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Everything posted by RiktheRed21

  1. I'm gonna log in too, now. Time for some building.
  2. “HAAAH!” With a final, powerful swing, the orc’s axe was flung from his hands, narrowly avoiding cutting several watchful bystanders in the seats around the fighting pits. Parigan’s black blade pressed close to his neck, warning the warrior to submit. Roaring with laughter, the orc put his hands up in a sign of surrender. “Excellent strike, Berserker!” The undead lifted his blade from the orc’s shoulder to his own, exhaling a puff of wispy air into the cold atmosphere. The title of Berserker had been passed around the garrison after his display of great rage when fighting with Naheal the day of his arrival. Since then, he had only shown a propensity to harness that rage in focused bursts: still enough to shock the heartiest of warriors to their bones. “You almost had me, old timer,” the younger fighter replied. “A second later and I would have missed my chance. You sure don’t let up.” The orc, a seasoned war veteran by the name of Morag, grinned widely, displaying his uneven tusks. “Gotta keep sharp. You young ones are all gonna surpass me if I don’t.” Someone in the audience tossed Morag his axe, which he scooped out of the air with all the grace of a jungle cat. Parigan scoffed. “You’ll outlive half the lowlifes in this place, Skullcrusher.” Morag nodded in appreciation of his opponent’s display of honor, and ceded the arena floor for the next challenger. On his way out, however, he seemed to notice something in the crowd. “Oi, peacock feathers! You gonna spend all day watching or are you planning on giving the Berserker a real fight?!” Parigan followed the old man’s gaze to a blood elf in the stands above. His metal jaw nearly dropped at the sight. It was odd enough for Morag to call anyone a challenge, but the one he spoke to was a frail-looking adolescent elf covered in a bright green feather-cloak, a bit of frostweed stuck in his teeth. A skinny blade was draped over his shoulder, curved with a long hilt. A mat of long silver hair draped over half his face, and an expression of detached care adorned his long, lithe face. The boy shrugged back at the orc. “It’s a cold day for it, don’tcha think?” The orc sighed disappointingly at the elf. “Every day’s cold here, and besides, I’ve seen you move like a demon in even colder weather than this!” He looked back at Parigan. “This one’s tougher than he looks. Faster than a rogue wind spirit, too.” Parigan’s eyebrow rose. He looked up at the elf and called out, “You been watching me all day, kid?” The elf scratched his head, apparently uncomfortable with all the attention. “It’s my day off, so…” Parigan snorted, flashing a snarling grin at him. “Come on down and see how my blade looks close-up. I assure you it’s no prettier.” The elf shrugged up out of his seat. The stands were deathly quiet for once, whispers flying about like flies on a maggot pile. Apparently they were interested in seeing the outcome of this match. Morag laughed under his breath, hastily rejoining the other onlookers, eager to get a good seat for himself. As he entered the stands, the elf’s cloak billowed, flapping in the wind like geese feathers. Underneath, he wore silver and green cloth over chainmail, both expertly crafted by skilled elven hands. By Parigan’s estimate, the thread alone must have taken at least a decade to sew to completion. He could not fathom having that sort of time to waste on trivial matters. The elf stepped into the ring, barely opening his eyes to look at his opponent. His hands stuck to his belt casually, as if taking a stroll in the woods. Parigan kept the boy in his sights, turning as he neared the center of the ring. “So,” the undead said, “What do I call you, kid?” “Kyre Starfall, knight of Eversong and guardian of Azeroth, at your service, oh tall and dark one.” The elf gave his opponent a mockingly low bow, sweeping his cloak to the side in a gentlemanly fashion. Parigan flinched at the name. Starfall, Alleda’s surname. He’d heard about her younger brother, but nothing too telling of what to expect from the kid. “So what’s your deal? You seem quick on your feet, but that sword isn’t exactly a rogue’s poking stick,” Parigan asked, pointing at Kyre’s blade. “Guess you’ll just have to wait and see, eh? I’ll admit, direct confrontation isn’t exactly my style.” He drew his blade slowly. Parigan shifted into a combat stance. The crowd’s whispers had grown into roars, egging the two fighters on. Parigan didn’t want to keep them waiting too long. Plenty of time to ask questions later, anyway. “Your move,” he told Kyre. The elf smirked. Then the air around him shifted. His face grew intense, his fel green eyes widening and sharpening their focus on Parigan. He lunged, a green and white blur with snow flowing all around. Parigan swung to ward off the elf’s attack, but Kyre merely leapt over the blade. He swiped at Parigan’s face, the tip of his own sword leaving a cut on the larger warrior’s cheek. The two regained their footing, then came at each other again. The silver-haired youth ducked under an early swing and he clipped Parigan’s leg before moving two paces behind the undead. Cursing silently, Parigan whirled, this time holding his blade back a second longer than before. The kid anticipated it, and stuck his sword in Parigan’s exposed shoulder, between his breastplate and pauldron. Parigan roared, ducking low before rushing his foe, only to find nothing but air in his wake. A piercing blow to the back told him he’d been outmaneuvered again. The warrior fell to his knees, his wounded leg somehow unable to carry his weight as his back went rigid from the last thrust. It did not seem possible that from only a few blows, his body was going numb. Then it hit him; the kid was a paladin! Parigan forced his body to turn. He tried to lift his blade, but his right arm was unresponsive. The Light constricted his muscles, forcing him rigid and useless. Kyre set his blade on his shoulder, taking a cocky stance while staring at the undead with eyes half-shut. “Ah, guess you found me out, bummer,” he said nonchalantly. “Suppose a warning would have been nicer. Ah well, live and learn, right?” “YAAAAH!” Parigan forced his arm to bend, despite the tremendous weight he seemed to be under. The youthful paladin’s face twisted in surprise as the undead’s blade closed in on him with blazing speed. Parigan was sure he’d gotten the better of him now. But Kyre’s own sword moved faster. With a quick parry and a twist, the great sword flew off to the side. Parigan roared with great effort, bringing his blade back for another strike the paladin could not parry in time. Instead, he ducked again, grabbed the warrior’s leg, and pulled sharply, producing a length of chain made of holy light. Parigan was willed to move, and fell flat on his face in the snow. Kyre took the greatsword out of his grasp as the Light paralyzed him. Parigan seethed as the arrogant elf tossed his blade aside; the elf was barely able to even lift the thing. Huffing from the effort, Kyre looked down at Parigan and said, “I think I’ve had my fill of fighting for one day.” He sheathed his blade and walked away, leaving the defeated Parigan to be slowly covered in snow.
  3. ((Was super stoked for this, but I have to work sadly ))
  4. Hai there, friend. Good to have you!
  5. ((Takes place after Sanctuary moved out completely, I think.)) Shortly after his bout with Naheal, Parigan stalked into the Borrowed Time barracks, ignoring the sharp looks tossed his way. Most of the bunks seemed to be filled already, and the last thing he wanted was to be near anyone that was liable to attack him again. Parigan tossed his meager belongings into a dark corner that no one seemed to care much for, considering the cobwebs. After removing the satchels of gunpowder, grapeshot, and various other engineering items from his belt, Parigan untied the straps of his greatsword with his good hand, laying it carefully against the wall. Slumping down on the floor beside the mighty weapon, the warrior drew medical supplies from his kit and spent the next hour repairing the stitches that had popped during his fight with the death knight. All the while, he was keenly aware of the whispers and glares directed at him. After he had finished his work, Parigan decided he would rather not spend any time sitting still, so he removed what he had left on of his armor, scooped up his greatsword, and marched out into the frigid air to search for the fighting pits. He spent the rest of the night and the day following practicing his arm or sparring with eager combatants. Talk spread around the garrison of the undead’s skill. Some whispers went around that he was bound and determined to defeat Naheal in combat. This talk brought more challengers to face Parigan’s blade. Few were truly ready to face his deadly ferocity, fewer still managed to get the better of him. The undead made a note of the ones who gave him trouble. Those challengers he was always happy to fight again.
  6. ((Setting: Stonewatch Keep in the Redridge Mountains, a couple days before the events of the previous post. Kallavan speaks in an obnoxious Cockney accent.)) [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Ya' Brinnea? Brinnea-Ravenholdt regards Kallavan with eyes of frost. "Indeed I am, traveller. Have you business with Beryl Falconia?" Kallavan-TwistingNether eyes you up and down. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Could say that. Thin' ya' met an associate of mine. Brinnea-Ravenholdt rests an elbow on the hilt of her blade. "I meet many people, friend. Care to offer a name?" [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: He's wanting it cloak and dagger for now. He does send his regards and wonders why ya' decided to move from Winterspring to Redridge. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Unless yer gab with him wus less than informative for ya'. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: A good question. Tell me, though, how do the Reborn Black fare? [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Weak, though growing stronger. Brinnea-Ravenholdt smiles, folding back her hood. "Then you may let your associate know that this location more nicely fit our purpose." [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Ask that ya call me Roberts in this form. I'm no' exactly on Grandfather Winter's nice list when it comes to either nation. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Very well, "Roberts," you may call me Brinnea. I fear not anyone who knows of me. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Ya' kicked a hornets nest no' too long ago. Grim's gonna be hunting ya' and most of that merc group has ya' on their shit list. Kinda why he wants it quiet. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Lucky ya' both groups are regrouping now. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Lucky, maybe. But the change in location was also meant as a way to shake unwanted attention. Kallavan-TwistingNether shifts uncomfortably. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Could we get away from prying lamps? This suit's rather stuffy. Brinnea-Ravenholdt nods. "Of course, right this way." [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Thanks. Hate that suit. Brinnea-Ravenholdt takes another long look at Kallavan. "Your garb, you wouldn't happen to have history with SI:7, would you?" [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: ...could say that. It's a long storry if ya' want to hearr it. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Only if you have the time and patience to tell it. From what I hear, you came to learn something rather than teach. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Both, actually. If you'rre gonna worrk with us, you'rre betterr off alive, so ya' need to know what's up. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Fine by me. Then let's draw up some terms. If this is to be a mutual arrangement, then we can share information equally. I tell you something, you tell me something. Deal? Kallavan-TwistingNether gives Brinnea a long look. "Deal." [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Good, I'll start. Falconia's undergoing reconstruction efforts on the keep. We'll have it in ship-shape soon enough. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Our numbers have just recently increased b y a drastic amount after a recent battle. They swell with former enemies. In fact, I'm one of those former enemies. Kallavan-TwistingNether looks at you. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: I clever tactic, and one I am familiar with. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Malastar lives by a personal mantra: Win without destroying. Subjugate without humiliating. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Some friends of mine are collecting workers for the construction project. Plenty of drifters and jobless folks in the area. Wasted talent without proper guidence. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Defias? [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: There's not much left to call Defias. If any of them used to be, all the better. We could use such experience. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: I see... [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: And what about this "Malastar?" Who is he? [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Ya' want a historry orr wot? [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: I want to know why he matters. How he might affect things. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: He's Bronze Dragonsworn, a Knight of the Ebon Blade and a former Blood Knight from Silvermoon. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: He's got quite the storry to him. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Ya' want the whole thing? Brinnea-Ravenholdt soaks the information in wordlessly. "Orc raids are becoming more frequent in this area. Prevailing theory is there's a new merc band possibly forming a clan. Tell me how Borrowed Time is connected to the Bronze Dragons." [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Ain't just one Flight. There's a member of each Flight within Borrowed Time, and each with their own desires. No' sure why they're gathering there, but sum folks are starting to think it's fate. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Must have quite a bit of pull if they've got dragons joining up. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: That's the funniest thing. They'rre just showing up on theirr own. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: No black dragons, though? That might be less than appreciative. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: I did say "every" flight. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: After all, ya' asked about one when ya' realized who I wus. Brinnea-Ravenholdt grins mirthfully. "I suppose the trade was more even than I suspected. And here I thought I was the only one sending a wolf into a henhouse..." Kallavan-TwistingNether grins at you wickedly. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Most of our company's already gotten a feel for the... "bigger" threats. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Parigan was rather reluctant to travel back to Draenor for this deal. Last time he was there, he lost an eye. I doubt Borrowed Time will be happy to see him, for the most part. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Considerring the only one that wus available forr yerr little execution wus crrushed by a drrake... [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: I wonder if you're as on edge as we are, though. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: That's the big secret, Roberts. I'm always on edge. I just know how not to show it. Brinnea-Ravenholdt remains unwaveringly calm and blank of expression. Indeed, it is impossible to get a read on her thoughts. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Considering the fact that you've had rifles trained on me from the moment I came in, only to lead me into a dank corridor should I decide to attack ya'? [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: To be fair, you asked to come inside. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: And ya' obliged. Brinnea-Ravenholdt shrugs. "There's little of value here as of yet. The place is liable to come down on its own at this point. We'll have it fixed up regardless." [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: So, I got a question for ya'. Were ya' planning on expanding? [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: When the time is right. Redridge, Duskwood, Westfall, even Elwynn are in dire need of attention. The armies of Stormwind are all off fighting foreign wars, which leaves a small standing army and militias for protection. