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  1. Past hour
  2. Qabian sat turned around in his chair, chin resting on his arms folded across the back, and stared at the panther cub sprawled out across the dark pillows of the once neatly made bed. In other lighting, it would have been nearly invisible in the rumpled mess, but the sunbeam from the half-drawn drapes lay right across the creature. It wasn't irritating enough to do anything about, but it was more of a problem than the solution he had initially hoped for. When he had first come across the spellwork to create a weapon, he had envisioned something far more literal. Ruuki was no longer High Inquisitor, so Qabian hardly felt indebted to her for his theoretical failure regarding this project, but he had still wanted something more than this lump of an inconvenient cat. Lately, he had considered offering it to Syreena. She seemed to always have some task or other that needed doing, someone who had legitimately offended her in some way. Maybe she could find a use for a cat that you could set on fire and send into a building only to have it return a few hours later. But then there was the issue of the words. Qabian didn't believe he had ever put words to paper that he would regret, that might come back to haunt him, but that didn't mean he wanted just anyone having the capacity to read and connect anything he had written back to him. Given the nature of the magic that had created the thing, the possibility existed that a change of ownership would result in a change of words, but what if it didn't? That wasn't something he particularly wanted to risk. Qabian sighed. Nothing was going quite right lately, but nothing was going wrong enough to make trouble about either. He had missed the opportunity to simultaneously confess to murder and grind the new supplicant into the dirt. On the one hand, it always felt better when they came to understand themselves before the trouble started. On the other, it would have been good, clarifying, to have been the one responsible. Perhaps it had been a mistake to want to show him that there were those who truly believed in the Mandate before laying out how it was all bullshit but worth every ounce of chaos.
  3. Today
  4. T'suro knocked on Cerryan's office door. The voice that responded was terse. "Yes, what is it?" "I wished to talk... but if you're too busy." T'suro replied. There was a sigh before Cerryan responded. "No, come in. I apologize, I am just a bit overwrought." T'suro stepped in, giving his older superior a salute before approaching the desk. "What's the matter?" "It's everything. It's the attack on Shal'Aran that I should have been there for. It's the attack on Light's Hope that still burns in my mind when my eyes close. It's Shokkra missing, Karthok plotting, Kanda...." Cerryan sucked in a breath, and released it slowly. "It's the Legion intensifying their crusade on the heels of the victories we've been able to secure." T'suro sighed and nodded slowly. "I can understand all of that. I've been doing my part, but sometimes I feel as if it's just... overwhelming. This actually plays into what I wanted to discuss with you, though. Lady Liadrin has accepted my request, and supplied us with a deployment of some fresh Blood Knight recruits. There's only four of them, but they're all freshed face and eager to work." T'suro leaned against the desk and sighed again. "I already told the commander, but I'm worried they might feel unwelcome here, even with my presence. Perhaps you could speak with them?" Cerryan nodded. "I'd be happy to. Additional support from the Blood Knights will be welcome. Light knows what further predations we can expect from the Felborne who struck at us. The knights should have little to worry about, Liadrin's forces are not unwelcome here and we're stretched thinly enough that the aid will go a long way." T'suro gave the other paladin a smile. "That would be wonderful." His face fell again. "But, wait... we'd need to house them... surely the guard barracks have some empty bunks?" "I am sure that accommodations can be made, and at worst we can outsource to a local inn. They're as far away from home as we are; small comforts are the least we can do." T'suro nodded. "Fair enough, I suppose. Consider this an official request then." He chuckled. Cerryan nodded. "Now to determine how they will provide support. There are a few options I can think of at least; Shal'Aran could benefit from the security of extra hands, of course. Security here is still never in small demand, what with the latest incursion upon our compound. I wonder if..." The paladin was interrupted by another knock on his door. A moment later, a young page bearing the markings of the Silver Hand entered the room and nervously delivered a summons to Cerryan from one High Justicar Tamaryth. The paladin nodded and dismissed the page, then turned back to T'suro. "Well then, I suppose we will have to revisit this. I do not want to keep the Silver Hand waiting." T'suro raised a curious brow. "Silver Hand business? Hmm... Might I accompany you? Our orders are joined together nowadays." "Yes, of course. I was going to ask you to anyways. I have a feeling I know what this is about." With that, Cerryan stood and led the two of them out of the office and towards Light's Hope.
  5. Tamaryth was found in the small training area in the chapel, supervising some aspiring crusaders as they practiced. She was a blood elf, with dark hair and stern features. Her armor was red and gold, and glimmered in the lantern light. As Raelana approached, she steps forward, and delivered a stinging rebuke with the flat of her blade to the sloppy arm of a recruit. "Arm in," she ordered. The recruit nodded and sheepishly stooped to retrieve his weapon he had dropped. She put her armored boot on it. "And never," she saaid, lowering her voice to a low growl, "let go of your weapon. Ever." Raelana leaned up against the cool, stone wall watching Tamaryth train. Her hands rested on the hilt of her fiery blade out of habit, but as always she was alert of her surroundings. She caught Tamaryth's eye and bowed her head lightly out of respect and approval of her methods. It had been a long time since she was in training, more than ten years, but the methods hadn’t changed much. Tamaryth stepped back, letting the berated recruit retrieve his weapon. She caught Raelana's eye and nodded slightly. "Fifty strikes on the practice dummy," she said to the recruit, then turned walk over to where Raelana was waiting. "Can I help you?" she inquired. Standing up as tall as she could (which was not very tall at all), she spoke quickly and quietly. "I'm looking for Tamaryth. She knows why I'm here." Raelana said it matter of factly, certain she had found her, but unwilling to give out more information until it was confirmed. "She might, if she knew who you were," the blood elf responded. "Though at this point I'm going to go ahead and assume you're Raelana. Najme told me you'd be assigned to me." She sheathed her sword. Raelana's hand squeezed the hilt of her sword slightly. Her green eyes flickered in the candlelight and her fiery hair seemed to match her temperament. She looked hard at the blood elf before relaxing her grip, but not releasing the haft from her grasp. "Ambassador Raelana de Bergerac, at your service," she said with a brief bow of her head. "Please forgive the formalities. When you're in my line of work, you can never be too careful." She gave Tamaryth a half smile. "I'm sure you know how that can be." She paused as a recruit sauntered by slowly, only proceeding when no one else was within earshot. "I was called upon to aid in the situation; however I was only recently filled in on what's going on. I'd be interested to hear your thoughts on it." Tamaryth folded her arms. "We have someone to bring to justice," she said. "Ironically, she's ensconced