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sekhisadventures · 1 year

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Remembrance

Valdrakken

Sekhi padded through the city alongside her friends Galdia and Nitika, the group preparing to head to the Ohn’ahran Plains. There was a holdout group of Nokhud left, but a group of adventurers had joined with the centaur of Maaruki and had put a decisive end to their civil war, and the Nokhud’s leader, Balakar Khan. That being said, some of his clan were still refusing to answer for their actions against Ohn’ahra and the Green Dragonflight and thus the call went out for those willing to help them mop up the last of the traitorous clan.

Sekhi was anxious about it, but she had heard Ohn’ahra’s song when the wild god was imprisoned by the Primalists and forced to use it’s powers against it’s will. It felt to the vulpera like being stabbed in the heart to hear such a being in that state, and so she wanted to help.

As they walked along the path towards the road out of town another figure watched them, chewing a bit of stick in an annoyed way.

Leaning against a wall was Jeemjazo, who was still annoyed at Sekhi for revealing his location to her family, and likely his own. “Hmph, wonder where she’s goin’…” he grumped.

“Mrglblblrlb.” came the reply as the murloc, Murgly Jim, peeked over his shoulder.

“What? Can’t I be curious?” he asked, frowning at the young fishman. “It ain’t like I’m worried about Sekhi... I mean lookit th’ orc ‘n tauren with ‘er! Must be nice ta have mates who’re big enough ta kick th’ shite outta someone threatenin’ ya…”

“Mblghb.” burbled Murgly Jim.

Jeemjazo snorted, “I ain’t jealous… just ‘cause she has mates who can speak more than fish-sounds ‘n such.” he grumbled.

Murgly Jim narrowed his large eyes, then slapped his fin against Jeemjazo’s cheek and gave him a rather fishy look. “Mblghhbhb.” babbled the murloc, pointing a fin at the trio as they headed towards the gates.

Jeemjazo frowned at him, “What? Ye think I should tail ‘er? I… yeah, yanno that’s th’ ticket. Follow ‘em, then when they get ta whatever they’re after we’ll nick it first ‘n steal their thunder! I mean, I am a bloody pirate!” he grinned.

Murgly Jim shrugged his little shoulders, “Mbrblbublb.” he replied.

Jeemjazo waited until they were almost out of the gates, then started to follow at a distance, grinning to himself, his tail swishing behind him.

Ahead of him Nitika and Galdia shared a look. “Someone is following us…” muttered Galdia.

Nitika nodded, “Yeah, but I don’t think it’s a problem. If they’re this bad at it, we shouldn’t be in any danger.” she replied.

Sekhi was too distracted by the task ahead to pay attention to either of them, however.

Nitika and Galdia were right, but they got one detail wrong… Jeemjazo wasn’t the only one tailing them. In the sky above them, hidden by powerful magic, several eyes watched them go. Two small yellow ones, and several large purple ones…

The Ohn’ahran Plains, a few hours later.

Sekhi, Galdia, and Nitika rode along the path towards the meeting place where they would meet with Tomul and the other members of Clan Shikaar. Sekhi was riding her hyena, Cello, and as always Galdia was astride the undead form of Nightpelt, her worg who had been graciously given a new body by the Stitchmasters of Maldraxxus after she had found his soul wandering the forests of Ardenweald. Nitika’s mount hovered several inches off the ground as she glided along next to them, the tauren being adept at weaving and having made herself a magic carpet to ride upon.

As they turned the path however they saw a familiar figure heading towards their destination.

Laura Brightflame, the dracthyr, was riding one of the strange horse-like vorquin native to the isles, the woman looking over as she saw them.

“Hey!” called Sekhi, waving to her as they drew close, their mounts slowing. “You goin’ to help th’ centaur too?” she asked as Laura slowed her own mount to a stop.

“Er, yes actually. I… am not comfortable fighting, but I am able to heal so I felt I would offer my services treating those who get injured in the fight.” she nodded.

“Really?” grunted Galdia, “You kicked plenty of ass back when we first landed. Roasted that Primalist right down to a skeleton!” she grinned.

Laura winced, “I… honestly barely remember that…” she admitted, “It is all a blur to me, I believe I was not entirely myself that day and… I remembered things when the Primalists attacked us.” she nodded. “It triggered something, but…” she trailed off, glancing away.

Nitika sighed, patting her shoulder, her huge tauren hand almost engulfing it. “Don’t force it Laura. I understand. I was going to leave the fighting to Sekhi and Galdia and heal the others too, we can work together there.” she smiled.

As they talked Sekhi’s ears suddenly perked up. “Huh?” she blinked, looking around.

Galdia glanced at her, “Whats up? Hear something?” she asked.

Sekhi nodded, “Yeah, something… weird…” she frowned, getting off Cello and walking towards the grass, away from the path and into a large field nearby. “It sounds… really off, like…” she shook her head a bit.

Nitika and Galdia shared a glance, then dismounted as well. A moment later Laura joined them, the women following Sekhi as she followed her ears, well away from the road and into a secluded glade near a large hill. “Its comin' from here…” she muttered, feeling around her feet… then finding something.

A hyena totem, covered in a foul ichor. Her muzzle wrinkled and she stepped back quickly. “EWIE! Its one of those gnoll totems!” she gagged, shaking her head as the song of Decay got louder in her ears.

Nitika frowned, “Why is it here though?” she asked, “The gnolls stick to the Azure Span, don’t they?”

Galdia looked around, growling as she unsheathed her sword and slid her arm into the leather straps on her shield. “Nitika…” she warned.

Nitika nodded, gripping her stave. “Yeah… I feel it too, we’re not alone…” she replied.

Sekhi looked around, then suddenly she went rigid. “I hear her…” she chittered, her tail floofing out. “EVERYONE! LOOK OUT! ITS DIS-…” she shouted, trying to warn them, then suddenly the gnoll totem ignited with felfire!

Sekhi cried out, falling to her knees and gripping her head as the song of Decay became a cacophony pounding into her psyche! More green flames burst from the grasses nearby, revealing other hidden totems as well! She tried to reach for the elements, but it was like a crowd of voices screaming into her ears! She couldn’t hear anything else!

Galdia and Nitika yelled in alarm, trying to run to her… but then the nearby bushes exploded as a wall of muscle and rage rushed towards Galdia! Az’arad the Wrathguard grinned wickedly at her, slamming his axe down with enough force to drive the orc back even as she got her shield up in time.

Nitika almost reached her, but then a cackling filled her ears as a mass of tentacles and fangs appeared before her, blasting her with a burst of shadowy energy and causing her to stumble backwards in shock! She rallied and got a shield up just in time to block a blast of felfire as Xel’kek became visible before her, Quzgup the imp riding atop the observer demon. “Have you now tauren!” cackled the imp.

There was a sudden woosh of sound behind them, then a crash as a black drake landed on the dirt between them and their mounts. Dissonantia grinned down at them, her wings spread, as she sat atop the dragon she’d bound into service with her fel magic. “Bloody right we do…” she sneered, “Took me a bit ta figure out th’ best way ta use those gnoll totems I filched in th’ Span… but corrupt ‘em with fel and they’ll scramble Sekhi’s eggs right proper!”

She was right too, Sekhi looked like she was going to be sick! The vulpera shamaness was on all fours as wave after wave of vertigo hit her. The decay totems, misused by the rothide gnolls as they were already, would make her feel uncomfortable at best… but with Dissonantia’s curses twisting the elements it was unbearable!

Galdia growled and tried to rush past Az’arad, but the Wrathguard blocked her again, shoving her back with his axe and proving an immobile wall of flesh. Nitika was similarly blocked by Xel’kek and Quzgup, the two launching blasts of felfire and shadow if she tried to rescue her friend!

As they were held at bay there was a swirl of flames and Cenoon appeared, brandishing a long thin dagger as he walked casually towards the vulpera. “Not my favorite way of dispatching a troublesome foe… I’d prefer seducing her into my bed and slitting her throat after we had some fun. You know, make sure she dies with a smile on her face…” he chuckled, reaching down to grasp at her fur as he aimed the dagger towards her throat… “But it’ll do…”

Laura had frozen the second Sekhi had cried out, the dracthyr gripping her staff infront of her like a shield as she looked between the demons and their mistress, and then her eyes focused on the dragon… and her expression became strange.

She saw it’s eyes, the felfire within them, and the dragon’s expression… it wasn’t happy about any of this. It was clear it didn’t want to be Dissonantia’s mount, or to allow this to take place at all… but it had no choice! Dissonantia was controlling it!

Laura blinked slowly… “Control…” she whispered. “… she’s… using magic to control him…”

The Forbidden Reach, 20,000 years ago

“Lord Neltharion wants to use magic to control us!” shouted Jakrostrasz in anger. “He has a titan device that will allow him to enslave our very minds!” The red-scaled dracthyr stomped around the main room of their creche, his tail thrashing behind him in fury. “Does he not believe we would be loyal without it?! Does he truly feel that we would not gladly lay our lives down for the Aspects if they’d simply ask?!”

Laurelgosa shook her head, “This is disturbing news Jakrostrasz… I know he and the other aspects are worried about the Primalist Rebellion, but would he really go so far as mind control to ensure our loyalty?” she frowned, she didn’t want to believe it… Then another dracthyr, one with shining golden scales, spoke up.

“You’d better believe it Laurelgosa, I saw it with my own eyes. He didn’t see me nearby, but he went to the Ebon Scales creche earlier today when I was visiting my friend Onnestia and…” she shuddered, “… their eyes… he just waved it and their eyes glowed and they all fell in immediately. It was… they all had the same exact movements, the same exact expression… it was like they became his puppets.”

Laurelgosa cringed at the thought, “Dazene… this…” she looked down at her hands in disbelief, flexing her scaled digits. “Does Lord Neltharion not trust us? Does he feel like we need to be controlled like this? I… I can’t… why is he doing this?”

Jakrostrasz growled, “I don’t care to find out. As far as I’m concerned Lord Neltharion has betrayed our trust in him. I say we leave, tonight. Azeroth is vast, we can find some new land to settle on far away from this war. If he won’t believe in us, why should we believe in him?!” he snapped.

Laurelgosa stared, “Jakrostrasz… I…” she took a breath, “You’re right. He has gone too far. The Primalists are a true threat to our world, but to use such methods… if he would force us to obey him, then he is not worthy of our trust.”

Suddenly, there was a loud crash as the doors to the creche burst open, and several dracthyr entered in perfect lock step with a man between them. The man had long dark hair and wore obsidian plated armor, and on his right arm was a shining metal gauntlet.

Jakrostrasz’s eyes widened in horror, “No…” he whispered, “RUN! DON’T LOOK AT IT!” he shouted as he spread his wings out.

Neltharion scowled and held the gauntlet high as Laurelgosa heard Jakrostrasz gasp, then slowly his wings lowered as he stood at attention.

“… Jakrostrasz?” she tried.

Neltharion gestured, and the red-scaled dracthyr turned, and Laurelgosa cried out as she saw her friend’s impassive face, his eyes shining with the light of order magic.

“NO! Jakrostrasz! Fight it! Don’t let him do this to us!” she shouted.

“He can’t hear you anymore.” said Neltharion as he advanced. “You are my talons, nothing more. Talons should not be free to argue with their master.”

Laurelgosa stumbled backwards, but as she did she was grabbed from behind. She looked back and saw Dazene’s face, the dracthyr having glimpsed the gauntlet when Neltharion used it before. Just a second was enough for the titan device to take hold of her, overriding her will.

“N-no… not this… Lord Neltharion… why?!” she gasped out, her eyes wide and frightened.

“You don’t need to know. All you need to do is obey me.” he replied, raising the gauntlet once more… and just like that, Laurelgosa stopped caring. She stopped worrying about anything. Nothing mattered to her now, nothing but Lord Neltharion’s will.

She stood at attention with the others, awaiting his command. Unable to think of anything but following the commands of the Earthwarder.

The Ohn’ahran Plains, Present Day

Laurelgosa stared at the black dragon, seeing how defeated it looked, how helpless it was… all the fight beaten out of it, leaving it nothing more than Dissonantia's slave, and she felt something she hadn’t felt since before she woke up in the Forbidden Reach the day Raszageth escaped.

She felt anger. She felt disgusted, downright furious at what she was seeing. Dissonantia was using her power to break the dragon’s will, to force it to obey her, to destroy any chance it had of dissent or argument or even disagreement. It would obey her no matter what she made it do… no matter how horrible or terrible or atrocious her commands, it was bound to obey her.

Then she remembered who she was before Neltharion’s gauntlet had controlled her, and suddenly the idea of fighting wasn’t uncomfortable at all anymore.

“Never… never will I allow this in my sight again… EVER!” she roared as her visage was blasted away in an eruption of magic, Dissonantia’s head snapping towards her just in time to see a blue-scaled dracthyr taking flight towards her.

“Wots th- OH BUGGER!” she shouted as Laurelgosa slammed into the warlock, catching her throat with her arm and knocking her free of the dragon’s back and onto the ground.

The four demons with her froze as they saw their Mistress getting thrown from her mount! Laurelgosa landed atop the worgen, pinning her to the ground and baring her fangs in Dissonantia’s face. “UNDO YOUR MAGIC! FREE HIM!” she demanded.

Dissonantia glared back at her, snarling like a feral wolf, “MAKE ME YEZ OVERGROWN IGUANA!” she barked, kicking the dracthyr hard in the middle, but Laurelgosa held on.

“Very well…” she hissed, and flames began to flicker between her fangs as she breathed in.

