Ranger-Captain Moriurya Brightsinger

“I am Sin’dorei. I fight for my people and stand defending our lands against all threats.”

Rumors spread of deserters like ashes flying from the smoldering trunk. Though the Horde’s victory cry was loudly proclaimed across the continent, the cries of terror among many of its allies echoes through the ranks; some stripped themselves of their Horde regula and left.

“Traitors,” muttered an Orc ranger beside Captain Brightsinger. “The rear guard will take care of them. You can’t abandon the Horde and expect to live free.”

Moriurya Brightsinger did not respond, but her silence seemed enough for the Orc, whom grunted and moved on towards some similarly armored Orcs not to far away. They had advanced together during the...

“That order. Of all orders, that one will haunt me for the rest of my life. I knew we were marching for Teldrassil; that was obvious from the moment we had finished taking over Astranaar. When an army is on the move to take over land, you don’t stop before the big prize. The destruction of these ancient forests was painful to be a part of, but I’m just a Captain in the Farstrider ranks, and not the forward march; we were more like a scouting detail and later a cleaning crew. 

Details of why each order was given, of what exactly happened at the front, were merely rumors through the vine. I don’t know why we set the Tree aflame, but it fits the general advancement of our lines. We were not there to overrun politically, we were...

A smile.

We smiled at each other, his presence turning my attention away from the dullness of watching not-quite-couples dancing. It was so nice to see his smile then, so wonderful to know he was at least as happy to see me as I was to see him. The club suddenly did not matter to me. I realized right then that I only came to the establishment in hopes of seeing him.

Perhaps he had thought the same thing because, not long after our short interaction, he invited me to fly with him. I welcomed it gladly, wanting to get away from the uncomfortable feeling I get whenever there are people happily flirting with each other. I had almost finished my glass of fizzy wine, but that wasn’t a problem; I didn’t even say goodbye to any of the...

(( Another post from 2012. Rya returned to the Farstriders after leaving ATS and, months later, ran into a few of her ex-coworkers at a club. ))

Gil’s eyes.

I cannot help but think about his eyes. So calm, so collected, so sad, so begging … those are his eyes. My skin prickled as I felt him watching me on the dance floor. He made a few jokes, teasing me with his playful mannerisms. I wonder if he even realizes it is Rya with the short cropped hair and the form-fitted leather. Playful, inviting, alluring. It is a wonder I had not seen the charms of the half-elf sooner.

We shared a campfire after the club closed for the night.I had left before the music stopped, urgently called away on a topic that needed to be spoken about...

(( I wrote this during the events of Cataclysm. Rya struggles with the war and the changes of the world and in her own life. ))

She had been obsessed; her naturally amber eyes were filled with the fel green that does not suit her. He knew she needed to get out of Silvermoon, to forests that had not been altered by magic, for her eyes to return to their normal hue and her mind with them. When a Brightsinger goes insane there is little one can do if they do not know them, and Dimetri was dealing with the only recorded Brightsinger left.

“What am I to do if Moriurya crossed that line? Will I be able to protect her as her uncle had made me promise?” -Dimetri

The world had just changed to what was now being called ‘The...

(( I wrote this story in 2010 during the in-game events leading up to the Cataclysm. ))

It had only meant to be a stroll through Orgrimmar for a certain type of parchment and inks that only a certain vendor possessed at a certain time. Of course not, Lady Moriurya Brightsinger thought as she made her way through the crowds of panicking people, of course I have to come to Orgrimmar just when the world decides to end. Her golden pupils, shaded over with the emerald glow of a blood elf, glanced over at the troll, obviously some sort of shaman, with a large group of people around listening intently.

“Pathetic, the lot of them,” the smooth voice of her consultant broke into her thoughts. Dimetri had proven himself repeatedly in...

((The numbering between breaks show the order of events, but this is meant to be read straight through rather than back and forth. These events happened on Shadow Council in 2012, leading up to my "When Your Time Is Up" post.))

“Do you now, Rya?”

Gilithanas’ voice spoke clearly, harsh even. The sound of a gun locked into place came from the entrance of the club they were outside of. The first thing that came to Rya’s mind is, “Oops,” but you do not say such a thing in front of a lawyer with a gun pointed in your general direction. If Gil was aiming at herself or at Tiradell, she could not tell.

4.

It had been a nice day; no one was crying over the communicators about who said what, where, and when, but with the...

(( This post is from 2012. Moriurya had become the Lead Historian for Atlas Treasure Salvage, but was also on a self-imposed mission to keep detailed tabs of the goings ons of ATS and it's members. After a tense moment between her and a few of its members, Rya vindictively sought out someone to give this information to. ))

“Rya, can you hear me?”

The sound of the box echoed in the stone walls of The Aegis. My conversation had just started when Gilthånås’ voice came through the mechanical box on my hip. Why my ear piece was not in to start with was surprising to me. I looked to Tiradell, then picked up the box and spoke into it.

“Yes, I can.”
“Look … I need to talk to you. Where are you?”

I looked to Tiradell...

(( This story is from early 2010! I'm reposting it here with only minor edits so I can gather her stories in one location. This post also mentions the still active Fancy Cakes event! ))

A Dream.

“If I said your assumption are true, would you ignore me for the rest of your life?” Delamontre’s voice was deep and low, almost a whisper. His bright blue eyes, those eyes that all death knights shared, looked at Moriurya with concern and … love?

Moriurya shook her head and closed her eyes, not wanting to look into the bright blue again, to see the love that seemed to look at her behind a Death Knight’s cold stare. She hated that feeling, hated knowing that another of those whom had been made undead by the Lich King had feelings...