And so she stayed. His borrowed room was dark by the time his pulse slowed and her feather-soft breaths evened out against his skin. There was no denying the warmth of her, curled up inside of his beneath the half-hearted cover of the quilt on which they lay.

The weight of her head on his arm felt like trust he had no business having, and yet there it was all the same. Had he meant for this to happen when he’d suggested they bring their late night meal upstairs? It wasn’t often he did anything without forethought, without a plan. Survival instincts honed over decades had never failed him before.

He sometimes thought that’s all he was. A series of instincts incarnate- to eat, to sleep, to live, to kill. To seek connection where...

Eleeria folded the tabard and sat it on her bed in front of her crossed legs. Fingers caressed the loving stitching -- the red and black of the phoenix motif was brilliant, spelled against blood and wear. She still smiled at the gift Ethalarian had given her -- it was her cherished armor, worn almost every day at this point. She loved the fierce crimson, the sacrifice it stood for; she loved the way Ethalarian spoke of the Order, how impassioned he could be at times was inspiring. She sighed, pulling the fabric into her lap to brush her hand over it again.

Though Ethalarian spoke of the Order with glowing praise, it was always for what it was -- not what it is, she reminded herself idly. Now it seemed less about spearheading an era of...

Marachius set his bag on the bed and looked around the small room. The inn in Duskwood was smaller than the Cathedral, obviously, but the room was comfortable. Nodding to himself in approval, the paladin picked up his breastplate and put it on, lacing the buckles along the way. Then slinging his great sword onto his back, he left the room and made his way out of the inn to meet the commander. He thought to himself that he didn’t want to keep the commander waiting. 

Walking to the center of the village, Marc saw the elder paladin sitting on the edge of the fountain outside the town hall. Rather unsure of what was happening, Marc walked over to the fountain and stood at attention.

“At ease,” the elder paladin said with a slight...

She’d clipped their meeting short as abruptly as she’d started it in the modest Silvermoon alchemist’s. The last thing she needed was for him, of all people, to see vulnerability in her winsome smiles. And guilt was indeed a vulnerability- something of a foundation upon which layers and layers of it were built. 

It was a rather unflattering look.

Cutting through the bright swells of the bustling Silvermoon marketplace, her eyes positively burned. She’d never even purchased a thing; shimmering granules sifted, forgotten, between her fingers. One moment she’d been considering mineral texture and quality of pigment, and the next…  Her heart had leapt at the sight, only to sink like the Suramari moonset once she’d gotten a...

((TW: Soft references to needles/piercing, male genitals))

One thing Levyn understood was the sway of ritual and the bonding it created. Years of studying the Darkspear, integrating himself into their culture and teaching them about the use of the Light and language had resulted (to some distant personal trauma he cared only to forget) in his upheld title of Emissary. As a half-elf, he was less likely to be subjected to the criticisms related to the Sin’dorei, jeered at in good-natured ribbing on the subject of his parents’ rutting and yet respected enough to be allowed within their huts and way of life. 

Without dwelling too much on the one negative experience that had shifted his perspectives on life, he often reveled in the...

She wasn’t sure if it was her heartbeat, or the bass, that rattled her ribcage; if it was the flashing lights that kissed the tops of her tanned shoulders, or the lithe elf with the high, hollow cheekbones that flashed with glitter; if that taste on her tongue was his lips, the memories, or the drugs.

Like a flea-ridden purebred, was the magic city - or was it more like a whore too prettily painted? Dalaran, proper and upstanding. But all those mages had to cut loose somewhere...as did the innumerable members of Horde, and Alliance looking for a break from the constant war. Tomorrow, they’d cut each other’s throats. Tonight, they’d drink and fuck and forget...

In a place like this, the more exotic, the better - thus horns and...

Despite her feelings about the Watcher, it was difficult not to be intimidated in the presence of Odyn. The fiery beard was hot even from this distance, and his booming voice echoed across the chamber. Hyrdda had called it a test, rather than a trial, but with packed seats like this, it seemed like one, though perhaps they found it more entertaining, for who could anticipate what would happen?

“Welcome! Valajar!” Odyn called out. “I apologize for interrupting the celebration at our glorious victory, but the time has come to judge the bargains made on the mortals we championed to our cause, those we saved from death’s embrace and brought to these Hallowed Halls!”