Dissonantia’s eyes widened. She could handle Nelen’s arcane magic in her new form, but dragon fire was something she wasn’t keen on testing her demonic resilience with! She growled, then shouted out, “AZZY YE GREAT LUMP! GET HER TH' FECK OFFA ME!”

Both Az’arad and Galdia had been distracted by Laurelgosa’s sudden attack, but the Wrathguard recovered a fraction quicker. He backhanded Galdia across the head, sending her to the ground as her inner ear was sent spinning, then roared and charged at Laurelgosa, kicking the dracthyr hard in the ribs! Dissonantia was a warlock and a summoner, a Wrathguard could kick a LOT harder than she could! Laurelgosa went flying just as her mouth opened, and when the smoke cleared Dissonantia’s crimson eyes were huge as she glanced at a still burning patch of ground two inches to her left.

“… good timin’ Azzy.” she said weakly, several large stones had melted from the heat of the dracthyr’s breath.

The warlock quickly got to her feet and growled, then her head snapped around as she heard a loud cry of “LOK’TAR OGAR!” and saw Galdia racing towards her! She grimaced and slashed open a portal with her dagger, a swarm of bilescourge erupting from it and forcing the orc back.

“CENOON! STOP PISSIN’ ABOUT ‘N GUT THE DAMN VULPERA ALREADY!” she snapped.

Cenoon snapped out of the show and glared down at Sekhi, aiming the dagger towards her… and suddenly there was a crimson blur and a loud ‘murgleburlbe!’ and Sekhi wasn’t there!

Jeemjazo’s eyes were wild as he bolted as fast as he could, holding the shamaness’ limp form tightly. “Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck…” he whined. He’d just caught up to them when Dissonantia sprang her ambush and while he wanted to help bravado aside he was one vulpera with a cutlass, axe, and pistol and they were several powerful demons, their warlock master, and a black dragon! It took a lot more than being a ‘Hardbitten Bloodsail Buccaneer’ to counter THAT!

Cenoon swore in demonic and the incubus pulled a thorn-covered whip from the air in a flash of felfire, lashing out at Jeemjazo and catching the vulpera by the leg as he went sprawling! Sekhi fell from his grasp as Murgly Jim was launched out of his backpack, tumbling head over heels across the grass!

Jeemjazo whined and tugged at the whip tangled around his leg, cursing frantically as he tried to free himself, and then Sekhi coughed at him. “Jeem… t-th’ totems… gotta… get rid of ‘em…” she gasped out.

Jeemjazo looked at her, then at the advancing incubus who was looking very annoyed at his actions... He let out a whimper and quickly he pulled out his pistol, aimed it at one of the felfire-coated totems, and opened fire! There was a loud bang and the ball flew through the air, smashing the totem to splinters as the felfire went out… but it was one totem, and Jeemjazo’s pistol was a flintlock! It took time to reload! “Fuuuuuck where’d I put th' pooooowder…” he chittered in panic, patting his hips frantically as Cenoon drew within reach of him.

There are times, when things are their most dire, that heroes will somehow break their limits and perform acts of incredible power that seem to ignore the very laws of reality…

This is one of those… just… not who you might think.

Behind them a figure stood, pulled out a wand made of coral, and said “In the name of my father and his fathers, come forth my brethren! I call you back from the Great Ocean of the Shadowlands!”

… at least, that’s what it said in his language. It came out instead as “MURGLBLEBLRBLBLRBULBLR!”

There was a sound like waves rushing at the height of a storm as Cenoon looked up, then the incubus’s jaw dropped, “… what in all th-…” was all he got out before a spectral murloc tackled him on the face, and then five more joined it knocking him onto the grass!

Sekhi looked around weakly as Jeemjazo finally regained his senses enough to draw his cutlass and simply CUT Cenoon’s whip away. The vulpera pirate leapt to his feet and drew his axe as well as he looked behind him to see a massive swirling vortex of anima, and pouring out of it was a swarm of murloc ghosts!

“MURMGLBLBLLGLRRL!” they shouted in unison, which would likely have sounded a lot more impressive if it wasn’t in murloc, as they charged forward as one great mob driving the incubus into full retreat! A murloc wasn’t a dangerous foe, but a whole school of them was a different matter! Cenoon couldn’t fight that many at once!

“M-Mistress Dissonantia?! We have a situation here!” he called out, lashing out with his whip and dagger which seemed to go straight through the aquatic apparitions! As they rushed him they also trampled through the field of fel-corrupted totems, smashing them to pieces!

Sekhi shook her head as the screaming in her mind died down, getting to her feet and coughing away the last of her nausea as she looked around her in shock, “Uh… that’s one yip of a trick Jeem…” she said.

“I AIN'T DOIN’ IT!” shouted the vulpera pirate as he watched the chaos unfold, his eyes huge, “I THOUGHT THIS WAS SOME SHAMAN THING!” he yelped.

Sekhi blinked, “Wait… if you’re not doin’ it, ‘n I’m not doin’ it…” she started, then they both looked back behind her.

Murgly Jim was sitting on the grass, playing with a piece of red coral. He looked up at them and said, “Mrublbl?” in a curious way.

The two vulpera shared a look, then Sekhi shook her head, “Nah, no way.” she chuckled awkwardly.

Jeem nodded in agreement, “Yeah, he’s just a baby.” he replied, scooping up the murloc and tucking him back into his shell on Jeemjazo’s back.

Murlgy Jim settled down and tucked the red coral wand away. His father, the chieftain of the village, had told him that it held the power to call their ancestors in times of great need before he’d been turned into a pile of meat and bones by a crashing pirate ship. Murgly Jim was glad it wasn’t just an old legend. He rather liked travelling with Jeemjazo and didn’t want the incubus to kill him.

Across the battlefield Dissonantia looked on in disbelief, “WHO TH' FECK CAN SUMMON MURLOC GHOSTS?!” she demanded, looking back at Galdia as the orc dodged another swarm of imps from her before she growled and flexed her claws. “Right then, fine! Feck it! Wotever! I ain’t leavin’ until I see some blood today!” she bared her fangs, then slashed the air again with her dagger, “YEZ IS UP NEWBIE!” she barked.

Galdia ducked away from the last swarm of imps as they exploded, leaving a crater in the dirt, then charged towards Dissonantia as a figure burst out of the portal, it’s hands wreathed in felfire.

“YEAAAAAAHA!” whooped Gremori Autumnleaves as she leapt out, slamming her fist into Galdia’s shield hard enough to make the orc stumble, the mag’har growling and lashing out with her sword as the felsworn ducked away just in time to avoid losing an arm.

Nearby Laurelgosa flew above Az’arad, spewing a blast of flames down at the Wrathguard. All hesitation, all fear, all confusion was forgotten. She finally remembered who she was before all that had occurred, and she rejoiced in the clarity that had been restored to her. There would be issues, there always were with that sort of trauma, but those could be dealt with later. For now, she was an evoker with an enemy.

Dissonantia glared around her as the spectral murlocs began to fade back into the Shadowlands, only to reveal that her totem trap had been destroyed and that Sekhi had recovered and was now backed up by another vulpera, both of them staring down Cenoon. She saw Gremori and Galdia going head to head as the felsworn cackled with glee at being able to unleash her demonic powers against a powerful warrior, and saw Az’arad trying to contend with an airborne foe… then she looked around and cocked her head.

“Wait a bleedin’ tick… where’s th’ cow?” she grunted.

Then she saw Xel’kek and Quzgup laying dazed on the ground and heard a voice call over the din of battle. “I am really getting sick of telling people I’m not a cow…” she said in an annoyed tone.

Dissonantia glared in the direction of the voice, then grimaced as she saw Nitika standing with one powerful tauren arm around the neck of the dragon she’d ensorcelled, holding it firmly so it couldn’t pull free. “This is a nasty spell you’ve put on him Dissonantia, but it seems familiar…” she grinned, “It reminds me a lot of what you did in Zereth Mortis…” she added, flexing her free hand and pressing it to the dragon’s forehead.

Dissonantia snarled in fury and started forward, “OI! HEY! GET THE FECK OFF MY DRAGON!” she barked.

Nitika snorted, “No.” she replied, and her hands glowed with sunlight. “AN’SHE! I CALL UPON YOUR MIGHTY FLAME! SHINE YOUR GAZE UPON ME AND BURN AWAY THE SHADOWS BINDING THIS DRAGON!” she called out, and for a moment the sun seemed twice as bright.

“I’M GOING TO TURN YOU INTO A GODSDAMNED RUG DAWNHOOF!” she roared in anger as she felt her spell shatter!

Nitika released the dragon, it’s eyes glowing the yellow-red of hot coals. “FREE!” it cried out in relief, taking to the skies as it glared down at Dissonantia, “You liked the damage my breath could do, witch?" growled the dragon as his maw glowed from within, volcanic heat making the air steam around his fangs, "HAVE A TASTE THEN!” it bellowed in fury as it soared forward and unleashed the full might of the black dragonflight upon the path ahead of it.

Dissonantia yelped and rolled out of the way as the molten breath decimated everything under the dragon, melting stone and reducing the ground to ash and flame, scrambling backwards so fast she didn’t even see Xel’kek until she tripped over his unconscious form.

Dissonantia glared at her, but two of her demons were down, Cenoon was up against Sekhi who could unleash her sandstorm at any moment, and Laurelgosa was an unknown quantity. The situation had turned against her! “This ain’t over…” she growled, then flexed her claws as she and her demonic allies vanished in a woosh of felfire back to their fallback point, Gremori letting out a disappointed whine as she vanished in mid-leap.

Jeemjazo yelped in surprise as Cenoon vanished, his head darting around as Sekhi shook her head at him. “Its okay Jeem! She ran away! I can’t hear her song now, so she musta run back to th’ Nether.” she grinned.

Jeemjazo coughed, “Right, I knew that… just… didn’t know if ye knew that…” he said awkwardly.

Sekhi giggled, then smiled at him, “Thanks though… I mean, ya kinda saved my yippin' life.”

The vulpera boy blushed through his fur, then shrugged, “Eh, I mean… yanno, we’re pals right?” he muttered, “Can’t be havin’ some demon guttin’ me pal…”

Sekhi smirked, “Thought ya said we weren’t pals anymore…” she teased, walking around him with her tail swishing.

Jeemjazo grunted, “Sekhi… I mean… look, about that… I get it okay. W-we’ll talk ‘bout it later alright? Don’tcha need ta check yer crew ‘n make sure none of ‘em got hurt or somethin’?” he asked.

Sekhi yipped, “Oh right!” she gasped, jogging back over to where Galdia, Nitika, and Laurelgosa were… the dracthyr woman still in her true form for now. As she got close she looked up at her, then cocked her head. “Your song sounds… different…” she murmured.

Laurelgosa looked down at her, her bright pink eyes shining like two large quartzes. “Oh? How do I sound different?” she asked in a bemused way.

Sekhi smiled, “… better, like ya got somethin’ important back.” she nodded, her ears flicking. Laurelgosa's song spoke of confidence returned now, of a great wrong overcome.

Laurelgosa nodded, “I suppose I did, though… there are still some gaps in my memory, I remembered something very important.” she nodded, then all of them jumped as there was a crash behind them, the black drake landing next to them all.

“The witch has fled, I cannot smell her anywhere nearby.” he said, looking among them. “You were the targets of her wrath… who are you?” he asked.

Nitika nodded to him, “Ah yes. I’m Nitika Dawnhoof and this is Galdia Grimaxe and Sekhi. We’re members of Savage United.” she explained, “And…” she glanced at the dracthyr woman.

She smiled, “Laurelgosa, of the Dracthyr.” she replied, “Though sometimes I am known as Laura Brightflame as well.”

Jeem coughed a bit, “Er… I’m Jeemjazo, former Bloodsail Pirate… Sir.” he replied. Bravado or not, you treat something that can eat you in one bite with respect.

“I am Idrallion of the Black Dragonflight. You have my gratitude for freeing me from her control. If your Savage United ever needs the aid of me or my kin, you have but to ask.” the dragon nodded gratefully to them. “I must return to the Obisidan Citadel and warn Sabellian of what the warlock did to me, incase any others are capable of doing likewise. Farewell, all of you.” he said, then he spread his wings and took to the skies, soaring off to the north.

Nitika watched him go, then smiled, “Well, that’s one problem solved. She doesn’t have a dragon anymore.” she nodded, “But… was that an Illidari you were fighting Galdia?” she asked, glancing at the mag’har woman.

Galdia shrugged, “Sure as fel looked like one… Dunno who she was, but she could throw a punch alright.” she nodded, “What about you? Thought you said you weren’t comfortable fighting?” she asked Laurelgosa with a grin.

The dracthyr grinned back, a very sharp smile to say the least, “I was not, until I remembered that I was after all.” she chuckled, “So… Savage United you say…” she glanced among them. They had all helped her without asking anything in return, and now Laurelgosa felt she rather owed them a great deal. “… er… I do not suppose you are… how do the mortal races say it… hiring?”

Valdrakken, the Roasted Ram

Grimo looked up suddenly from his beer, “… capitalism senses tingling…” he whispered to himself.

The Ohn’ahran Plains

Nitika winced. Oh she could feel that even all the way here. “Er… yes, but when you meet our ‘boss,’ Grimo, make sure I’m with you.” she replied.

The battle against the Nokhud was already long over, they never made it to meet up with Tomul, but the scout understood that they ran into trouble along the way. The Dragon Isles were a dangerous place lately, what with the Primalists and the return of Raszageth, nevermind the Djaradin, Rothide Gnolls, and other such things… but for Savage United it would become that tiny bit safer. They had earned the friendship of the black dragonflight, and perhaps a new member to their own team?