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: I'm sure you heard what happened to Eastvale. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Aye. We've an orphan from the area in our garrison. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: There are more threats than Stormwind can deal with. But the people can, with the right push. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: So ya' plan to rally the common folk? [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Only those with the heart to fight for what belongs to them. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: So. Information for information. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: We'rre expanding in Drraenorr. In the prrocess of finding the rremnants of the Irron Horrde and rrallying them to ourr bannerr. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: The idea is to create a sort of sanctum for folk who want to just be left alone after the wars are done, but we're prepping for a Legion invasion. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: You think the demons are coming soon? [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Chief seems to think so [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: It is always wise to be prepared, in any case. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: And I agree with him. With the slap we gave them on Draenor, they're gonna come here. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: It is my hope that someday Beryl Falconia is ready to combat such threats. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: There's a lot of folk in Borrowed Time who would do the same, but lack trust in the Alliance. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Internment camps and multiple attempts at genocide tend to do that. Brinnea-Ravenholdt smirks. "And they seem to forget all the fun times we had. Like the Second War, where they almost destroyed every human kingdom on Azeroth." [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Considering one of the folks we tried to massacre wus an ally in the Second War... [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Besides, it ain't like the Alliance is gonna let Lorderon just sit there. No' after they invaded Gilneas. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Did you take part in the battle for Andorhal? I did. It was my home once, after all. But I don't hold on to hard feelings. My allegiance is to Azeroth, and what is best for her survival. Kallavan-TwistingNether chuckles at you. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Should gab to the Chief about Lorderon, then. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: But anyway. Sum of us are looking to just ignore the whole Alliance and Horde war if we can. Let the nobility kill each other. We'll get the common folk together to do the real work [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Like we always do. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: The war is taking a toll on both sides. More often than not, I see mercenaries take to the field more than soldiers of either army. Fighting men and women are paid well. Falconia is a mercenary band, officially speaking. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: As is Borrowed Time [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Technically speaking, we're on a long term contract with the Horde [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: We're looking to get a similar contract from the Alliance. I have a contact that will make that possibility into reality. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Means that you'll be crossing blades with Borrowed Time folks [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Possibly. Or maybe we'll be put on border patrol. Depends on where we're needed. Or where my associate says we're needed. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: If you're looking to fund yer band, you'll want to be on the front. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: And some of us will be. Others will be learning from the sidelines, as it were. Kallavan-TwistingNether nods at you. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Then that matches up wot Malastarr's suggested. Kallavan-TwistingNether extends a hand. "He's said ta work with ya for now." Brinnea-Ravenholdt takes the offered hand. "It is good to have our numbers bolstered further." [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: It's temp until we're sure ya' can be trusted. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: And we'll be wantin' sum inforrmation on who we can and can't trrust amoungst the Alliance, just as yerr guy's gonna learrn. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Still, we are a young cause, and assitance is always appreciated.' Kallavan-TwistingNether nods at you. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: I'll tell ya' more ab out Malastar if ya' want to know [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Specific orrderrs: "My life's a matterr of public rrecorrd." [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: I'll have someone find you a room that isn't full of cobwebs. It was a pleasure meeting you, Roberts. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: It's Kallavan without the suit. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Kallavan, then. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Roberts is just the cover. Kallavan-TwistingNether grins wickedly. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Never know who might be listening. Brinnea-Ravenholdt pulls up her hood and calls for a guard to do as she promised before heading upstairs. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Trrue. But if someone's listening to the converrsation, then it'd be known ya' werre worrking with the Horrde, too. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Then I guess it is a good thing my guards are so attentive. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: On the bright side, we're no' contracted with the Grim anymore. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Always a plus. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Well, watch yer back, Knight. Brinnea-Ravenholdt grips a blade. "You as well." ((Several days later, after Parigan entered the Borrowed Time Garrison)) ((Still at Stonewatch Keep)) Narÿa-TwistingNether stands with her arms folded as she waits for the guards to fetch Brinnea, humming an erratic tune. Brinnea-Ravenholdt exits the ruined keep, stepping softly despite her well-armed appearance. She regards the draenei with cold eyes. Narÿa-TwistingNether lets her arms drop as she tilts her head back to look at the smaller woman. The perpetual grin on her face, her lips never seeming to touch even when she speaks, widens. "Hiiiiiiiii." [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Welcome, traveller. What brings you to the doorstep of Beryl Falconia? [Narÿa-TwistingNether]: Oh, things. And other things. Are you the one everyone wants dead? Because you look already dead to me. Like me! [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: I am wanted by many. Peacekeeping is a dangerous line of work, and not always appreciated. Narÿa-TwistingNether 's grin grows slightly lopsised, as a smirk would appear on her features. Black ichor slows oozes from the corners of her mouth. "Are you in it for the appreciation? Because you might be in the wrong line of work, then. And maybe I came to the wrong [Narÿa-TwistingNether]: place." Brinnea-Ravenholdt rests an elbow on the hilt of a sword. "I am in this to safeguard the innocent and protect those I love. Now, have you business with me?" [Narÿa-TwistingNether]: Sure, sure. Can I join? Narÿa-TwistingNether looks at Brinnea expectantly. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Of course, Falconia is open to any with the desire to help others. I have but a few questions to ask you first. [Narÿa-TwistingNether]: Ask away! Narÿa-TwistingNether throws up her hands and grins wider again. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: First, why do you wish to join us? [Narÿa-TwistingNether]: So no one dies who shouldn't. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Second, have you ever killed anyone outside the theater of war? Narÿa-TwistingNether cocks her hips to the side and puts a gauntleted hand there, looking at Brinnea. [Narÿa-TwistingNether]: Not yet. [Narÿa-TwistingNether]: Want me to? I can if you want. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: In that case, third, would you be willing to do so for the sake of peace? [Narÿa-TwistingNether]: Sure, no problem, long as they're supposed to die. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Very well. Do you know what our purpose is? [Narÿa-TwistingNether]: If I had to guess, it's -- Narÿa-TwistingNether says the next aprt with the exact same intonation Brinnea did earlier, and a passable impression of her voice as well, down to losing her draenei accent. [Narÿa-TwistingNether]: 'To safeguard the innocent and protect those you love'. Right? [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Indeed. And the methods by which we do so are limited only by what is best for their safety. [Narÿa-TwistingNether]: Sure, sure. So who decides what's best? You? [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Circumstance and one's own conscience. However, if you wish to work for me, you must put your trust in me until I know I can put mine in you. Kallavan-TwistingNether leans against the wall. He folds his arms. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: I may not have all the answers, but I take care of my own. Join us and I'll see to it your talents are put to use in the best way I see fit. [Narÿa-TwistingNether]: Sounds good. WHat do you want me to do first? I can get rid of those couple of ruffians over there if you want. Narÿa-TwistingNether eloquently indicates with a shoulder the two to her left. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: They will be your comrades if you join us. Narÿa-TwistingNether finally looks that direction, sizing both men up. "I can still beat them up if you want." [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Tell me, what is your name? [Narÿa-TwistingNether]: Oh right. Narya Elenn. Narÿa-TwistingNether grins. Narÿa-TwistingNether looks down at the smaller woman as she reaches the bottom of the stairs. Brinnea-Ravenholdt folds back her hood. "I am Brinnea Velmon, a pleasure to meet you." [Narÿa-TwistingNether]: That's the name I heard. They say you wiped out a whole tauren village. But I asked around and you didn't kill that many civilians. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: And I suppose that news does not trouble you since you still stand before me. [Narÿa-TwistingNether]: Well, I originally came here to kill you, but I think you're all right, so I joined you instead. [Narÿa-TwistingNether]: So, what's my first job? [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: If you're to work with us, you have to sign a contract. It's part of our more official stance as a mercenary guild. After that, since you're so eager for work, we have plenty of jobs that need looking into. [Narÿa-TwistingNether]: Sure, sure. Where do I sign? Brinnea-Ravenholdt draws a roll of paper from her belt, unrolling it and offering a pen to Narya. She points to the line with an 'X' beside it. "Sign here. You can read the fine print if you like, it's mostly about pay grade and whatnot." Narÿa-TwistingNether takes the paper and pen, and presses the paper to Brinnea's chest to sign it. Her signature is pretty much just a squiggle. "Nah, I don't need pay. What am I gonna spend it on? Food?" She offers the items back. Brinnea-Ravenholdt puts them away. "The most valuable pay we can offer is a chance at experience. We take contracts for bounties, raids, and protection. They vary in difficulty, and our best fighters have the chance to go after the toughest of prey." [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Traditionally, Beryl Falconia was a monster-hunting band as well as a mercenary company. It builds character. [Narÿa-TwistingNether]: I like killing monsters. Especially the senitne tkind. And the kind with two legs. And testicles. Kallavan-TwistingNether smirks slyly at Dazlinder. Kallavan-TwistingNether raises his eyebrow inquisitively at Dazlinder. Brinnea-Ravenholdt gestures for the draenei to take a look at the public notice board to the left side of the keep stairs. "That board holds job opportunities that are open to any member to take on." [Narÿa-TwistingNether]: Sure, sure, I'll check it out. Anything else I should know? Do you ever smile? Narÿa-TwistingNether grins. Brinnea-Ravenholdt smiles back. "I smile when I have to." Kallavan-TwistingNether checks the board casually, then takes a sheet off of it. [Narÿa-TwistingNether]: Light, don't do that, it's fucking creepy when dead people smile. Dazlinder-Ravenholdt mutters under his breath. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: As for other information, you have free reign over the grounds. We have a mining operation being built in the ravine to the east, and rebuilding efforts in all parts of the keep. Kallavan-TwistingNether rolls up the sheet and puts it in a scroll case on his belt. [Narÿa-TwistingNether]: Got it. There a password or anything? How will I know who's a member and who's a trespasser or spy? [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Those who are familiar with all our faces are put on guard duty from time to time. At the moment, we have friends to do that for us. [Narÿa-TwistingNether]: Heh, friends. I remember having friends. That was a long time ago. The only thing you can have now is family. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: In any case, our most prominent contract at the moment is with the citizen population of Lakeshire. Orc raids are pushing the militia to their breaking point, so we are here to watch the border for them. [Narÿa-TwistingNether]: Sure, sure. I can handle that. Narÿa-TwistingNether speals as though she can do so herself, similar to her confidence in offering to take care of the other two present shortly ago. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Word is the orcs might even be forming a new clan with a warlord to lead them. If I need any assistance in investigation, I'll let you know. Kallavan-TwistingNether blinks at Dazlinder. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Bored, are we? [Dazlinder-Ravenholdt]: quite. [Narÿa-TwistingNether]: Sure, sure. All right then, Boss, Head Honcho, whatever I'm supposed to call you., [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Brinnea is fine, but if you're feeling formal, you can call me Ma'am. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Maybe we can get sum folks together for a contract. Get sum gold flowing for the company. Dazlinder-Ravenholdt shrugs. [Dazlinder-Ravenholdt]: Food and drink tends to make the long periods move quickly [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: So, we need a tavern [Narÿa-TwistingNether]: Do they always talk? Do they have to talk? [Narÿa-TwistingNether]: It was better when they weren't talking. [Dazlinder-Ravenholdt]: Well at least a decent one is down the way from here. Brinnea-Ravenholdt || An odd whispering sound can be heard, originating from Brin's belt. She draws forth a stone that seems to be the cause. She looks at Narya, saying, "Excuse me a moment, I need to handle something." Narÿa-TwistingNether salutes you with respect. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: And there we go. ((After receiving a stone-call from Parigan, Brinnea speaks to Kallavan.)) You look at Kallavan-TwistingNether. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Roberts. Kallavan-TwistingNether pulls out a scroll and offers it to Brinnea. "Had a bit of a scuffle. Figured you might want in on the info." [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: I heard already. Brinnea-Ravenholdt takes the roll of parchment anyway. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: I get the feeling ya' figured they'd end up slapping each other around. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: You want to discuss that in private, or are you satisfied with only one side of the story? [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: I'd prefer to have the full picture. I'll be relaying it back, too [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Then you ought to come with me. Kallavan-TwistingNether nods at you. ((They enter the Keep proper.)) Kallavan-TwistingNether looks around. Brinnea-Ravenholdt crosses her arms and looks Kallavan up and down. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: In truth, I only received word from Parigan a moment ago. