Her wagon was not particularly accessible.

While getting into the wagon was never a problem; once inside and trying to relax it got more difficult. The prosthetics didn't come off as quickly as they did in his own home, he didn't bother taking them off at all, sometimes. Here, the steps were awkward to the loft, the water closet was too small and there wasn't much to hold onto (never mind you had to climb down the steps again). The floor bounced slightly with your steps and the furnishings were nearly an obstacle course.

The tiny space was hers, but it wasn't welcoming to him.

He hadn't complained; it wasn't like Pollux to complain. He might have been used to figuring things out, but she noticed how much more time, effort, and thought...

There’s a certain power held within names, and even if he’s always been the pragmatic sort, it doesn’t mean he’s immune to superstition.

Vividly, he can recall the folktales learned by rote in his childhood and that Melisande, in particular, never grew tired of hearing. Sometimes, by browning books with scratchy ink illustrations, secret beneath a blanket and via guttering candlelight; more often, orated with fanciful embellishments, minor changes of cast, but always revolving around the same mythical credos.

One’s true name was a portent of sway. A Very Wise thing to guard and protect and a Very Foolish thing to be used lightly.

He’s shocked from reverie by his own.

“Mathias.”

Snappy, as though it’s...

The captain of the Nightwatch led the way down the hall and eventually stopped at one door. Opening it, he led the priestess into the office. Along the far wall was a young lady asleep on a sofa. She slept fitfully, turning and whimpering quietly.

“Here you are, sister. Like I said, she’s still asleep.”

“That’s quite alright, captain.” Sister Anetta stepped past the captain and sat down on a chair beside the sofa.

“I need to deal with something real quick, sister.”

“Please go ahead, captain. I will be fine here.”

“If you need anything, just holler out and one of the men will be here right away.”

“Thank you, captain.” The priestess nodded to the militiaman and watched as he turned and left the office,...

Marachius sat on the edge of the canal, his bucket to one side of him and his shoes to the other. With a flick of his wrist, his fishing pole whipped forward and launched his line out into the water. Calmly, he tapped on his line a couple of times and waited. The sun was setting behind him, causing the water to reflect a deep orange as the currents pushed past.

Behind him, three teenaged boys were walking past when one of them noticed the paladin and stopped. Tapping the nearest boy on the shoulder with the back of his hand, he pointed towards Marachius as the other two stopped walking and looked at him. They quietly muttered to each other, snickering because of their hushed comments.

Still chuckling, they started to walk away just as...

(then)

Lunge, swipe, parry, counterattack—

“Again.”

The motions repeated, over and over. Eleeria felt the sweat dripping down her neck, her throat. It had been hours of the same motions, correcting her form and insisting on repetition. Again she had lunged, parried; her legs shook with overuse, stomach growling. The next repetition was sloppy as she reflected on how long ago (and long forgotten) lunch had been. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast early that morning and yet, still her father demanded more. She was on the cup of twenty years and every day seemed to test her limits. Sometimes she didn't even make it into bed before her body began to shut down, curling up in the middle of the rug on her bedroom floor and deeming it...

The priestess stepped into the cluttered office and looked at the person sitting behind the desk. The man gazed up between stacks of paper and leaned back in his chair.

“Good evening. I’m Anetta from Northshire.”

“Thanks for coming, sister. We can definitely use your help.”

“Not at all. Can you tell me what happened?”

“We’re not entirely sure. A husband and wife apparently appeared to have attacked each other.”

“That’s horrible. Are there any survivors?”

“A young lady, sister of the husband. Name’s Sabina Jensen.”

“Jensen?” the priestess repeated, her eyes widening.

“Yes, ma’am. Know her?”

“Not personally. But if its who I think it is, she was supposed to come to the abbey to start...

Braghaman was walked up the road from Darkshire on his way home. He had just passed the gryphons when he heard a voice calling to him.

“Brother Larethian.”