herself in a guild that claims to be devoted to justice." She scoffs. "I hope for their sake they're unaware of her crimes. If they're not, and they've been willingly sheltering her, they're guilty of collusion and their leaders will have to stand trial as well." "Anything I should know about this guild? I believe Najme said Sanctuary. Seems an appropriate guild considering what she's accused of. Honestly, I'm surprised she's still a member, when you consider the fact she attacked one of their own. Do we know where..." She paused suddenly as another recruit slowly walks by, obviously trying to see what was going on. "...she is? Will any of the members give us trouble when we go to bring her in?" "Their headquarters is in Dalaran," Tamaryth said. "I've heard stories about them that make their actions less surprising. They're a rogue outfit by all accounts. We can certainly expect trouble. We'll start with their leader and see if we can convince her to turn over the fugitive. Unless you have another idea?" she added, almost as a token comment. Raelana pulled forth some parchment and glanced at her notes. "The greatest victory is that which requires no battle. I do indeed have another idea." Her face lit up as she looked over her notes. "Yes a very good idea indeed," she muttered to herself, a grin slowly building on her face. "Why start with the leader at all? Sir Cerryan Vyel is in the perfect position to help us appeal to the guild. Not to mention I want a chance to meet him." She looks at Tamaryth, then quickly adds, "To get his opinion on things of course.” Tamaryth’s lips twisted in a little annoyance. "I suppose we can do that," she said. "We can summon him here. If nothing else, an explanation for why he tolerates her presence, or tolerates the guild that harbors her, is one that should be answered." Raelana raised one of her eyebrows and gave a disapproving look, but didn’t say anything to contradict or disagree with her statement. "We both have questions we want to ask and things we need explained. Would you like to summon him now?" "Yes, we shouldn't waste any more time." Tamaryth looked back at the recruit, who was struggling to raise his sword to complete the task she had given him, his arm leaden after so many swings. It was a cruel punishment, but if he managed to hold onto his blade for the duration, he'd be less likely to drop it under trying circumstances in the future. "I'll send a page."
  6. As promised, I'll make a signature for anyone who takes the screenshots!
  7. That looks amaaaaazing
  8. Since spring's come around these parts, I figured I should kick off some interesting foraged food stuff! Feel free to post stuff you've tried or done too. This spring, I decided to try something I was too late to try making last year: Wild Garlic Mustard Pesto I used the recipe above as a base to start at, but found it to be too salty so reduced the salt to 3/4 tsp instead of 1 tsp. I choose to add the optional ramps, as they're in season as well right now. Had several people try it after it was made and everyone quite liked it, even the picky people! All you can really taste is a pleasant garlicky-ness, but with all the wild greens it has a nutritious punch. We also found that you -can- have too much pesto on your pasta and get overwhelmed by it, so go light if you try it too! Tonight, I put it on as a spread for my fish sammich, along with a few leaves of just picked dandelion greens and a sprinkling of redbud flowers (the pink things). It was pretty decent, but I think it'd go better with another meat besides white fish. The cup in the picture has deadnettle and ground ivy with honey tea. It's a light tea, similar to camomile. I'll be posting other things as they spring up.
  9. Yesterday
  10. ((This story originally written by the player Baern on the Sanctuary discord)) Zhanhao carried a fat sack of bok choy down the streets of Dalaran, winding slowly away from the wide streets of the Magus Commerce exchange and into the small residential streets that hugged the walls of the flying city. He'd picked up the vegetables at a premium, though one he happily paid, from a pandaren farmer who shipped his wares from the Valley of the Four Winds to Dalaran through expensive, powerful portals. He had more to offer, massive soy and humongous radishes and squat squash, but the bok choy would make for the perfect base tonight in Zhanhao's steaming ramen. He found his way to the Arcanist's Abode, a poorly named tower that contained barely any mages at all. Rebuilt after the Third War to an unexpected staggering height, it served chiefly as an inexpensive residence for merchants and traders that worked the exchange, and of course, enterprising old gardeners who managed shrubbery and flowers and herbs all across the city. Having spent most of his life a travelling trader and alchemist, Zhanhao's small caravan took on grand heights when Pandaria became the focus of the Horde and the Alliance. Travelers who could get from Krasrang to the Jade Forest to Four Winds to Kun'Lai, alchemists who could teach recipes using the unique fauna found in Pandaria, merchants who could introduce outlanders to the Cloud Serpent Riders, Tian monks, Shado-Pan wall watchers, and the fishermen of the Anglers they were all in very low supply and now in very high demand. Zhanhao had little trouble translating his skills into a hefty payday, but he saw almost none of it. His wife of many years had died only a few months prior to the commotion, and they had never started a family together. Pushing it off endlessly because they had so much life yet to live, and so much love for their days on the back of a mushan pulled wagon. But Zhanhao did have a family. He had doting parents, a brother with a bundle of kids all his own, a sister who had answered the call and was still an ascetic in the Tian Monastery. It was them he gave most of his newfound gold to, so that they could have the lives they'd always wanted without worry. But he didn't leave Pandaria empty handed. Most of the world was gripped with the new continent, but for a pandaren there was still most of the world to explore. Cities across Azeroth swung into lifelessness as the focus of their denizens swept south, and so finding a cheap apartment in Dalaran and buying outright with the remainder of his gold sounded a good idea for Zhanhao. It was also easy to find employment, as an alchemist and herbalist teaching those that remained behind in the floating city precisely what to do and how to grow herbs like Green Tea Leaf and Rain Poppy. Most pandaren plants were found to be quite robust, all told, and bringing them into the city was a lucrative way for the shaman to find employment. But seeding the various alchemists' gardens with them wasn't something that he wanted to spend all his time doing. Slowly, he started picking up employment as a gardener for the wealthy all across the city who wanted beautiful flowers rather than utilitarian herbal beds. But even as the world equalized again and the secrets of pandaria were no longer in short supply, there was still one trait that Zhanhao possessed, one skill that made an unassuming gardener in Dalaran unique. The magical elevator that took him to the forty-seventh floor was one of things he loved about this city in the clouds. Unlike in many other metropolii across Azeroth, a tall tower was not in high demand. The lifts had a frequent habit of failing and being unable to transport anyone until a special arcane mage arrived to fix the enchantments governing the structure. It was on these days that Zhanhao did not love them. But when they worked, being whisked up to his apartment was a comfort to be cherished. The shaman was greeted by half a dozen elementals, two earth, two water, two air, who jumped and frolicked at his shins. They were small, no more than a few inches high, but something about their energy always put