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: I've been trying to figure out how to present it without causing problems. Our chief's a bit of a hothead if the wrong subjects are hit. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: So it would seem. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: In all honesty, I did not expect him to be the one throwing the first punch. Pari's usually the one with the short fuse. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: The Chief's preemptive if he senses a threat to his family or his company. Good chance he sensed that with Parigan. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Acts first, but will take in the whole picture if he gets the chance. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: I'm sure he wonders why I sent Parigan in the first place. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: His exact words were "she figured this would happen. Either she's trying to teach him sumthing or trying to see if we'll kill him if he antagonizes us." [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: I'm guessing it's a third option. Ya' don't know who ya' can trust just yet, so ya' sent him. Kallavan-TwistingNether puts a hand to his ear. "Lakeshire's gettin' hit." [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Consider the matter tabled for the moment, then. Kallavan-TwistingNether nods. ((The mercenaries fly quickly to Lakeshire to investigate the disturbance before returning to the matter.)) [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Looks like they hit the gryphon master, then bolted. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Saw the remains of one. Adult. Large, so probably either a human or a worgen. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: This sort of act is why this area needs more protection. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: These people are sitting on the edge of a warzone with Blackrock so nearby. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: In any case, we were discussing my reasons behind sending Parigan as our representative. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Yeah [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: In truth, I didn't send him because he was the only choice, I sent him because I wanted to show your associate how serious I am about this potential alliance. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Parigan is many things, a violent man and a killer only a part of his many vices. But he is my husband, and the man I love. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Ya' sent someone with that short of a fuse and that willing to pick a read and write to show how serious ya' are about this potential alliance? [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Ah! That's it. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: We are bound together eternally, and nothing can break us apart again. That is what I wanted to show your friend. Parigan is a difficult man to get to know, but with enough patience, pressure, and time, he will open up. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Ya' may have thrown him into a hornets nest. No' all of Borrowed Time is happy about this little work-together we're starting. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Parigan is no stranger to danger. I was aware of the risks, which made it all the more difficult to ask him there for me. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: However, I believe this situation is salvageable. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: So do we. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Let me be blunt. I'm no' here because I'm a trusted advisor. I wus only recently turned to the company [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: From what I heard, Parigan was not beaten soundly. If anything will inspire him to stick around, it will be the desire to overcome Naheal in fair combat. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: That'll work to our advantage, then. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Malastar is saying with almost certainty that the Legion *is* coming. Like he's seen it or sumthing. He wants us in top shape before they get here. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Parigan will provide quite the challenge for anyone looking for a sparring partner. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: From what he told me, he's been in the fighting pits all day. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: He doesn't want war between our companies, regardless of their little scuffle. It'd cost us both too much, since I'd think that this company would read and write just as hard - and dirty - as we would. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Pari won't want to bring more trouble to me, that's for certain. He'll play nicely for as long as I ask him to. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: From the sounds of it, this wasn't the first time he's been on the recieving end of a runeblade. Brinnea-Ravenholdt sighs. "No, fate has turned us against one another before. It has taken much for him to realize just how much I mean to him, and him to me." [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: I did say he takes rivalries seriously. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: I think they'll get along. Malastar has a talent for turning enemies into allies [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: I would respectfully ask him not to expect too much of Parigan. His attitude will likely not change for anyone. Especially not me. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: I'll relay it. Can't do much more than that. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: But we have an arrangement. Information for information. Time I pay up. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: One last thing. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Tell Malastar that Parigan does have a weakness. He'll never hurt a child. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: They have a way of bringing out his heart, or whatever's left of it. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Plenty of teapot lids around there, then. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Really, the place is like an orphanage nowadays. Brinnea-Ravenholdt looks as though she is remembering something with a somber air around her. She gazes off at a dusty wall. "Right, your turn, then." [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Pretty sure I told ya' that I'm one of Malastar's former enemies, right? [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Something like that, yes. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Well, I did sum digging on the guy when I wus trying to kill him and it turns out that he's got quite the rap sheet. Even has a bit of an odd background for an elf. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: For one, he wus a major part of the resistance against their prince, but he niver got his name cleared of treason. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: For two, he spent most of his life after the Second War with his father in Andorhal and Stratholme. Brinnea-Ravenholdt raises an eyebrow, but says nothing. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Did the standard family checkup. Had a twin with sum magic talent and his pop wus a jeweler. But they're all worm scran. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Engineer. Did sum sapper work in the Northrend campaign, but he seems to prefer machines that mimic life. Brinnea-Ravenholdt rubs her chin with a gloved hand. "Interesting." [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: He's also partially bally. Tried to make runeblades that channeled holy magic. Severely weakened him and nearly crippled him after prolonged use, but he's since returned to the classic Acherus runes. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: He sounds like a man looking to test the limits of possibility. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: He's a cove that doesn't value his own life. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Have you anything else to share? [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Plenty, but I think that's payment enough for now. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Good. I have work to do, and I'm sure you can find something to keep yourself occupied. Kallavan-TwistingNether nods at you. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Try no' to die too often. I hear it still hurts for yer kind. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Take care of yourself as well. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Oh. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: I forgot one thing [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Malastar plans to welcome him within Borrowed Time as a mercenary for now and wants me to see if we can do the same here. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Of course. As I said before, the assistance is appreciated. And I assure you Parigan has plenty to offer as a hired sword. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: Good, then. You nod at Kallavan-TwistingNether. [Kallavan-TwistingNether]: I'll be tossing sum of my pay in yer coffers. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Good hunting, then.
  7. ((Log taken in the wee hours of 1/12/16. Setting is the Borrowed Time garrison in Frostfire Ridge.)) 23:41:30 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: Enjoying the walk around? 23:41:47 Parigan-Ravenholdt stands looking over the lower part of the garrison with his arms crossed. 23:42:59 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: You seem rather popular. 23:43:50 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: There's a lot of displaced people from the war. Even some that just want a good cause to rally behind. 23:44:54 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: I bet you get a lot of spies. They love a generous cause. 23:45:34 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: Some. We have eyes on most of the goings on in the Alliance and Horde. 23:45:58 Naheàl-TwistingNether pulls his hood back. 23:46:37 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: I meant you must have spies in your garrison, reporting -your- goings on to whomever they truly serve. 23:46:59 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: The window works both ways. 23:47:24 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: Besides, few see below the surface. We're but simple mercenaries, after all. 23:47:49 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: This setup is a powder keg for tragedy. Someday your open doors will let rabid dogs in this little chicken coop. 23:48:26 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: That happened once. 23:48:42 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: It'll happen again. 23:48:51 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: And again. And again. 23:49:08 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: You ever hear the definition of insanity? 23:49:27 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: You ever hear the difference between insanity and genius? 23:50:51 Parigan-Ravenholdt chuckles lightly. "I've met some vain elves in my time. I bet you would make good friends with them." 23:51:39 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: Nobility? 23:51:59 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: Naw, just the usual higher-than-mighty elf way. 23:53:18 Naheàl-TwistingNether | A fight starts to break out between some of the civilians - an orc an a human. It's quickly broken up by a massive tauren who tosses them far to either side of the town center. 23:53:53 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: That'll be taken to the arena later. They'll box, then drink. 23:54:41 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: Good, I was concerned your kind didn't allow for people to fight their troubles out. 23:55:09 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: We're not stupid enough to think that the war will be solved by getting everyone to hold hands in a circle and sing merry tunes. 23:55:24 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: Orcs, culturally, love a good fight. Humans, too. 23:55:24 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: The only thing worse than generosity is penning people up with nothing to take their anger out on. 23:55:47 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: You want riots? 'Cause that's how you get riots. 23:55:47 Naheàl-TwistingNether looks at you. 23:56:48 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: This isn't generosity. It's a tenuous refuge. Most of the adults here are either trained to fight, are being trained to fight, or are supporting those who can fight. 23:57:25 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: Giving someone a chance, placing trust in them. That's enough generosity to be taken advantage of. 23:57:43 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: If we don't give people a chance, we'd be no better than the Grim. 23:58:11 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: But if we give them every chance with no consequence, we'd be as blind as Sanctuary. 23:58:54 Parigan-Ravenholdt rubs his empty eye socket. "I say you're all blind." 23:59:22 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: You believe peace isn't possible? 23:59:38 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: Nope. 00:00:08 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: I've built a career out of doing the impossible. I'll just add this to the list. 00:00:33 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: Only difference now is that I have support. 00:00:38 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: If you've done it, it isn't impossible. 00:01:28 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: Do you know why people pursue ideals? 00:01:48 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: In their hearts, they know they're impossible, but they pursue them anyway. 00:02:09 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: Might as well be dead, then. 00:02:53 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: I deny that outlook. I chase a dream because I wish to see it come to light. 00:03:11 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: It'll never come, but we may yet see something close given an eternity. 00:03:45 Parigan-Ravenholdt says nothing in response, though he is clearly unimpressed. 00:04:42 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: Maybe someday you'll see. But, then, maybe you recognize it as possible, but realize what getting there will mean. 00:05:21 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: I'll believe it when I see it. Evidence doesn't support it so far. 00:05:46 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: Children aren't born to hate. Circumstance pushes them into it. 00:06:35 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: You ever see a kid scream because they couldn't get a toy they wanted? Most people never outgrow that. They just scream about things they say are bigger. 00:07:16 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: What would you propose, then? 00:07:26 Naheàl-TwistingNether says evenly as he looks to Parigan. 00:07:34 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: Me? What does it matter, you've already made up your mind. 00:07:52 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: I'd be a fool if I didn't take good advice. 00:08:06 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: I'm no advisor. 00:08:30 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: "Advisor" is a nice word for a yes-man. I have no interest in yes-men. 00:08:42 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: You have no investment and are more likely to give me an honest opinion. 00:09:09 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: I think you're all going to die for your cause, and get nowhere close to achieving it. 00:09:22 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: I already have. 00:09:44 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: Aye, I'm sure you did. You ever hear the definition of insanity? 00:10:16 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: Well, I can't say that I've achieved the requisite for genius yet. 00:10:18 Naheàl-TwistingNether grins wickedly. 00:11:01 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: If you were truly a genius, you wouldn't be having this conversation. 