Stopping in the middle of the road and turning around, he saw a priestess in white robes stepping onto the road.

“Sister Anetta,” Braghaman said with a bow. “What brings you to Darkshire?”

“The Church sent me here, that there was someone who needed to speak with me. And what of you brother? Are you back from the war?”

“I am, sister.”

“Will you be returning to your work in Stormwind, then?”

“That is still being negotiated, but I think that I will be continuing my work here.”

“Well, I hope that the Light will bless your endeavors, brother. Now, I...

The water in the canal slapped lightly against the stonework on the sides, every now and then sending droplets into the air along the edge. As the sun shone down onto the water, light reflected and bounced around as if little faeries were dancing upon the currents. 

Marachius sat on the edge of the canal and laid his fishing pole and bucket next to him. Taking a moment to remove his shoes and set them on the wall beside him, the paladin flexed his toes and dipped them into the water below. After the moment passed, Marachius reached into his bucket and took out a small piece of bait. Taking his fishing pole and fixing the bait onto the hook, he then held the pole to the side and flicked his hook into the water.

Around him, the paladin...

Two screws, a bundle of twine and a pair of scissors already long forgotten...

The underside of Caleigh's bed held a number of hidden items, but all of them would likely remain in their places as the woman had made no movement to lift her head from the cool wooden ground in the hour that she had laid there. Her gaze flit over the empty space beneath the frame, the thin wafting cobwebs that needed to be removed, the lingering scent of new linens from this morning's change over.  That sinking feeling in her chest was overwhelming tonight, and it would quickly come to tears. She'd wait for them, knowing full well that she wouldn't be able to move after that.

It was a terrible feeling, knowing that when you speak your words are often...

Dame Paynifier Ahalin and Sir Barlance, holy paladin, in action years ago during the Scourge

invasion that marked the arrival of Naxxramas.

Caleigh sat in the corner of her room, a collection of metal gears and screws littering the ground around her feet. Another clock to be made. A quiet, but frustrated expression remained on her face as she tried to shove two of the gears in place. It was rounding four in the morning, and she had forgone fishing to stop at the Troupe show earlier in the evening and attempt to be social. It was close enough, and she'd heard good things- it was worth a look. Finding Orli, Saeil, and Meli there was a bonus, regardless of whether or not she upset Meli.

She'd spent most of the show quietly gritting her teeth. There were certainly talented writers and amazingly wonderful actors- but the topic of choice hit a bit close to home for the woman. A...

The sounds of birds squawking rang loudly in his ears. The kind of sound that just continues to echo even after the original noise is gone. That caused a low groan and hiss from the large Paladin as he blinked gold depths against the sun. It wasn't late in the day, but it definitely was not last night either. Where the hell was he? A grunt was given as he pushed himself to a sitting position and squinted golden depths scanned the area around him. Consensus - A beach in the middle of Fuckall, Who Knew Where.

He removed his gauntlets to dust sand from himself and sighed. Seems he'd wandered here still armored. Great. The amount of silica he was retaining was probably close to his own body weight. His gaze slowly shifted to the water that...

Marachius sat in a plush chair near the front door of Madame Eva’s tavern, holding a book in one hand and a drink in the other. Taking a sip, he would then hold the book closer and read another page before moving his thumb to turn to the next.

“You seem quite focused tonight.”

Marachius glanced up to see Madame Eva looking over his shoulder at the book. “Yes, ma’am,” he replied, tilting the book slightly to give Madame Eva an easier time to see what was on the page. “Commander Larethian loaned it to me.”

“Paladin histories?”

“Yes, ma’am. He thought…” but the young paladin didn’t get to finish his thought.

From the other side of the inn, a series of thuds rolled down the stairs until something finally...

The captain of the Nightwatch made his way back to Darkshire, going over what he had seen in mind as he walked. Crossing into the town, he passed the fountain and came to the steps leading to the town hall. As he took the first step, another member of the militia came through the doors and began descending.