a smile on his face. He handed the earth elementals the sack while the water dove into his feet, making them sopping wet, in the hopes to clean off a few flecks of dirt and mud. As the earth pair started hefting the sack to the counter to Zhanhao's right, the wind pair flew up and pulled out one bok choy each, floating it slowly over and plopping them on a bare section of counter, impatiently. Luckily, the lightened load was easier for their brethren to carry, and they stopped up a rickety wooden ramp to get the sack on the counter as well. Unfortunately, none of the elementals could be called "thoughtful" and as they threw the emptying back on top of the small pile of vegetables already removed, it just rolled off them and back onto the floor, spilling out the entirety of their contents for good measure. One of the earthen climbed the pile and began to wave its arms frantically at the pair of air elementals, but neither seemed very willing to accept responsibility. Their competitive nature, however, kicked in when the second of the earthen dropped back to the floor and began picking up bok choy and running it up the ramp. Not to be outdone, the hovering elementals swooped in and began carrying their own, adding it to the pile they'd already started. When they were finished, all four elementals fought over the sack, trying to claim the honor of clearing the final piece of things, but the shaman plucked it from them and placed it on top of the hapless mound of vegetables he'd had. Dutifully, the water elementals slid up the ramp and began washing the food, depositing it finally into the basin on the far side of the counter. Zhanhao's apartment was narrow, but long, ending in one great, wide window that stretched from floor to ceiling, wall to wall. Its curtains were drawn, though the dark green glow of fel peaked out at every available opportunity. Before Dalaran's teleportation, he'd had a beautiful view of the ocean. Now, he had a view of the fel beam above the Tomb of Sargeras. His plump pandaren bed filled the space just under the curtain, stretching from the wall on the left to the kitchen counter on the right, itself full of all kinds of vegetables, fruit and grain that made for large meals. That counter ran the length of the room with a basin for water dividing it in half. On one side, Zhanhao seemed to keep things neat, orderly, organized, a storage space for the fresh food he brought in but wasn't prepared to eat or cook immediately. On the other, chaos rained, as the ramp that allowed his elementals to access the counter denoted that side to be their mischievous domain. In fairness, the floors were also a mess. One corner seemed dedicated just to gardening supplies, including a wet smock to work in, wet trowels and shovels and tools, and two and a half bags of soil lazily propped up on one wall. It was an odd layout for an apartment, and on the wall across from the counter, two clear doors stood as well. Most of the room was dominated by the bed at the end, but it didn't seem to belong, as if cramped in there rather than in a space all its own. After he'd cleaned himself off and cleared himself of his traveling clothes, Zhanhao stepped into the back room, careful to close the door off to any six inch intruders. What was clearly meant to be a bedroom had no bed in sight, almost no furniture at all, in fact. A single cylindrical block of jade with a fluffy pillow atop it was the only thing coming close, right in the center. To the right, another curtained window, to the left a wall with a few decorative scrolls hanging. But the main feature was across from the door as one entered. Three shelves, as wide as the wall, with tall glass boxes end to end standing on all three. They seemed to be made of discrete panels, glass framed with wood, that were nestled together into containers, maybe a foot and a half tall each. But the containers weren't the important part. Twenty three out of thirty six had a plant inside, a small flower with golden petals lilting softly to one side. Some of the rest had seedlings or buds yet to flower, though others were empty. Uniquely, one container held snow covered soil with soft, yellow grass shooting forth, so tall as to bend at the top of the container. Four totems glowing with energy lay on the floor under the shelves, one for each element. As Zhanhao takes his place atop the Jade block, folding his legs and closing his eyes, he connects to the flagging totems, slowly opening the flow of power between himself and them. It's the totems that govern the plants inside the containers, fire dictating the artificial sunlight hitting their leaves, water keeping them hydrated, earth making sure they have the proper nutrients, and air managing the atmosphere inside each of them. Zhanhao had always thought of himself as a strong shaman, able to conjure spells at their most powerful, the hottest fire, heaviest earth, quickest lightning. But the magic that he was using now wasn't about monumental exertions. It was about precision. The importance of totems in shamanistic magic was an interesting phenomanon, as Zhanhao learned that orcs, trolls, tauren and pandaren all seemed to learn the same process for decentralizing their power into totems. And while certain cultures had focused on certain uses of totems, Zhanhao had stubbornly refused to learn from them for months after moving to Dalaran. He knew his goal was to cultivate Golden Lotus plants outside of Pandaren soil, but however he tried to make the magic work, the plants withered and died before he was able to reach them. It was only after consulting with tauren shaman on the kind of magic that allowed their farmers to irrigate so effectively that the final piece of the puzzle fell into place and he was able to grow the plants in his home. By pumping huge amounts of energy into his totems, but restrict the way it flowed to a slow trickle, he was able to charge totems that lasted for hours, even days, maintaining the conditions needed for the flower to bloom. Now, the spell was routine, and by combining it with the techniques he'd learned in his training as a monk, almost a subconscious effort. Four hours blinked by effortlessly for the old shaman, only roused by his rumbling stomach. Rising from his position and sore to have remained still for so long, he fixed the pillow to make it center on the block again. His stomach rumbled a second time, but he ignored it, choosing instead to regard the lotus containers with sad eyes. He'd worked so hard, spent so long waiting for one them to bloom, that picking the petals from the flower and grinding them into alchemical powder or dropping them into boiling concoctions almost felt like slaying his own children. It took months for a lotus to bloom, daily adjustments in temperature, lighting, soil, and water. Selling one brought in thousands of gold, paid for his food, and his home, and his trips to his brother's, and medicine for his parents, but somehow the cost never seemed high enough. He broke a rule of his, placing three fingers on the glass, caressing it. The slightest changes could cause a flower to wilt overnight if he wasn't careful, a problem that he'd discovered early. This particular plant would be sold in less than a week, anyway. He'd hug it, if he could. Tell it that some child somewhere needs the magic it carried to cure them of a deathly ill. But he removed his fingers, nonetheless, hoping that he hadn't ruined it with his few moments of tender sadness. It was always so strangely painful giving up one of his flowers. Still, there was no better task that took his mind off it than cooking, and his stomach rumbled a third time just to remind him of that. Bok choy and onions and garlic and ginger and ramen awaited him, so he let out a soft sigh, shook the thought from his head and returned to a kitchen he'd hoped wasn't a mess thanks to rambunctious elementals.
