Tag: Old writing x 33

(( 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...

(( 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...

((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...

(( 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...

(( 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...

(( This post is from a few years ago in story, but it's very relevant. Kav's only now getting over some of her fears from the events of this scene. ))

Late afternoon sun contrasted with the harsh shadows of tall pine trees. A howl sounded in the distance, back where they had come from; the feral beasts had caught their scent. It wasn’t time to rest.

Horizon took Kavaina’s hand, took a slow breath, then rounded from the boulder in a dash. Kav ran as fast as her legs would allow her, taking her hand back so she could swing her arms and keep up with her partner. It seemed only seconds had passed when the quick pad of running paws came up close behind the elves, weaving in and out of the trees along the path. Kav would have cried if...

I know you saw me in the Barrens because I caught you looking in my direction. If those blue and gold flags you stood behind were gone, I would have greeted you properly.

Perhaps you did not even recognize me, which may be for the better; I do not need my identity revealed before those of the Horde, nor the Alliance. But, for a moment there, did your memory go back to the cafe across from the park when Dalaran was still upon the ground?

When we met you were just a young student at the academy and my master was an instructor on the arcane. I would spend each afternoon lounging alone, drinking a coffee, with a paper in my hand. You would walk by every day, even though you hated coffee, and sit near the chestnut tree. Your blush and...

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....