Tag: Priest x 25

    Finally, the last of the Company left, but not until after the creepy young thing had left a cookie atop his ice prison and told him to keep his chin up. She was one of them and always struck Diyos as a little freakish. She’d taken up the human habit of adornment through piercing and so much metal pushing into her dead flesh only seemed to make it more obscene…like carving smiley faces onto the fallen walls of Auchindoun. On Azshariel, a single piercing was cute. Perhaps he was just a hypocrite; it wouldn’t be the first time.

    The pierced one told him to keep faith in the Light and the Naaru. He’d scoffed and told her to leave, to let this human Colonel just knock him over the head and put him out already. The...

    Extinction. The word crashed against the inside of Diyos’s mind like a marshlight bleeder in a giant jar. He translated the word into his native tongue and back again, listened to his memory echo Azshariel’s voice to him until he felt like it was his own psyche beating on the glass for freedom.

    In the small workspace in Ironforge he rented for his tailoring commissions, he sat at his mana loom, weaving threads soaked in arcane dust with threads soaked in nether essence. Every clack of the shuttle seemed to repeat her premise: adapt or die. Under his hands, enough imbued netherweave to form a full bolt of cloth was forming.

    A craving for the bitter burn of alcohol settled in the back of his throat. Before...

    “She’s dead, Jim.”

    The draenei anchorite who’d just voiced this statement of fact for the fifty-third time thumped his head back against the thick hide of the elekk lying behind him on the deck of the Elune’s Blessing. For his part, the elekk – named Jim – curled his trunk around to his side and appeared to give his draenei owner a comforting pat on the hip…until it became clear that he was actually tugging on the small pouch of acorns tied to the anchorite’s belt.

    A platter-sized indigo hand swatted at the elekk’s gray trunk. The elekk snorted, blowing clear snot all over the right hip of the anchorite’s brown trousers.

    “Thanks, Jim. Good to know your opinion.” The...

    “I’d really rather you stay here.” The concerned words of his friend and fellow draenei in the Modan Company rang in his ears for a few hours after she had left. The Company doctor had reiterated it. Then the boss lady had come back and shared roasted rabbit and a bit of lovely conversation with him.

    But now he was alone in the Southgate Outpost. And supposed to stay here.

    “Booooring!” he wailed up at the stone ceiling.

    The anchorite was sitting on the edge of the cot kept in the upstairs of the Outpost for medical needs…and did the Company ever have medical needs. Lately, it seemed it had been mostly him. He looked at the empty bottle of Captain Rumsey clutched in one platter-sized indigo...

    The sickly green tendrils of fel energy dragged claws across his mind, their tainted fingers tugging and stroking and promising all manner of unimaginable power if he let them in. Just a taste. Just a touch. You’re already halfway there… What’s a little more?

    No.

    The anchorite strapped a little bit of mental steel to his backbone and concentrated on the task at hand: rifling through the thoughts of the bound sin'dorei prisoner in front of him. Despite being half-hidden by shadows and mist, he could see the two Hand of Argus vindicators guarding the prisoner eyeing him nervously. Wasn’t that always the price of it? Those few who knew what he did for the Hand…he always made them nervous. He shut out his...

    If a person wanted to be digging up a magical artifact for research on this planet, then they ought to seek out a dwarf. Diyos had been here long enough to learn this. So it was that a week after his brother’s hearing and making that stupid, stupid promise, here Diyos was, making his way to the Dwarven District of Stormwind on a lovely, bright, late fall day. Scratch that. It was a lovely, bright, late fall day – except in the Dwarven District. Here, the thick layer of soot in the air didn’t so much obscure the sun as grab it by the throat and shake it until the lights went out.

    Diyos coughed and thumped his chest, cursed his sensitive nose, and lifted the directions he’d hastily scribbled from a city guard...

    Diyos had been feeling the subtle prickling of the hairs on the back of his neck for a good three minutes now. The weight of the stare he was getting pushed his shoulders into a hunch and his hand tighter around his mug of ale. He finally could take no more. Shoulders straightening, he spun in his seat; his blue robes twisted around his hips. “Yes, it’s in a bun!” he yelled at the human girl at the table behind him. “My masculinity is not threatened by this!” His bellow did not cow the girl so much as the gleam of pointy white teeth in his indigo face. The girl turned bright pink and turned around in her chair to face her companion and pretend she had not been staring.

    “Bloody gawkers,” he grumbled with...

I should have been a mage. Mages can teleport. Or open portals. Why on Azeroth wasn’t there a portal open? A ship? Who in the fel travels by ship anymore? If you want to go to the Outlands, there’s a portal. If you want to go to Panderia there’s a portal. But Northrend? Nope, you have to take a ship. Across the ocean. To a place where it becomes necessary to dodge icebergs.

Regynn gripped the railing as she made her shakey way down the gangplank, blinking rapidly in the late afternoon light, a sharp contrast to the dim recesses of the cabin she’d spent nearly the entire journey in, only moving from her cot to retch up what little she was able to eat. When she’d first viewed the ship in Stormwind harbor she’d been excited,...

“Of course dear, I understand. You have to go where they send you. I’m sure it’s important, otherwise why would they tell you to go all the way out there. I’ll be certain to have the children pray for you and your safe return.”

Regynn nodded her appreciation then quickly embraced the older woman before fleeing from the room. The matron stood still in shock, blinking several times; the priestess’ impulsive actions leaving her momentarily stunned. She glanced out the window just in time to see Regynn scurrying across the square and into the dim recesses of the cathedral, “Poor girl.” She murmured, “Light be with her in that dreadful place.”

Reggy picked her way through the clutter in her room until she came to the...