As they headed back to Valdrakken Laurelgosa resumed her visage form, becoming Laura Brightflame once more... but her white robes were gone. Instead she was wearing a blue tunic and trousers with sandals, a long travelling cloak down her back. The dress she wore before just felt wrong to her now. Like she was wearing it almost to hide behind. Now, she remembered who and what she was, and the truth of what had happened to her friends.

She still had questions though. What was that strange device that Neltharion had used on them? Why had he felt such control necessary? Was it the only one, or could someone else control the dracthyr as he had? And when it was destroyed, how was Raszageth defeated without their aid?

Now however, she knew she could find the answers… and she had new friends to help her do so. Savage United? Perhaps she’d rather like being a little savage sometimes…

#adventures in azeroth #warcraft roleplay #warcraft fanfiction #world of warcraft #dragonflight

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thecastcompany · 3 years

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April 11th at Worlds End Tavern Join the Cast Company for a Bunnytastic Event! at 6:00pm WRA - 9:00pm WRA // 8:00pm MG to 11:00pm MG

There will be drinks, finger foods and a show like no other! Also you can get a date with one of the Cast Company Bunnies! Look below! Remember if you want to Bid on one of the many Cast Company Bunnies! Here is the form! You will win a real date with one of the Cast Company Bunnies, to roleplay at a community event, Darkmoon Faire or whatever you plan together.

REMEMBER YOU ARE NOT BUYING SEX OR LOVE, THIS A FRIENDSHIP DATE.

Bid Form: https://tinyurl.com/BunnyBiddieForm

Meet some of the Bunnies up for grabs!

“I am Zaneryne Grimsky, Company Head of the Cast Company, but everyone around here knows me as Zanie or Zane. I am a singer and dancer, most folks know me for being a contortist and yeah, oh and then there is magic. That sums me up right? Bending weird, singing pretty, and pew pew if ice." Date Location: The Squeaky Wheel, The Darkmoon Faire, Howling Owl/ Blackbird Brewery opening Five Random Facts about Zane: 1. Loves to play the piano 2. Caramel cogs are her favorite cookies 3. Huge Fashionista 4. Is a relic hunter 5. In college was archeology with the speciality of troll history

Keep reading to meet the other bunnies!

“Huh wha? I wasnt paying attention....oh who am I? Danny....yeah Danny Brand.” Date Location: Somewhere we can punch things Five Random Facts about Danny: 1. He is the chef at Cuties 2. He is a father to a cute 2 year Master Monk in training 3. His wife has almost killed him five times (six if she ever reads this) 4. He is a former Blood Ring Champion 5. He has replaced his hat 204 times, people keep stealing it off his head.

“Hey sexy, I'm Ilanda want to have a drink?” Date Location: Cuties or Darkmoon Faire Five Random Facts about Ilanda: 1. She enjoys bad jokes 2. She is very open minded 3. She loves whiskey 4. She is a bard and loves music 5. She is a chronic lap sitter, beware of your lap she will sit in it.

"Hrm. I am Rak'kaba, third tier Solar Priest formerly of the Spire. You may compliment me through out the night, yes?" Date Location: Shattrath City, Scryer's Tier Five Random Facts about Rak’kaba 1. In a relationship with a cursed Arakkoa 2. Has killed all of their nest siblings, each one died a different way by their hand. 3. Their cloak is made from the finest threads, hand-stitched by yours truly. 4. Wears a jeweled head-piece, it's paired with a purple feather. 5. Compliment or Rak'kaba will be very sad!

“Hi guys! Its me Jam!” Date Location: Orcramar or Darkmoon Faire Five Random Facts about Jam: 1. He cannot read 2. He is the self proclaimed Vulpera Loa 3. He is the biggest 4. Ji Firepaw is his hero 5. He shot a turtle to steal its shell and made it into a house

“"Hey there! I'm Lin'Aryne, but you can call me Bunny. I like to think of myself as an artist of all trades with specialties in music and tailoring." Location of the Date: Darkmoon Faire Five random and silly facts about your character: 1) Her favorite instrument is the harp, specifically her own that's been enchanted to provide sounds of other instruments for a one-woman show. 2) She has two critters she calls 'floofers', Fig and Newt, that she treats like her babies. Sweaters, painted nails, the whole nine yards. 3) The dog tags she wears are a hyper compressed series of programs like trackers and radio made by her boyfriend specifically for her. 4) She's recently become the head curator / host for the Ice Brawl Tournament! 5) She's the Winter Champion of the Fire & Ice Arena.

"Uh, hi! I'm Loralani, but...just Lora is fine...only my brother calls me by my full name. Uh, anyway, I'm a monk...in training. I'm still learning a lot! I also sing! Sorta...I don't usually sing for anyone but myself, maybe someday I'll do it in front of people! I'm also pretty good with my little wooden flute! I'm learning other instruments too! Anyway...that's Lora in a nutshell!" Location of 'date': Cuties! Five Random and silly facts about Lora 1. I play music, I love music and it's really important to me! 2. I'm also obsessed with pineapples and oranges, those didn't exist in Vol'dun 3. .I really love making tea too, I try to share with everyone, tea makes things better! 4. I also can run REALLY FAST! 5. I've also taken several large chunks of Orgrimmar's cliffs near that lake...my brother like to test what I can do with my niki, so...my jade lightning has taken out a lot of that cliff face...

“Hi I am Ty.” Date Location: Cuties or Dark Moon Faire Facts about Tyinarcon 1.Loves coffee and ducks more than most things. 2. He is a motorcycle enthusiast 3. Was a combat medic in the military after all four wars but prefers not to call on the light for reasons 4. He can sing and play the guitar 5. Loves to cook and try new recipes

“Hello there Cutie! I am Dyllie! But everyone calls me Cookie on the count of smelling like cookies, eating a bunch of cookies, feeding people cookies and selling cookies.” Location of Date: Picnic of only Cookies and or the Squeaky Wheel 5 Facts about Dyllie 1. She got kicked out of mage school for polymorphing Khadgar into a broom. 2. She thinks murlocs are friends. 3. She eats 200 cookies a day! 4. She has a Tauren son, who she adopted when she found a basket in the river with a baby in it. 5. She never says peoples name right that she knows really well, she has terrible hearing

Seven’estra 5 Facts about Seven 1. Seven is Non-Binary 2. They love hanging out in graveyards due to technically being dead. 3. Seven is cold to the touch. 4. Mercenary by day, beautician and cosmetologist by night. They will swing a sword ending your life.Then they will do your hair and make up for your funeral! 5. When super excited void tentacles will sprout from their back!

@wowrpevents @wracentral

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cardest · 3 years

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Melbourne playlist

There is no other city like Melbourne! It sure is a stand out city. I go there at least once a year and always look forward to going back as soon as I left it. But it’s more than just a city. It’s the music from this place that is undeniably awesome.

So I put together a playlist of bands, artists from Melbourne and beyond the city limits. It was one of the more fun playlists I put together and I hope you enjoy it. Maybe there is a song or a band from there I overlooked. Let me know!!

MELBOURNE, Australia

001 Big Pig - Hungry Town 002 King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard - Robot Stop 003 Magic Dirt - daddy 004 Models - I Hear Motion 005 Suss Cunts - Temper 006 The Birthday Party - Release the Bats 007 Cosmic Psychos - The Man Who Drank Too Much 008 Pseudo Echo - Beat For You 009 Amyl and the Sniffers - Some Mutts (Can't be muzzled) 010 TISM - Greg! The Stop Sign! 011 Abramelin - Human Abattoir 012 Hunters and Collectors - Say goodbye 013 Damaged - Nails 014 Weddings Parties Anything - Brunswick 015 Spiderbait - Fucken Awesome 016 Skyhooks - Balwyn Calling 017 Eddy Current Supression Ring - Modern Man 018 Real Life - Send Me An Angel 019 The Eternal - Down 020 The Triffids - Wide Open Road 021 AC/DC - Dog Eat Dog 022 Ne Obliviscaris - Of The Leper Butterflies 023 Mantissa - Mary Mary 024 Kids In The Kitchen - Bitter Desire 025 Deströyer 666 - Australian And Anti-Christ 026 The Stroppies - Celebration Day 027 Hobbs' Angel Of Death - Crucifixion 028 HOSS - The Tiredest Man Awake 029 Paul Kelly - Leaps And Bounds 030 Fuck the Fitzroy Doom Scene - Blind Faith 031 Inverloch - From The Eventide Pool 032 Painters & Dockers - Die Yuppie Die 033 Gay Paris - Ash Wednesday Boudoir Party 034 HIGH TENSION - COLLINGWOOD 035 Dan Sultan - Old Fitzroy 036 Voodoo Lovecats - Killed Her in St. Kilda 037 Jason Donovan - Nothing Can Divide Us 038 I'm Talking - Do You Wanna Be 039 BELAKOR - Roots To Sever 040 Dead Can Dance - A Passage in Time 041 HONEY BUCKET - Patch of Grass 042 Masters Apprentices ? - Melodies Of St. Kilda 043 Cosmic Psychos - Can't Keep A Good Man Down 044 The Fauves - Sunbury 97 045 Black Bats - Shining Haze 046 Even - The Melbourne Beat Parade 047 King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard - Big Fig Wasp 048 Boom Crash Opera - Onion Skin 049 Tropical Fuck Storm - Lose The Baby 050 AC/DC - Whole Lotta Rosie 051 Laura Imbruglia - Tricks 052 Huxton Creepers - Autumn Leaves 053 Kylie Minogue - Got To Be Certain 054 The Black Sorrows - Chained To The Wheel 055 Uncanny X Men Everybody Wants To Work Remastered Audio 056 MACHINATIONS - No Say In It 057 Jackson Reid Briggs & the Heaters - Seaside 058 Big Pig - I Cant Break Away 059 Kit Convict - Watch Your Skull 060 Cosmic Psychos - pub 061 King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard - Gamma Knife 062 Real Life - Catch Me Im Falling 063 Stonefield - Delusion 064 FRANKENBOK - Never To Return 065 Dreadnaught - The Push 066 Dead Can Dance - Anywhere Out Of The World 067 LITTLE DESERT - CAPTIVE 068 The Living End - Roll On 069 ORB - A Man In The Sand 070 Elm Street-Metal Is The Way 071 Parsnip - Health 072 The Berzerker - Caught In The Crossfire 073 School Damage - Gasbagging 074 Romper Stomper - Pulling On The Boots 075 Men At Work - Who Can It Be Now 076 Harem Scarem - Last Stand Man 077 The Peep Tempel - Mister Lester Moore 078 Mark Seymour - Westgate 079 Primo - You’ve Got a Million 080 Magic Dirt - amoxycillin 081 Ali Barter - Please Stay 082 Boom Crash Opera - City Flat 083 Buried Feather - Mind of the Swarm 084 Mortification - Scrolls of the Megilloth 085 TISM - Fourteen Years in Rowville 086 Pseudo Echo - Listening 087 Wrong Turn - Johnny Collingwood 088 Mondo Rock - Come Said The Boy 089 SUBTERFUGE - Unhinged 090 Split Enz - Message To My Girl 091 King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard - People-Vultures 092 The Eternal - All Hope Is Lost 093 Sunbeam Sound Machine - Real Life 094 Superheist - Bullet 095 1927 - Tell Me A Story 096 Chantoozies - Wanna Be Up 097 Bad Boy Bubby OST - Bubbys Song 098 Drown This City - IM NOT DIVIDED 099 Augie March - This Train Will Be Taking No Passengers 100 AC/DC - It's Long Way To The top 101 Rowland S. Howard - Lifes What You Make It (Talk Talk cover) 102 Crazy Pussy - Drink at the Tote 103 Teeth & Tongue - Dianne 104 Blood Duster - Northcote 105 Taipan Tiger Girls - Motion 106 Paul Kelly - From St.Kilda to Kings Cross 107 Cemetery Urn - The Deepest of Graves 108 Grinderman - Worm Tamer 109 The Masters Apprentices - War or Hands Of Time 110 Magic Dirt - She-Riff 111 Hunters and Collectors - Inside A Fireball 112 Hierophants - Fagg Hopp 113 Lost Animal - Lose the Baby 114 Essendon Airport - No Quarter 115 The Lucksmiths - Tale Of Two Cities 116 TOTAL CONTROL - The Hammer 117 Endless - Lord Deceptor 118 Eddy Current Suppression Ring - Our Quiet Whisper 119 Bits of Shit - Patrol 120 TISM - Mourningtown Ride 121 New War - Emerald dream eyes 122 Hiatus Kaiyote - Breathing Underwater 123 Alien Nose Job - Buffet of Love 124 Tetema - Haunted On The Uptake 125 Uncanny X Men - I Am 126 King - Coldest of Cold 127 Spiderbait - Cracker 128 The Cat Empire - East 129 Ausmuteants - Mates Rates 130 The Living End - All Torn Down 131 The Church - Destination 132 Skyhooks - Toorak Cowboy 133 Carlton Streets - Brian Brown Quintet 134 Silverlight Shadows - Headspace 133 TISM - I'm Interested in Apathy 134 Dumb Punts - Headfuck 135 SNOG - Business As Usual 136 The Dirty Three - Better go home soon 137 Crowded House - Nails in my feet 138 Rebel Wizard - Voluptuous Worship of Rapture and Response 139 U-Bahn - 'Beta Boyz' 140 Bestial Warlust - Dweller of the Bottomless Pit 141 The Murlocs - Young Blindness 142 CHRISTBAIT - Yeast 143 HTRK - Ha 144 A Basket of Mammoths - Unkept And Matted 145 Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds - Avalanche 146 Mondo Rock - State of heart 147 The Meanies - Punchin Air 148 Mad Max OST Brian May - Mad Max Main Title 149 Bananagun - People Talk Too Much 150 TISM - Get Thee In My Behind Satan 151 Cosmic Psychos - Dead roo 152 The Models - Out of mind, out of sight 153 Mantissa - Dream alone 154 Australian Crawl - Things Don't Seem 155 The Boys Next Door - the nightwatchman 156 John Farnham - One 157 Air Supply - Love and other bruises 158 Abramalin - never enough snuff 159 Billy Thorpe - It's almost summer 160 Disembowelment - Your prophetic throne of ivory 161 Amyl and the Sniffers - Got you 162 Abominator - Black Mass Warfare 163 Things Of Stone And Wood - Share this wine 164 Inverloch - distance collapsed 165 Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds - Deanna 666 Kath and Kim TV show theme song

Cya at Strangeworld Records! Cya yesterday!

