single-action pistol and swung the cylinder out. It was time to tap into her reserves. Rem jammed her eyes shut and whispered. “Ash. Annihilate. Burn.” As she spoke those haunting words, a malevolent presence answered the call. It spoke alongside her voice like a discordant demon mimicking her.

A̷s̵h̵.̵ ̷A̶n̷n̸i̵h̶i̵l̴a̵t̸e̸.̴ ̵B̴u̸r̴n̶.̶

Each syllable grated the ears like raking claws, the very sound like an anti-thesis to reality itself, an abomination to all that was sound. She let the presence take the wheel. Her eyes flared with shadowflame. The roaring blaze flowed down the neck and surged to all her limbs to engulf her entire body. The pain was nigh-unbearable, but she forced herself through as she trained both eyes on her pistol’s cylinder. She forced down the urge to scream, choking her voice down in the pit of her throat and locking it there.

She would’ve given in if the will to stay alive wasn’t greater. With a restrained growl, she directed the chaotic flame and forced it into her pistol. It was like corraling an angry swarm of wasps jabbing your hand. Each chamber of the pistol flared like a grim furnace. Ghostly smoke wafted out from each as Rem peeked out from behind the abomination’s corpse and squeezed the trigger.

The pistol’s recoil kicked harder than a quad-barreled shotgun. Shadowflame roared out of the barrel and engulfed the dozen enemy soldiers in a gigantic fireball. The only thing remaining was the ash in the wind.

All strength in her limbs withered as she crumpled to the ground. Her palms hissed with still-smoking burns. Despite fighting to keep her eyelids open, they grew heavier by the second.

“She’s a caster!” the yell echoed in her ringing eardrums as darkness overtook her vision. Exhaustion. Pain. Hunger. All these lost sensations returned at the worst possible time. What was this place?

She awoke to tightened manacles around her wrists and ankles. Shifting even slightly raked the cold metal against the skin. Rem groaned. Her dry mouth and parched throat felt on fire as her vision acclimated to her surroundings, a cramped cell packed with maldraxxi undead. Some were already corpses. Some were pretty close, missing limbs entirely or haphazardly thrown into the room still bleeding.

--

Captured

A pair of red eyes peered across the room and met her purple gaze. “You’re the newest, huh?”

Rem opened her mouth to find her speech blocked by a metal mask strapped over the lower half of her face. She made out a silhouette in the darkness across from her chains. Two pointed ears poked out of disheveled snow-colored hair. The figure across from her sat criss-crossed, her metal jaw perched onto her pale fist. All Rem could offer in response was a muffled groan to the other prisoner.

“Shit. Forgot about the Spellguard. You’ve been muzzled,” she said as those red eyes inspected the metal mask. “They only do that for dangerous magical inmates. Must’ve given them a real fight.”

Rem stared back at the elvish figure.

“Blink once for yes. Twice for no.”

Her purple eyes flickered once.

“Good,” the figure growled.  “Every casualty of theirs means an easier time breaking out of here.”

Rem pulled against her wrist’s manacles. The metal dug into her flesh, jabbing against the bone. She winced and flicked her eyes up to each one in sequence. The runes carved into the restraints hummed.

“No use. Chains don’t come off unless they bring in one of the liches to break the spell.”

Rem tipped her chin toward the figure across from her. The gesture’s meaning managed to get across: ‘Who’re you?’

“Celaryn,” the figure offered. “Just Celaryn.” Celaryn panned her crimson gaze across the room filled with maldraxxi in varying states of decay. “Been a while since an Azerothian was down here with us.”

( @slaughterjaw​ )

#fence macabre #guild campaign! #remington thornbolt #celaryn

[flo-machina]

🍿 (Billy to any of the Thornbolts)

Cold, dead flesh struggled against rusted iron bonds in the dark, the heavy chains rattling with every slight movement. The low jangle reverberated quickly against the walls before fading away in this tiny room of confinement. It was the only sound to be heard besides the pained, choking squorkles of one Billy Highman.

How long had he been there? Why was he there? Where was he?

Billy had no answers to any of the questions that plagued him, nor did he have his clothes, his affects... His bolo tie. No means of reaching his friends, no means of accomplishing anything but to shiver and quietly cry in vain...

"Muh... M-m-Miss Remy... Wh-where are you... I n-need help... Please... Help me..."

Billy then curled up on himself as he wept as the chains encircled him and held him tight.

He tried to sleep. He tried, desperately, to dream.

But he could do neither.

#Remington Thornbolt #Billy Highman #Fence Macabre #WoW RP #World of Warcraft #wyrmest accord

[hugs-not-anonymous]

@thornbolts || cont. from here

Trashing about in the metal ribcage of Corpsesickle, Jasculs claws violently at the ribs, screaming his lungs out. He slams his entire body against whatever part of Corpsesickle he can reach in a frantic attempt at breaking through his body and out into the open, but his ribs just. Won’t. Budge.

Jasculs’ head screams even louder than he does, and his entire body is violently shaking. It feels as though he’s on fire, all the while being stuck beneath a frozen lake, every single one of his nerves blaring in alarm at the situation where his captor is going to eat him- and yet, that’s not what Jasculs is worried about, it’s not what’s on his mind at all as he wails and roars, mind chasing itself in circles.

He can’t get out. He’s stuck and he can’t get out and he’s going to waste so much time being stuck here, and his family will never know what happened to him- and please, someone, please, just let him out.