00:11:25 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: If I were truly a genius, my success would be plain for all to see. 00:12:16 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: Have you ever heard of society's great lie? 00:12:53 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: No, but I'm sure I'm about to learn all about it. 00:13:06 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: It's, quite simply, justice. 00:13:57 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: It doesn't exist. Grind the universe to it's finest powder and sift through the finest siv and you'll never find a single grain of it. 00:14:21 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: But it's that lie that people continue to pursue. 00:14:43 Parigan-Ravenholdt picks some grime out of his metal jaw's hinges. "Oh please, do go on." 00:15:57 Naheàl-TwistingNether folds his arms and regards Parigan. "Why are you here?" 00:16:26 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: Because my wife told me to. 00:17:10 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: Then I would ask you - politely this time - to return to her with a message. 00:20:08 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: We will not accept willful blindness within our walls for long. If she wishes send an emissary, she should choose another. 00:20:53 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: In the interest of fairness, I told her sending me was a bad plan. She told me she had no one else to send. 00:22:33 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: Were it not for what I heard from her in Everlook, we wouldn't be speaking. In fact, I would still be hunting her, but I can't say that I would've done different, given the larger picture. 00:23:59 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: That's why I said you'd be a genius if you weren't talking to me. I'd already be dead. Because if you ever threaten her, I will kill every last person you've ever cared about. 00:24:26 Parigan-Ravenholdt glares at Naheal with his one good eye, grinning widely. "That's a promise." 00:26:10 Naheàl-TwistingNether holds his spear to Parigan's head. "If you *ever* utter something like that again, your entire company will be crushed. Do I make myself clear?" 00:26:39 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: You do *not* threaten my family. ((At this point the two duel and Naheal disarms Parigan.)) 00:27:05 Parigan's weapon goes flying from his hands. Green, pestilent blood oozes from an old wound under his breastplate. He regards Naheal with the same glare from before. "You done throwing your tantrum?" 00:28:04 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: I don't think you understand what kind of situation you're in. You're here because I believe that this was all sparked from a misunderstanding. 00:28:55 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: This is against my better judgement because I believe that your wife has at least a decent heart. You, on the other hand, have demonstrated that you're a danger. 00:29:08 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: I understand clearly. You put a spear to Brinnea's throat and she smiled at you like a friend would. It makes me sick. 00:30:20 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: She damned the souls of innocents. She deserves the same fate and justice will come for her one day. If she chooses to serve a life devoted to making sure that kind of situation doesn't happen again, then that's fine. 00:30:29 You laugh at Naheàl-TwistingNether. 00:30:48 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: You really are mad! You told me justice did not exist, blind fool! 00:31:08 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: Yet it's that lie that society is based upon. 00:31:36 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: Society is for the weak. We don't need it. 00:31:55 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: ...then I guess your wife's getting a corpse back. 00:32:08 Parigan-Ravenholdt steps aside, retrieving his weapon casually. 00:32:39 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: You sure you want to muss up that pretty hair of yours? ((They duel a second time, Naheal coming out ahead once more.)) 00:33:39 Naheàl-TwistingNether 's ghoul grabs Parigan's head and starts squeezing. 00:34:35 Parigan-Ravenholdt sticks his metal arm up against Naheal's leg. The hand falls loose and a deafening blast rings out. Gunpowder sears the air around Naheal's leg. 00:35:23 Naheàl-TwistingNether seems unperturbed (engineer!) and grabs Parigan by the spine. "You're done." 00:36:16 Parigan-Ravenholdt || The sound of the blast attracted Parigan's mount, a large wyvern which lunges at Naheal, more to separate the two than fight the death knight. 00:37:19 Naheàl-TwistingNether | The wyvern is intercepted by a bronze drake, which wrestles the creature to the ground. 00:37:46 Parigan-Ravenholdt twists against Naheal 00:38:50 Parigan-Ravenholdt twists against Naheal's grip, unhinging his metal jaw to deliver a vicious bite to the Death Knight's arm. 00:40:48 Naheàl-TwistingNether doesn't flinch as the warrior's teeth sink in. "You're presistant. I'll give you that. But it's warmongers like you that cause problems for this future. And it's because of that that we will never have a chance against the Legion. Submit." 00:42:27 Parigan-Ravenholdt instead emits an ear-splitting shout, one rivalling the roar of a dragon. All his unholy strength is let forth in a berserker rage, all fixated on removing him from Naheal's grasp, even if he must sever the man's arm. 00:43:51 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: Stop. This isn't what either your wife or I want. 00:44:37 Parigan-Ravenholdt is too blind with rage to respond. If the death knight doesn't let go, his arm's coming with Parigan wherever he decides to go. 00:54:44 Naheàl-TwistingNether marks a quick rune on Parigan's prosthetic arm, then one on his leg. He then lets go of the warrior the mechanisms for both start to freeze up. 00:55:44 Parigan-Ravenholdt flies backwards as he is suddenly released. The warrior's joints freeze, and his leg collapses under the pressure. He falls to the ground, barely able to move. 00:55:53 You kneel down. 00:56:48 Naheàl-TwistingNether places a hand to his ear as Parigan calms down. "Kallavan. Yeah, it's me. First meeting didn't go all that well. Turns out their emissary isn't really all that interested in the whole situation." 00:57:18 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: You attacked me, bastard...! 00:57:28 Parigan-Ravenholdt seethes with rage. 00:57:29 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: You threatened my family. 00:58:03 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: When you calm down, I'll show you what happened to the last person who did that. 00:58:33 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: I'll tell you what you can do with that spear of yo--- 00:58:47 Parigan-Ravenholdt abruptly collapses. 00:58:50 You lie down. 00:59:10 Naheàl-TwistingNether eyes you up and down. 00:59:45 Parigan-Ravenholdt 's wound seems even worse than previously let on. It has traces of the Light lingering within. 00:59:58 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: Idiot 01:00:11 Naheàl-TwistingNether lets out a long, drawn-out sigh. 01:00:22 Naheàl-TwistingNether kneels down. 01:00:42 Naheàl-TwistingNether channels necrotic energy into Parigan to drive the Light out. 01:01:23 Parigan-Ravenholdt roars awake, sitting up suddenly as the Light's crippling power is lessened. 01:01:40 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: Whomever tried healing you had no clue what they were doing. 01:01:56 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: Gah! What the... 01:02:03 You look at Naheàl-TwistingNether. 01:02:10 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: You had the Light buried in you. 01:02:15 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: Why would you even bother... 01:02:41 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: I'm an insane man chasing an impossible dream. That's why. 01:03:55 Parigan-Ravenholdt scoffs. "So what does 'the man' plan on doing with me, then?" 01:04:25 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: Your wife's interested in peace, right? A potential ally? 01:04:38 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: Oh yeah, you two would get along nicely... 01:05:13 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: Let's just say this isn't the first time I've been pounded in the dirt by a death knight. 01:05:49 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: What *is* your purpose here? Truly? 01:06:06 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: I told you, she asked, and I came. 01:06:23 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: Did she also pound you into the dirt when you disagreed? 01:06:33 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: Not this time, no. 01:06:43 Naheàl-TwistingNether smirks slyly at you. 01:06:58 Naheàl-TwistingNether offers Parigan his hand. "Those runes should be wearing off soon." 01:07:02 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: I do as she asks. If I don't she tends to get herself hurt. 01:07:24 Naheàl-TwistingNether 's wound on his arm and leg are already in the middle of healing themselves. 01:08:03 Parigan-Ravenholdt glares at Naheal again. "I'm here because I only care about one thing, Brinnea. That's why I go to such lengths when I feel someone threatens her." 01:08:47 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: That's a point of view I understand. I would go just as far to protect my family. 01:10:27 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: Don't put yourself against her. You'll only end up losing what you hold dear before you end it. 01:10:54 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: Know that I've only ever said one other thing more sincerely than that. 01:12:11 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: I don't want to pursue war between us. We're after the same thing and there's no reason why we shouldn't work toward it together. 01:13:02 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: I'm not interested in your cause. But Brinnea needs me. 01:13:29 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: So I'll play along. If, of course, you plan on leaving me alive. 01:14:06 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: You get one more chance. Just as anyone else here. If you threaten anyone here, you'll die and we'll be at war. 01:14:25 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: But it's a war that, if either of us survive, neither of us would win. 01:14:59 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: Tch, if there's anything I truly despise in this world, it's being forced to do things against my will. 01:15:16 Naheàl-TwistingNether chuckles. "You'd best complain to your wife about that one." 01:15:51 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: Pah, I'd rather not. That cost me last time. One eye and a hand at the least. 01:16:19 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: Who are your wife's targets? 01:16:41 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: Targets? You talk like she's some assassin. 01:17:08 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: She's preparing for war. Anyone who starts a company like that means to fight someone. 01:18:15 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: Last I heard, she just wanted to help the pathetic citizens of Redridge with problems Stormwind is too busy to clean up. 01:18:51 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: Basically do the work that the nobility claims to do, but doesn't actually do? 01:18:56 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: Sure, she's prepared to fight. Her hope is she'll turn the common folks into monster hunters or something of the sort. 01:19:33 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: I don't claim to understand her plans. I just do what she asks so far. 01:20:01 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: You believe that we're out to kill her, then? 01:20:25 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: You tried once, didn't you? And you would have succeeded if I hadn't stepped in. 01:21:45 Naheàl-TwistingNether gets a somber look. "I bear no ill will toward your wife. My only interest is in preventing the next wrong, which, at the time, I believed she would commit." 01:22:58 Parigan-Ravenholdt toys around with his frozen metal arm. "Are you aware that the orc who captured her in the first place was a puppet for a human witch that tried to steal Brin's body once?" 01:24:14 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: I'm not. We were initially hired by the Grim to assist in dealing with the people responsible for that village getting slaughtered. It wasn't until we found out what *they* did that we backed out of that contract. 01:24:45 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: And from there, the whole situation's just kept getting weirder and weirder. That being said, we've been... understandably distracted, I think. 01:25:21 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: I believe my wife is just as tired being a pawn in other people's schemes as I am. 01:25:48 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: That's why we backed out of our contract with the Grim. 01:26:21 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: She's lost too much and been powerless too often to face the caniving bastards that think we're toys for their amusement... 01:27:12 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: The fact that I caused even a little of her suffering fills me with guilt. I feel shame about nothing anymore, save for that. 01:27:39 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: I wish I could sa y that I lost most of what I did in recent years because of something similar. *he shakes his head* No, I willingly cast aside everything I could for the hope of a better future. 01:28:28 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: People take for granted what they have until it's gone. Everyone does. 01:29:23 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: That's why I take on everyone else's burdens and defend this so fiercely. I can't go back. Best I can hope for is that no one else has to sacrifice that much to make peace a reality. 01:30:08 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: Something your wife will share, I'd bet. Even if we do forge a world of peace, we can't take part in it. 01:30:33 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: You said justice was the great lie of society, but I have a different idea in mind. 01:30:45 Naheàl-TwistingNether looks at you. 01:30:48 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: Hope. 01:31:27 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: It's all that keeps us going in our pointless cycle of life. Hope is truly the definition of insanity. And we 01:31:33 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: are all infected with it. 01:32:21 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: ...during the siege on Silvermoon, during the Plague. 01:32:56 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: I was in the market square. Fighting off ghouls and the like. One of the walls came down on top of me. Ended up buried for... I couldn't even tell how long at the time. 01:33:32 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: People kept digging, looking for survivers. I could hear them above me, you know? 01:33:41 Naheàl-TwistingNether doesn't even look to Parigan as he speaks. 01:34:00 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: They'd find someone, then keep looking like there would be someone else there 01:34:28 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: Eventually... it stopped. I couldn't call for help. Couldn't get anyone's attention. 01:34:55 Parigan-Ravenholdt continues tinkering with his arm. 01:35:27 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: One night... was quiet. I heard someone up in the rubble near where I was and I called out. Barely louder than I'm speaking to you now. 01:35:32 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: Just enough to get her attention. 01:35:58 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: She got me out. And started teaching me fel magic . 01:36:03 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: My hope was my damnation. 01:38:09 Parigan-Ravenholdt says nothing, continuing to fiddle with his arm. 01:39:17 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: ...maybe you're right. Maybe hope is a lie. Maybe we'll never forge that kind of world. But, if we don't, it'd a bit like acknowledging that loss doesn't mean anything, doesn't it? 01:41:37 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: I was told by a man I once though to be wise that life is a struggle. That the only ones who can say they truly lived are those who never ceased to struggle, even to their last breath. 