  11. Last week
  12. Signature update. Juli finally moved out of the garrison and into Dalaran! Oh and I gave Xara her old pose back, much better.
  13. New Xara portrait, WIP. Gonna be on my badge for TNG Con. Might even finally replace my forum avatar!
  14. The gray skinned, white haired death knight had not left the forge in over a week. During that time she had not stopped her work save to request additional information on the armament she was to create. It was a testament to undead resilience but to anyone who knew of her, a reason to be concerned. The longer the elf went without feeding, the more distant she became as the agony increased and her skin went stiff like stone to become more receptive to the flood of life energy. As a result, her blows were fueled by unapparent anger. The reason for such was the Ebon Blade's lax approach to the enemies in their midst. What were they doing to prepare for the Silver Hand's inevitable counter-attack? Why had they done NOTHING when the Crimson Legion sent the head of one of their knights back in a box? Why were they focusing only on the Legion? it was by far the biggest threat, but a dagger in the back would cripple you just as surely. Impotent and angry, she stayed by the runeforges, churning out weapons to be given to new and recovered knights as they fought the foes of the Deathlord. Azilrog lumbered to the forges, grunting through his thick metal plating. He reeked of the unholy odor most death knights do, especially in Archerus. He watched her metalwork intently, folding his plated arms across his chest. "Your work is going to get sloppier the longer you keep at this." " My worst piece is still miles better than most knights' best." she responded, though she took his words into consideration enough to douse the blade in the trough and hand it off to one of the skeletal servitors and look towards the orc. She knew him by repuation, especially after the show produced last time with the suicidal elves. " Did they put you in charge of reanimation or did Whitemane decide we need to talk about our feelings now?" The name was spoken with a unmasked dislike. The orc shook his head. "I'm only trying to keep the war machine of our order burning. We can't do that with emotions getting in the way, or with brittle runeblades." His voice is hoarse, still recovering from its rupture. " If the Blade is brittle it is a reflection of the wielder who carves himself into it and bonds to the blade. Not just its creator. Why, have there been complaints?" "Not yet, but there's nothing wrong in preemptive measure." He straightened, assessing the elf. "What's troubling you?" " Tyr's hand is still infested with Scarlet groupies. One flyby from Stormrender and it would be a corpse filled ruin... We always need the ghouls. Yet the Deathlord won't spare even one Wyrm, even when those arrogant fools mailed back one of our members in a BOX." " I'm worried that this offensive has attached blinders to us.' "We gain more Knights than we lose on the battlefield, even with the Scarlet and Paladin blowback. As for blinders, the Legion is the primary threat, and the only real threat. The Deathlord and the new Highlord recognize that. Anything else can be dealt with once the Legion is vindicated." " If all we needed to worry about was moving forward. WE would save time and material and only make half a breastplate. I don't know how much experience you have with "Holy men" but they don't take what they consider a trespass and turn the other cheek. They will strike at us as soon as they don't need us...Maybe even give us the nudge while under pressure so we fall. These thoughts plague me. I worry more about our former teammates than I do the Legion at this point." Azilrog's face twisted into a frustrated frown. "And so? The Silver Hand does not match our numbers, they do not match our strength in battle, and whereas the Highlord has the Light on their side, we maintain the allegiance of the Lich King. Should they strike at us, the Scourge will strike at them, and us beside them." She gestured to him as if he had just proven her point. " This sort of attitude is what lead to our loss so many times before. We assume numbers and strength are all we need. Yet the last Lich king fell despite having five times the force that the Scourge holds now. We have improved but so have they. To treat the possibility of counterattack as unimportant is nearly welcoming critical damage to our cause. You forget that we would not be facing just the Silver hand but the acolytes of Nertherlight temple as well. Their power has too many unknown variables...Meanwhile we have not changed." There was an approaching sound of heavy footsteps as a female tauren appeared beside Dessim.and Azilrog. She wore heavy plate, but her pale white face splotched with brown spots went uncovered. "Azilrog Deathrage," she said in a hollow sounding voice, her face neutral. "Supposedly, there is another defector within Sanctuary's ranks. This one calls himself 'Ghostslayer'. With a name like that, he may already have gone mad. Find him and either retrieve him, or put an end to him. We have suffered enough embarrassments already." " ... Not sure if that group just has an unfortunate soft spot for sob stories or if it's TRYING to piss people off." "Whatever the case may be, put an end to it. The Silver Hand is already barking at our door and we do not need another excuse for them to distract us from our battle on the Broken Isles." " Barking at our doors? Have they made demands or are they still writing angry letters?" The tauren huffed through her nose, as if the very question annoyed her. "They demand justice for the lives lost at Lights Hope. Clearly we have more important matters to concern ourselves with, so they were given the name of another stray to busy themselves with." " Justice... What would that even mean, allowing them to pick through our ranks and eliminate whoever they pleased?" "I am sure they intended on holding our leadership responsible or some other such nonsense to soothe their broken egos. We have bought ourselves time with this peace offering, so I suggest we use that time to clean up these loose ends." The elf huffed and hooked her hammer back onto her belt. " Two turncoats won't be enough... And it sends the wrong message." "It will never be enough for them, but it will relieve us of their idiocy and for the time being allow us to focus on the Broken Shore. You have a better idea?" " Right now? No... But the idea that we will sic the rabid zealots of the Silver Hand upon you should you choose another path feels like we are insulting what was fought for in the North. We fought for liberation from the Lich King... Even if this isn't the same, promoting a 'with us or against us' mindset feels like the old way we overthrew." " Personally, I would have dug up more reasons to convince our numbers that Fordring's retrieval wasn't only necessary, but that the ranks of the Hand deserved thinning. Would have been easy if we just monitored the Brotherhood of Light members. Their zealotry is more than enough to arouse anger." Sunsong shook her head slowly. "Our members understand well enough why Fordring's retrieval was a pivotal necessity. That is not the issue. The issue is cleaning up stray dogs in our ranks, and that is exactly what must happen if we are to continue this alliance with the living." " If you say so... Perhaps looking into their dogs wouldn't hurt though. They are barely united by a related belief, surely there are secrets that would turn their attention upon their own organization for a time." The tauren turned her head to one side. "..are you volunteering?" " If need be... Though it would be better suited to someone with tact." Sunsong didn't appear particularly interested in 'tact'. "See what you can find. We are death knights, not diplomats. If you can find anything of value, it may be useful to us once the Legion threat is extinguished." " Guess I could use a moment away from the forge." She shrugs "Good. Report back here with your findings. And you," she looked again at @Azilrog . "Take care of our 'Ghost Slayer'." Azilrog nods and salutes. "It will be done." Sunsong gave each death knight a salute and returned to her post. Dessim saluted wearily and strode away. She had to open her big mouth..
