Tag: Lyn x 21

Carrion bird wings make this really unsettling rattle as they fold in. Something to do with how the feathers slide against each other. At least they’re prettier than vultures in Nagrand. My vision is blurry and blinking doesn’t seem to help at first, but I keep at it. I’m a very stubborn person, or so I’m told. 

Hearing Zal’jir’s rasping laugh is, honestly, more comforting than startling. His large, hunched form is bright blue in the Nagrand sun. Blazing white warpaint mats his fur, the lines shifting as he bats the birds away gently with his bow. It’s nice being in his shadow, I have to admit. “ZJ overheard Imriel talkin’ ta Risse. Imriel tell Risse she could have your share ov da gold if she made to Wor’var wit Bel...

There was a lot of blood in the grass. The sharp copper tang of it mixed with the sweet smell Nagrand’s flora always made when crushed underfoot. I could taste it on my tongue, too. Thick in my mouth and on my lips. This wasn’t how it ended. 

I’d sought out Imriel again. Imriel, leader of the Golden Thorn. Imriel, who’d known my Ysirien. Imriel, who’d bought my contract from the Silvermoon Government and then lost money on it when I’d been hurt. It only made sense to make it right. To pick up where I’d left off. He and his comrades had a small little outpost in Talador. It was quaint, but work came to them, there. 

We met with jovial smiles and clasped arms. Kind spoken words to my good health and his good fortune....

Temrode had made her a gift for the Holiday. Well. Not the current holiday; he’d made her a gift for the holiday that had just passed -- Love is in the Air -- the one holiday she hated because you shouldn’t need a holiday for that sort of thing. He never liked getting people flowers, he said, because they died. He asked if it was weird that he’d gotten her a gift. 

It was, a little. They’d only slept together a few times. It wasn’t like they were “a thing”. He’d wanted to do it, though, and he’d done it, so it wasn’t that weird at all so far as she was concerned. He’d made her a mechanical crane; It looked so intricate and delicate, but it was tougher than it seemed. Moving the wings and winding it up to watch it...

“So if I’m a tiger,” Lyn said with a bright laugh as she walked next to Zal’jir back into the camp where all the mercenaries stayed, armor and axe spattered with the blood of Orcs, “what’s that make you, ZJ?”

The Darkspear rumbled good-naturedly, his own laugh a hollow rasp like reeds in the wind, “Zal’jir’s a bat. Bats stay oudda de tigah’s way.” He paused a moment, the blue fur on his arms bristling before his golden gaze drifted toward the mercenary camp, “There are people at ya tent, Girlie. Imriel. A few oddah’s from de west side of camp. One from de east.”

Her ears pinned back and her eyes narrowed, turning to look in the direction of where she’d pitched her temporary home. She could barely see it...

“….We need to get around their barricade and into the crater or we’re not going to get anywhere. We’re still short on supplies from the Siege,” Lyn tuned back in, listening to the Elven scout give his report to the temporary war council that had been set up with a few of the Army officers and a couple of the Mercenary captains. She shifted her weight in the canvas chair that had been provided and rested her chin on her knuckles as he continued, “If we don’t stress to our leaders that we need a joint operation with the Alliance we aren’t going to–”
 

“We can try, but don’t expect much,” Imriel intoned, seemingly just as bored as she was, “Thank you, Scout Springvale. Sunwell guide you.” Scout Springvale...

Two missives came by personal courier, something that never happened. That was my first inkling that something was up. One was in a scarlet envelope that screamed urgent, the other plain parchment yellow emblazoned with the Horde insignia. Obviously I opened the red one first; I knew what a call to arms from the Horde looked like. I’d gotten a few as a private soldier and I wanted to put off opening it as long as I could. 

 Ratchetclank’s personal seal in inky black wax kept the red envelope shut. There was a bit of string under it to cut through the closure efficiently. Goblins, always looking to shave time off of menial tasks. I skimmed the text.

They’d been “morally obligated” (translation: paid a fine sum) to sign my...