01:42:17 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: Even those who died long ego? 01:42:22 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: ago*)) 01:43:21 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: When you're gone, you don't care about what you did or did not do anymore. This is our one life, our only chance. 01:43:46 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: I lost my chance once, and when I was gone, it felt...peaceful. 01:44:01 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: ...you're lucky. 01:44:06 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: For most, that would be reassuring. 01:44:29 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: But I live again, and nothing puts fear in me more than the thought of being at peace. 01:45:09 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: Have you considered working for a dragonflight? 01:45:26 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: I don't work for people. 01:46:07 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: Good thing dragons aren't people 01:46:23 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: You working your way to a point? 01:46:26 Naheàl-TwistingNether | A female voice from the Bronze Drake yells "HEY!" 01:47:47 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: Well, I'm absolutely incapable of finding a truly peaceful world. If we ever *do* manage to create it, then I'd have to either go off myself to prevent insanity or find some other world to go fight in. 01:48:39 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: Hence why peace isn't possible. No one settles for a peaceful life. 01:49:00 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: It isn't by choice in my case. It's a reality of being a death knight 01:49:43 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: Has she never told you? Part of being a death knight involves brutally killing someone on a regular basis to keep our sanity? 01:49:58 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: I am well aware. 01:50:15 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: It's why I signed on to the Bronze. Protect reality from the old gods, have an infinite number of enemies to kill so I'm not driven insane, and I can still pursue this peace. 01:52:28 Parigan-Ravenholdt grunts in frustration, letting his still frozen arm go limp. "I thought you said these would wear off quickly." 01:52:54 Naheàl-TwistingNether examines the arm. "Huh. Odd. Are those dwarven make?" 01:53:12 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: No. 01:53:53 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: Now, I know that I didn't hit those that hard... 01:54:15 Naheàl-TwistingNether takes Parigan's arm and starts examining it. 01:55:20 Parigan-Ravenholdt appears less than pleased with having his arm man-handled, but keeps quiet. 01:57:16 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: Shoddy work 01:58:01 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: It's tested well on more than just you, elf. 01:59:09 Naheàl-TwistingNether sighs. "It's barely connected and your straps there turn it into a gigantic structural weakness and don't even get me started on the joints." 01:59:32 Naheàl-TwistingNether pulls off his left gauntlet, showing off his own metallic arm. 02:00:45 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: I could improve the design, but it looks like whomever put this together did a rush job 02:01:39 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: Are you going to continue critiquing my work, or are you gonna let me walk again? 02:02:24 Naheàl-TwistingNether regards Parigan again, as if pulled from another world. "Huh? Oh, right." 02:02:48 Naheàl-TwistingNether starts erasing the runes, then pulls out his tools and starts to fix the limbs. 02:05:14 Parigan-Ravenholdt || Once his prosthetics are fixed, Parigan stands shakily, readjusting his balance to the metal leg. 02:05:32 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: Those things go out quite a bit, don't they? 02:06:02 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: I didn't see any redundant systems there. Makes even a slight bruise potentially crippling to them. 02:07:11 Parigan-Ravenholdt tests the unloaded hand cannon while replying. "Usually when they come off, its because of a tremendous force that would damage even the best of mechanisms." 02:08:12 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: If you really feel the need to make new ones, knock yourself out. 02:08:36 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: "Feel the need"? I'd just up the size of mine and stick it on you 02:08:50 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: But I suspect that you'd not appreciate me messing with your nerves 02:09:33 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: Well, it's not like you're offering to buy me dinner first... 02:09:51 Parigan-Ravenholdt clicks his hand back into place. 02:10:08 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: If you're going to stick around 02:10:27 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: We expect you to contribute, but you'll also recieve a cut for any job done 02:10:52 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: Hmph, I'm familiar with how mercenary bands work. 02:11:21 Parigan-Ravenholdt jabs his thumb at the bronze drake. "Care to let my wyvern go?" 02:12:00 Naheàl-TwistingNether | The drake is clearly just playing with him at this point, but then lets him go. Just before the wyvern stands, she goes back to playing. 02:12:32 Naheàl-TwistingNether watches this. "...welcome to Borrowed Time's garrison. This is my every day." 02:12:37 Parigan-Ravenholdt 's mount begins to snarl at the drake, but with a sharp call from its master, the beast timidly comes to rest at his heels. 02:13:02 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: This wyvern was a gift from a now dead orc. A stolen gift, but a gift nonetheless. 02:13:14 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: So, spoils 02:13:43 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: Yes, well, I felt he owed me after the Horde's hunters killed my last mount. A friend, actually. 02:14:17 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: I see nothing wrong with taking spoils. An army has to feed itself and honor and glory don't fill bellies. 02:14:49 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: If you don't mind, I'd like to find myself a bunk to stitch myself up in. 02:15:02 Naheàl-TwistingNether jerks his thumb toward the garrison. 02:15:10 Naheàl-TwistingNether barracks*)) 02:15:28 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: We'll be keeping an eye on you, but make yourself at home, regardless 02:15:43 [Parigan-Ravenholdt]: Right. Thanks for not killing me, or whatever. 02:15:52 [Naheàl-TwistingNether]: If you need a workshop, you can borrow mine. Just don't mind the insane orc or goblins. 02:16:14 Parigan-Ravenholdt slowly retrieves his fallen sword, returning it to its sheath. ((Parigan goes to stitch himself up in the barracks, end scene.))
  8. ((Log taken 1/9/16)) [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Brinnea looks the guard up and down carefully, removing her cowl when she seems satisfied. A human wearing a sharp-looking cloth outfit stands beside her, as well as an elemental corgi of fire. [GM]: The setting is Crow Hill, a small town along the river in Duskwood. How did you get contacted to come observe? [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Brinnea's sister-in-law has friends in Duskwood, and they passed word to her, who told Brinnea as she moved to Redridge. [GM]: "The horrors this one has seen...We thought it was the worgen curse at first. But we have to keep him restrained. It is no malady of curse or illness. Except in the mind. We lack a priest to pry inside." [GM]: "You must understand, our town has our...superstitions." [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Brinnea nods. "It's a good thing I brought a priest, then." The man at her side offers the guard a polite bow. [GM]: "I see...He is this way. We'll leave you alone." [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Brinnea nods and follows him inside. [GM]: The guard, a hirsute man of woodsman stock, reclines at his desk and tosses a key your way. [GM]: This jail is small, with only two cells. Only one door remains locked. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: The death knight unlocks the door and steps in, only closing it once her companions have followed her. [GM]: The man, if you could even call him that, has the stubble and skin of an adolescent. His skin is sickly pale, and his hair is lank with sweat. Several wounds under the jacket ooze red into the pale fiber. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Brinnea frowns at the wounds, but proceeds to remove her swords from her belt and approach slowly. [GM]: The man curls into himself, and bares his teeth, like an animal. His eyes are wild and darting. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Brin does not react to the odd mannerisms, though the "priest" behind her frowns deeply, observing. Brin speaks to the victim calmly, "Hello, I am Brinnea. What is your name?" [GM]: The boy growls and lunges for Brinnea! [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Brin moves to grab the boy by the arms so he cannot grapple her, but does so not to harm him, either. [GM]: There is a surprising amount of feral strength in him as he fights the death knight. Of course, he is outmatched. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Brin holds the boy steady while searching the room for ways to restrain him. [GM]: There are straps along the walls. Crude, but effective. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Brin holds the boy against the wall, telling her companion to strap the boy in. [GM]: The boy is strapped in, and grows in his throat, but ceases his struggle, having known the straps previously. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Once he is locked in place, Brin gives the boy a sideways frown and says, "If you prove to me you can behave, I'll untie you. Now, let's try again. What is your name?" [GM]: He only snaps his teeth at you. You notice, however, some sort of scar tissue inside his mouth from this angle. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Brin checks to see if the boy still has a tongue. [GM]: He does not. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: "Well, that complicates things." [GM]: He growls. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: She turns back to her companion, and says, "Walther, I need you to look into his mind." Walther, as he has been so named, replies, "I shall try, although I admit it has been some time since I've peered into the mind of one so far gone." [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: He steps forward, and places a wrinkled hand on the boy's chest, hovering over his heart. His other hand is placed on the forehead, carefully so as not to be bitten. The hand on the heart glows with the Light, while the other seems to cast a longer shadow [GM]: The insight into the boy's mind is disturbing. Images of horrific subjugation and torture at the hands of a lash, and loving praise rewarded for obedience. Being trained to kill with only the rage, nails, and teeth the boy was born with. [GM]: An overwhelming, childlike adoration for the Master. And a sense of community. Images of trees. But prying into the boy's mind causes a backlash of dark energy. Someone has prepared for this type of inquisition. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Walther mutters a prayer as he witnesses the terrible tragedy the boy has endured. At the sudden backlash, Walther flinches as his left hand, the one on the boy's forehead, suddenly blackens as if burnt. He backs off, looking down at his hand <c> [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: more out of curiosity than in pain. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: While massaging his wounded hand, he turns back to Brinnea, saying, "The boy has seen much pain. It seems as if he were groomed for murder by some demented master, as if he were a dog." [GM]: Walther gets a chill down his spine, and the distinct feeling of being watched. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Brin's frown grows deeper. "Someone put a ward in his mind?" she gestures to Walther's hand. The man sighs, saying, "It would seem so. A dark, powerful one, at that." [GM]: The boy collapses, insensate. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Brin grunts, "Walther...," but he had already swung around, attempting a healing spell to cleanse any negative effects of his prodding. [GM]: The mind is surprisingly blank, as though a large chunk of function and memory had been scooped loose. In fact, Walther seemed to realize that a great deal of function was missing at the first probe, now, more. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Walther winces at the realization. "It would appear his mind is mostly lost to us. Whoever placed the ward on his mind left a failsafe for removing memory if someone went looking for them..." [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Colin seems unconcerned with the drama going on, content in chewing on a bone that cracks under the heat and pressure of his mouth. [GM]: The boy looks around, his expression relatively blank. [GM]: The priest gets the impression of a word, summoned forth by the boy's remaining willpower, something burned into his mind. [GM]: "The Beast in Repose" [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Walther says the words out loud, more to himself than to anyone else. Brin raises an eyebrow. "Wonder what that could mean." [GM]: This boy clearly bears features similar to the locals. You are not yet aware of the circumstances in which he was captured. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Walther continues to massage his hand. The blackened parts start to mend themselves, giving way to living tissue again. Walther says, "It would be my guess that whoever took this boy intended to craft him into a weapon, one controllable and expendable." [GM]: Perhaps that is the case. [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Brin replies, "He seems to be from around here. We ought to find out if anyone knows of recent disappearances." She looks at the boy sadly. "I doubt we'll get much else from him in this state." [GM]: The officer knocks at the door. "Ay-uh, you get what you needed? S'posed to send the boy off ta Stormwind, an' the medical wagon's here." [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Brin looks around at the guard. "We got all we could." Looking back at Walther, she says, "That's our que." The two head out, returning the keys on their way. [GM]: Orderlies come in and collect the boy. The sheriff looks at you. "Prob'ly for the best." [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: On the way out, Walther whispers to Brin, "Perhaps I ought to shift the guards' memories slightly. Wouldn't want anyone asking around hearing our names right now." [GM]: Do you? [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: The death knight does not visibly react to his remark, but replies in a hushed voice, "Seems a little unnecessary to me." Walther says, "Lord Moors always covered his tracks in such ways. He was widely considered rather good at his job." [brinnea-Ravenholdt]: Brin reluctantly gives him permission. Walther weaves a spell that very subtly alters the guards' memories so they cannot seem to agree on who exactly came to see the boy. [GM]: The orderlies aren't really focused on you as they load the boy easily and sedately into the back of the wagon. Walking away from the asylum, Brinnea says to Walther, “So you worked with Moors on his missions, then?” Walther remained silent, though he reluctantly nodded. “Then perhaps you know something about a letter he left me in a shack not too far from here. A letter regarding my daughter.” Walther tried to hide his thoughts, but sweat poured down the side of his face despite the bitter cold of the night air. “A letter? I’m sorry, it doesn’t sound familiar to me. What did it say?” Brin looked up at the stars as they were swallowed up by a blob of shadow: a black storm cloud, invisible in the dark night sky. She replied, “He told me never to give up hope, and that someday my faith might be rewarded.” A rain drop fell on her face. Then another, and another. Soon enough it was pouring. Walther drew an umbrella. Brin just let the rain wash over her. “Secrets can be dangerous things, Walther Vayne. We shall endeavor to find what truth is hidden in this land of shadow.” The pair of them vanished into the dark of the night.
