Marachius heard the tavern well before he saw it. His squadmates walked on either side of him, leading him around the corner until they finally saw the establishment ahead of them. Marc saw sailors and guards going in and coming out of the establishment, singing loudly and obviously enjoying themselves, and he rolled his eyes. Finally giving in, Marc accepted that they were not going to let him out of having an evening on the town.

“Okay everyone,” Kiernan said as the group stopped outside of the tavern. “We’ve got forty-eight hours of R&R. So one night to cut loose and one day to recuperate.”

“Recuperate?” Marc asked cautiously.

“That’s what the man said,” Nara responded with a grin.

“Been a while since we...

“WAKE UP!”

Braghaman’s eyes shot open. He scanned from side to side but saw very little given the darkness of the room. His ears strained to hear the voice again but it was not there. All he could hear was the slow breathing of Niviene asleep beside him.

Another dream, Bragh thought to himself as he lifted his head off the pillow to look around the room. Nothing was out of place. Slowly he rolled out of the bed and stood up. It took a moment to get his bearings in the new room. After taking a deep breath, he quietly moved around the large bed and stepped out of the bedroom. 

Braghaman pulled the door closed behind him and then started walking down the hall. They’d only been in the house for a couple of weeks at this point,...

It was quiet. She sat on the floor of her wagon, slumped and still. She was tired. The sobbing had stopped and she was numb. Owlishly blinking, only slowly did she come back. Shadows lay thick around her, swirling in a soft fog with her every breath. Her skirt was wet where she'd spilled the vase in her lap. She didn't  notice.

Khaeris looked around the dark interior. The soft light the arcane runes Helal had scribed for her had faded to a thin paleness over the last two years. Her curtains and shutters were closed, her plants temporarily at Pollux's apartment and the automatic watering globes he'd rigged for her previously. The wagon looked tired, too, she decided.

Even the small parcels looked quiet. But the air smelled of fresh...

Sir Caenarfon Corwen and Dame Paynifier Ahalin strode through the stinking mud of the war camp.  Settled into the hillside, the banners of several houses and the Silver Hand seem to cling together in a desperate and defiant hodge podge of lively color.  In the rising ground to the southeast was Tyr’s Hand, and to the north in all directions an impossible enemy, death itself, a plague creeping ever closer. The tall, black knights marched surely towards the section of the camp hung with the matching black and orange banners of the household they represented.  Their tabards and armors wore the dull grime and dirt of a patrol done.

As the dark pair made their way to the checkpoint at the perimeter of their section of the camp it...

Time started again as the softness of the night bloomed again and her ears rang with the after-echos of previous booms and pops. She blinked and the memory of the fountains of color and bright burned still. But it was over and it was just a memory.

Fireworks were one of her favorite things. Lunar Festival, therefor, was one of her favorite times of year. The beautiful displays ranged from big to small, from simple snaps against the stone path to the stunning flashes and shimmers that hung in the sky. There were paper lanterns enchanted to float and streamers that flutter in breezes.  Sparkles and shimmers flashed at the corners of your eyes. Flowers every direction you looked.

It wasn't easy to forget that an Old God was...

The young boy stared wide-eyed as his pony passed under the archway of the large goes leading to the abbey at Northshire. He looked at the stonework for a moment before turning his gaze back to his father riding in front of him on a fiery, winged lion.

“I’m really going to be a paladin.”

“If that’s what you want,” Braghaman answered, looking back over his shoulder at his young son. “If you want this.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll be as good a paladin as you someday.”

“Son, I expect you’ll be a greater paladin than I ever was.”

“Why do you think that? Wouldn’t I be just like you?”

“In some way, Banny. But there’s one big difference between you and me.”

“What’s that, father?”

Braghaman pulled on...

Marachius sat at his desk and stared at the papers in his hand even though it was obvious that he wasn’t really seeing them. There were people moving around in the room. Other paladins spoke quietly as they moved in and out. But Marachius never seemed to notice.

“What’s up, Marc?”

The young paladin jerked his head up and looked at the hand that had just slapped him on the shoulder. Standing next to him was his squad leader, looking with a slight grin.

“Nothing, Kiernan. Just looking over the orders for the week.”

“You’ve been looking over them for the last few minutes. How much do you remember?”