#melbourne #Melbourne playlist #bands from melbourne #australian death metal #Nick Cave #TISM #bananagun #strangeworld records #cosmic psychos #king gizzard and the lizard wizard #the eterna #elm street band #mantissa

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dracolizardlars · 3 years

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also a funny thing when youre transcribing lyrics is when what you WANT the lyrics to be isn’t actually it. I just double checked a line and am very disappointed to have to concede that it is not “the chiding mirrors”, probably. that would have been an extremely cool, uh... personification? pathetic fallacy? not sure, but yknow, attributing an emotion to an object. but sadly there is no “ch” sound, I think it’s “tiding mirrors”, which does sort of make sense in context and is also kinda cool, I would think it was a cool line if I hadn’t been mishearing it as chiding mirrors which is SO MUCH COOLER

the worst example of this was “you talk in drip with no drop” which I heard in a Murlocs song and when I looked up the lyrics (didnt have to transcribe em myself thank god) it was “futile kindred with no drive”, the furthest off I’ve ever been with hearing a lyric, and yeah the actual line is pretty cool, but I was OBSESSED with “you talk in drip with no drop” as a weird insult that technically should be nonsense but still you understand exactly what they mean... but I made it up. it doesn’t exist. absolutely heartbreaking.

#draco speaks

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zu-daba · 4 years

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Echo of the Past

Crunch.. Crunch..

The red, dry soils of Durotar were crushed under Zu’Daba’s feet as he strode from the gates of Orgrimmar. The city was too crowded for him, and there were too many changes for his liking. So many new strangers walked around that old place and its valleys and the air was filled with the smog of churning war machines and forges. Nightborne, Vulpera, Sin’dorei, Highmountain Tauren and even the Zandalari walked around as though it had always been their home.

In reality it was, and he was the stranger. That irony wasn’t lost upon him.

Still.. The walls of Zul’Gurub held familiarity and comfort, while this place held nothing but pain and misery. A reminder of when he did try to come back - Of how the orcs held him and Venomclaw in a cage, ready to be slaughtered and buried in a forgotten ditch. A mournful memory, and one of some shame.. He knew that he should have stayed and fought, but he had found his calling elsewhere. He was Horde no longer. He was something else..

Not much had changed, this far away. Razor Hill was the same as it ever was.. A humble militant village that had miraculously become the staging ground for not one, but TWO separate assaults upon Orgrimmar. The desert certainly hadn’t, either - It was red. Just as it ever was. A place for orcs to atone, or so he had heard from his mother. The Darkspear had joined them for saving them from extinction, and he couldn’t help but chuckle at how quickly his opinion of them turned.. As a child, he adored the orcs. They were his heroes.

Now? They had crushed his culture. His lifestyle. They denigrated him and his people for trying to live the traditional lives of trolls, and eventually attempted to exterminate them down to the last. Sure - Many of them had changed. But the sting of such deep-seated hatred would not abate in his lifetime. Not easily.

His toes struck water-- Had he been so lost in his thoughts he nearly strode straight into the sea? Legba’s growling chuckle echoed through his thoughts as he sighed and looked south. Sen’jin Village couldn’t be far..

“Oh, laugh et up..” The Darkspear muttered. “At least I noticed.”

Despite the humor of Legba’s tone, he - and the rest of the loa - were rather quiet during this journey. One would expect the very deity that encouraged living in the now and not the past or future would have outright denied the Darkspear his pilgrimage, but they had no complaints.

That bothered Zu’Daba. He couldn’t put his finger on why..

Skirting around the edges of the Kul’tiran’s old keep, the Shadow Hunter could walk a few more hours before even reaching Sen’jin Village. When he did, he almost laughed at the familiar ditch that served as the quaint passageway from the beaten road off towards the troll village. They hadn’t changed that yet? In all of these years, they’d never bothered? It was typical. It was stubborn. But, it was appreciated nevertheless.. He remembered a lot about what was around him.

That first venture through the Valley of Trials.. How scared he was of the scorpid and how he didn’t want to kill those tiny boars. The cactus apples, and the fact he was tasked with thwacking lazy peons with a beatstick.

That last one paid off..

But he also remembered how the guards watched him walk off for the last time, in the middle of the night; his body disappearing past the torchlight. His grief and his anger at the fate of his mate and their unborn child. He remembered how he had planned to die. How he had told his mother if he did not return, that he was dead and would never be coming back. That was why he was here. To quell the ghosts of the past, and through confronting them.. Better understanding himself.

As he strode up to the village, the Darkspear couldn’t help but peer around with some curiosity. The Darkspear had grown.. Much more than he’d suspect after the Siege of Orgrimmar, at that. Children chased raptor hatchlings through the center of town, laughing with glee. Adults sat around the evening bonfire and many others lounged in their huts working on projects or practicing their arts. There weren’t many others around besides those old trolls, but the man stood out like a sore thumb nevertheless.

He could see how the tomahawk-wielding watchers peered at him with absolute uncertainty in their eyes. What wily fool would come here dressed to the nines like a damned peacock? The man wasn’t a Chief, here.. And he certainly was not a Zandalari! He was too short for that much. Shadow Hunters wouldn’t be recognizing him either, if mostly because their traditions were different. He was an oddity.. And the discomforted silence of those around him was punctuated by their whispers. The stopping of children to stare in bewilderment.

“Who is dat..? Marchin’ all up in here like a king..”

“What a strange mask.”

“Woah! Dat mon’s got a hat biggah dan ya mada, T’zaka!” “HEY!”

He steeled himself and proceeded forward. They were not his people, and frankly he was used to those sorts of jeers. These strangers meant nothing to him, and the moment he arrived on shore he beckoned one of the oarsmen over to assist him with crossing the waters to the island ahead; gently lit and floating upon a sea of reflected torchlight. Stars..

“Ya need a ride, mon?” A voice called from nearby as Zu’Daba growled. He much preferred the idea of going it alone, but he’d understand if they didn’t trust a stranger with giving the canoe back. Still, he replied reluctantly..

“Yes..”

“Good! C’mon, don’ be shy, big mon! Hop aboard. What’s ya name? You don’t look like you’re from around here!” A Darkspear with a head full of ruffled red hair gestured jubilantly towards a well-crafted canoe and then hopped in to grab his oars. Daba steeled himself and walked forward to get in. He knew how this went.. Talk, talk, talk, talk. Even when he was younger, these oarsmen didn’t know how to shut up and just let their passenger relax.

Climbing into the vessel, the Shadow Hunter settled and laid his glaive at his side. Predictably, that was exactly when the man started asking questions.

“So.. Where’d ya get dat? Dat’s a neat glaive!”

“Row.” Zu’Daba sighed.

“Murder Row..?”

“No, ROW.” The Darkspear repeated.

“Oh..” The oarsmen frowned and furrowed his brows, pushing off the shore with his oar and beginning to move towards the isles in the distance.

“Which island are you lookin’ ta go ta, shiny-mon?”

“I don’t know. The main one.” Daba replied, short and succinct.

“Righ’..” The oarsman replied with a shake of his head. He knew that this man didn’t want to talk, but he was a young troll - Barely an adult. He couldn’t help but ask nevertheless. “Are.. You from around here?”

“Not anymore, no.” Daba set his jaw and stared ahead; drinking in the feeling of how the waves made their boat move and the sound of them sloshing around the vessel on all sides. It was soothing, in a way.

The oarsmen replied, inquisitive. “Not.. Anymore? So--”

“I was raised here. I left and did not return, until now. I’m not a Darkspear.”

“..Well, you don’t look like one..” The oarsmen muttered, only to have the Shadow Hunter turn back to glare at him. Those intense blue eyes blazed with no small amount of irritation.

“No.. I should expect not. I am the Chief of a clan. The Shadowtusk Clan.”

The oarsmen blinked and sat in silence for awhile, “Uh.. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of the ‘Shadowtusk Clan’. Where do you live?”

“Zul’Gurub.”

“With the Gurubashi?”

“Yes, with the Gurubashi.”

“So.. Why are you coming here?”

“You’re very new at this job, aren’t you?”

There was a long and pregnant pause as the oarsman sort of sat there in shock. He didn’t even know how to reply to that.. He simply stayed put in the water, swallowed and then spoke softly. “My.. Father died, in de Darkspear Rebellion. I was young, but-- You don’t gotta be old ta row a boat. I.. Am new, ah suppose.”

Zu’Daba’s expression swiftly melted into a frown as he turned away and heaved a sigh. The oarsman got back to rowing in short order, but the Shadow Hunter couldn’t help but curse himself. Why was he being so cruel? The little man was only asking questions of him. It couldn’t hurt to answer them.

“..My mother. I’m-- Here to visit my mother, and my old mate’s grave.” He finally answered, looking down between the canoe’s seats.

“Ah left in a time of weakness.. Tried ta return, but was nearly killed by de orcs. Made mah way ta Stranglethorn, became a Shadow Huntah.. Became a Chief.. An’ now ah’m here, tryin’ ta settle de ghosts of de past.” He murmured.

“Shadow Hunter? Are ya sure..? Ya are wearin’ a mask.” The oarsman perked up a bit. This old bastard (which, mind you, wasn’t actually even that old) was starting to open up. Now he was getting somewhere!

“Different tradition. Still a Shadow Huntah.” Daba replied, earnestly and with a chuckle. “Trust me.. Ah get plenty of questions about dat.”

“Right. I’m-- Sorry to hear about your mate.. Maybe ah can help? With your mada, I mean. What’s her name? Ah might know her! Ah help a lot of people wit’ crossin’ de watahs between Sen’jin an’ de Echo Isles.” The oarsman spoke, all while still making his way over the waves. They had to be careful at night, lest makura strike out from the waters and potentially drag both of them to drown.

“Her name is Zin’adi. A kind woman.. Wife of Zu’Adra, who died in defense of de Darkspear Isles against murlocs an’ naga.” The Shadow Hunter spoke as they cut through the waves. “My name is--”

“Zu’Daba..” The young oarsman blinked, “Yes-- Ah met her! She’s always spoken of her son. She’s growin’ old, but her wits are still about her. She lives in de Darkspear Hold on de main island. Do you need ta know where ya can find ya mate’s old grave--”

“No. Ah know where dat is.” The Shadow Hunter spoke with full confidence. In that moment, they struck the shore and he stepped out into the sand and silt; toes curling among the once-familiar grains as tiny waves lapped over his feet. He smiled and reached into his pocket, pulling forth a bijou to leave on the edge of the canoe before walking forward into the torchlight.

“Thank you, oarsman.. Ah am sorry for being so short with you. Have a good night, heard? Loa guide an’ shadows guard you!” He waved and disappeared beyond the palm trees and past the banners.

The oarsmen quirked a brow and picked up the bijou, turning it around in his hands and murmuring. “..Zul’Gurub, huh? ..Cool!”

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katieskarlette · 4 years

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Quarter Century of Warcraft Audio

I’ll be watching this panel on the livestream and updating this post as it goes, so refresh to see the latest.

------

So far they’re just talking about how they each got started at Blizzard, and how Mike Morhaime was in charge of the sound in the early days. The current sound supervisor started in MoP making sound effects for the virmen (burrowing, carrots popping out of the ground, etc.)

The music for Warcraft: Orcs and Humans was greatly limited by the hardware specs of the time. They wanted something a bit different from most other games, going for a more classical feel.

There isn’t much to talk about because they’re playing music clips from the first couple Warcraft games to compare the evolution of the technology and such, which I can’t recreate in text form. :P

“Early orc music had some rhythm and grooves to it that you might not see today.”

You can definitely tell the huge difference when you hear the tinny MIDI files from the old days and then the modern music with a full orchestra and choir.

In vanilla they looked at the colors of spell effects and let that inspire them to create the accompanying sounds. It was important that they be distinct. Sounds are one of the only components of the game that give you information about what’s happening off-screen, behind your character, etc. (I’m thinking of the “whoosh, something is stealthed near you” sound effect that strikes fear into people.)

The Horn of Cenarius sound effect from Archimonde’s death scene in WCIII was made of industrial foam tubing with a plastic coating blowing into a metal pot to give it resonance. They looked in storage to see if they could find the original prop to show off but couldn’t.

Beat up an orc in WoW and the grunting “ugh, arg, nnnng” sounds it makes when being hit and dying are Mike Morhaime.

The groans and roars of the fel orcs being transformed in Blood Furnace is Chris Metzen doing a voice warm-up to get into character for Thrall. It wasn’t even originally intended to be used in-game, but it got recorded and sounded cool so they hung onto it to use later.

LOL they played the ready check sound effect and everyone was like, “Are you ready? Got your attention?”

MURLOC SOUND! They didn’t talk about how it was made, alas.

Fel Reaver horn. “Every time I hear that sound I have a physical reaction to it.” It was made with old rusty door hinges being opened mixed with a bear.