  9. At this time of year, the road from Starfall Village to Everlook was more of a series of flat snowdrifts and hidden ice patches than a true road. Still, Brin watched it as if it were the busiest road in Kalimdor. Less than half a dozen travelers had been spotted on the road since she took up her post around midday. She sat on the edge of the handrail in the town’s largest building, an old elven structure made of wood. A few hardy travelers curled up in the building, savoring what little comfort and shelter it had to offer, considering it was missing walls in several places. A series of playful barks broke the eerie quiet of the afternoon, as Brin’s faithful corgi, an elemental made of lava, bounded to his master’s side. He placed a rock he had fetched on the floor, and wagged his tail impatiently for the woman to throw it for him. Grinning lightly, Brinnea obliged, tossing the stone towards the building entrance. Of the few travelers holed up in the building, no one complained about the dog’s playful nature. After all, a dog like that warmed the room like a bonfire, despite the protective rune on his collar preventing the spread of fires. The death knight sat in silence, only breaking her focus from the road long enough to give Colin’s rock a toss whenever he got bored of gnawing at it. Her thoughts drifted back to her meeting in Everlook the day prior. Her fellow death knight of the Ebon Blade, Naheal, had come at her behest to discuss what had happened and what to do about the future. Before riding for Everlook, Brinnea had informed Parigan about her plan. His reaction was less than supportive. “This is a stupid idea,” he had said. “Last time you saw that elf prick, he tried to put a spear in your neck. Now you want to apologize to him?” He could barely move from his operating table at the time. The wound he had received from the Sunwalker took a toll in the long term, and might have eventually killed him if he hadn’t been retrieved fast enough. Esmerra had him strapped down on the table while Walther, the healer, patched him up and removed any harmful residual power from the Light. Parigan had asked his sister if the straps were necessary, or just there because she wanted to see him in chains. Esmerra had replied by giving Walther permission to operate without a sedative. Parigan and Esmerra both had a good laugh afterwards. When Brin came to him, he was in-between surgeries. Walther had only so much stamina to deal with the many wounds Parigan had sustained in his battle. “I’m not making apologies, I’m trying to earn his trust,” Brin said in reply to the warrior’s remarks. “He’s not an evil man, and I believe he truly only attacked me because I turned my blades against the innocent. That’s something I have to fix myself.” Her old runeblades had been lost shortly after the events in the village in Mulgore. Kaur’he; that was its name. Esmerra had handled replacing her old weapons with a new pair of Gilnean-made sabers. They were light and strong, and took to their new owner well, after she had etched her runes into them. Though, they did not feel like her own. She would need a rune forge to make them truly belong to her. “Void” and “Warfang,” they were called. Parigan scoffed. “I say we’re better off on our own. It’s more likely he’ll set a trap for you just outside the town. Or he’ll track you back here to find out who’s hiding you. Either way, it isn’t worth the risk.” Brinnea had stood then, saying, “I hear you, but I still have to do this. If all works out, we might be able to make an ally out of him. We need allies if Es is really putting a team together.” She turned to leave, but Parigan asked her to wait. She looked back at him as he pulled himself up to look at her. His face darkened. “If you suspect a trap, if anything seems off to you, kill him, and don’t hesitate.” Brin gave him a reassuring smile then. “Of course I won’t hesitate,” she said, “How do you think I’m still alive?” But she had no need to fight Naheal. He’d come alone, as she asked. Whether he was confident Everlook was safe, or he truly trusted Brin’s intentions, she could not say. However, his last offer to her had given her cause to ponder how far she could trust the man. He had asked her to take in one of his own, from the mercenary guild Borrowed Time. In return, she would send someone loyal to her to their garrison. Each representative would get a feel for the other group. It could be a chance to earn the trust of a strong ally, but there were risks. Brin’s group was small. It contained herself, Parigan, Esmerra and her loyal followers, as well as Torren, Brinnea’s father. In all, they had thirty among them in Starfall, and Esmerra had the ability to summon up another hundred from Duskwood. Not much in the way of forces, and Borrowed Time likely had far more than that, all well-armed and experienced. Though Esmerra’s followers were hardened by war already, risking even one among them put them all at risk. One man would not bother a strong guild like Naheal’s much. For a trade, it was less than fair for Brin’s side. Still, it was a unique opportunity. Soft footfalls caught Brinnea’s attention. She tore her eyes off the road, and turned to see Esmerra approaching her. The young Gilnean noblewoman was just as beautiful and confident as when Brin had last seen her. She had the strength and presence of her father, Moors, and twice the beauty of her mother. Her black hair fell like silky lace around her shoulders, and her rich chocolate colored eyes regarded everything with a hint of arrogance, while her soft smile warmed the one she looked at such that they would believe she really was better than them. She was small and dainty, with the build of an acrobat. Her well-adorned black and silver leather armor hid beneath a thick wintry cloak of black. She carried a druid’s staff in one hand: a silverwood stick carved finely from the trees of her home. It was pure white, and seemed to radiate moonlight on the space around it. Her other arm was held in a splint. She had wounded it as a bird in Mulgore, but it was mending nicely thanks to the efforts of faithful Walther. Es often joked that he did more work to run the household than she did. “Hello, Brin,” she said pleasantly. The death knight returned the greeting while swinging her legs back inside the open-walled building. Colin excitedly sniffed at Esmerra’s cloak and staff. Esmerra and Brinnea embraced briefly before the druid continued. “We’re just about ready to begin. Walther says Parigan should be fine to move around without hurting himself.” Brinnea nodded understandingly. “Does everyone else know?” Esmerra replied, “Indeed they do. I had Walther bring my brother to the meeting room, and your father is there already. He’s left so many books in that room, it might as well be his own personal study.” Brin chuckled softly. Torren was a forgetful sort, even when he was in his prime. Despite his ability to retain an immense amount of knowledge about magic, history, science, and much more, he was hopeless with mundane things such as keeping his space tidy. Brin gestured towards the building’s entrance. “Shall we?” she asked. Esmerra nodded, and they went on their way towards Ban’Thallow, the Barrow Den at the back of the village. It constituted most of the space in the town, after all, it was better to be underground in such a harsh environment when winter came. The air inside the caves was slightly warmer, and much damper. Moisture from melting icicles dripped form the ceiling constantly. According to the locals, the caves were usually crawling with larger than average bugs. Every summer, exterminators delved into the caves to clean out the infestations. Now, in the winter, they were hidden inside the walls, sleeping or hiding from the cold in blankets made of dirt. Since Esmerra had moved to Winterspring with her most trusted House followers, she had built up a small fortune she invested in buying portions of the den for her own use. After a few twists and turns that Brin was hard at work memorizing, they came across the entrance to a separate part of the cave system, blocked off with a heavy wooden door and guarded by a worgen in heavy plate armor. Her fur was an earthy brown and spots of white speckled across her face like freckles. A pair of broadswords sat restfully in leather sheathes on her belt. She wore the sigils of Gilneas and House Blackmane on her tabard proudly, and remained resolute and unmoving until she spotted Esmerra. Brinnea knew her as Balladora, Dame of Gilneas and personal guard of House Blackmane’s ruling lady or lord. “Afternoon, milady,” Balladora said with a formal dip of the head. Brin wondered how she knew it was afternoon since she spent most of the day underground. “Masters Torren and Parigan have joined Mr. Vayne in the meeting room.” Esmerra smiled at her favorite knight, replying, “Thank you, Bella.” The knight opened the door for the two woman and stepped aside. After they entered, the door was closed behind them. On the way to the meeting room, Brin spoke to Esmerra, “Es, I want to thank you again for coming to save me in Thunder Bluff.” Esmerra looked at Brin, an awkward smile on her face. Brin continued, “You put yourself in harm’s way for my sake, and you saved my life. I can never repay you for that.” Esmerra replied, “I know you would do the same for me, Brin. Besides, you never stopped being my sister.” A surge of warmth filled Brin’s chest. It wasn’t often someone could warm her frozen heart this way. She was proud to be part of such a family, no matter how small it was. They rounded another corner, and entered the meeting room. It was a small, round room with a similarly round table resting in the center. Torren, Walther, and Parigan sat around the table in casual conversation. Torren glanced away at a book every now and then, but when Brin entered the room, he immediately stood with a smile on his face. Walther stood as well; he was in his well-groomed human form at the moment. He had tended to the Blackmane family for two generations, and his age was starting to show, (though he had grown considerably more energetic with worgen blood in his veins). He gave the two ladies a polite bow as they entered. Parigan stayed seated, carving a smiley face in the wooden table with a long dagger, apparently bored. “Thank you all for coming,” Esmerra said as she took her seat. Parigan twirled his dagger, the point still dug in the table. Walther sat with a stiff posture, his hands folded on the table. Torren quietly closed his book as the meeting began. Brin sat quietly. Esmerra continued, “We have gathered here to discuss the formation of a new organization. I presented this idea to each of you individually prior to Brinnea’s rescue. Now I wish to put it to a vote.” Torren interjected, “I had an idea for the organization’s name, should we decide on forming it. “Beryl Falconia.” The historical significance of the name could prove a useful insight to our mission in forming this organization.” Parigan spoke up next, “Speaking of voting, how exactly do we decide if the vote is passed? Majority rules? Or must it be a unanimous decision?” Esmerra replied, “Given how few of us there are, I believe a unanimous decision would be the better bet.” She nodded to Torren. “You may continue.” Torren thanked her and carried on, “Many centuries ago in Lordaeron, a band of renegade knights gathered together as a sort of mercenary group. They took gold for their efforts in battle, but they also existed for a deeper reason. They hunted demons, and other monsters that threatened the innocent people of the Eastern Kingdoms. They were first called Beryl Falconia by their founder, Blue Knight Jordan.” An odd sense of pride mixed in with Torren’s tone. “They were famed for championing the safety of the common people, even amidst war. They would stand against those who paid them well on the grounds that too much collateral damage was tolerated on their watch. Indeed, many rulers who courted evil powers fell to their fury. “Falconia also operated outside the laws of any nations, so they would not be restricted by foolish politics, and operated to the most fair and equal capacity.” He paused, looking around at those gathered. “We have the same opportunity today that they had. Our world is torn by war; there are many in every corner of it who have the capacity to fight evil and preserve the innocent. We can turn those with nowhere else to go into fighters for the common good of Azeroth.” Brinnea chimed in, “I remember tales of Falconia’s valor from stories you told me as a child, Father. They were always an inspiration for me as I grew up. Perhaps the world needs such an icon again.” Parigan cleared his throat loudly. “Sounds nice, really. Very idyllic and inspirational. It also sounds like a good way to get us all killed within the year.” Esmerra and Torren both frowned. Brinnea had expected this, but was no less disappointed to hear it. He went on, “I don’t feel we owe anything to anyone. In fact, if we’re going to hunt monsters and slay demons on their behalf, maybe we should be the ones getting paid for it. You can’t make a living out of being generous.” Brinnea replied, “Parigan, we would take mercenary contracts for pay, of course, but the important aspect is we will be keeping the world safe for the people we care about.” Parigan scoffed. “Anyone I give a shit about is already sitting at this table. I say we focus on what’s better for us.” Brin’s eyebrow rose. “And fighting threats to the whole world isn’t good for us?” she asked. Parigan snorted. Esmerra jumped in at the pause, “Parigan, Falconia would be a gathering place for people who have nowhere else to turn. You are not exactly well-liked among the Alliance or Horde, and so you need someone to watch your back, or someday you might not have someone to pull you out of the snow and aftermath of a slaughter.” More than a little bitterness came through Esmerra’s speech. Parigan snorted again. “Fine by me. If I needed to rely on others to survive, I wouldn’t be alive still. I have no intention of becoming weak and reliant on others.” Brin replied, “Parigan, I’m going through with this whether you do or not. You told me you would watch my back as long as you lived, so can you not trust me on this as well?” Parigan sighed and played with his dagger for a long moment, but eventually said, “Fine, I’ll join your little gang of freedom fighters. As long as I get to kill things. You know, for peace or whatever.” Esmerra smirked, clearly pleased. “Very well,” she said, “All in favor of forming the guild Beryl Falconia?” All five rose their hands. And so, in that dank cave in the far-flung realm of Winterspring, the Blue Knight’s band was reborn.
  10. ((Super happy you saved this, Nah! And Shae's gonna be happy to read it.))