Cheers erupted, boots hitting the pavement, and swords...

It had been awhile since her last summons. And when Hyrdda burst forth from nothing in the gnome’s bathroom she was met with a faceful of toothpaste. Thankfully, she’d always been a bit of a black sheep amongst her kin and took the situation with a laugh.

“Its time then?” The gnome asked, regaining her composure.

“Indeed, the task has been completed. Judgement falls upon you, charge.” The ethereal voice was almost booming in the small space.

“Think you’re ready?” Pin inquired, a hopeful twinge in her voice.

She could feel the smile in Hyrdda’s voice, “as if one could ever be ready for this. I will do what i can, charge.” The valkyr reached out to take the gnome’s hand.

Taking it, the gnome’s vision...

The whole evening had been a good one; Kae had finally promoted her.  Neither the title nor added responsibility excited her nearly as much as the extra money each week. But she’d take it and do it well.  She’d seen all of her favorite people, which was a very rare experience. Then, someone asked for advice on something completely unrelated to sex. Sure she had her own style, but she would never have expected someone to ask her for advice; help figuring out their own style.

She had spent the evening between the Moon and the Tavern. The lightweight never had more than three drinks. Not tonight. She had imbibed and then when Xylaes offered a bit of thistle, she eagerly took a few hits. Had he offered? No, she had asked for it. It was...

Another letter is dispatched - this time, to another old acquaintance - once more is it sealed with golden wax bearing the depiction of a half-sun rising. Within is no more than a letter, albeit one written in a flowing and well-composed hand that seems almost strange, compared to the woman whose words it conveys.

Aelberyn,

If I may be so informal with you, still. I know we weren’t…terribly close before, but I still owe you an apology – more than one, in truth. Explanations, as well, if you so choose. Honesty is my aim, and a fresh start is my goal. If you’ve no interest in as much, then I will understand. My actions some years ago left something to be desired, I know. That said, I cannot move forward without guilt, knowing what...

“See? Right there! I told you!”

The imp hopped up and down, pointing at a spot on the ground next to a tree. Banagan moved through the woods and came to stand next to Voltuk. Kneeling down, the warlock picked up a few pine needles and looked at them closely through his mask. Letting out a sigh, he let go of the needles and let them drop to the ground.

“You are certain?” Banagan asked as he slowly stood up and looked through the trees. In the distance, he saw a familiar house.

“Yes,” Voltuk said. “He was right here. Watched him like you said.”

“He must have been watching the whole thing.”

“Who are you?” a voice asked.

Banagan turned to see another figure step out of the shadows. His dark leathers blended in...

(This is cooperative writing between myself and Audemus. Just a reminder that no information found in this story can be used by any other player other than those involved in each scene. Thank you and enjoy ~) 

She looked up from where she’d been crouched between two of the children, and smiled, “I think I can find something..” she said, standing. She gave the one child a gentle stroke of their hair before going to root around in the chest of drawers at the foot of her bed. She found a pair of drawstring sweatpants that would probably be a little short on him but would fit his hips, and a shirt she was pretty sure was left over from a boyfriend or three ago. She handed them to him through the door before leaving him to it. The...

(This is cooperative writing between myself and Audemus. Just a reminder that no information found in this story can be used by any other player other than those involved in each scene. Thank you and enjoy ~)

She huffed a hoarse chuckle, shaking her head, “Alright then, there’s a lounge, just there behind ya, go lay down,” she instructed, pointing at the piece of furniture that lay beneath a window with only a book and a blanket on it. “I’ll find some painkillers for you,” she murmured, ignoring his question entirely, “And you should rest while I get the children cleaned up and fed.” She glanced down at herself and frowned. She was covered in dirt and blood, singed a bit at the hems and looking a frightful disaster....

(The Party Job is divided into five parts, this will include violence and mentions of child slavery and human trafficking. This is cooperative writing between myself and Audemus. Just a reminder that no information found in this story can be used by any other player other than those involved in each scene. Thank you and enjoy ~) 

Audemus worried at the corner of his lower lip as Shade performed her work, although there was a determined set to his jaw as he steeled himself not to complain. His right arm felt numb, and the pain made everything else feel very hazy, but he recognized the fraying, dark edges of his vision. Wasn’t the first injury he had sustained, and thanks to this runic magic, (hopefully) not the last, but the advent...