  15. It was a quiet day in the chapel, one lacking in the usual sounds of business as most of the Silver Hand made their way in and out of the Broken Isles. As the Legion continued to assault their world, the paladins found that there was little time to be spent in prayer. The lights filtering in through the chapel were muted by stained glass, and reflected off of the backs of those who were either too young or too old to fight. The former typically trained the latter, and though most were outside, a handful remained inside, kneeling. One of them, a human woman of middle age, stood from her place in the pews. Raelana entered the chapel stiffly. It had been some time since she entered the holy place and she took a minute to glance around, noting any subtle differences since she last was there. The silence in the chapel made her uncomfortable and Raelana shifted and rubbed a non-existent crease in her freshly pressed tabard. Finally, she walked forward as quickly and quietly as she could and stood next to the woman. The human turned to face Raelana, a calm-yet-stern expression on her face. Her dark brown hair was tied back into a tight ponytail, pulling at the corners of her tanned face. Thin creases at the edges of her mouth were beginning to darken in recent years. She looked like the type of woman who had seen a lot of hardship. "Raelana, yes?" She asked quietly in Common, not bothering to ask if the other paladin spoke her human tongue. "Lady Liadrian said that I should expect you." Raelana stared for a moment longer at the front of the chapel while a half smile appeared. Amused at the assumption that she spoke multiple languages, but even more grateful that she actually did, she turned to face the human. She bowed her head slightly, acknowledging the human, before speaking. "Yes, my name is Raelana. Apologies must be made, Lady Liadrin's message gave me no other information, other than I needed to come here... and quickly."(edited) "Well, given the current situation on the Broken Shore, I would not disagree with her. Please, walk with me," the human said gently, turning toward the hall so as not to disturb those in prayer. "My name is Najme. I have been with the Silver Hand for some time, now," she said as they walked toward the front doors. "Unfortunately, an injury has kept me from being able to provide aid in the fight against the Legion. So I remain here, training and educating the next generation. I was here when we were attacked by the Ebon Blade. Were you present when that happened?" Raelana silently followed Najme, trying to pick up clues as to why she was called. "No, I unfortunately was not present. I had received word there was an attack, but at the time was told not to return and continue working on my current assignment. If it's no trouble, would you provide me with the details?" "Of course." Najme stopped walking somewhere near the front doors. "Weeks ago, while most of the Silver Hand was assigned to the Broken Isles, we were invaded by a force of Death Knights. Since the Legion has returned, the Ebon Blade has been resurrecting heroes for the purpose of leading them. Supposedly, this was commanded by the Lich King himself. According to our sources, he believed that it was necessary to resurrect Tirion Fordring, in the hopes that he might lead them against the Legion. I needn't explain how very insulting that is, both to his memory and to his very soul.. but they attacked us to do this vile thing, and many of our comrades were killed in the process. As I said, the most skilled among us were in the isles. Those of us remaining were the wounded, or the old.." She shook her head. "Lady Liadrin arrived and did battle with their leaders. The Light would not allow such a vile thing to happen, and the Ebon Blade was driven back. Thankfully they failed in their mission, but not without many casualties." "My gods... Tirion?" She scoffed. "I'm beginning to understand why I was requested specifically. These types of situations are exactly within my skill set." She pauses, thinking. "To attack those unable to defend themselves...they must be desperate. Hopefully they would not be so foolish as to make another attempt." She takes a deep breath in, fairly certain she knows exactly why she was called upon. "How have relations been with the Ebon Blade since?" "As one can imagine, not good. We waited until some time had passed before actually attempting to reach out to their leadership. They seemed intent on ignoring us completely until we threatened to take it up with Horde and Alliance leadership, at which point they offered us a peace treaty; a name. Someone who was involved in the attack, and is no longer a member of their ranks." Najme shook her head. "Not only did she leave after their failure, but she has been identified as the death knight who nearly mortally wounded sir Cerryan Vyel. I believe he is a colleague of yours." "They gave... a name?" Raelana closed her eyes briefly as the gravity of the situation became more clear. She opened her eyes and lookd at Najme. "They gave a name and nothing else?" She shakes her head in disbelief. "I suppose that's better than nothing. Perhaps we can get some more information from her." Choosing her words carefully, she continued, "What is her name and where is she now? Hopefully no one is vacuous enough to seek revenge before she can be... debriefed." Hesitating for a moment, she finally inquires, "And Vyel? What is the word on his recovery?" "Vyel has recovered. He has returned to Sanctuary, and, to my knowledge, is still in active duty." Ashe she said this, Najme seemed almost pleased. "As for her name, it will be a familiar one to him. Catalinetta D'Aragon, also of Sanctuary. As far as we know, she has been working with them since the incident. The Ebon Blade attempted to apprehend her themselves, but she eluded capture. Therefore it is our responsibility to bring her to justice." Breathing out a sigh of relief, she simply stated, "Well, at least something is working in our favor." She didn’t elaborate anymore as to what she was referring to. She looked at Najme, raising an eyebrow and bluntly asked, "And what justice do you think is befitting?" "I would not be so bold as to suggest an immediate execution," Najme said calmly. "But she must face a trial, and answer to her crimes. If not for her own sake, but for the sake of those she and the Ebon Blade have hurt. Allowing them to go without punishment is inexcusable." Raelana only nodded in response, her face hiding her true opinion well. "The expert in battle moves the enemy and is not moved by him," she responded cryptically. "Perhaps it's time for an introduction to one Catalinetta D'Aragon?" "I would suggest first speaking with Cerryan. I have also briefed one Tamaryth on the situation. She will be joining you." "I shall wait for Tamaryth before proceeding." Raelana bowed her head to Najme. "Light be with you." "Light be with you," Najme replied with a respectful bow.