  11. Brin would love to go home.
  12. Sounds like fun! I wish I knew Zanas better, but I'll let someone else make the first response.
  13. ((Warning: contains a lot of violence, gore, and is a rather long read!)) Winter was hard at work burying Winterspring in a thick blanket of snow, turning Brin and Pari’s march into a trudge through a whiteout. Wind blew flakes of snow into their faces, and though the cold bothered them not at all, the lack of visibility put them on edge, even more so than they already were. After the encounter in Felwood, the two of them had made for the mountain passes into Winterspring, avoiding any further contact with the furbolgs. Taking the long way around Timbermaw Hold slowed their journey to the point Parigan had become convinced the Horde hunters would be on them at any time. The further they marched into the bitter land of winter, the quieter and more alert he had become. Brin, on the other hand, seemed as if she didn’t even notice they had left Felwood at all. Ever since Cynthia’s projection had taunted her, she had grown tentative and fearful, as if in every shadow the witch hid, waiting to lunge out as she drew near. Parigan was almost glad she had lost her sword, else he was certain he’d have been cut during one of her fits. A shape in the distance formed as the pair drew closer. Brin nearly leapt off her feet when Parigan put his hand on her shoulder to stop her. He spoke just above the volume of the wind, “We’ve got a bit of a problem.” He pointed at the dark blot in the distance, a clump of cold stone across from a huge snowdrift. The cliff was short, but unless they planned on climbing its face, they would have to double back a ways to get around it. If they wanted to get forward this way, however, they would be surrounded by rock and snow on both sides. “The perfect spot for an ambush. I’m in no mood to be surrounded and outnumbered again.” Brin nodded absentmindedly. “We’ll take the long way around. Better safe than caught.” Just as they turned around, a click underneath their feet sent a chill up Parigan’s spine. He shouted, “Move!” and grabbing Brin, he leapt back toward the crevice. Where they had been standing, the snow shot up in the air, accompanied by a loud cracking sound. A land mine. More figures appeared back the way they came. They were moving towards the pair, and quickly. Parigan forced Brin to her feet and ran the only way they could, onward into the trap. Parigan was aware of more figures taking position on the cliff face. He ran close to the side so they couldn’t get a clean shot on them. Before they could reach the end of the crevice, however, white and red shapes emerged from the deep snow ahead of them, blocking their path again. The Horde hunters had caught up with them, and set a clever trap. The only direction not crawling with soldiers carrying spears, rifles, axes, and plenty of other unpleasant killing instruments was to the south, where the snow was piled too high to climb over. Parigan growled, drawing his sword. Brin tightened the sharpened bones tied to her wrists. A familiar voice called out to them from on the cliff, “Now I know nothing I say will convince you two to drop your weapons and let us end this the easy way…” The Sunwalker dismounted from his kodo, his mace and shield already in hand. He frowned down on them and continued, “So I’m not going to give you another chance. Either of you. Justice will finally be done today, and all the souls you damned will be given peace.” Parigan brandished his greatsword and called up to the tauren, “If Justice is so confident, why doesn’t he come finish the job himself?” The tauren snorted, but leaped down into the crevice anyway, quickly advancing, shield first. He called to the troops on the hill, “All rifles, open fire!” Brin moved first. Despite the tremendous pain the brand must have caused her, she managed to send the nearby snow up in a flurry, hiding those within from sight. Rifle fire echoed through the crevice, but the undead were already on the move. Parigan and Brinnea sprinted towards their destination, away from the Sunwalker. They emerged from the flurry, surprising the armed hunters on the other side. They recovered quickly, but Parigan capitalized on the hesitation by dropping his weapon, grabbing Brin with both his working hand and his metal one, and tossing her over the line of advancing troops with all his inhuman strength. A surprised Brin managed to regain her feet on the other side of the equally shocked Horde who were now split between targets. Parigan took up his blade again, and leapt on top of the first soldier in line, then hacked his way to Brin’s side, cleaving a hole in the enemy line. More shots fired as the riflemen found their marks again. Parigan stood between them and Brin, using his sword to guard his more vital areas. Bullets still ripped through his armor and flesh, but he ignored the pain. Readying his weapon for further attacks, he shouted back to Brinnea, “Go! You can make it to the house alone, but not if they’re all on you!” He parried a spear thrust and clipped the arms off the troll who wielded it. His writhing stumps painted the snow red as more of his friends drew closer, followed by Quaran. The riflemen were still firing. Brin shouted back, “No! I’m not leaving you!” Parigan roared angrily, and cut two soldiers cleanly in half as they drew within his range. The rest hesitated, all except Quaran. He threw a shield of light at the undead warrior, who sliced it out of the air. The tauren pressed in close, attempting to get within the warrior’s sword, using his shield to guard himself from attacks. Parigan was aware of the mace hiding behind the wall of wood and metal. Instead of recovering from his last swing, Parigan kicked the tauren back, then with an overhead strike, he sent the paladin back. More bullets shot by, cutting through metal and flesh alike. None of that mattered. This fight was just between him and the tauren. Another heavy swing put the tauren in a crouch. Brin shouted in pain as a bullet took her in the shoulder. She tried to harden her body with frost magic, but the effort put too much strain on her already weakened body. Parigan leaped away from the fray, blocking more bullets with his blade. Brin was holding her left arm, her teeth gnashed and brow furrowed. Reluctantly, she cried out over the sound of the wind, “You better not die, you hear me?” Then she turned and ran off. A few of the riflemen on the ridge went after her. That was fine, a few she could handle. Parigan chuckled. This was how it ought to be. Just him, his sword, and the people he had to kill in order to stay alive. No plots or people to protect. Nothing to it but swing, kill, repeat. And that’s exactly what he did. The Horde pressed in close, so he cut them all down. Bullets and blades cut him all over, but he felt none of it. Quaran’s mace met his blade, the light granting him strength against the wicked warrior’s massive sword. The tauren grappled the sword, pulling Parigan in close so he couldn’t swing or move. The undead didn’t hesitate in lunging into the tauren, lowering his metal jaw, and clamping it in a ferocious bite. The tauren screamed in pain as his cowlike ear was ripped off the side of his head. Parigan had time only to bash him aside before he had to meet the blade of another eager challenger. After that one fell, more bullets penetrated his armor. They were starting to get on his nerves. The undead rushed toward the cliff, and putting all his strength into his legs, leapt upwards, grabbing the ledge with his sharp metal fingers. An orc gawked at him, dangling beneath his feet, so Parigan sliced his legs out from under him and lifted himself onto the hill. Two riflemen stood behind him, the rest ahead. He whirled around, his black cloak billowing in the wind, following his swift motions. Confused shots were fired off, and shouts of “friendly fire” cried out. Parigan killed one of the hunters to his flank, then impaled the other on the end of his sword, using him as a shield as he advanced on the others. He tossed the body into the line before going to work hacking the rest of the hunters to bloody bits. Their rifles went off feebly into the snow as he knocked them off target again and again. Some of them tried to flee. Parigan gave them no quarter. From below, Quaran cried out, “Foul beast! Feel the fist of justice!” A thunderous blast drew Parigan’s attention upwards. The tauren’s mace rose overhead, growing into a full warhammer wreathed in light. Then it fell, too fast to dodge, onto Parigan’s back. Lightning arced through the undead’s body. Screams of agony cried out against the wind as the Light itself tormented the writhing warrior, buried in the snow. By the time the pain stopped, he could not move a muscle, and was once again, surrounded. The Sunwalker ripped the mace out of his back, and two pairs of rough hands dragged him to his knees. Someone took the giant sword from Parigan’s hands. The tauren ripped the warrior’s black helm off his head, releasing a matted tangle of raven-dark shoulder-length hair, and a vicious black scar running from the crown of the man’s head down to his empty right eye socket. His good eye glowed a dim gold, like a wolf’s eye in the night. It drooped with fatigue, staring blankly at the snow below him. Quaran tossed the helmet aside, and lifted his mace for the deathblow. “Let not your withered soul rest easy!” he cried out as his great arms brought the mace downwards. Parigan’s eye sharpened into focus. He kicked with all his might against the tauren’s legs, knocking the attack off balance as he dodged out of its deadly path. The undead ripped his arms away from the other captors, who reached for their weapons along with dozens of others behind and before them. Quaran shouted, “Kill him, now!” Parigan brought his head up, smashing the hardest part against the tauren’s snout, sending blood flying all around. One guard stepped from behind to deliver a thrust with his spear. Parigan grappled the guard to his right, forcing him in the spear’s path. Once the spear was firmly planted in the man’s back, Parigan tossed him into the spearman and stopped the swing of the other guard’s sword with his metal hand. The undead lunged, planting two of his fingers in the assailant’s eyes. As he screamed, Quaran roared and readied to attack again. Parigan took the blinded guard’s sword, tackled the tauren off the cliff, stabbed the paladin in the heart, and landed on top of him in the snow below the hill. Half-buried in snow, the tauren gasped as his lifeblood left his chest. Parigan stood, and spat at the tauren, “I hope the Light’s as fond of you as you’d like me to believe.” He drew the blade from the tauren’s heart, and Light burst from the wound. The tauren’s glazed eyes lit up brighter than lightning, and his body was surrounded in a shield of golden sunlight. The tauren pushed Parigan away with two massive hands, and a bolt of golden energy fired Parigan into the side of the cliff. The tauren took the blade, still covered in his heart’s blood, and threw his power into it. The blade became a sword blessed with godly radiance. In a flash, the blade was thrust into Parigan’s gut and pinned him to the rock face behind him. The tauren spoke with a voice beyond that of his own, “The Light is on my side, wretch!” The power of the gods coursed through the undead like waves against the shoreline. His strength failed; even his armor felt too heavy for him to carry. The blade rose, approaching his blackened heart and searing everything on the way with burning power. As his vision faded and his eyelids began to close, Parigan used the last of his strength to lift his arms, laying the metal arm against the tauren’s illuminated face. With the other hand, he worked the mechanism on the metal arm to drop the hand, revealing the barrel of a cannon. Quaran’s bright eyes of pure white grew with shock as the cannon lit, and gunpowder ignited the air all around him. The blade flew from Parigan’s body as the tauren fell backwards into the snow. What was left of his head had painted his troops behind him. Parigan’s strength began to return to him, though the wound burned worse than a fire in his chest. The warrior scoffed as he replaced the hand over the cannon barrel. “I guess the Light fears cannons now.” The remaining troops gaped at him fearfully. One stubborn tauren with a spear raced forward, shouting, “For the Captain!” Parigan disarmed him in one swift motion, and sliced his throat, silencing any further battle cries. Then, he set to work butchering the remaining forces. Every movement sent pain writhing through his body. That only served to stoke his rage further. He spotted his blade in the hands of some orc, so he leapt over the heads of everyone between him and the thief. The orc swung Parigan’s blade at him sloppily. The undead parried and used the spear to disarm the sword from the orc’s hands, then he reclaimed his blade and finished the job. A few healers remained by the time all the fighters had been killed or forced to flee. They desperately dragged the wounded away while Parigan tended to his own wounds, ever watchful of any attempts at attacking by the medics. One undead priest stared him down with disgust in her eye. She spat at Parigan’s foot. “You are unworthy of the gift of second life, murderer!” Parigan merely stared at her with a blank expression while he stitched his own stomach shut. An axe flew through the sky towards Parigan, but he avoided it just as it scraped against his metal jaw. The medics hastened their removal of the injured as Parigan lifted his weapon, grumbling to himself. At the entrance of the crevice, a lone orc stood holding a battleaxe in each hand. He wore dragonscale armor and an amused grin, and drew closer slowly, as if savoring the moment. His angry crimson eyes took in the sight of the slaughter with amusement. Parigan readied his blade. “You’re a little late to the show.” The orc sniggered. “I wanted to see how much you’d grown, young warrior. It has been much too long since a man of the Blackmane family has shown such aptitude. You have slaughtered your enemies in droves, and still stand as if prepared for the fight of your life.” The orc began to circle left, so Parigan followed suit. “Odds are usually in the favor of such occurring. Are you another of the witch’s puppets?” The orc smirked. “You catch on fast. Wits and strength are often not tempered alongside one another. You are full of surprises.” “Tell me, then. Why are you after us? What drives you to want us dead so badly?” The orc stopped, their positions now completely reversed. Parigan faced the direction Brinnea had fled in when he stopped as well. The orc lowered his axes as he replied, “It isn’t anything personal. All you need know is all who carry the name ‘Blackmane’ must be put to rest, permanently.” “That wouldn’t happen to include yourself, Cynthia?” The orc scoffed, raising his axes again. Parigan shrugged. “Worth a shot.” The orc closed in quickly, his axes swinging from both sides. Parigan backstepped and lunged, only to have his blade knocked aside by both axes. Blow after blow they traded, all parried or evaded expertly. The orc brought both blades down against the undead’s sword, pressing with great strength. Parigan held his ground, pushing back before swinging again. The orc leapt over the sword, over Parigan, and landed with both axes aimed for the undead’s back. They managed to clip him in the back as he dodged away. Off-balance, Parigan swung around wildly, his blade easily avoided by the orc. An axe raked across Pari’s face, slicing against his right ear and across where his eye used to be. Parigan cried out angrily, and tackled the orc into the snow. An axe and a sword flew to either side of the fighters as the grappled for control of the final weapon. The orc kicked Parigan in the gut, knocking him beside the other axe. The orc sprang to his feet, and Parigan quickly took the weapon by the shaft and blocked a vicious strike aimed at his head. The two warriors traded blows again and again, until the orc clipped the head off Pari’s axe. Before he could move away, the orc’s axe prepared for a mortal blow. Out of options, the undead blocked it with his prosthetic hand, which was ripped off his stumped arm violently, and gave him just enough time to kick out the orc’s leg with his own metal one. The orc grunted as he lost control of his swing. Parigan plunged the shattered end of the axe shaft into the orc’s gut. Whatever the axe was made of, it pierced dragonscale enough to cause a shallow wound and draw blood. Parigan left the orc no chance to regain control of the fight. He grabbed this foes horned helm and forced the orc’s head down into his plated knee armor. Now dazed, the orc was easily disarmed. Parigan swung the axe wildly with one hand, slicing off dragonscale and causing enough blunt force trauma to keep the orc completely helpless in the face of his assault, all while screaming with bloody rage at the top of his lungs. A horn flew off the orc’s helm, as did flesh from his gut, shoulders, legs, and finally his entire arm. The orc yelled in pain as blood gushed from what remained of his bicep. Foaming at the mouth, he lunged, helmet first into Parigan. A reckless move, and one Parigan was prepared for. He rolled to the side, and as the orc rushed by, doubled over, he brought the axe down on his back, jamming the head of it into his lower spine. The orc fell to the ground, paralyzed. Parigan took his sweet time retrieving his greatsword while the orc moaned and desperately tried to crawl up against the cliff face, his legs uselessly dragging behind him. Parigan wrenched the axe out of his back, savoring the shouts of agony from his fallen foe. He rolled the orc onto his back and removed the horned helm to get a good look at his face. He seemed to be an older orc, perhaps over forty years old given the wrinkles and length of his tusks. His hair was deep red and trimmed in an odd style such that a line of hair stuck up from front to back. Recognition flashed across Parigan’s face. “It’s you! I remember now. We fought in Icecrown years ago, when Hellscream still ruled the Horde. You were sent to kill me. We fought, and you crushed my back.” The undead’s face contorted into a wild, dark grin. “How ironic that you fell with a blow to the back.” The orc said nothing as Parigan brought his blade down on the orc’s head with a sickening crunch.