(The Party Job is divided into five parts, this will include violence and mentions of child slavery and human trafficking. This is cooperative writing between myself and Audemus. Just a reminder that no information found in this story can be used by any other player other than those involved in each scene. Thank you and enjoy ~) 

Shade nodded and hopped out the window, climbing down the trellis as roughly as she could to make handholds for the children to follow. When she hit the ground, she scanned the area and pulled a small vial of iridescent blue dust from her cinch. She spilled it over her palm and snorted it quick and easy before discarding the vial and turning to look up at the children. Mana flooded her with the softest of...

(The Party Job is divided into five parts, this will include violence and mentions of child slavery and human trafficking. This is cooperative writing between myself and Audemus. Just a reminder that no information found in this story can be used by any other player other than those involved in each scene. Thank you and enjoy ~) 

Shade felt something shift in the heartbeat pulsing against her shoulder. Not fear, no, but utterly disquieted. She lifted her hand to that pulse and laid her palm over it. What had he gotten into? He felt cold and now, seething but that was forced down. She frowned. She couldn’t leave this place to search for him – the place was too big and though they were temporarily connected that bond did not give...

Shade stared at him for a moment before laughing brightly, letting herself get spun away from him and into the crowd. She glanced over her shoulder at the dogpile as Aud extracted himself to shout vitriol at the young lord stuttering and flushed. She had to hand it to him, he was good at being a distraction. Every pair of eyes in the place was on him. She edged into the wall, slowly shifting into a silvery mist that lowered to the floor and poked at the seal of the door until she could fit through. It was simple enough to linger invisibly at the edge of the room, noting the exit Audemus told her of and the lone occupant who seemed unconcerned about the noise outside. Shade dabbed potion at her throat and wrists, then straightened,...

(The Party Job is divided into five parts, this will include violence and mentions of child slavery and human trafficking. This is cooperative writing between myself and Audemus. Just a reminder that no information found in this story can be used by any other player other than those involved in each scene. Thank you and enjoy ~) 

*.*.*

She dipped a rather graceful curtsy, “My lord,” she greeted, an impish grin curling the corners of her lips, “Shall we?” She straightened, waiting patiently.

He grinned, crooking his arm out for her to thread her palm through. “We shall. Just this way, your ladyship.” Audemus guided her down the gilded thoroughfare lined with stately manors, making small, idle conversation in case they...

(Anything tagged A & S is a cowritten RP - prefacing a guild storyline. Sorry about any errors!)

*.*.*

It wasn’t to say that he didn’t believe in happenstance. He just knew better than to let an opportunity slip by out of some fear of coincidences: it was fortuitous that he had received the invite (which had been pitched in the trash immediately) to one of Flamerest’s opulent dinner parties merely a few days before someone apparently thought the other elf was better off dead. Not foreboding. The alley encounter with Shade proved to be the highlight of his evening and the rest of it, quite uneventful. He cut his night short – much to the surprise of the doctor who was still awake by the time Audemus had made his way back to...

(Anything tagged A & S is a cowritten RP - prefacing a guild storyline. Sorry about any errors!)

*.*.*

The soft fizzle always preceded the messages. The black shadow bled into existence, oozing back to reveal a neatly folded cream colored parchment with a red wax seal. The letter dropped into her lap and the black faded with a soft snap. Shade sighed softly, setting her virgin fizzy fruit drink down on the bar. Her legs swung as she eyed the unfamiliar seal before breaking it carefully to scan its contents. Her expression went flat, silversage hues frosting over.

She refolded the letter before tucking it away into her pocket. She quietly finished her drink before hopping down and waving at the barkeep who nodded. It was easy for her...

She woke before them when the sun was just curling tentative fingers of orange over the horizon. She was curled up among dog and elf limbs, sprawled out with them on the bed. She smiled, petting drowsily lifting heads as she slipped from the literal dog pile. Stretching, she found her bag and wiggled into short cutoffs and a fresh tank top before leaving Talyn’s room with a silent hum.

She padded barefoot through the empty Tavern and out into Rustberg proper – the sleepy seaside port waking as the docks rumbled to life and birds call echoed. Tying up her hair into a ponytail, she began to run. 