I’ve always wanted to ask if the jinyu voices were made by someone speaking under a showerhead, because that’s exactly what it sounds like (as I accidentally discovered singing in the shower, lol)

They use the cosmology chart from Chronicle as a guide for how sounds relate to each other.

Sometimes new spell effects are made by mixing sounds from WCIII or vanilla and adding new sounds on top of, before, or after. This helps keep spells sounding like they’re from the same magic school.

Music and sound effects can work together in fascinating ways, complimenting each other to create effects that wouldn’t be possible with either alone. They gave us a sneak preview of the ambiance from Visions of N’Zoth.

They describe some of the 8.3 mobs as “Big tentacle face, small tentacle face, tentacles going down, tentacles going up (mostly), and room full of tentacles.” I sense a theme! LOL

Some of the crazy, gibbering Old God sounds are made by blowing and screaming into a plastic tube with one end in a basin of liquid. It’s hard on the voice and throat so they can’t do it for long.

A lot of the Mechagon sound effects were made with a $30 metal garbage can with a couple of copper wires strung inside that can be played with a bow like a violin. Some of the Nyalotha sounds came from it, too, with pitch and reverb altered to give it a more otherworldly, discordant sound. Creeeeepy results!

Darren DePaul (sp?) is N’Zoth’s VA.

They also included a bit of insectoid sounds as a nod to the Qiraji, Mantid, Nerubians, etc.

The overall effect is that of N’Zoth trying to claw his way into your brain. Very cool.

#Blizzcon with KS

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ephriza-dawnblade · 6 years

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Ephriza woke up earlier than usual that morning, making her way to the shared kitchen in their lodgings. After making herself some kaffa she meandered through the small townhome, her bare feet making the slightest patter against the wooden floor. She was headed to the main entryway when she noticed that the door to Kyara’s room was ajar and inside she could hear the sounds of Matin playing. The elf decided to investigate, peering into the room, and saw him playing with some matchsticks and a switchblade that had been given to him by one of his many mentors. He was pretending that they were people and, in his native tongue, having some sort of dialogue between them. A smile spread across her face and she knocked lightly on the door, only slightly startling him.

“Ephie?” He said tiredly, confused as to why she was there. They had not spent a lot of time together and most of her interactions with him had been lesson related. He quickly put his “toys” down and walked over to the door, opening it for her. There was a slight look of disappointment on his face, like he was in trouble.

“Good morning, Matin.” She began softly, looking down at him. He wasn’t that much shorter than her and he seemed to be growing every day. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your play time. Are you having fun?” She asked as she glanced towards the makeshift toys.

“Yeah…” He said shyly as though she was scolding him. “I just wanted to play a bit before everyone got up. I’m sorry if I was too loud.” He spoke with broken common though it had improved. Ephriza gave him a smile and rustled his hair.

“You wait here, Matin. I have something for you.” She left the boy with a confused expression as she made her way back to her room. A few moments later she returned with a small black satchel with a blue ‘M’ embroidered on it. “I was going to wait until your birthday to give this to you but I don’t exactly know when that is and I feel guilty watching you play with matches.”

He cocked his head slightly as she spoke but the excitement was evident on his face as he tried to determine what she had. The bag itself was a messenger bag, one that could slip over the shoulder and it had straps to keep the main flap secure. She opened it and revealed that the bag was not the only gift. A handful at a time she pulled out a dozen little figurines all intricately designed and painted. The light but sturdy figures were painted to look like different races of the Alliance and Horde, all in battle regalia. After she had set them all up in a line she pulled out a big stuffed murloc.

Matin couldn’t contain his excitement and grabbed a few of them, making battle sounds and giggling. She watched as he took the Alliance soldiers and made them knock over the Horde ones, little victory cries as he did. Her brow furrowed and she reached out a hand. “Hold on, Matin. May I?” She interjected. The boy looked up at her and nodded, unsure what she was doing.

Ephriza lined up the Alliance and Horde soldiers next to each other but they weren’t facing off against the others, they stood in a formation alongside their enemies. Then she took the big stuffed murloc and sat it right in front of them, making her own little fake monster roar.

“Look, Matin, there are good guys on both sides. See? If they work together they can fight off monsters together.” She grabbed one of the Horde figures and Alliance figures and made them march towards the murloc. Matin smiled and quickly joined in. Together they made all the figurines knock over and jump on the poor murloc plushie but afterwards they all celebrated. Matin was speaking his tongue again but he stopped when he noticed Ephie watching. “They’re happy and they’re going to play together now.” He said to her in common and she gave an approving smile.

Ephriza started to rise off of the floor, grabbing her coffee and heading to the door before Matin stopped her. He hugged her waist and thanked her for the gift. She made sure he promised to take care of his new toys and the bag (which he agreed to profusely) before she made her way out.

The town had started to wake up at that point, as she looked out of the front window, bells and shouts already ringing out through the streets. She sipped her kaffa and headed to her room to get geared up for the next outing.

Relevant: @killerkyara , @quai-mason @brian-wellson @blackbay-wra @mycoronervinny @malodarstarstrike @juniper-rose-blower

#ephriza #bfa

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tirrea · 6 years

Text

Letter to Kelanthael #1

<In response to this letter, Tirrea hurriedly penned her own. But not so quickly as to overlook properly embellishing her reply with a bit of artful illumination. In the top margin, at the center, she’s decorated the pale cream parchment with a golden sun. From the outer edges and traveling the rest of the top margins and down the sides, there’s a pattern of interwoven red and orange and gold ink with the occasional splash of pink. At the bottom these threads come to form the tails of two phoenixes in flight, their wings spread and flickers of feathery flames coming up just beneath her signature. Tirrea’s handwriting itself is neat, the penmanship of one practiced at an elegant script, and she managed to fit the note on a single sheet of paper. Though the paper itself seems a bit over-sized.

Included with it is a small box containing a blend of green tea with dried cherries and rose petals. In a small scarlet velvet bag there’s a bracelet made of golden links. There’s a few faintly glowing blue runes on the large clasp, but it otherwise seems unaltered.>

Dear Kelanthael,

Imagine my surprise when I awoke to find your letter waiting for me! What a delight it was to have such a well-written note while I enjoyed my morning tea. But don’t put your imagination to rest quite yet. No, dear sir, please try and recall the widening of my eyes and the startled sound of worry that left me when we first met. It was echoed again when I read where you were writing from! If you were bested by a bookshelf, I find myself fretting that a floating ziggurat may defeat you handily. I will steel myself with the rest of this delightful brew (I’ve sent you some with this letter, I hope you find it to your satisfaction. And, perhaps more importantly, I hope you have a taste for tea at all!) and the knowledge that you’re a very agile elf when not distracted.

Shall I share with you my view? I feel it only fair since you painted such a vivid picture of yours. I sit nowhere as exciting or dangerous. No, it is only my room at my family home I write to you from. We reside at the Emberward estate in Silvermoon City, and while it’s spacious to be sure, I often long for the home we had in southern Quel’thalas. When I was a girl I thought it a palace it was so expansive, and the grounds so sprawling and artfully maintained. It’s little more than ruins now. The only residents are ghosts of old memories haunting the halls and, perhaps, actual ghosts themselves. I refuse to return to it to be certain, as I am loathe to be reminded of what we lost and what we struggle to regain even after all these years.

Oh, I’ve gone and rambled about dreadful things, my apologies. I tend to be moody in the mornings, and the mornings are when I prefer to reply to my personal correspondences. I like to take tea on the little balcony off my bedroom and listen to the city awaken as I write to those far from it. It’s quiet today, as I prefer to rise at dawn, and I find myself with a bit of a headache as I stayed up too late reading those silly books we found in the library. Endeavor to keep sorrow from overcoming you at missing out, I am taking liberal and detailed notes for you. Ready yourself, we are going to have a rousing discussion on murloc mating customs when you return. I know, I know, I can all but feel your excitement radiating from the road. Try not to rush your travels to return. The longer you’re away the more notes I can prepare after all. And the notes? They border on lurid at this point.

To take a departure from teasing, my heart grew heavy for you when I read of your friend. I am so sorry you suffer her loss, and that you remain to this day unsure of what happened to her and her fellows. Uncertainty can do terrible things to the imagination, and I hope you’ll keep yours away from the misery of what could be and instead focus it on something gentler. If you find yourself struggling, try imagining this, my friend. The quietude of dawn is broken. There is a besotted, shirtless goblin asleep on a bench on the street below my balcony. Or, rather, he was asleep till moments ago. He awoke with a great shout of an obscenity that would make my dear mother pale. I can hear him now, though my room is rather high up, and I do believe he’s talking about something rather risqué. I hesitate to sully the letter with it, but insert any sort of poorly crafted pun regarding hammers or pistons and how much trouble his has caused him and you’ll be right here with me as I try not to giggle into my tea and make a mess of this note. (I checked, and he isn’t even handsome. A pity. He could have at least had the decency to be decent looking if he’s going to upset the peace of my morning with his plight.)

I do hope you hear of your friend while you travel. And that whatever the news may be, it brings comfort to your heart. Your fondness for Ambassador Ashborn was so moving that I feel a bit of it towards her myself despite having never met her. I admit, I was once rather unsettled by members of the Ebon Blade, but these days the only thing about them that disturbs me is how much they must struggle and how we so often turn a blind eye to it. I cannot imagine the torture that they have endured, that they continue to endure, and I greatly admire the grace and poise so many of them conduct themselves with. I pray that your friend is at peace wherever she is, and that in time you two may enjoy the pleasure of a happy reunion!

Please be safe with what you have planned for Stratholme. That place is befouled by strong magics to this day, and while I do not doubt your former master’s talents, a bit of caution should always be exercised with such endeavors. The misery and suffering of the citizens of Stratholme will cling to that land for centuries to come, and I have read too many accounts of shades breaching dreams to not fret for you. My expertise doesn’t have much intersection with the matter of dreams, but indulge me and wear the trinket I included in the package while you do this dream walking? Abjuration is my specialty, and should you encounter a spirit that wishes you ill will it should serve to provide you a momentary defense, so you may rally yourself and hopefully avoid being possessed. Call it a one part worry, one part magical experimentation? I am rather curious about warding against spirits in dreams now. I suppose I have a new research topic to approach in my free time. Thank you for that!

If you do end up possessed, I sincerely hope whomever takes up residence in your body retains your letter writing skills. (If you are a spirit who has hijacked my friend’s physical form, could you stop that? Please? Thank you as no doubt my rousing plea has moved you both emotionally as well as outside of Kelanthael.) I have a stack of notes to read and respond to, yet I find myself ignoring them in favor of reading yours once more. I will keep it safe, and I hope it is just the first of many I will collect from you. Take good care of yourself, Kelanthael. I know you mean the best with your adventures, but sometimes the best intentions can lead us down the worst paths. Be safe, be cautious, and be mindful of the current political climate and what that can mean for where you mean to meander.

Your friend, Tirrea, Afternoon Nap Aspirant

< @kelanthael >

#letters #kelanthael #i love writing her letters #i would love more penpals for her if anyone is looking for one

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gale-heart · 6 years

Text

Bound

July the Third - the Cave

This is the first time I can remember switching books while the last still had pages empty. I doubt the new cover will draw any real attention, but even if it does I feel fairly confident that not even Findreth will be able to repeal the secrecy wards. Anyways, I thought this would help make it a little easier to come to terms with things—a completely blank slate, no reminders of what I have to miss.

Well, almost a blank slate. But that’s not the book’s fault.

I know I’m not going to be able to complete Kal’nor Fallah, but I still like to have it out when I can sneak it, just to look at and hold and remember. It’s nice to know I still have something secret, something entirely my own that was once powerful and could be again. I could just be wishful, but I’d swear those faint starlight sparks in the wood are showing up a little more often, and it feels just a bit warmer to the touch even after all this time in the bag. Could it be responding to a distant leyline?

He said much of what he still needs is in Suramar. So is what I need to recharge this thing. It almost sounds ridiculous to consider, but perhaps, if I serve well enough to earn the privilege, I could ask for Findreth’s help with securing

No. Absolutely not. Neither of them can know.

I didn’t expect to be writing it, but I’m actually bored here. There’s nothing for me to do until Findreth finds a place for the arcan’dor, and thankfully Birds is mostly leaving me to my own devices for now, but in a way the tedium is worse. I keep itching to get some actual work done and pull my weight, prove that I’m not just dead weight. Hells, even getting to go outside the cave and fight a Murloc would be something novel, something better than just sitting re-reading Wesley Miller and wondering when Birds is going to get his tempę’

Quill broke. Found the summoning stone, somehow, when I went to get a spare from the bag. Honestly, I forgot I even still had this thing; I figured I must have shilled it for a few silvers years ago. Shame that it’s damaged. I would have liked to know what was bound to it. Could it still be salvaged, and the bond transferred, if a way could be found to repair it?

Then again, maybe whatever’s inside will just be angry, being confined inside this long. I’m starting to understand how that would—

I almost didn’t hear Birds come back. It was close, but I think I got Kal’nor Fallah and the stone hidden again before he could see. Elune help me, it’s surprisingly easy to pretend to be mild and compliant now, but I feel so fake.

Wouldn’t it be funny if we settled on a leyline, and then I ended up overdrawing again when I went to tap into it. Ha.

No. I’d probably actually die, if the surge left anything of me for Beurghes to kill. Mythandos would have thought it was funny Damn it, move on. Go read your stupid children’s books again.

——

I just realized it must be the Midsummer festival by now. First time I’ve been sad to miss fireworks.

