My proposal for breakfast is met with such a resounding affirmative that it makes me wonder if Audemus had heard my question correctly. I don’t repeat myself to capitalize on this potential mistake. Getting him out of bed only takes thirty-nine minutes and dressing is only another fifty. Progress.

The downstairs is quiet, with only employees of the tavern milling about. A quick glance through the one of windows reveals the explanation: no ships in port. Bad for business, but better for the atmosphere. I spy a sunnily dispositioned Miss Meadowshine tying a starched and pressed apron around her waist and move to greet her, but he does so first.

He kisses her cheek, which makes her smile, and pokes her belly, which makes her...

Regynn rushed into her room and tumbled headfirst over a basket overflowing with fabric. The basket tipped and bits of brightly colored cloth scattered everywhere, thankfully breaking her fall. She sat up, shoving the handful of unruly curls that had fallen from their pins, accompanied by a chorus of laughter from out in the hall.

Several young priestesses crowded around her door, giggling at Reggy’s misfortune, their eyes taking in the chaos. “Really Reggy, you should clean this place up. It’s a mess. You’re a mess.” one of them said.

Regynn glared up at her before glancing around the room, “It isn’t a mess, I know exactly where everything is.”

“Of course you do.” she girl said dryly as she backed away from...

It was morning in Stormwind and Marachius was standing outside of the Cathedral with two of his fellow trainees, their armor gleaming in the early sunlight. They had finished their breakfast and were discussing their assignments for the morning. Realizing that they had all been assigned to different tasks, the three were making plans to meet later that evening.

“There he is, dad.” A voice called out across the courtyard.

The three paladins turned to look at the call. Next to the fountain stood an older man with a teenager beside him, a teenager that Marachius quickly recognized.

“He’s the one,” the teenager said, pointing at Marachius. The older man looked to the teenager, then strode over to stand in front of the...

Niviene glanced around the room one last time, making sure that everything was in place.  The entire house was bathed in the warm glow of candlelight and shadow, giving it an air of mystery and promise. The silence was almost deafening and she gave a small sigh of relief when the cicadas began to sing just beyond the window.

She glanced at her reflection in the darkened window, startled and then a little embarrassed. Her sky blue gaze drifted down to the dress she wore, her cheeks flaming at the amount of exposed skin and the thin lacings of the bodice. Not for the first time she wondered why she had allowed Venibeth to talk her into wearing such garments… again; reminding herself that it had been a condition of the mage watching...

“Can you do me a favor?”

From most, this question would not be an alarming one. From him? It is a skipped pulse: a dry and uneasy feeling in my throat that is washed away with a steadying swallow of lightly sweetened tea. He does not ask before he does. I roll my wrist, quill in hand, to work out a writer’s cramp before I answer with a question of my own.

“That depends. What kind of favor?”

It proves to be a reasonable request, which, considering the source, makes me immediately wary. His mother is ailing, and he would like a second opinion. I find it surprising that he has a mother — not in the biological sense, of course, but in the sense that he has never spoken of her. Then again, he had never spoken of his...

The shadows were deep, almost tangible as they seeped between the trees. In the distance, eerie howls could be heard echoing through the forests as if they were greeting the night that had fallen across the land. A lone figure stood in the shadows, blackened armor blending with the darkness but not quite completely, as if the armor were too dark for the shadows to contain. The only light cast from this lone sentry were the two points that shown from his helm. Two red points that seems to have a fire burning deep in them. The eyes stared intently through the trees, keeping watch on the home in the distance.

“He has returned home,” a cold, metallic voice said calmly, quietly. “Finally.”

The armored figure stopped...

The Ranger Lord rose, brushing snow from his cloak as he made his way toward the cabin. It was an effort to do so calmly with nerves rattled as they were, yet he put one foot in front of the other, concentrating upon his breath to keep his muscles from tightening and thereby heightening the vague sense of anxiety he wrestled with. Upon reaching the doorway, he took in the carvings and knotwork whittled with care over the years. Each curve and spiral, each snarling face and graceful frond of fern, brought him back to the present moment and a state of expectant readiness. With an exhale he pushed open the heavy oaken door and uttered the only word that was worthy to break his concentration.

“Neri…?”

Despite stating it softly, her...

((A couple of years ago, I wrote a series of short stories about Braghaman training a new batch of paladin trainees. Without flooding the front page with so many stories, I'm going to leave a link instead so that people who haven't seen them before can go if they want. 

Paladin Training Stories ))

She scowls at the lights burning in the windows of the estate, annoyed at herself for her surprise. The building had been half ruined after the incident, abandoned; she chides herself at her foolishness for supposing it would remain so. The location was too good and the remains of the house too intact for someone not to have bought it.