“Oh.. uhh.. Yeah, sorry about that. Guess I’m a bit distracted.”

“Kind of what I figured.”

“Sorry,...

    He sighed deeply as he opened the letter bearing the crest of of the King.  He knew what was coming, and was just trying to figure out how long he had before he shipped out.  Hell, he barely read the majority of the deployment orders he received normally, and this one was no different.  The first time he read it, anyway.  Lawrence put down his coffee and read this order more intently. 

    "Knight-Commander Lawrence Barrenger,

    Your new orders are as follows, due to the unforseen circumstances surrounding the disappearance of the Captain of this chapter and the captain's subordinates.

    -Recruit, arm, and train new members to The Stormwind Guard.  This particular chapter of the Guard has been empty and inactive...

There was no where to put her key. No bowl on a stand by the door, no hooks in the wall, no arcane drop pocket. Tinnaire stood there in silence, peering at it inert in her palm. How perplexing! Moving wasn't something she had ever worried about. She'd always been taken care of and more often than not, these little things were well in hand before she'd ever walked through her own doors. Living alone for the first time in ages came with all sorts of baffling problems she'd never considered. New adventures. Her lips quirked and she curled her fingers around the key possessively before dipping it into her pocket.

The apartment was mostly empty. Her eyes swept over the blank walls and the freshly painted white walls. She couldn't decide if...

Erik opened the door to Madame Eva’s inn and stepped inside. The crowd inside was loud and friendly and called out a greeting to the rogue as his eyes adjusted to light inside. Madame Eva appeared from around the stairs and walked over to Erik. She laid a hand on his arm and smiled. Without a word, she turned and nodded to a corner in the back of the common room. Erik followed Eva’s glance and saw a lone person sitting at the far table.

The rogue moved through the crowd and made his way to the back of the room. Sitting at the table in the corner, facing the front door, Braghaman had both his hands around a mug and vague look in his eyes as if he were lost deep in thought. Erik stood quietly next to the table and waited. After a...

Braghaman woke from a deep sleep, not with a start but rather eased into consciousness. The room was still dark and there was a slight chill from the season in the room, but nothing seemed out of place. Slowly he opened his eyes and turned his head slightly to see the rest of the bedroom.

Niviene was still asleep, curled next to him and holding his arm. Bragh could hear her slow, regular breathing and was comforted that he had not woken her. Closing his eyes, the paladin took a deep breath and then let it out slowly.

It had been a busy, tiring week. The trainees took time as they always did. In addition to their normal training was an incident involving a pair of skeletons that had wandered too close to town for anyone’s comfort....

Weekly Writing Challenge - Week 9; New Year/Resolutions

1) 

2)

3)

      '.` .:`;..

   .,` ,. ; ,;`..".

     '. : .`, .

____________________________

Kharris looked at the blanks. She frowned deep enough that her dimples popped out in both cheeks. She didn't usually do resolutions and she wasn't quite  sure what had taken her to make her start a list.

Her brows pulled down tight over her eyes. She took another drink. Even the smooth bite of the alcohol didn't dislodge the frown. This felt like too much pressure. The future was too far away. Even tomorrow seemed unreasonable to speculate about.

Her ear flickered toward the whirring of something mechanical. Asarel was working on something in the back room. The Barge...

It was a time of year when there was a great whirlwind of activity. She remembered being in Ironforge for it one year; Silvermoon wasn't that festive, but it was still decorated and the air of the holiday was pervasive. Kharris smiled to herself as she placed the small package under the tree she'd put up and decorated with Castien and Ylaise.

She hadn't gone extravagant for gifts for anyone for a few years now. Books, journals, small trinkets, and favorite foods. But time spent with loved ones was lavished and she made sure she savored it. She would make it out to see Keiran, if only for a day or so.

The kitchen at Threadneedle smelled of cookies, candied nuts, breads, and cider. Asarel had consented to wearing the soft, fuzzy pajama...

No one on Azeroth was untouched by War. From the tiniest babe to the oldest crone. She was no different, even though she'd spent considerable personal effort to avoid the wars. She was no fighter in any traditional sense. She wasn't ashamed to say she'd fled the Scourge at Silvermoon. She knew how to hide. She knew how to distract. She knew how to inspire others to be protective.