It was an easy lope of a run over cobbled and hard packed dirt streets. Past the dark shops and the just opening stalls. Fishermen and...

“I don’t know if I could survive another war like that.”

He was rambling, a trait that rarely reared its head, given his tendency to go quiet in times of great distress. Actions over words, the bigger the better to satisfy his pain or fear. But there was no outside danger where he was; seated in the middle of their lush, tangled greenery, only the limits of his own mind and body could pose a threat.

Twin tendrils, working in tandem. Find their centre.

But there was a method to this mindless chatter, one he’d been committing to memory from day one. In this case, the quiet questions and half-there answers served the to temper the severity of his internal efforts with a bit of outside distraction. For with this kind of work, as...

Once an old man assigns Aysa Cloudsinger's students to give me some combat training. I had never fought anyone in my life. Maybe... avoiding fist fights with mad little boys in the streets when I am trying to shop and they challenge whatever about me in public? So the first student asks:

"What do you hope to get out of your training with Aysa Cloudsinger and the Tushui Nuns?" She, the pigtailed Pandaren girl, asks deferentially yet with intensity. Looking me in the face yet not staring or trying to intimidate. She even drops her arms and fighting stance to show she shall not move... until everyone is ready?

"I hope to understand... how to disarm my enemies. Not lethally harm them. Is that... okay?" Baojun asks with trepidation....

When I worked as a magess for Silvermoon City, because of my talkativeness, they said... I was given a job as a dispute moderatrix. Watcher of a small territory on Sunstrider Isle. I learned about Dath'remar, who led our people to where they reside now, yet I... do not remember the entire tale. Is that a problem? It isn't even about Lord Sunstrider whoever. Not truly. What I learned as a protector of the nature reserve at that small village was one simple thing: Hatred is not productive to resolving disputes. Not using your magics to obliterate your enemies. You must... show them mercy and kindness.

It doesn't have to be about pretty pretty feelings either.

Just necessary deescalation techniques. A useful one, which I learned from a...

Her stitches, while tiny, were not her best work. It wasn’t easy sewing when your hands trembled with apprehension. The door opened and she jerked her head up, jabbing the needle into her fingertip. Regynn stifled a cry then sighed heavily when the secretary called the name of the last person remaining, aside from herself.

The priestess had thought it would be a good idea to bring some mending with her, something to keep her mind off the impending interview but she’d spent almost as much time ripping out seams as she had stitching them. She sat with her finger in her mouth, sucking the blood away from the puncture wound when she heard someone clearing his throat behind her and she looked up into the bored expression of the...

The man’s breath panted hot against Talyn’s ear, filling his nostrils with the scent of whiskey and pain. They were a pretty common cocktail, served up on the regular in that particular corner of the Row, where he’d often spent his nights in search of a little coin.

In the beginning, he’d thought it easiest to exist where he didn’t really exist, to blend into the faded edges of their bright and beautiful City. He was a born scout who’d found his footing with the Farstriders as soon as he could enlist- only to eventually lose it (but that was another story). He hadn’t yet mastered the art of hiding in plain sight, when he’d first taken to the streets.

So it had been a strangely natural progression, going from...

Talyn liked drawing faces. If one were to flip through his sketchbook, among the few pieces involving wildlife and a handful of more abstract shapes, the faces of those around him were what they’d see most of all. 

He especially liked that unguarded expression people tended to wear when they felt nobody was looking; a blacksmith hard at work, or a mother watching her children at play- couples lost in the moment with one another during a stroll through the gardens, or arguing with a heat that only lovers can wield. Free from the everyday illusions people wore in place of their real feelings, it was the kind of thing charcoal and paper were made for. Just as it was the kind of thing he couldn’t really grasp beyond the marks on his...

The truth is that I have been a woman of the night in my past. I've used dates to earn monies to survive. Always to survive another lonely night or homeless night--Not just to "gold dig" or "steal from innocents." In fact none of the men--mostly men as women were afraid of what I might do to them--I dated ever cared about me, or helping me survive. Just filling their own pockets or slaking their own thirsts for lovemaking. And I've made love on top, on bottom and even... in shameful positions I hate. Even being forced to say things about my partners and myself that I despise, or dress in a slinky dress I hate or wear makeups that bother my skin. Just to please my clients.

Have I had female clients too? Why yes. One of them... an orc...