It was your fault, a whisper says and she shakes her head in denial.

Her bare feet make only the faintest whisper as she creeps through the shadows beneath the garden wall; there is a spot she could climb, but but she rejects it as too risky, too much danger of being silhouetted against the rising moon and the iron blades and broken glass which topped the wall are doubtless still there. Farther on, there...

All stories previously written for Lore can be found HERE - I will be posting on Chardiary in the future and having it cross-posted to Tumblr but if you want to catch up on Lore's stories and what's going on, follow the link! 

She sat back on her haunches, a wrist dragging across her brow as she surveyed the work she’d gotten done. It was amazing how many years could fit into a few well-packed boxes and a suitcase.

Undercity had been her home for years. She’d come to know the winding ruins the way she’d known Silvermoon. She’d come to love the decay and plague smells thought at first it had been a trial to suffer them.

Her lips quirked in amusement as she remembered those first months. Shade combed damp bangs out of her eyes and sighed softly.

She owned the place, so it was easy enough to lock and ward it up before relocating to Silvermoon, but it was the principal. She’d fought tooth and nail for this tiny bit of peace after .. well,...

The dream has changed.

In my dream, I am dancing. It's the midsummer fire festival, and Silvermoon and its noble court are alive with reds, oranges, golds -- as usual and yet, there's something extra in it. Some extra shine in the eyes of those who move past me. The music -- in my dreams I am not tone deaf. In my dreams, the music is impossibly fast and beautiful: a whirlwind of sounds and I can hear the colors. The golden leaves of Eversong; the crackling whip of red, everburning flame. The Fire Festival belongs to everyone, of course, but the Sin'dorei celebrate it best. My dress is always, always crimson: dark, like merlot. Nearly black -- but when the ever-present fires illuminate the fabric, it bursts with fiery flashes of...

Drugs only keep the urges numbed - quiet, and well-behaved. But it grows more and more - like treating hunger with handfuls of candy...it's instant gratification, but it doesn't do much for your actual hunger. Eventually the taste of sugar makes you recoil, and all you can think about is the meal you've been putting off.

That's what it's like on a daily basis - a pervasive itch I can't reach - though it used to be drugs, before I was corrupted. I was addicted to mana, and I thought that was bad. And it is - I'll never say it isn't. But that's a thing one can have treated, and overcome with time and effort. Now? Am I more demon than elf? I don't know anymore, but I know what demons feed on. I know what they want, more than anything. I...

I am flanked by thirteen men. I do not need to look behind me, to know this. It is a fact, much like the knowledge that the sky is blue, or grass is green; which it is, here - the field around us stretches on, flowers waving in a breeze. Silence stretches just as far as the field of wildflowers, however - for these men do not speak, and our steps make nary a sound upon the earth. They are soldiers - or so they seem, per their mode of dress - uniforms tattered, splattered with old blood. They are efficient killers, these men.

I hold a mace - no, I strangle this mace, my grip is so tight. Knuckles whiten with the force of my grip, as I stare at the small village across the way. Traitors. The thought makes me burn with rage, with zeal...

She clicked her comm off, effectively hanging up on Raerys. Trisandrah stepped over the broken teacup and marched through her room to Duir.

Whap

So it’s okay for you to lie to me?  Hide the truth?

Pow

How dare you?  How DARE you?

Tris raged and screamed at Duir. At Raerys. It had been a long time since she’d been so angry at someone close to her. Those feelings gurgled and bubbled and she didn’t like them one bit.

What a fool you are. You think everything is better? All that she held against you?  Is it okay for her to do the same thing?

Bam

The auction went better than she had anticipated. The night had on a pleasant note but she had attributed that to lack of sleep and a couple of drinks. To wake up to Raerys and...

What are you going to do you silly girl?

What if she comes back? Will she tell all about your family?

Does she know more than you do? That’s likely as you don’t know anything about anyone beyond your father.

Tris made her way from the shower, toweling her hair dry. She stopped and bent to pick up the crumpled parchment laying by the fireplace.  

Ms. Emberstrom

An update. I’ve found a few places to sell your chocolates. I haven’t made contact, though. The people I’ve shared them with really like them.

On another note, I’ve met and working with an Emberstrom lady. One of those new elves that’s showing up over here. You might’ve heard. Anyway, once I heard her name, I asked her. Ya might know her. In fact, I’m sure...

The second night had not gone any better than the first.  Though, spending the early morning hours cooking and baking had calmed her want to flee substantially, she still had wondered exactly what she’d agreed to.  The day had been filled with finding all the okra they could possibly carry home, shopping for an excellent Stormwind Brie, bourbon, and the finest blue cloth.  It had ended with a ball in a beautiful mansion near the water’s edge.