The Fourth War--the Blood War--was over. That's what they said. Pollux was home more. Briefings and basic work, but home nearly every evening. Work on prosthetics.  She worked at the clinic, but babies and sinuses snuck up and started out numbering rehabilitations. Mercenaries relaxed and laughed in bars. Spies quietly pooled their information in shadows....

He was a mage. He could go wherever his skills could get him. They’d gotten him pretty high, this time. The wind was cool from the sea. His hands were on his knees and he caught his breath through his triumphant smile. He was going to be victorious in this game of Murlocs and Mages. He just knew it. They’d never find him here.

A bird looked at him. He grinned back. Then down the wall.  It was a long way down. The bird dropped off its perch and spiraled in a glide down, down, down then up and away into the sky. He nearly whooped outloud, but then caught himself. He needed a few more minutes to make sure the other kids were found first.

Renrael stood up and stretched his back. He bounced a few times, shaking out the fatigue in his...

Khaeris by Zoratrix

COMMISSION INFO ★ DEVIANTART ★ INSTAGRAM

___________________

This was a gift for doing the Daily Writing Challenge. Thank you, Pollux-player!

The bite of the cider faded only slowly on Khaeris’s tongue. She’d maybe spiked it a little too much. … Maybe. Ha, oh well! No one to know but herself and Pollux. She smirked and took another full drink, holding it in her mouth and picking out flavors as she looked over the quiet Bazaar. People were at home celebrating and sharing food, occasionally people would walk past. She knew them some, Pollux’s neighbors, and they would wave and wish her a happy holiday. Contentment tried to cocoon her. She tried not to fight it.

It was a good day. It had been a small meal, just the two of them, but she was happy for that, too. Pollux had been able to be home more the last month or so. But she didn’t plan on him being there. Even...

Her head rested on Asarel's bare chest, her black hair fanning out over the pale skin. He was not sleeping, he still so rarely slept well, but he was resting. His fingers teased slowly through her hair and she was grateful. Her head chased his hand subtly. He knew what she needed, even if neither of them could articulate it.

Two weeks out, nearly, and she finally felt easy breathing. Her heart was calmer again, with no adrenaline spiking through her sleep, no half-heard voice. That part usually only lasted a few days. The nightmares had had come only one night, but were soothed by the warm embrace of her lover. The other dreams had lingered, as they did every year, but the ache was bittersweet and more welcome.

It was just that she...

I know I've not been around for a while, but I didn't realize I had not been in contact with anyone during that time. I must have sent messages or something or else people would have been looking for me. I'm certain their reactions would have been very different if I was gone without a trace.

   How long did I disappear, exactly?

The studio seems just fine. The tavern is running like normal. Maelstrom night wasn't much different than any other time I went, except maybe more Goblins than I remember before. No one looks extremely different from the last I saw of them.

    That was summer time, right?

My head hurts more - enough to make me not go on with my usual drinks and drugs all weekend. I don't remember the last time I...

The Ghostlands remained ever a place of desolation. Here, perhaps, a more desolate place than any for the last children of the Dawnwing line. Among the ruins of the once-proud Dawnwing estate, before a monument of smooth, white marble, starkly pristine in a land of decay, knelt Luminash and Theras, speaking in unison.

“To your memory, Selius Dawnwing, father, magister, and true scion of the Highborne, your son dedicates this flame.”

“To your memory, Selius Dawnwing, grandfather, magister, and true scion of the Highborne, your grandson dedicates this flame.”

Father and son whispered a soft prayer in Thalassian as they knelt before the monument, the magister’s hand cupped over a candle in one of the lower recesses, eyes...

(Takes place prior to the conclusion of events at the Eternal Palace and Luminash’s departure from Nazjatar. )

“Hey, you’re here! Why stay up on the hill, anyway, mage-man?”

Luminash had come into Newhome only to pick up supplies, and had hoped to avoid any further contact with the locals. Mac, however, one of the Kelfin siblings who had helped the magister by salvaging naga sites throughout Nazjatar, had seen him, and eagerly run up to him.

“Ah, Mac, it is good to see you,” the magister deflected, “Have our Horde troops been suitable guests here?”

“Yeah, yeah, we’ve loved having them! Good people, your Horde, more than willing to help out. Half the hauls we’ve been sending your way have been brought in with...