“Captain. Any news?”

“Not much. More questions than answers at this point.  How’s the girl?”

“Still in shock, I think. They gave her something to sleep.”

“Was word sent to Stormwind?”

“As soon as you told us to, sir. We haven’t heard anything back, yet, but its still fairly early.”

“Yeah, but I was hopeful,” the captain replied, rubbing a hand over his face. “Probably won’t get anything back...

On the back bar top of Tavern there was a unique shaped metal mantle clock.  Wrapped on the fishing rod was a hastily tied burlap bow, and a bi-folded note beneath the object. Upon examination, the label of the note was written in a familiar handwriting- seen around the bar as of late.

-This is a gift for Renrael, please don't take it.-

Upon opening, the following was read:

Renrael - 

I don't know if you like fishing. And if you don't I can make another one. I started this the first night I started working at the Heart. It was a personal project, but I think I would like you to have it more. I know how it feels to want to start fresh. And if you want maybe I can help. I have an extra pole if you ever want to fish sometime. Or, I...

The fatigue lay thick in her head. It felt as if her brain had been wrapped in cotton swaddling and could no longer fit in her skull without pressing tightly against the bone. It wasn’t pain, not exactly, but it was a distraction and distractions were never good during a game. At the conclusion of the hand she rose from the table and slipped through the gap in the heavy skins.

The chill air outside was a both a physical shock and a visceral pleasure after the stuffy heat of the tent. She inhaled deeply through a wide smile and swung her arms in a few energetic circles, earning herself a sharp look from Gearjammer’s Orcish bodyguard. She nodded at him politely.

“Good afternoon, Mondo.”

“Miss Georgi.” Losing interest,...

Tluck...tlock....

Two drops of water fell from the faucet on the opposite side of her office. The room was sparse, boxes piled on the walls from storage, paperwork was strewn across her desk. It had been weeks since she'd opened the door to this place again, only to realize it wasn't what it had been before.

 It was as if the warmth had been drawn from under the doorway and escaped in her absence. The bright colors of the wall seemed muted and aged. The paperwork, where it had once felt meaningful...was empty and stale. There were no clients. She'd need to walk the community once again and start the services. Those that she had on the ledger had been crossed off. Passed away, killed, mercied... there weren't many of the original...

The captain of the watch knelt down next to one of the bodies. Pulling the sheet back that covered it, he leaned forward to look at the wounds to her neck and shoulder.

“Looks like she was mauled,” the captain said, glancing over his shoulder towards the Nightwatch member standing behind him.

“That’s what we thought when we first got here. Worst still, he’s got blood all over his face,” the militiaman explained, gesturing to the other body.  The captain followed the gesture and looked at the other body. The sheet was tented up above the man’s chest where the knife was protruding.

“So what are we thinking,” the captain said as he stood up slowly. “That he started biting her so she stabbed him?”

“Possibly,”...

Watcher Jordan kept his steady pace, walking along the road leading west out of Darkshire. The lanterns swayed with the gentle breeze and shone their light down on the road as the militiaman walked beneath their glow. The wind caused the leaves on the trees to rustle slightly, providing a lulling background noise to the watcher’s march.

He was just to the edge of town when he heard the scream. It was piercing and filled with terror, causing the hairs on the watcher’s arms to stand on end. He stopped dead in his tracks and turned to the direction where it seemed that the cry had come from. Almost immediately, he heard the sound of boots from behind him. Turning back towards town, he saw Watcher Mocarski running towards him with his...

The main room of the home fit in the with the rest of the house.  Small.  Some might have tried to be polite and call it ‘cozy’, at least as much as any home on the outskirts of Darkshire could be called that. It was small house, but it was built with care. The floors and walls were made with a deep red wood, though they had started to darken over time and with use. The woodwork shone with the thin slivers of moonlight the managed to sneak through the canopy outside and dove past the torn curtains that hung limply from the rod above the window, casting a pale glow into the room.