#character logs #journal #ilyssae #ilyssae starspire

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sanguinesorceress · 6 years

Text

Marked for Death (Part 2)

[Part 1]

“Porter?! Another cask of Peaked Dalaran White, when you have a moment please!”

Porter. It had supplanted his real name in people’s thoughts, but Oneth Sagestriker didn’t seem to mind the nickname at all. Polite to a fault, the Kaldorei with boyish good looks and eyes as silver as a beam of moonlight always wore a smile despite the burden he carried on his broad shoulders. “Coming right up!” he chirped, springing to his feet with the vigor of a Brewfest wolpertinger being chased by drunken buffoons to fulfil his coworker’s request. Sure he had been offered a position as a bartender in the Ledgermain Lounge, but he declined for ‘personal reasons.’ Which his employer attributed to the rumour that his wife was sick and the change in his work schedule would conflict with visiting hours. It was not entirely false, as there were other reasons for him to actively seek refuge in anonymity. The busboy is but a thread in the Bartender’s tapestry. It was the perfect cover for moonlighting as a hired assassin.

Waiting between two specially designated crates in the back stockroom was his next assignment, and Gods knew he needed the gold. His current position didn’t exactly pay the best wages and the expenses for his wife’s treatment were piling up. It wasn’t honest work, but it was a means to an end— or so he had hoped. The recent diagnosis was handed down with the condemnation of a life-sentence unto an innocent soul. Why did it have to be her? If anything, he should have been the one to fall ill as a form of penance for his unconventional profession.

Closing time was just around the corner, and with the cask tapped and fitted in its proper place, Oneth excused himself from his shift. Finding a moment of solitude, he peeked at the hidden piece of parchment that would direct him toward his next ‘target.’ Wiping his sweaty palms on his pants, the porter closed his eyes and took a deep breath to still the hammering in his chest before withdrawing, not one, but two papers stacked neatly together. He recognized the first, it was from his usual employer, but the other was foreign in both penmanship and vellum. Postponing the first in favour of the second, Oneth unfolded the note to read its contents:

Despite what the doctors have convinced you to believe, your wife’s terminal condition is indeed reversible. Meet me on the easternmost island in Stormheim and be sure to come alone. Your every move henceforth is being monitored closely. Breathe a word of this to anyone and she dies today. I trust you will be discreet.

The other contained a name and a location written in code, so if the paper was discovered it would read as meaningless jargon to untrained eyes. Oneth glanced up at the clock, his eyes darting from one number to the next as he calculated the time it would take to fulfill his given assignment as well as the impromptu directive. If he left this instant, he would have enough time to complete both.

Off the coast of Morheim a long and narrow enclave hugs a large portion of the shoreline. Comprised of mostly rocky terrain, the island is largely uninhabitable save for lichens, crustaceans, roosting birds, and a small colony of bilgefin murlocs who are to credit for its namesake of ‘Bilgefin Shore.’

Oneth arrived by nightfall on the back of his trusted nightsaber, Whisper, who was every bit as quiet as her name implied despite the hulking cat’s size. When traveling through a murloc colony, it was best to bring a predatory feline with a healthy appetite for amphibious beasts, since these little monsters tended to move in swarms. Blades drawn and ready to strike, he anticipated an unprovoked attack from the territorial fish-men wielding rudimentary spears as weapons. It did not sound like much of a challenge until one found themselves to be overcome in an instant by a swarm of carnivorous halflings. Razor sharp teeth, webbed digits, and bulging eyes offered a great advantage under water, but on land the only safety found was from gathering in overwhelming numbers. Whisper’s experience took over, and with meals on flippers waddling all around her, she knew she would have her pick of the platter. Already she was licking her chops and crouching low, her tail ticking like a metronome, waiting for the signal to pounce.

A rain of spears swiftly followed the aggressive battle cry of “Mrglmrglmrglll!!!” and one did not need to be fluent in Nerglish to know they had been spotted.

Whisper sprang into action, snatching a cerulean murloc with iridescent green stripes and snapping its neck in her powerful jaws. In a single bound, the nightsaber had pinned five of them to the sand, where they met a violent end delivered mercilessly by sharpened teeth and deadly claws. Oneth dismounted, and immediately jolted from the barrage of frigid water bolts hurled by one of the magic weilders. Before he could retaliate, however, Whisper was on top of the violet murloc in an instant. “Save some for me, will you?!” he teased as he sliced through rubbery flesh, inflicting them with a lethal dose of poison he had anointed his blades with earlier.

“Aaaaaughibbrgubugbugrguburgle!” came the cry of their chieftan, and it was followed in unison with a resounding “mlargh!” from the rest of the tribe. It was unusual behavior for a territorial species, but it appeared as though the angry mob was now... retreating?

The murlocs’ diet consisted primarily of the crimson rockshell crabs co-habiting the area, whatever marine life they managed to spear, and the occasional traveler who wandered too close. As a direct result of their lifestyle, the air surrounding a murloc dwelling was laden with the nauseating stench of rotting fish caracases. Freshly added to this revolting bouquet was the odour of spilled blood from their fallen brethren, and in an attempt to diffuse some of the smell, Oneth pulled his mask over his nose. Shiny bobbles strung into sun-catchers dangled everywhere around the shanty-town, which was the product of repurposed cargo that had washed ashore from passing Vrykul ships.

A chilling breeze blew in from the eastern shore, and with it came a low-rolling fog that chased away the worst of the fetid stench with an aseptic gust of salt sea air. The sudden onset of this nearly impenetrable mist grounded the seagulls overhead, and had murlocs scrambling up the stilts of their grass roof huts in search of shelter. Whether their behaviour was driven by instinct or experience, there was an unsettling change in their mannerisms that could only be described as sheer terror. With a hand resting on the pommel of Whisper’s saddle, the assassin placed his absolute trust in her ability to lead him through the mist using her sharpened senses.

On the horizon, an ambiguous silhouette made manifest within the fog. At first he believed it to be a ship in the distance, but as it neared the shadow gradually took on the form of a tall, feminine figure. “Oneth Sagestriker,” she murmured while approaching the assassin, and her words echoed amidst the waves until they too collided with the inevitable shore, “I do hope the murlocs were not too troublesome.” Her voice was a siren’s song, alluring, yet perilous to those who ventured too close to the water’s edge.

“I have come alone as you have requested. Now tell me what I must do to spare my wife.” Taller the silhouette grew, until the woman stood looming over him with the majesty of a Vrykul warrior, a race native to Stormheim whom are believed to be descended from giants. “Who are you, and why have you called upon me?” Was he, by some fortuitous chance, in the presence of a Val’kyr, a winged spirit capable of resurrecting the dead?

“I have been given many names,” crooned the mysterious woman, “but you may simply refer to me as the Tide Seer.” Slowly, the mists parted to reveal a robust woman with seaweed in place of hair and scales shimmering across her verdant skin. Barnacles clung to her dress, which appeared to be fashioned from the tattered sails of sunken ships.

“I know what you are,” Oneth growled, and the hair on Whisper’s back bristled in response to the contempt seething from her master’s lips as he spat the word, “Kvaldir.” Not only did it explain the mist’s abrupt arrival, but the reaction it garnered from terrified murlocs as they scurried away from the danger it heralded.

“Tisk, tisk,” she chided while focusing a stare toward him as deep and mysterious as the ocean itself. “We wouldn’t want your wife to fall into sudden cardiac arrest over a bit of prejudice, now would we? Mind your manners, assassin, and sharpen your hearing instead of your blades.” Although thought to be folklore, the Kvaldir were actually a ruthless and barbaric race of corrupt Vrykul who had taken to the seas as opposed to the land. Primarily elusive humanoids, the only other location they could be found was on the blistering cold isles off the coast of Northrend.

Oneths’ moonlit eyes narrowed into waxing crescents as he countered with a pointed glare. “Alright, sea witch, I’ll entertain you with an honest question. What makes you so confident you can cure my wife when she has already seen the best doctors gold can buy?”

“There is a way,” she hummed, “ although unconventional as it may seem, the outcome is guaranteed, I assure you.” A slow smile crept across her pale blue lips as she watched his expression transform from malice to intrigue, “and for a man of your profession there should be no contest. A life for a life. Your dearly beloved will live a long and healthy lifespan free of illness, and all you have to do is add one more target to your roster.” Could it really be that simple?

“How do you plan to accomplish that?” By this point, his feline companion had nearly doubled in size. Everything about this encounter rubbed her the wrong way, causing the fur on her body to stand fully erect and tingle with electricity.

“It is a simple equation of give and take, really. By trimming lifespan of one individual, it allows the opportunity to transfer the remainder to another. As for the details, let us simply agree that I have my area of expertise just as you have yours. Do we have a deal or not?”

Oneth gave pause as he weighed his options, studying every possible aspect and outcome of the business transaction. “What sort of guarantee do I have that you will keep your word, Tide Seer?” While he found her offer tempting, the assassin also had enough experience not to bargain blindly.

The creeping mist swirled to life, demonstrating its omnipresence by swallowing the entire coastal shore and the murloc village housed therein. One by one, each of the aquatic monsters burbled and gasped like fish on dry land before flopping to the sand with a lifeless ‘thud’. “The only guarantee I am willing to give… is the promise of carrying out my threats.”

A wave of dizziness swept over him and he leaned heavily on Whisper for support. Unfortunately, the feline was also feeling a bit unsteady on her paws and she hissed, wide-eyed and panicked as her limbs betrayed her, forcing the nightsaber to fall on her belly. A triumphant smirk pulled at the witch’s lips as she watched him choke on the fog; coughing like a man with a fish bone stuck in his throat, as he collapsed to his knees while clutching his neck. Without so much as lifting a finger, she had asphyxiated nearly everything within her realm of influence. “Would you doubt my abilities at the cost of your own life? Perhaps your beloved wife’s? Or are you not motivated enough to save her?”

“Alright!” he wheezed, “You have made your point!” and with his yielding the mists slowly receded. Oneth gulped down several breaths as though he had discovered the only break in a wall of ice trapping him beneath a frozen lake. “Who do you want me to kill?”

“He who hails from the floating city, Magister Jadex.”

“A Kirin Tor magus?” Every burning breath he took scraped like sandpaper against his ribs. “What would a Kvaldir such as yourself hope to accomplish by killing someone like him?” he puzzled while massaging the center of his chest.

“The Violet peace keepers have overstepped their boundaries. I intend to send a message for them to cease meddling in Vrykul affairs. I do not care how you accomplish your task, only that you adhere to the following conditions.” For each directive she named, the seer counted by peeling back one of her knobby fingers. “First, he must suffer a slow and excruciating death, and the second is that you deliver a personal message.”

“What is the message you wish for me to convey?”

“One day I will return and he won't be around to see me rise again.”

“Very well,” he sighed reluctantly. It wasn’t as though he had been given a choice in the matter. “I shall do as you ask.”

“Take these pearls,” she directed, “place one in his home, and the other next to your wife. When the elven magus dies, the disease will depart from her body and the remainder of his lifespan shall become hers. You have precisely twelve hours to uphold your end of the bargain or I shall keep my promise and send her to an early grave. The shifting sands begin their descent… starting now.”

Before he could protest or request more time to carry out such a daunting task, the Tide Seer dispersed with a splash of salt water and collapsed into a lifeless heap of seaweed on the shore.

Desperation was a cruel motivator, and Oneth understood he needed to make every second count as though it was his wife’s last.

( Image Source [1] [2] [3] [4] ) @hmratking @loveherdekay @lazraelbandtherion @safrona-shadowsun @puppet-master-jihye

#Plot: Marked for Death #part two #stay tuned for more to come #sanguine sorceress #Conniving Bitch #i really enjoyed this #I hope you do too #sorceress literature

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alteredphoenix · 3 years

Text

Heavy On My Mind (WoW)(Hal/Rom broship, Lor’themar/Thalyssra)(WIP)

A/N: I’ve been feeling burnt out writing, or rather the lack of motivation, so I decided instead of brute-forcing a fic as I’m usually wont to do I went ahead and just picked a story I felt like working and typed away on it. This went for a few days, going from story to story so I didn’t lose the energy for it, and during that period I went back to my Prompt Dump Doc on Google Drive and added more ideations to it. Somehow during that night - which I think was two nights ago, IIRC - I skimmed over the prompts and thought Well, Grand, what do you want to work on that hopefully won’t explode in word count?

This is one of the prompts from the Dump Doc: a fic taking place after A Moment of Verse in which Halduron and Rommath wait for Lor’themar to return from his trip from Suramar, with the Did They Or Didn’t They? trope playing into effect.

I’m kind of mixed on Lor’themar/Thalyssra as a ship because I remember pre-Legion external media was hinting hard at Lor’themar/Liadrin, but somewhere along the way it was just...dropped?? That made me feel bad for Liadrin, because while I think she (along with the majority of the belf cast) is single-mindedly nationalistic and a bit too on the nose with the Light for me to enjoy I was low-key rooting for her to culminate something with him. But I think Thalyssra has potential provided I actually see the results of their date play out other than a single kiss and doing more to distinguish herself and the nightborne from Tyrande and the night elves.

The clock ticks away on the wall.

Tick...tock...tick...tock.

Halduron and Rommath ignore it. Their eyes are on the cards in each other’s hands. Between them, off to the side in the center of the table, are coins stacked next to each other in little towers; both men have a little pile on their respective sides. In front of them, below their sweating palms, are single rows of cards, some of them face-down, some face-up.

In the very middle is the deck. There isn’t much of it left.

Tick...tock…tick...tock.