All his senses are nothing but white noise and meaningless buzzing and information he can’t grasp, nerves quite too busy freaking out to notice anything but the thick, strangling air and the presence of lack of space all around him, and thus Jasculs doesn’t notice Remington. 

Thankfully, Corpsesickle seems to follow Rem’s plan better than Jasculs. He gets all grumpy and annoyed with how much the food is moving and looks down to focus on Jasculs, making sure he doesn’t spontaneously escape, and stops looking where he’s going. With the force of Jasculs slamming himself into the sides of his ribcage, Corpsesickle gets thrown off balance and then off course when he regains it, though he doesn’t notice, far too busy trying to make his food keep still.

Not long after, they’re on the bridge.

#.not a bloom for demonic screeching and nightmarish howling to rot.main verse #.thornbolts #.partner.rem #.remington thornbolt #.beating hearts beating wings.ic #.planned parenthood.thread #tw panic attack #tw claustrophobia

[illidariyoungblood]

Adarlassa snorted a laugh and shrugged.

"I, personally, did a little more than kiss a demon." Kind of... ripped its heart out and devoured it. "But I did it for reasons other than anyone else's appreciation. I'm sure there is, somewhere, at least one demon hunter who did what they did for appreciation but I don't know any like that." Any who went into the Ceremony with only 'appreciation' as a goal to center them likely didn't survive to even become an illidari, much less last long.

"Most people see us and they don't see the elf, they just see the demon. Probably like how when they look at you, they don't see a person, they just see..." She paused to gesture towards Remington. Honestly, she couldn't see enough detail to say much more, but she felt her point would make its way across anyhow. "To most, we're just smelly affronts to life and nature. Or something."

The serpent let out a loud rumble of a snore that vibrated down his spine and into his tail where the two sat. Adarlassa grinned behind her mask and scratched the golden scales affectionately.

"This is Luu. I am Adarlassa." She stood to bow politely, then immediately dropped back to her seat, armor clicking almost inaudibly even at such close proximity. "And I'm sorry the beer is not to your liking. But I am glad to give you something to do other than... ceiling gazing."

( @thornbolts )

#(it won't let me add a link)

[unabashedrebel]

The Creeps pt. 3- An Untimely End

{Pt1, Pt2}

The unlikely pair of Remington and Kirollis continued their trek down south through the dark and eerie forest. Or, at least dark and eerie to some. It made more sense for them to take the pass south of Fenris Isle and passed the far side of the Deep Elem mines. Figuring it the quickest route to the desired destination with the sense that on the loop back around on the main road would be sufficient to canvas the area. With the help of that eye in the sky the task seemed simple enough.

There was no denying that the shortcut was quicker and safer. But it was also a lot more dull. Casual conversation between the pair of questionable outlaws started with a brief explanation of the Forsaken they searched for. A man torn between his prior life and the new one. Usually dressed in tattered and dirty formal wear suited for a banker. A dislocated jaw that he never cared to fix, which Kirollis explained was how he learned Gutterspeak to begin with. And jet black hair that had lost several patches over the years. While it wasn’t the best description he could offer, it was at least something.

Though in that stroll their conversation returned into casual talk of ghostly politics. A topic previously broached that seemed to have piqued the rogues attention. In good fashion even appreciating Remy’s take on the matter.

As the pair reared out of the wood-barren pass and into the back of Ambermill the Sin’dorei quickly pointed out at the cabin ahead, “I think we’re here pal. What’cha say you go left I go right and we meet in the middle?”

The place looked abandoned, just as Remy had mentioned earlier. Just a collection of run down structures of what was once a quaint human settlement. Some cabins and a barn still defiantly standing against the test of time. Others crumbled under the weight of poor weather, termites, and clumsy adventurers. While few, elemental constructs still stalked the ground with the slooshing sounds of water and against mud as the moved like eerie spectral guardians.

While all was unusually quiet in the ghostly town it made the hairs on the back of the rogues neck stand at attention. There was absolutely no doubt that he meant what he said when they first met; This place gave him the creeps.

{ @thornbolts }

#rp #canon #unlikely outlaws #remy & kiro

[foxfictioncentral]

@thornbolts

SEND ME A URL AND I’LL WRITE SOME POSITIVITY FOR IT || thank you, @ms-winford (who tumblr wont let me tag. thanks, tumblr) ! @thornbolts for mention

i havent known about thornbolts, chortlerip, embersoot or strifetamer for very long, but i remember when i first read abt them- it was a blogroll post that @unabashedrebel reblogged, i believe, & i was immediately captivated by the concepts & ideas for these characters. i followed all rem’s blogs immediately, & i read a lot of their writing

rem is one of those creators where ive immediately known ive wanted to interact w/ them. theyre one of those people who i’ve looked at & gone “you. youre cool & your characters a rly rly interesting & out of the ordinary”. idk, all the things they do just seem so… refreshing & i rly like that

rem has also been one of the most engaging & interactive people ive ever come across in the rpc. like, two sentence starter later & remington & jasculs’ relationship is just… following wherever the threads takes us. we’ve both thrown ideas @ them, advancing the plots by just letting the characters do their thing. i dont think ive ever had jasculs immediately click with someone in an rp this well, even though their relationship is still somewhat undefinable

the tl;dr here is: rem is an absolute bomb rp partner, their characters are real fucking interesting & unique, & theyre a real neat person

#.answered #.partner.rem #.partner appreciation #.yowling #.ms-winford