Tag: Old writing x 33

“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,...

(Slightest hint of torture. Not super descriptive, but you’ve been warned.)

There was something about moonless nights…something about the way the forest stilled, it’s inhabitants seeking safety from the inky blackness that covered the landscape. Eerie, perhaps…maybe unusual, but not as unusual as the fire burning in the lone, barely standing structure. Beside the fire sat a cloaked figure, idly turning a glass bottle between his hands, its contents almost as dark as the night sky. It was only when the door to the structure cracked open that the hands stopped, setting the bottle off to the side. “You’re late.”

Lugon paused, brushing his hands together, not bothering to close the door behind him. Not like the rickety...

“You can’t just show up like this…what if he had been home?”

“What of it?” A deep chuckle. “He wouldn’t approach me. Bluster and shout, maybe, but actually do anything? No.”

A tired sigh. “Dymere, it’s not funny! You may be able to come and go as you please, but I’m left here. And so are our bo-,” 

The voice trailed off as a little dark-haired boy, no older than one or two, toddled in, clutching a small stuffed tiger. The boy stared up at the stranger before moving to his mother and tightly clinging to her leg. Corviya reached down and scooped the boy up, settling him on her hip. The boy turned to shield his stuffed tiger from the unknown man’s view, his head resting against his mother’s shoulder....

He hated this assignment. Less than a week and he could easily say that he absolutely, unequivocally hated this assignment. Send him scouting in Suramar and almost get Savage killed…not pleased with it, but he’d manage. Having him wandering out on the Broken Shore, and almost end up minus one shoulder…Again, not happy with the arrangement, but he’d make due. But this? The ranger shuddered as yet another echo ran by. This was easily one of the worst assignments he’d been given in a long…LONG time.

Amorthon shuddered again as he found a small isolated corner, quickly removing his chest plate, pauldrons, and gauntlets before setting his head in his hands and taking several deep breaths. “…What the hell…” These...

Three Days Prior

‘I wish I had half of that energy….’ Amorthon glanced up from the sketch he’d been working on with a chuckle as he caught sight of Savage’s irritated huff. The tiger cub, Cibor, had been fairly well behaved for a majority of the return trip from Pandaria…though that might’ve been because he’d been asleep. Once he’d managed to fully wake up the adorable little cub turned into a rambunctious blur of white and black that the ranger had spent the rest of the trip attempting to corral, much to Savage’s amusement. As a result, the ranger had no remorse for sitting back and watching as the blur of fur climbed all over the larger tiger. “You know what they say…turnabout and all that…” He grinned at...

Flashes of blonde hair, kind eyes, a gentle voice, and a genuine feeling of being cared for. His head was throbbing and had been since he left his meeting with Dr. Selatiir. He’d slept when he’d gotten back to the Jade Forest…well, he’s slept for a few hours before spending the rest of the night staring up at the ceiling as the headache renewed and vision after vision assaulted him. He groaned, setting his elbows on the table in front of him as he set his head into his hands, closing his eyes as he tried to will the pain back.

A soft tiger plushie, well-worn and covered in a familiar scent. The small stuffed animal was pulled tight against his chest as he fought to ignore the raised voices outside his door. His grip...

Amorthon generally considered himself to be a calm elf…a reasonable elf. Under normal circumstances, he rarely saw the need or value in unrestrained anger or rage. But ‘normal’ circumstances didn’t include threats to his family…or what he considered to be his family.

The ranger snarled as he loosed yet another arrow into the trapper’s corpse before kicking the body aside and moving to check on Savage. For days the two had been moving through the Crimson Thicket, covering the Shal'dorei refugees as they escaped and picking off hunters when they could. They had been well hidden, with Savage only moving in to attack when absolutely necessary. Most of the time the ranger was focused on his shooting, while the tiger kept watch...