  16. "I see they are growing nearer, Librarian," the dreadlord said calmly, his voice reverberating through the exposed bones of his face. Battle scarred from what looked to be many years of battle, he wore the armor of a warlord and carried what looked like a trident fashioned by the Naga. The Inquisitor beside him continued to write in his book. Brown and grey, the book appeared to be hewn from the skin of several different eredar. As far as Inquisitors went, the Librarian was quite tall and emaciated. His eyeless face was partially hidden behind a black and red hood. "Yes, lord Udoroth." "Soon these mortal cretins will be further along than even Kil'jaeden expected," Udoroth sighed, as if this were of little consequence. "The Tomb of Sargeras will be infiltrated. Kil'jaeden is a fool if he thinks he can win this battle with force alone." The Librarian looked up from his book. "My lord?" Udoroth grinned. "He needs a helping hand, I am sure.." Another scribble in his book. "Yes, my lord." "Perhaps.. a way to keep them distracted, Librarian?" A pause. "There are ways, my lord." "Fine then. Keep them busy. I'm sure it won't be difficult to make these pests claw at one another." The Librarian grinned to himself. It would be easier than Udoroth expected. _____________________________________________ The walls of Light's Hope Chapel were scrubbed daily. Not because they were particularly filthy, but it provided a steady source of labor for misbehaving squires. One such misbehaving squire was a human girl, perhaps ten or twelve years old. As she scrubbed the walls with a stiff wet brush, filthy water splashed into her face. Wiping it from her one eye, she didn't bother avoiding the large scar tissue that covered half of her skull. She arrived in the chapel only a few years ago, and none of the other squires seemed particularly keen on befriending the strange-talking disfigured human. It was difficult to make friends, so she made bruises instead. Her punishment - scrub the walls. Fortunately, scrubbing the walls sometimes supplied her with some valuable information. On this, her second day of punishment, she could hear two paladins speaking in grave voices. There had been some firm discussions since the Ebon Blade's attack, but they sounded particularly weary today. One of them, a female, spoke firmly to a rather weak sounding Sin'dorei male. Both spoke Common, which seemed unusual. "That letter you sent to Sanctuary regarding Sir Vyel's recovery, was it ever answered?" "No ma'am," the male answered. "He returned shortly after it was received." "And the death knight that you witnessed? The one who scarred him? Is she still in their employ?" The male stuttered. "I-I... I really would not know, ma'am. I have little, if any information on their organization." The female sighed. "Very well, Jean Baptiste. Perhaps this situation frustrates me more than I am willing to admit. The attack on our chapel was cowardly, but we are at war with the Legion and cleaning up these loose ends will take up valuable resources. Nevertheless," she continued a little louder, as if angry with him. "We can not let this injustice stand. The Ebon Blade will give us little in the way of answers, but our supposed 'allies' have provided us with the name of a rogue death knight that was apparently at the forefront of this attack." "'am? Their leader?" "Not their leader," she corrected quickly. "But after viciously wounding sir Vyel and almost becoming incinerated with the Light, she left the Ebon Blade's ranks. They have attempted to apprehend her with little triumph. We have been warned that this could be a sign of her going feral, which would be a problem for us." "Ma'am.. I do not understand." "Let me make it clear, then. That death knight not only scarred sir Vyel, but she may be responsible for many other deaths. If she goes feral and the Ebon Blade can not control her, it is up to us to make certain it is done. The blood of our comrades may be on her hands, yet she has been given 'Sanctuary'." Jean Baptiste seemed to stutter. "..b...but.. if sir Vyel is there, surely--" "Reach out to his old friend, the Vanguard" the female said, calmly now. "Tell her to go and see sir Vyel. She will question him about the death knight, and if his answers are unsatisfactory, she will be brought in for trial." "T-trial, ma'am?" The woman's voice was resigned. "Someone will see justice for the blood spilled in this holy place. Of that, you can be certain."
  17. Earlier
  18. The runeforge is safe. I probably shouldn't write more about it, just in case someone finds this, but it's safe. Aetheril said he'd help me remember stuff about being under the Lich King's control, so I can maybe see how the runeforges were used and activated. Maybe. We'll see, I guess. If not, I'll have to find someone else to help me. This is getting scary.