He had assured her everything would go smoothly and it had. It seems the introduction of these new elves made it all the much easier. Until their conversation drifted to more personal things. He had all but stormed out of the ball and she had done nothing less than follow him. How could she...

He’s quiet, and he uses his key.

The gentle, metallic rasp, rotate, click of the lock as the pins are slotted into place sounds cacophonic and he realizes he’s been holding his breath; he tells himself it’s just habit, a holdover from his days spent sleuthing, half-diamond and torsion wrench working in tandem to drop into a place where he was unwelcome, uninvited. But, he has a key. This seems significant, somehow. His grasp on the meaning of it is thin and insubstantial. It’s ignored.

He’s quiet, but it was unnecessary.

Romarique is awake, and they are sharing a mutual expression of surprise in the quiet. Waiting up for me? The inch of melted wax in the pillared glass candle holder, still-steaming cup of...

After sending that letter to Vensala, after the Shadow Assembly and the nonsense that is Tellarian, I decide to finally take Aldarra’s offer of a place to reside in Suel’thalas. It is, quite frankly, what I am sure more optimistic people would call a project. I personally call it a hovel.Not that I mind, really. I have lived in worse, after all, and a little dirt and a few bugs do not scare me. After securing the cracks in the windows against the rain and patching up the holes in the walls and floors of this hovel of a place, I move in my most important possessions first: my cats.

They love it, of course. Smudge and Smear run rampant in the small home, meows bouncing off the walls. It reminds me of a human’s architectural...

Marachius crossed over the canal on his way back to the Cathedral, his tabard with the symbol of the Cathedral flapping in the wind. He’d been sent to have one of his pauldrons repaired as one of the buckles had broken during the morning’s practice. As he stepped off the bridge, Marc heard voices coming from the path to his right. When he heard someone cry out to stop, the paladin started moving towards the noise.

As he rounded the corner, Marachius found three teenaged boys standing around a much younger one. One of the teenagers held a rocket-car toy up in the air while the younger boy fruitlessly jumped in the air after it.

“What’s going on here?” Marachius said, startling the three teenagers who stopped what they were...

“Then why did they send you?” Regynn looked up from her mending, her gaze settling on the boy who had spoken, “I don’t know Garrett. I wish I did.”

“I bet they wanted you to be a spy but you weren’t very good at it.” the boy replied.

She paused again, the needle poised over a pair of faded, much patched trousers, “Why would you say that?” she asked.

Garrett shrugged, “Well you just wouldn’t be, that’s all. You’re always helping people; doing the mending, feeding the poor, taking blankets to the homeless. You’re just too good to be bad.”

Several of the other children seated around her nodded their heads in agreement but one boy shook his and said, “Don’t you see, that’s what makes the best...

Her favorite flower is sweet alyssum. Not that she knew their name when prompted. He wasn’t surprised: of course she would know very little in comparison to him about all of the things (he thought) that mattered.

I like the kind that grows along the dunes. They are little, white flowers and they smell like clover honey. If you pull at the root, the whole thing comes out. We have some growing in the garden at my house — do you want to see?

He hadn’t. He had just been making banal small talk with the pretty, copper-haired girl at the florist’s stall despite — or perhaps, because of — her peasantry. His father would disapprove. Either his guise of feigned politeness had improved drastically since his parent’s last...

Looking up at it now, it seemed twistedly strange in person than she’d remembered. The city was – as always – hues of reds and golds and white gleaming and nearly pristine. The winter moon was high – a small white disc radiating light and washing out stars as it painted the world beneath in shades of white and greys.

She hadn’t been here in here in years. Fingers found the knotted scar on her shoulder, rubbing at it idly as she stared up at the gates into the city of her childhood. Sharp teeth found plump flesh as she nibbled her bottom lip in uncertainty.

Her ear flicked at the hiss echoing in her ear, her hand lifting from her shoulder to the pendant at her throat, the small orb filled with swirling mist. She was no...

Hey there!

First of all: if you need to be critical (try to) do so. No problem with that. If your critique has a point I will take it to heart and try to improve things.

I wrote this post originally as a comment to the last story of Elandriah however it applies to everyone so I'd like to ask you, and you and you and you (points fingers).

I couldn't help but notice many people paste their writings from Tumblr here and I was wondering what is their (your) motivation!? I do not mean to offend anyone including you. I am just deeply interested why this is happening. I only  ask because I want to understand you and other authors better and make the site a great place. That's all really.

So my questions are:

- Did you write the...