Halduron stares at his hand: a highborne king of hearts, a highborne queen of clubs, a druidic five of clubs, an Elunite ace of spades, a murloc two of diamonds, and a red llidari joker. The fingers of his right hand, all but the thumb and the first two digits, roam restlessly from one end to the other. He can see the transparency of his nails through the meager light that manages to pour in from the window—long nails, blunt, with the beginnings of sharpness showing at the very tips. He reminds himself to trim them when he gets a chance.

His heartbeat thrums steadily in his neck, a little too loudly in his ears.

His eyes flick up over the top of his deck. Rommath’s brow is creased more than usual to the point he can see the veins pop up beneath his widow’s peak. His hands are neatly folded over their cards, and Halduron can see how finely square and blunt his fingernails are; magician’s fingers, he’s heard it call, and a magician, the Grand Magister once told him, must never sully his fingers for menial, trifling drudgery meant for warriors, outlaws, and Farstriders. No offense, of course, he would tack on, and completely unapologetic at that. You’re an exception. You know better than to engage in such barbarism.

(Halduron grimaces when he hears that. Every time.)

Rommath hums, taps his fingers against the cards. Halduron wonders if the hand he has is awful as his, and decides it probably is. There’s no way he’d linger that long if his hand was strong. If he knew for a fact it was even slightly, remotely, any better than his fellow partner, Rommath would be waxing up a lyrical, poetical storm of smug overconfidence fit to stink up all the Shadowlands. The only people capable of huffing it up that much would be the other rods-up-the-ass in his own private, little inner circle of fat cats, white-glove testers, and wine drinkers.

Oh, would the tides have turned if the deck didn’t look so flat.

Tick...tock...tick...tock.

There’s sweat on Rommath’s brow, peppering the high-rise of the peak, and some limning the bridge of his nose. If there’s more to it beneath the mask, Halduron doesn’t know. It’s a warm day out, regardless of how early it is. How in the hell can Rommath put up sitting in direct sunlight like that? The man is as anal as a blood elf cut from fine cloth can come.

And then it hits Halduron: Rommath is far too engrossed to have bothered casting a self-cooling frost spell on him this morning, much less change into another robe that’s the exact same copy of the one he’s been wearing—or deigned to wear as many duplicates as humanly possible—since that evening, last week.

(By the Sunwell, there’s a strand of hair out of place!)

Tick...tock.

Rommath looks up, right at him, and Halduron can’t stop himself fast enough from jumping in his seat. He forces his eyes down at his hand, no better than the last time he burned his gaze on them. His ears droop at the scoff the Grand Magister makes, quiet and rough in his throat, anticipates the soft scrape of his fingers pulling a card out to slip onto the table and thin the deck out.

Nothing happens.

Tick...tock.

Halduron chances a glance, feeling like a child again who was checking to make sure his mother still wasn’t in the house and wouldn’t suddenly teleport there before he made the beeline to her chambers to take her prized bow off the tacks and try it out for himself (but of course the string snapped in half, and of course she had happened upon him just as soon as it happened...but that was another story for another time). His ears straighten slightly: Rommath’s focus is back on his hand, sweat still on his forehead, his ponytail still sticking out in places that would give him a coronary and urge him to comb every knot, kink, and curlicue into perfect, parallel lines only an architect could love, still with his fingers over the cards.

Maybe the sound he made wasn’t meant for him, Halduron thinks. Maybe it’s for himself, for the odds stacked against him, for what move he might make that could possibly land him the rest of the tower of gold coins and the rest of the day rubbing his accomplishments in Halduron’s face for all of Quel’Thalas to hear and gossip over.

Tick.

Halduron heaves in a silent exhale and puts his attention back on the game.

Tock.

Too long.

This has been going on for way too long. A card game shouldn’t have to last one entire week—

Tick.

Their ears shoot up. Their eyes meet.

They listen.

Footsteps. Solid, measured footsteps, with not the hint of heels dragging on the floor. Militant and rigid, a soldier’s gait, growing louder and closer by the second.

Halduron’s mouth falls open, and, if the indentation in his mask is anything to go by, so does Rommath’s.

#world of warcraft #fanfiction #preview #mywriting #heavy on my mind (fanfic)

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moria-rants · 6 years

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Angry Rant

So, I’m putting this out there. This will not be a happy rant. This will be an angry rant, and if you are easily offended, you are advised to turn away from this post. Like seriously, it will not be nice.

OKAY! SO..

What is up with nobles on the Alliance? I can’t say much for horde as I barley see them, but Alliance. Just what the ever loving fuck are you doing? Like okay, let me step back. Maybe I don’t know what WoW Nobility is supposed to be like. Maybe I’m hooked too much on stories of King Arthur, and Disney Princesses, and Anastasia, but, I know one thing. The higher your rank, the more people are to respect you. What do Alliance nobles do? The opposite. For the last two years, I have watched noble rp grow and expand, have its ups and downs, but there were a few things that never set right with me. 1. Peoples choices in land. 2. How they addressed issues. 3. How they spoke to other nobles. 4. How they acted as their nobility rank. Like let me make this clear, I am no expert. I cannot say with 100% certainty that this is how nobles should be. I will repeat that.

I am NO expert. I cannot say how you should RP a noble!

However, I want to address these topics above. Lets start with the land issue. So yea, a lot of people like Roleplaying Nobles, and saying their land is around x,y, and z. Cool beans, you do you. However I have to bring to question when you choose lands that are clearly not human held as your choice. Like Stranglethorn, Tanaris, Hinterlands, so on and so forth. To my knowledge, the seven kingdoms very in region and location but are safely known amongst the wow universe, even in its destroyed state. Stranglethorn is an untamed jungle, that the kingdom of Stormwind has just sent small incursions into to look for resources and so forth. It is contested territory as the trolls of the Gurubashi fight to defend THEIR LANDS. The orcs and Goblins have also set up amongst that land. But again, it is Gurubashi Land (Feel free to reply to this and tell me if I missed a piece of lore stating otherwise). Hinterlands is contested between the Dwarves of Aerie Peak and the Trolls that live there. This, to the Alliance, is known as Wildhammer Lands and is recognized as such. So why would Wildhammer dwarves give land and permit HUMAN NOBLES to make calls on their land? They wouldn’t, to my knowledge. Sure they may give land to house the humans, as they are allies and friends, but they would not give them the power to build armies and attack the lands threats which could prove dangerous for the dwarves. Tanaris now, is a tricky one. There isn’t a lot of lore defining humans and when they got there. The only city there is a goblin ran town of Gadgetzan. However, there are Tanari Wastelanders, which would allow for Humans to be born and raised in Tanaris. I can see the Wastelanders having their own hierarchy. However, their hierarchy would not be acknowledged by the Alliance or any known human kingdom. Wastelanders are just bandits and pirates, they have their own rules and ranks, but they are not acknowledged by Stormwind, Gilneas, or any other human kingdom. The closest one I can think of accepting them as any form of nobility would be Kul’tiras, and even then, that’s a stretch. I will state this again, I may not know all the information, if you can point to me information stating otherwise, I will happily take it and understand!

On to the next topic. How they address issues. Now I know that not everyone is all about politics. It’s not a very fun business unless you are coming out on top, so I understand how it is. This is the cause of a lot of stress and argument. With that said, I don’t understand the mindset about when it comes to issues that nobles face. There aren’t a lot of wars between nobles, which would be an obvious thing to happen, what with land grabs and control. But the main one that really bothers me, is the lack of care for the issues in their region. Like sure, all nobles care about Westfall and its poverty. And all Arathi, Lordaeron, and Gilnean nobles care about beating back the Forsaken and reclaiming their lands. But what about the other lands? Sure Elwynn is tranquil and at first glance doesn’t have any problems... until you think. They have massive gnoll, murloc, kobold, and bandit issues. The guard is spread thin and rarely is able to fully deal with the problem. Yet I have yet to hear of any Elwynn Noble that has thought about rallying together to raise money for the Clergy in Northshire Abbey, or clearing out Gnoll or Kobold camps. Sure they suppress the murlocs and bandits, but that isn’t all there is! Then lets look at Darkshire. Yea there’s worgen and undead problems! But there’s also the Riders! You know, the ones in Legion that you had to fight their leader to get your Artifact Weapon? They are still out there! They are harassing the village! Why not deal with them? Why not raise funds to try and find a way to remove the curse that leaves the land shrouded in darkness? What about Redridge? All the destruction that John Keeshan left behind in his wake. Why is there no fundraisers to repair the total damage he did? He literally BLEW UP an entire valley! He destroyed countless buildings that were attempted to be reclaimed! He fricken murdered a dude in a fight club! Like why are the Redridge nobles not trying to repair the damage done? ESPECIALLY When you do the quests you discover that Redridge has a lack of guards to defend the place. Why are nobles not setting up groups to defend Redridge? Why is there no Redridge Council or whatever to protect the region? It’s all swept under the rug like it didn’t happen and nothing is wrong. Like sure, sure. I am sure plenty of nobles write in their stories that they are defending against the threat or sending troops to the current war against whatever. But when was the last time they did any fundraising to get people aware and support their civilians?

Noble on Noble action. Let’s get down to that. So again, I know World of Warcraft is different, so maybe different social interactions are there. But, I’m pretty sure, that if a noble of substantial wealth and power spoke to you, then you told them to fuck off and flipped them the finger, I don’t think you’re noble-ing right. Like Duke is the highest you can be as a noble in Roleplay without being a damn Prince or Princess. If a Lowly Knight Lord told a Duke to shove it cause he doesn’t know shit about the battlefield, then yea he would get his ass beat cause that’s like telling the King to kiss your ass as a baker. It’s not socially acceptable! Like from the top down its Duke/Duchess, Marquis, Count/Countess, Baron/Baroness, Lord/Lady. Once more I state, I do not know 100% and could be incorrect. But like seriously. Would you go up to your boss and flip him the bird cause he told you something you didn’t like? No, cause it’s not acceptable behavior! When you talk to someone of higher ranking, you’re supposed to address them as such in proper manners and be polite and elegant and well-mannered. Salute, bow, call them Your Lordship or Your Highness. Like okay, if a Duke said its okay to call them by their first name, then that’s what you do. But upon first meeting? HELL FUCKING NO!

Which brings me to how people act as their nobility rank. I am sorry, but why on earth would a noble of any standing openly and publicly go out to a brothel? Better question, why would you arrange a political marriage (Which nobles would most assuredly do) just to have some huge dramatic break off scene so they can run away with their “one true love” who is some lowblood? Like, I know that sounds horrible to say, but its so overdone. And truthfully? Most families would probably stripe you of your access to their wealth if you broke off a political marriage. Like, just saying. Like yes it is your character, and yea its your story. But like, why the overdone trope? Sure its World of Warcraft, where even nobles learn to fight and do alchemy and magic. But that doesn’t change their social standing and the expectations they are supposed to uphold. Like I just don’t get it. Sure tropes are fun, like a lot of fun to do. But when it’s overdone, it loses the flavor. Especially when you guys can’t even add a twist or variety on it cause you’re too afraid to face consequences of your actions. Which is ironic since most of you complain about criminal and villain rpers who don’t want to take consequences for their actions.

Finally, I will state. I might be wrong. Hell I might be bloody stupid and not realize it cause I lack knowledge of one subject or another. If you wish to discuss it with me and point out that “Oh well, what if was like this? Or maybe you didn’t think about X being B.” Like I am all for it. I will gladly discuss, but if you come at me with the “You’re a fucking dumb bitch who’s just trying to control my RP, I hope Blizzard bans you.” Well good sir, then I will ignore you and continue my discussion with those who want to inform me of why I may not be understanding things.

Let me know if I missed some heavy lore piece, or that maybe I’m not on the right side of the server and missed a bunch of events or such that cleared most of these problems! Love you all. Have a fantastic day.