  19. *Warning NSFW Content!* Baal’themar carefully made his way down the stone steps to the basement under his Cabin, the cold air wrapped around his face and neck welcoming him like a lover’s embrace. He had started drinking early that night, emotions fouled his thoughts he sought to drown them. He ran his hand over the cold stone wall as he walked down the dark hall to his new workshop… he let out an annoyed growl and downed a fresh mouthful of firewater as he remembered how he had almost lost his project, thanks to a soft hearted man that wanted to change him. A cold voice slithered up his spine and whispered to him. “He wants to make you weak, you know that… they all want to change you, make you their little toy, dress you up and play their games until they tire of you.” Baal’themar raked his nails along the wall, feeling the dull stone drag against his fingertips. “Yes. I know.” He said to the cold empty hallway. “But I wasn’t alone with this one… she helped.” He wiped away a drop of firewater from his chin. “For now. But how long until she leaves? You cling to these people like a child to a mothers dress. Work the list...” the last words felt thick in his mind, coating his thoughts in purpose. “What do you think I’m doing.” He grunted in reply as he rounded a corner to the new entrance to his workshop. Heavy stone slabs covered with strange runes that seemed to slither and move as he looked upon them. He took his hand off the wall and looked at it, slowly he poured the last of his firewater over his hand. The amber liquid flowed over and between his fingers falling to the floor in small streams, he watched as the torrent of booze slowed and pooled in the center of his palm. Baal’themar turned his hand slowly and watched the last of the firewater slide onto the floor, the soft patter as it hit stone made him smile. At least he had that, a quiet place… down here. Alone. He sighed and pressed his sharp fingernail into the flesh of his palm, the large elf man ignored the sting as the first bead of crimson welled up around his nail. He watched the blood pool like the firewater before it, slowly he looked back up to the shifting stone slab. He followed the slow movements of the runes, waiting… each rune writhed between forms, some runes held meaning others pointless shapes or symbols that were out of context on their own. He waited hand slowly dripping as the runes moved, until finally the right rune congealed on the surface of the stone. His reflexes kicked in and snapped his hand forward, slamming his palm into the rune and forcing his bloody palm against it. Like a man swatting a bothersome fly Baal’themar carefully pulled his hand away to inspect his kill. He had hit his mark, thick strands of blood stretched from his palm into the rune, the ropes of viscous blood hung suspended between the cold stone and his warm flesh. With a morbid sucking sound the rune absorbed the blood, snapping the strands and greedily consuming the dark red offering, the wards protecting the workshop opened to him, parting to allow his entrance like an urgent lover. He grinned as the welcome sound of screaming washed over him. “You are awake, good.” He growled at Welean as he entered his workshop, the wards closing behind him… sealing him in with his guest. Baal’themar took a deep breath, taking in the smell of dry blood and rotting meat. He looked over the room slowly. The large room was stone much like the rest of the basement, but the floor had a slight decline into the center, to allow fluids to drain from a large hole covered by a steel grate. He had made use of a similar set up in his old garrison… but this time he needed it larger, chunks of clothes or unwanted flesh would clog the pipes. He walked slowly to the center of the room, two large tables of tools were set up beside a solid looking dark wood table. Baal’themar ran his hand over the table, the cold timber felt smooth under his hand, it felt familiar and welcoming. He looked to the wall where his guest was screaming. He grinned, this was his trophy wall. He would mount his new creations here… and there was room for many more. He closed his eye and pictured the walls covered in his guest, he had a spot in mind for each and every one of them. Baal’themar rounded on Welean facing the man. “But this spot is all yours Welean.” He grinned up at the creature hanging from the wall. Many hooks held him high off the floor, thin but stone steel cable kept him from falling no matter how he trashed against them. Baal’themar watched as it pulled and writhed on the hooks trying desperately to free itself. The large blond elf smiled and reached out to calm the wounded man. “Shh, Welean… be still.” Baal’themar pushed out with his will power and dark runes across Weleans body glowed softly, he seemed to relax and regain his control. His eyes regained their focus and he looked around the room. “Where?” he asked with a raw throat. “You are home, Welean.” Baal’themar replied. Welean looked down at the man before him, his mind slowly returning. “You… and the woman.” He started to breathe fast as the memory of what was done to him returned. The feel of a blade under his skin, the firm tug that removed the flesh from his body. Welean wept the burning pain fresh in his mind. His mind’s eye replayed each detail, the cruel look on their face as they removed the skin from his arms, legs and genitals, the total mutilation of his body to pay for a crime he had long forgotten. Welean pulled himself away from the horrific memories and looked over his body. Raw muscle was all he could see, every inch of his skin was removed... his mind coiled and he felt light headed, the urge to vomit was overwhelming but he guts turned empty as his body twitched against the hooks in his flesh. He couldn't even close his eyes, the lids removed along with everything else. Baal’themar watched as Welean relived the horror he had endured and smiled. “Good, you still have memories in that skull. I want you to live in that moment forever… that moment of soul crushing terror, I want you to feel your mind break over and over.” Baal’themar moved to let Welean have room to thrash about. “You can have a taste of what he felt. You remember don’t you? How could you forget?” Baal’themar added with a grin. “He was my friend. Good kid. Funny, kind and loyal. But you didn’t see the child, you just wanted meat…” Baal’themar tilted his head running his fingers over one of the hooks in Weleans ankle. “Meat you could brutalize and ruin, and throw away when you and your friends were done.” He growled and twisted the hook sending Welean into a frenzy as he fought to get away from Baal’themar. “Well, Welean… now you’re meat, and nothing more. Forever.” Baal’themar grinned and pulled his will power back, letting the agony return in a rush. Baal’themar watched as the creature that was once a man wept and roared into the cold empty room, his eyes once again losing focus as his world dissolved around him. Baal’themar walked back to the stone slab entrance, taking a final look back at his work before leaving the screaming creature in the dark.
  20. Recent developments in the Tirisgarde are curious. Sunreaver has made so many awkward decisions. He has always been far too cooperative and diplomatic for his own good. He still is. All the decent things that happened under his guidance have happened despite his actions and intentions, if history represents him correctly. And yet, it is better to at least have a presence if we can no longer have the command we deserve. Isn't it? Despite all his problems and significant weaknesses, I confess he has good taste in some respects, especially when the louder Grim rant about felsuckers while surrounded by orcs and sin'dorei who have sucked more fel than the nightborne collectively have even seen. No one needs to be in league with the Legion to understand how to use and abuse power to one's own ends.