In one corner sat a small table, a lone candle sitting on it and sputtering as it was nearly burnt out. The flame cast shadows around the room that...

“Gonna go clear my head.”

Dori clicked off the comm and headed out of the city. There wasn’t a great sea or lovely beaches out here, but she’d found a nice enough spot. It was quiet, the water trickled as it ran from a spring into the pool of water. As she makes her way around the pond her thoughts are a jumble.

She had said she didn’t know why it bothered her so.  That she didn’t understand it. The quickening she felt in her belly as she remembered it was coming around. The almost panic that rose in her chest threatening to suffocate her.

Why?

She grabbed a handful of rocks plopped down on the tree trunk. With a flick of her wrist, she skipped a rock. “One. Two. Three. Four.” She couldn’t help but count off...

At age 12 I was inducted into a coven of mages. They taught me how to play with fire: Controlling the ambient temperatures around me, conjuring flames and even flashes of bright hot lights. They did not expect me to rise in the ranks quickly. It was a slow burning endeavor they said. Occasionally they would match up the new students with other new students to practice what we learned.

My opponent was an orange haired girl named Delirissa. I was told nothing about her beyond that she too was training with the fiery arts. She looked like she ate and drank reasonably well and her dress suggested that she came from a well to do family. I did too yet my mother and father rarely supported me with gifts of money. Truth be told I was jealous...

I am a Subtlety Rogue but actually I try to be honest when I can. It is disarming to my enemies who expect nothing but trickery and lies. My mother taught me to be honest rather than fearsome. Yet like I have said there are times when lying or misdirection is the better option. What is true and what is fantasy? Does it matter?

I try to treat all combat encounters like a highly elaborate game. Place yourself like pieces on a board and move appropriately. Predict your enemies' strategies and call them out in public to intimidate them. And lie always with your stances, movements and attacks. That is where my class mostly comes into play.

In personal dealings or remembering myself I try to be honest. It does not do to lie to yourself....

A hand written note was left along with the pitcher of flowers on the Raven’s front bar. The metal pitcher itself seemed well crafted, engraved with running flowers along the base that emphasized the ones above, long after they would wilt.

—————

Miss Meli,

I appreciate your kindness and cheerfulness. It has been some time since I have spoken with someone as warm-hearted as you. I will attempt to be more forthcoming in the future with our interactions.

I will admit it was the bright moment of my night and enough to warrant my purchase of these flowers. They are a gift for you.

When I was in the north, you would occasionally see a daisy creep up from beneath the snow. The deer loved to eat them, but they were also taken...

*THWAK*

“Good shot.  Do it again.”

*THWAK*

The sound of wood striking against wood echoed through the yard. Braghaman stood to the side and watched as his son swung his short mace and struck the side of the post that had been recently planted in their yard. The wooden head of Banagan’s mace hit the post high and came to an abrupt stop.

“Good. Now hit lower.”

Banagan brought his arm back and swung hard again, this time aiming lower on the post. 

*THWAK*

“Shouldn’t I try to hit them in the head?” Banny asked, pausing in his attacks and looking at his father.

“A lot of the time, sure,” Braghaman replied. “But if you keep attacking the same spot, the other guy is going to expect it and they’re more likely...

Young Banagan looked out the window into the back yard and watched as his father spoke with a dwarf. He couldn’t hear what the adults were talking about, but he could see them gesturing to a thick wooden post that had been driven into the ground near the cats’ enclosure.  After a few more minutes, his father handed the dwarf a coin purse. The two shook hands and dwarf left. Assuming that things were done outside, the young boy went to the back door and stepped through.

“Who was that?” Banny asked as he walked over to his father.

“That was Mr. Stonehammer. He came here to do some work for me.”

“What’s this?” the six year old asked, going over to the post to get a better look at it. The wood had been sanded down, and...