Tag: Lynesse Gloamingdawn x 15

I am not soft.

That being said I am also not heartless. I knew what my actions would do to the people of the Golden Thorn after Imriel’s death. When you challenge a leader of a company, if you set the terms for all of their assets, that company becomes yours. I was their Captain now, their leader. It was up to me to see that they prospered, or they could do what I’d done same as I did it.

There was a lot of “hurry up and wait” after. Allegiances were sworn. Gold changed hands. A pyre was built. You never get used to the smell, it doesn’t matter how many you’re around. His Second pulled his documented last wishes out of one of their lockboxes; Imriel had no living family. He wanted to be burned immediately; He’d seen what...

Isra dragged out a pipe in her agitation, lighting the thing with a quick flick from a matchbook. Meryn’s shoulders bunched up a little in irritation, just like mine did. Something the witch had said earlier filtered back to me from the depths of my mind. ‘You favor your father so much’. My hand bunched in the quilt underneath me; I knew my mother hadn’t been faithful to my dad. It’s why he’d killed her. Our hair was similarly colored, Meryn and I. My dad had black hair.  My mom was blonde. I’d gotten her skin tone and freckles.

He’d looked familiar because he looked like me. My mouth was dry as I looked back over at Isra. It took a few attempts to start but I managed it. “Does he favor his father too?”

Her green...

Calebbe,

As the person I am sending this letter on behalf of has been incredibly unhelpful, I have sent two copies. One by owl, one by post. From what I have gathered it is more than likely that the one by owl will reach you first, if this is the case her name is Luna and she would enjoy a mouse as payment for services rendered.

I have in my company Lynesse Gloamingdawn, whom I found left for dead at the bottom of a ravine a few days past. She mumbled your name in her sleep, that is the closest I have gotten to getting any information out of her regarding whom to possibly contact regarding her state and situation. She does not seem to trust me -- highly unfortunate but not unexpected. Rest assured that if you are too busy to retrieve...

There was a steady, throbbing pounding in my head as I slowly woke up. I hurt. Gods did I hurt, and I didn’t remember why. I tried to push myself up but I didn’t move so much as twitch, full bodied, my lungs burning as cloying air full of smoke and what smelled like lavender filled them. Talk about panic inducing.

Even my vision was spotty and blurry, what light crept into wherever I was only illuminating so much. There was red paint across the wooden supports that arched along the ceiling, faded to a dull rust. Little motes glowed bright in the sun shafts before vanishing into the darkness. A woman laughed outside, having a genial conversation in an older version of Thalassian with words and tenses I didn’t understand, mixed in...

“Miss Gloamingdawn, the farrier wanted me to pass on his compliments for the shoes you made for the destriers today,” Rodgerick Edgeworth said to her as he stood a respectful foot from her person, the awe in the Human’s eyes betraying his feelings for having a few Elves in the company. 

The farrier, a gruff man who’d only given his name as Pence, never passed compliments on to anyone. Lyn had spent more time in his company since arriving with the small band sent out to help bolster the forces in Alterac than she had anyone else, mostly because the area around the forge was warm. The alliance with the humans had been her ticket out of Quel’thalas, to see the bigger world at large, but she hadn’t expected the snow or howling...

Thankfully, I didn’t die.

My toes hit something sharp and I pushed up and off, my chest feeling fit to burst and my body torn between fighting and just stopping. I broke surface and took a gasping, spluttering breath but there was nowhere for any air to go. The sounds of my splashing and retching filled the small cavern as I beached myself and heaved seawater out of my body and onto the sand.

I rolled onto my back and stared up at the illuminated rocks and wheezed, my head spinning and making me feel like the ground was rolling the whole time. There were lights, someone was probably here.

Sure enough.

A goblin loomed over me when I opened my eyes again. I could barely see him over the pistol barrel pointed square at my face. I...

Ratchet. 

I’d hate the place if I didn’t love it so much. All rough and rumble, corrugated steel and haphazard wood. Haven of pirates and cartel. A mercenary in good standing with Steamwheedle could make a killing, killing here. Khaeris made sure to mention that the Tart – Dicenne? – the fire staff (and whip, apparently) guy had his forge here. Damn shame I didn’t have time to make it by. Still, it only enamoured the dirty, dusty town by the sea to me more. I reminded myself that I was here for work, not play.

My job was simple – A whole supply of Grog had been stolen from the Laughing Zhevra tavern. This was bad. Pirates need their libations or they get ornery and it wouldn’t take long for news of a shortage to spread....

“I’m sorry, Lyn,” Tem said. He licked his lips briefly, and then shook his head, “I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to come. I didn’t want you here for this. Fuck.” But he couldn't make words that easily anymore. His eyes moved to his blonde comrade-in-arms, and his friend nodded in understanding while moving to turn his back on the situation. He didn’t leave, but he moved away, affording them a bit of privacy in those last few moments. 

“Lyn,” Tem said again as he reached out to touch her hair. He’d always liked her hair. “Lyn, you are amazing. Fuck this shit about being stubborn, or angry, or anything else. You are amazing, and I don’t think I ever said just that. I probably could have fallen for you, you...

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...

Helion Gloamingdawn had been a good man. Even tempered, strong, and steady. Good with people and animals. Quiet in all aspects; mind, soul, and body. His love had been this deep, unfathomable wellspring that was always tangible. There had never been any question of it, even if some other woman did occasionally catch his eye.

Ysirien Van’aen, on the other hand, was his opposite. After Helion’s death, opposite was what she needed. Gone were Helion’s broad shoulders, replaced by Ysirien’s wiry, lithe frame. Instead of gold, cream, and brilliant azure she indulged herself in decadent chocolate, caramel, and fel tinged green. Where Helion had been constant, Ysirien was mercurial. Helion was her equal, Ysirien her subordinate. But,...