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punchfacefist · 4 years

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Imara’el Finds a New Body

Downward. Downward, ever falling, tumbling, spinning through darkness and suddenly as he could right and orient himself, Imara'el Lightsong saw the infinite possibilities his life could have taken. They were, for lack of a better term, windows that looked in onto timelines, transpiring events where he existed. In some he was a just an ordinary citizen in Silvermoon; in another, he was a battle-hardened warlord sitting atop a conquered throne in the ruins of Stormwind. In others, still, he was a traitor, a slave, a rebel, a healer, a commoner, a spy, a lover, a cultist, a Warchief, an exile, a king, an assassin. His life was so different in each and every picture he saw, some timelines so familiar he wondered what difference there was, and other timelines looked completely alien and the farthest from his understanding. from primordial to technologically advanced, there was no timeline he didn't exist in some form. And then Imara'el saw one window that drew his focus the longest. He saw himself as a hunter, wielding a rifle in one hand tossing a grenade with another, which detonated underneath the oncoming throng of demons. He recognized this Imara'el's world as his own on Azeroth, the shoreline was different, surely, but it was the first assault the Alliance and Horde made against the Burning Legion as it invaded. His own memories of the battle were bitter with failure, and he felt helpless in that battle. But this Imara'el he witnessed, doing battle with such odds against him... He was smiling. He lived for this chaos, this carnage, this fight! Imara'el could see the battle take a different turn, as the Horde forces were overwhelmed by the sheer numbers. The demons lifted impaled bodies upon their twisted, blood-soaked weapons, reveling in the cold-hearted slaughter of lives they cared not for. Imara'el in this timeline fought furiously, back-to-back with an Alliance soldier, it looked, before the human was cut down gleefully. Imara'el was surrounded, and the smile fell from his face. Imara'el witnessed all of this, the horror of the battle that he had survived, and seeing his doppelganger ready to fall, something stirred, and he reached his intact hand into the window, grabbing hold of Imara'el the Hunter and pulling him in through it. Imara'el the Paladin admired the Hunter for a moment; their similarities were strikingly close enough to one another, the Hunter's hair was longer though, colored a golden red, untouched by The Light as his own was. But the color was familiar, nonetheless. Perhaps the only constant about the Hunter was the top few inches of his left ear sliced short and capped with gold ornamenting. Very much like what the Paladin had. "What the hell?" the Hunter gasped at last, realizing he wasn't dead by the demonic onslaught that should have taken him. "That was a close one," the Paladin spoke up to bring the focus to him in the white void. "Who the hell are you?" the Hunter asked, clearly having taken in the Paladin's distinct appearance. "You ever look at a mirror and wonder if the reflection was of yourself or someone else?" the Paladin asked, "I happen to be from the other side of the mirror." "Bullshit!" the Hunter exclaimed, clearly not having any of the Paladin's nonsense. "You're just me from another timeline, aren't you?" The Paladin sighed. "Take all the fun out of it for me, why don't you?" he asked. "Listen, Ima, I can give you another chance at life. Your Azeroth was about to fall. Here, look." The two turned again to look out the window, and witnessed the Burning Legion enveloped Azeroth. There was a great sound. And a flash of fel-green in the space. And then there was nothing left of Azeroth. The Hunter could say little else as he witnessed the end of his world, and opted for, "Huh." "Bit much, isn't it?" the Paladin asked. "I'm pretty sure there's one here where we're a Chronomancer." The Hunter strayed for a moment from the Paladin's presence, inspecting the events in another window, wherein murlocs have grown larger than normal, and had to be combated with giant mechanical suits. "I like this timeline," the Hunter observed as the attacking murloc abomination crashed up against a Stormwind building, sending Alliance scattering in panic. "Focus, Ima," the Paladin spoke up. "There's got to be a Chronomancer who help us out." "Do you really think I would help the both of you?" He was resplendent in brilliant robes of gold fabric and threading, his face was taut and hiding a disdainful scowl at the two before him. "You two are not meant to be here. Return to your timelines. Now. I only warn you once." The Paladin and Hunter traded a glance to one another before regarding the Chronomancer. "Looks like we found him," the Hunter shrugged to the Paladin. "So we did," the Paladin nodded. "Listen, Ima, we were wondering if you could--" "No," the Chronomancer interrupted, clearly knowing what would be asked of him. "You need to leave this time-nexus the way you came in." In an act of authority that he meant it, Imara'el the Chronomancer turned to leave. "Kinda hard to do that when my timeline doesn't exist, buddy," the Hunter answered. "The Burning Legion turned it into ash." The Chronomancer spun on his heel to face the Hunter. "Are you serious?" the Chronomancer exclaimed, "there's no damn way the Burning Legion has the firepower to obliterate an entire planet!" "Tell that to the scorched husk of the Azeroth I just came from." the Hunter scoffed. "I watched it happen, too," the Paladin added. "Just as much of a nasty shock." The Chronomancer fixed his gaze onto the Paladin. now. "So what's your excuse for being here? Your timeline is in no peril currently, surely you can return to it?" Imara'el the Paladin shrugged. "Sure I'd love to," he said, "but I just closed the only way I had home. Had I not, every single one of our timelines would have collapsed in on themselves. You're welcome for that, by the way." The Chronomancer pinched the bridge of nose, unable to deal with such recklessness of his other selves, and growled disdainfully realizing he had no other choice now but to help out. "The Bronze Council is going to have my staff for this," he muttered. "Fine! I'll help you out, but never come back into the time-nexus again. One-too-many of us would attract the Infinite Flight and it would mean disaster for all!" "Oh cool, you have the Infinite Flight too?" the Paladin asked, surprised to hear something familiar." The Chronomancer reached into the depths of one of his sleeves, and pulling from it a long-pronged ornate tuning fork. With a quick tap to his staff, the tuning fork vibrated and struck a long tone. The sound of it enveloped the Paladin and Hunter, and a window in the time nexus opened, pulling the two through it. The Chronomancer watched as his work for the two was fulfilled, and he returned to his timeline, hoping the two's frequencies would attune and assimilate properly. For that, the Chronomancer mused, Imara'el the Paladin would have to witness his life again, to grow accustomed to the new body. It would definitely tame some time for everything to adjust naturally.

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ghorftas · 6 years

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3. A Surprise Gift

Around three hundred years ago…

A young night elf known as Ghorthas awoke from his sleep. He was fairly young for his race, but in comparison to the humans aboard the ship at the time, he was the oldest. No one knew what he was, not even he knew at this time. He jumped from the bed with a youthful grin filling his face as he ran out of the captain’s quarters and basked in the sunshine. He had seen it a few thousand times now, but to him it was still exciting. Ghorthas watched the humans and the murlocs of the crew toiling and working to keep the ship moving.

“Ghorthas, my boy! Come up to the wheel!” A middle aged human yelled, waving to the young night elf. The man had grey locks, tied in the messiest ponytail you’d ever see a human sport. There was still tints of blonde left in his hair from his younger years. A grey and ragged beard curled around his face. He, like the crew, wore flowy purple shirts and blue baggy bottoms. But unlike most of the crew, wore well tanned and woven leather black boots. The only thing regal about this man was his spit shined boots while the rest of his clothing looked tattered and wrinkled.

“Coming, captain!” Ghorthas shouted back, running up the stairs and onto the higher deck of the ship. The young elf wore similar attire to the captain but his feet laid bare. It was also noteworthy to mention that his hair was very well kept compared to the human’s.

“Ghorthas… you know you can call me DAD, right?” The captain chuckled. He grinned as he continued to steer the ship. Ghorthas also broke out a smile as he shrugged his shoulders and lifted his arms up.

“But Captain sounds WAY better.” Ghorthas responded. The human let out a sigh, still grinning.

“Aye, to a child it might seem so. But to a father it’s nice to hear some appreciation.” The human responded, nudging the night elf’s arm softly as he continued to steer the ship. Ghorthas rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, still wearing his smile.

“What did you need, dad?” “Well, I feel it’s time to teach my son how to steer a ship. Since one day he’ll have to be a captain.” The human added, taking his hands off of the wheel and pointing at it encouragingly. Ghorthas’s big eyes went wide as he stared at the wheel. The human was unable to contain his laughter, slapping his thigh even.

“It’s not gonna bite ‘ya! Just grab it and keep it steady.” The messy human added, grinning as he watched him. The young night elf took a few steps forward, carefully grasping the wheel. Side by side, it was clear the night elf was just a bit taller than the human. Ghorthas gripped the wheel tightly as he stared ahead.

“Now, now, don’t hold it so tight. You’re not gonna fly off the damn boat. Keep your hands soft on it.” The man added. Ghorthas loosened his grip, sighing softly and squinting at the open sea in front of him. The young elf’s gaze became fixed as he watched the ship move with the biggest grin on his face.

“Ha! The boy of Rob McDawn is a natural! Of course he’d be!” Said the human, referring to himself. Ghorthas smiled at the comment. His fondness for his father always continued to grow, but in that moment he felt the fondness for himself grow two fold.

“Well, I’ll leave ‘ya to it! Just stay on the current course and we’ll be fine!” Rob said softly as he walked towards the stairs. Ghorthas’ long eyebrow raised he lifted his hand up to get his father’s attention.

“But Cap-- I mean, Dad, I’m not the captain!” Ghorthas shouted, holding his hands even looser on the wheel. Rob mimicked his son’s gaze before sighing and rolling his eyes. The human walked back over to the young elf, shoving his hand in his own pocket.

“Don’t tell a soul on this ship this but… I’m about to give you the captain’s treasure. I’ll want it back after you’re done steering but while you are acting captain, it’s yours.” McDawn whispered to Ghorthas as he pulled out a steel pendant from his pocket. The pendant was immaculate. While it wasn’t made of gold or silver, it was made from high quality steel. The only thing that was not perfect about the pendant was the very messy scratching of the word “McDawn” on it. As Ghorthas took one of his hands off of the wheel to hold the relic in his hands, his eyes widened again.

“Th-Thank you!” Ghorthas said weakly, barely able to contain his grin. McDawn smiled and turned around, walking towards the stairs again.

“Don’t lose it! That is the most precious treasure on this ship!”

#elfebruary2018 #writing #warcraft #ghorthas #pirate #gaming

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rudemonkeyy · 7 years

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End of a Proud Pirate, Pt.1

[So I’m sharing the short story I wrote. It’s about Fishuli’s last night aboard his crew’s ship... Hopefully it’s likable, and be critical if you want c:]

Starry skies shone down on the waters of Booty Bay as a lone ship dropped its sails and moved off from the docks, roars of celebration and victory echoed throughout the city as the crew of The Black Rose prepared for new adventures. The crew was getting rowdy, barrels of drink were tapped, joyous pirates singing shanties, and their Captain overlooked them all with a smile on her face. They had deserved something of a break, and with a big payload from the last Alliance military ship they pillaged, they could easily live the good life for a small while. But throughout all the merrymaking and off-key singing, a lone troll stood at the stern looking back at the distancing city. He was hunched over the railing, swirling a bottle of rum in his hand and sipping from it every now and then. He was happy the crew was taking a break, but something was bothering him lately. In the past few weeks some of the crew didn’t seem themselves, more distant, and more bitter and hostile when they weren’t fighting. Given, this was the first raid they have done in almost a month, he could’ve guessed most were itching for a good fight, but he had some inkling that all was not well.

“Fishuli!” an arm wrapped around the troll’s shoulders as an orc laughed heartily, his breathed reeked of alcohol, speech slurred to high heavens. “What’re you doing back here boyo? The party is on the deck!” the orc laughed louder, squeezing the troll with his single arm. Fishuli, the troll in question could only chuckle.

“Not feelin’ it tonight Norkal, yeah?” Fishuli said, shucking off the orc’s arm who was taking another deep drink from his bottle.

“Ah be down ta cook wit’ de chef soon doh, ya look like ya can eat a murloc, mon.” the troll joked. The orc scratched his head, and turned back to the celebrations.

“I wonder what fried murloc would taste like…” he uttered, Fishuli could only feel disgust at the idea, waving off the orc as he was left alone again. Another drink of his rum and he was back to trying to make ends of the others. He couldn’t make sense of the whole thing. Perhaps it was just restlessness; most people become pirates for the money, the adventure, the violence. Fishuli wasn’t really here for the last of those three, but he was pretty content with. His whole life was more fulfilling when he joined years ago on a fateful night, one that started with him at the barrel end of the Captain’s pistol and ended with him being the ship’s own cabin boy. But here he was now, a real part of the crew, even picking up some pointers from the cook on-board.

The troll shook his head, he wasn’t going to bother figuring out what was wrong with everyone when they were all so joyous tonight, that can be saved for his awaiting break, maybe he’ll go back to Sen’jin and visit his mother, it had been a few too many years. He rubbed the bridge of his nose imaging the earful he was going to get for not visiting in so long, but it was going to be nice being back home. Taking a deep sigh, Fishuli muttered a quiet cheers to himself and chugged the rest of his rum, the sweet spice lingering on his tongue as he finished it off with a satisfied breath. He was tipsy, but still good to cook, well… hopefully. Time had passed now. A full moon hung brilliantly in the sky, it rays of light illuminating the troll. His blue eyes gazed down at the ocean, the ripples in the water putting him at ease. One that would come to an abrupt end.

Footsteps sounded behind the troll, heavy and thumping. Fishuli rolled his eyes, “Ah said ah be comin’ Norkal, don’ rush m-“his sentence was cut off as he turned. A glint of something shined in the moonlight, moving too quick for the troll to grasp. It cut across his face, a searing pain making the man grunt in shock. He drew his hand to the source of the agony; a cut, just missing his eye but already bleeding heavily. Fishuli snarled through clenched teeth.

“Jus’ what in de hells are joo-.”

Thwack!

He was silenced again. The world was blurred, his hearing nothing but white noise. He fell to his knees. Something warm was running down his face, his vision slowly turning crimson. The troll shakily looked up. Two figures loomed over him, their faces obscured by his fading consciousness. But he knew who they were, he could still tell from how they were dressed. They were a part of the ship they sailed on. The larger of the two reached forward, a single hand clutched at his neck, threatening to crush it. The strange figure lifted him up with ease; Fishuli was struggling for air as he was then held over the railing. With the last of his strength his lips formed a single word.

Mutiny.

The figure let go, plunging Fishuli into the dark waters below. The impact sounded with a loud crash, the shock of the cold waters waking him. But he could barely move, he could only look helplessly up at the moon as he sank. He tried to kick his legs, thrashing with all his might, still he sank deeper. He prayed to the loas and they did not answer, still he sank deeper. Everything grew darker.

This is it? He thought, dying in the ocean, no one to know what became of me? What will happen to my crew? My Family? It can’t end like this can it?

No. No it couldn’t. Fading blue eyes shot open, a new desire burning within him, wanting to escape this untimely demise. Fishuli kept kicking his legs, his will wrestling with his body to put his arms into the motion. Slowly he brought down his left arm, then his right, his left again. He could feel himself forcing his way upwards, focusing on reaching. He was losing breath as water filled his lungs. He could see the moon clearly again.

Almost… there…

Breaking through the surface, the troll let out a bloodcurdling cry, coughing and spluttering water. His wounds burned like a thousand suns but he’d be damned to stop here. In the distance he could barely make out The Black Rose sailing further away, that option was far gone now. Spinning himself around he saw feint lights and something large and ugly standing in front of them. “Janeiro’s Point…” Fishuli made in the direction of the small island. He wasn’t going to die. Not tonight.

#fishuli #short story #world of warcraft #seadog's writing

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