  21. Aw. Even with a week and a half (if 19th)? ]]
  22. [[ This is going to be postponed until the Fall. I didn't take the time to drum up enough support to make this successful right now. ]]
  23. Okay! So! I have two half brothers. Each of us has a different birth mother. Our father was a total piece of shit but he's probably dead now. My half-brothers are pretty nice, though! Aetheril is a death knight, but he doesn't use his runeblade. Faelenor is the head of the household but he's still laid up. He's also married with a little girl, and she's adorable! I've never really been around kids all that much, but she liked my hair and she likes donuts so I like her. His wife is also really nice. At one point she started crying, so I took that as my cue to leave. It was a quick meeting, and we decided to have dinner sometime. They said maybe we should keep it small, like me just bring Kreyen to say hello. I really want to, but he's still not supposed to leave the manor so I'll have to talk to him about it. I don't think his aunt would have a big problem with him having dinner with the Rayfeathers, though. I mean, she knows them pretty well, so it shouldn't be a big deal. Still need to ask what he thinks. I went to Northrend after I met with them, and I found the runeforge! It took me all day, but I wrote it's location down. All I need now is to bring it somewhere, and get it to work. I have a feeling both of those things will be difficult, but at least I know where it is.
  24. I have no idea what I'm doing, but I also did a thing.
  25. I got you, thanks Tiandron!
  26. Cat's:
  27. "Wow! It feels great and looks even better!" I commented and Saelene smiled. We both loved our new shop attire she had custom made for us. "Thanks. I spent a lot of time designing it." "Really? I didn't realize you could design." "There's a lot of things I can do that you don't know about yet." I smiled. "You are a never ending mystery and joy to me." She laughed. "Haha, thanks. I'll take that as a compliment." We had new shop outfits now and things are going great for Simply Enchanting and my wife and I. I had basically fully recovered from my fel experience and getting back to normal. Business is great and we are happy. Even the Legion seemed to be relatively controlled by Dalaran's mages not to mention the thousands all fighting for the cause of saving Azeroth. "What news from Khadgar? Is he still happy with us and the shop? Or do we need to make changes? The magocracy usually has some sort of opinion of us." I commented to Saelene. "They sure do, there's no doubting that. Overall our reputation has not faltered and the response from customers has been positive. Khadgar still supports our shop and financial support will continue." Saelene said rather proudly of herself. She knew as well as I did that she was the one running the shop, I just provided the magical essence. Well maybe "just" isn't doing it justice, but yeah. "That's great. I feel a sense that something needs to be done though. You know my intuition is rarely wrong." "I have sensed that in you, yes. Let me look into it. I have a few old connections whom I haven't spoken with in a while. These women mages are wise and in the know of current events. They'll definitely have something to say." "Sounds good." Saelene and I were never that idle. Sure we stayed close to our shop all day, but we always wanted new and exciting ways of interacting with our customers and with Dalaran. A shop doesn't remain an integral part of Dalaran by becoming stagnant. I sensed some stagnation and assigned Saelene the task of getting things going again. I knew she would "do things right".
  28. Chanchu
  29. WRITING TIMELINE 2 [Chanchu born] 17 Any Man of Mine - Chanchu's brother punches her crush Bubbly - Chanchu's brother visits on leave from the army 25 WORLD OF WARCRAFT 2004-11-23 26 BURNING CRUSADE 2007-01-16 27 WRATH OF THE LICH KING 2008-11-13 28 CATACLYSM 2010-12-07 30 MISTS OF PANDARIA 2012-09-12 31 WARLORDS OF DRAENOR 2014-11-13 Eclipse: Does Not Play Well With Others - Kerala summons the Skytotem Eclipse: Spirit Walk (Log) - Chanchu helps the Skytotem locate Konro's soul Smooth Criminal - Chanchu steals a button after a bad dream/memory Get Up Offa That Thing - Chanchu meditates She's Got the Rhythm - Chanchu uses her curves to distract marks 32 Luck Be a Lady - Chanchu reviews a day's plunder 33 LEGION 2016-08-30
  30. CHANCHU MISTDANCE Gender, Race, Class: Female Tauren Monk Age: 30 Occupation: Skytotem tribe Healer Languages: Taurahe, Orcish Physical description: Chanchu is a tauren woman of strikingly beautiful features. High cheekbones, delicate nose with smallish nostrils, straight teeth in an easy smile. Her fur is a less common shade nearer to true red than the usual brown hue. Her eyes are a bright yellow, surrounded in lush dark lashes. A lot of the time, her eyes appear more of a rosy peach color from reflected light. Chanchu's black horns are wide and back-swept. The nearly black locks of her mane are kept in tiny braids arranged in neat rows like a cornfield. At the end of each braid swings a bead. Some are a delicate pink gem, some are of simple gold, and some are a natural material that isn't quite wood... those are most prominent. Even the tuft of her tail is in a trio of cornrow braids and decorated. Chanchu's body is lean and just muscular enough to fill her out with a pleasing figure. Her fingers and limbs are long and slender in proportion with the rest of her. Her movements seem effortless with a grace that reminds one easily of a dancer... unless they see her walking. Chanchu is crippled. She may wear a skirt which hides the deformity, but her left leg is missing a knee and everything lower. She almost always uses a walking stick and travels with a pronounced lurch. Personality: Skills: Dancing. Balance. Sleight-of-hand/thieving. She excels at picking locks and untying knots, and delights of similar puzzles. Chanchu enjoys healing. Animals tend to be her focus, and she specializes in creatures hunted for prized trophies of skin and fur. Kodo and stags, crocolisks, bears, etc. Combat Tactics: Chanchu is a dedicated healer, but one with a bag of tricks in case she gets in trouble. She is not afraid to drop to the floor and sweep out with leg or stump, and may do so simply to play to her strengths. She usually tries to avoid physical contact (of the combative kind), but if grabbed she tends to grapple very well due to an exceptional grip strength. She is extremely flexible and therefore slippery to hold onto or maneuver against her will. Chanchu may take advantage of her longer limbs to strike from distance, or utilize her magic to zing the nerves of an opponent, like lightning. Phobias and Weaknesses: Pet Peeves: Labels/assumptions/judging a book by it's cover (she's a hypocrit and carries a grudge against Grimtotem) Special Possessions: always has some kind of peach food item with her Origin/Birthplace: Brief History:
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The Twisting Nether Gazette is a role play forum for characters on the RP-PVP servers Twisting Nether and Ravenholdt.  We have been active since November of 2005, a few months after the Twisting Nether server originally went live.  Our purpose is to provide a safe and inclusive environment where role players can meet and interact with each other, and, of course, post their amazing role play stories, art, bios, and journals.

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