  14. <p>Hey, my characters are in felwood. Is your sketchbook following me? <img src="<fileStore.core_Emoticons>/emoticons/tongue.png" alt=":P" srcset="<fileStore.core_Emoticons>/emoticons/tongue@2x.png 2x" width="20" height="20" /></p>

  15. “You know, I’m getting tired of being surrounded every other day,” Parigan grumbled as he drew his sword. Brin stood with her back against his once again. This time, they were surrounded by angry furbolgs. Brin drew her short sword and replied, “I suppose moving through the furbolg camp to avoid the main road was a bit of a risk.” The biggest of the furbolg roared and shook his spear overhead. The rest of the beast-men followed suit. Brin and Pari readied themselves to attack, when suddenly the largest furbolg’s roar was cut off. Brin whirled around to see a long metal spike protruding from the chief’s neck. With a moan, he fell over dead. The others fell silent. A high-pitched whizzing sound filled the sky. Looking up, Brin watched a hail of iron spikes descend on their position from a nearby hill. She shouted, “Pari, take cover!” The pair of them charged at the furbolgs, still baffled from their chief’s sudden demise. Some of them were starting to panic from the incoming volley. The undead took advantage of the chaos by slaying a furbolg for each of them, and taking cover under their thick hides. The spikes started hitting their marks. One by one, the beast-men fell as the spikes chased them as if of their own accord. The furbolgs the undead took shelter beneath kept them from taking the spikes themselves effectively enough. After a long period of time listening to the sound of metal embedding into flesh and dirt, the surrounding area grew silent. Brinnea and Parigan emerged from their hiding places and took a look around. No furbolg remained alive, each with its own iron spike buried in its head, neck, or chest. Then another figure fell from the hill, much bigger this time. It landed with a loud thud, and rose on two legs, the sound of metal scraping against metal following its movements. Parigan scoffed. “And then there’s this one…” The metal monstrosity that stood before them was undead, Brin could feel it. But she seemed to be made of metal, and was much larger than the average human, at least seven feet tall, and wide in frame. Her body was covered in green plate metal and stitches. Her mouth was stitched over and her eyes were small, sickly green orbs of pale light. She groaned playfully, taking a step closer, and then another. Brin readied herself for a fight. “Friend of yours?” she asked Parigan. He scoffed again. “I wouldn’t exactly call her that. Her body’s mostly metal. Finding a chink in her armor will be the key. And be careful, her blood burns like acid. Take the left!” He shouted his last command as he took off running. Brin followed closely behind him, splitting for the left flank at the last second. She lashed at the undead’s side with her sword. The steel clanged off the metal plating uselessly. Parigan’s blade sent her flying, but she stood up a moment later, unharmed by the strike. The woman snarled as she rose her hands. On each of her palms, a mouth cracked open, each complete with a set of metal teeth and an abnormally long, green tongue. Brin grimaced. Parigan let out a boisterous guffaw. “You are one gross bitch.” He darted forward. Brinnea bit back a curse. Parigan was far too reckless, but someone had to watch his back. She followed after him. The green woman growled loudly and pointed opened her hand-mouths wide. Green liquid poured forth from them, jetting out at each undead. Parigan ducked under the stream and ran to the side, attempting to flank their foe. Brin followed suit. The green woman seemed unable to move very quickly while channeling her acid streams. The pair took advantage of that, striking from each side, attempting to cleave her arms in two. Brin delivered a powerful downward slice that should have normally removed the arm completely. Instead, her blade shivered and cracked on impact. Parigan fared little better, but managed to tip the woman off balance, spewing acid all over the ground. Some splashed on Brin’s blade and glove. Darting back, Brinnea removed her glove before the acid ate through to her skin. Then she noticed her blade was almost all gone from the small amount of acid that had fallen on it. She tossed that aside as well. The green woman’s arms convulsed as iron spikes, dripping with poison, were vomited from the mouths on her palms. They remained imbedded in her hands as she turned toward Parigan. The warrior charged, swinging his blade against the undead’s arms. The spikes were tossed aside. Strangely, the metal of Parigan’s sword endured the acid undamaged. Brin took advantage of the green woman’s distraction and advanced toward her rear, looking for a weak point in her body plates. She aimed for the back of the head, but her bone spikes would not penetrate the armor. Stitches all over the undead’s body popped as more spikes rose from her skin, all drenched with acid. Brin pulled back before she was cut. Parigan, however, kept swinging, knocking the assailant back and forth, leaving her unable to counter. However, his blows left not a dent in her armor. The undead leapt backwards after a glancing blow gave her time to catch her balance. She flung a pair of spikes at Parigan, but he knocked them out of the air. She pressed in close as soon as he was caught mid-swing. Brin grimaced, and reacted quickly, death-gripping the undead away from Parigan. The green woman turned on her immediately. Brin shouted, spewing frosty wind, freezing her with gale force worthy of a dragon’s breath. The metal abomination froze in place, a spike only inches from Brin’s throat. The death knight exhaled deeply, her ruinic power fully depleted. The brand on her arm was burning, but she ignored it. Parigan approached quickly, his weapon hefted onto his shoulder. “Seems we’ve found our exit strategy,” he said grumpily. “Best we move before she breaks loose. Maybe we can lose her if we move fast en--,” she was cut off by a frighteningly familiar chill running down her spine. She whirled around as a ghostly apparition appeared: the image of Cynthia, the witch. Her youthful features, perfectly flawless face, and snakelike golden eyes drilled into Brin’s soul, freezing her in place. Parigan stepped forward, standing himself between Brin and the witch’s image. “Oh, you are proving a particularly challenging prey to hunt down, hmm,” Cynthia said, her voice dripping with irritation. “Colette is one of my most powerful creations, hmm. My patience is not easily tested, but you have managed to evade one too many trap for my liking.” Brin shivered in place. Memories flooded back like waves in a storm. The mind altering spells, the dungeon full of experiments, the dagger in her back… Parigan grumbled, stirring Brin’s thoughts from her recollections, “Yeah, yeah, cry some more, she-devil. So far we’re not impressed with your toys and schemes. I suppose I shouldn’t have expected much from a has-been Blackmane, hiding in a cave for the last three decades.” Cynthia trembled with rage, but kept a smile on her face. Brin’s heart wrenched at the sight of it, a feeling she hadn’t felt in so long. The warlock spat at them, “You’ve seen nothing of what our house is capable of, Parigan! Before you were even a thought in your father’s mind, I was playing with the fabric of reality like a cat does with string, hmm! Even your daddy dearest feared me, and his father before. They were all fools to place their trust in buried kings! My gaze was ever loftier, hmm, I sought the kings in the great beyond!” She stretched her arms wide, as if the great beyond were held in the space before her. Parigan shrugged. “Seems your great kings have a weak bite. If a pathetic world of disorder like this one’s still standing after they tried to take it, what, three times now?” Cynthia burst out laughing. “Oh, you’re overconfidence is rich, hmm! But I’m not here to trade empty threats and hollow promises. Just to state a fact, hmm,” she said. Cynthia cast her gaze on Brin. The death knight might as well be a set of bones shaking where she stood for how intimidating she appeared. The warlock continued, “I met one of your friends today. Autumn Delenay, such a precious little flower in your rose garden of an Empire, hmm. I will enjoy plucking her apart slowly. Her screams will echo in the chasm of eternity, and haunt you to your last thought, hmm…” Brin gnashed her teeth and rang her fingers together angrily. “You…,” she began reluctantly. The air began to freeze around her. The sigil on her arm radiated light from beneath the fabric it hid beneath. The pain was cast aside for rage, rivaled only by the intense fear, ever present in her heart. “You monster! I won’t let you live if any harm comes to Autumn!” She pushed Parigan out of her way and stomped forward, glaring at Cynthia’s projection eye-to-eye. Cynthia held her peevish grin unflinchingly. Her voice cut at Brin’s very mind, “Oh, Brinny… she’ll be much too busy tearing you apart for you to get at me, hmm. It is so easy to twist minds when they already have reason to believe their actions are justified, hmm. You brought this fate on yourself, sweet girl. If you had just given me what I wanted, you could have passed on peacefully, hmm.” Her image shimmered. Brin screamed, slashing at the air with a frost strike as her arm felt like it would fall off from the strain against the brand. Cynthia’s visage faded into the ether, leaving Brin and Parigan alone with the frozen Colette. Parigan urged her to get moving, and they were off again.
  16. Another sketch, this time of my devious warlock, Cynthia Blackmane. I used Orochimaru from Naruto as a base. Specifically, his female body. The characters are so similar in background that it just made sense for her to look like this.
  17. Quaran was awoken from his sleep by a frantic goblin serving as messenger. The tiny man shouted at the top of his lungs, “Captain, captain! The elves got the fugitives cornered!” Quaran shook off his sleep instantly. Orgog’s plan had worked, it seemed. The nearby Sentinels patrolling Ashenvale had responded with great ferocity when they were informed of their comrades’ deaths. That and the knowledge of the surrounding forest had let to a swift capture, from what Quaran gathered. He placed his hand on the goblin’s head to steady him and said, “Calm yourself and tell me, where were they found?” “By Raynewood Retreat, and the entrance to Felwood! The elves caught them on the edge of the woods and are moving to engage now!” Quaran lifted his hand and dismissed the eccentric goblin from his tent. He called to his guards to ready the camp to move north before dressing himself for combat. The elves may have found the fugitives, but it was anyone’s guess if they would have enough to put them down. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ The night elves had them surrounded and greatly outnumbered. Brinnea counted a dozen at their flank, dotting the treeline on the ground and in the trees themselves. More had blocked their path northward. Parigan grunted in annoyance behind her, and said, “Damn, shouldn’t have tried leaving the woods so close to the elves’ base.” He drew his greatsword. Brin busied herself tightening the wrappings holding a pair of sharpened bones to her wounded left hand before drawing her own sword. In response to Parigan’s statement, she said, “Not like we had much forest left. We almost made it to the mountains before we left cover.” Parigan hefted his sword onto his shoulder. Grumpily, he added, “Wouldn’t have been a problem if we’d just killed the scout.” Before Brin could retort that they couldn’t have known what would have happened, one of the elves called out in the common tongue, “Undead interlopers, you are ordered to throw down your weapons and place yourselves at the mercy of Darnassian justice for your crimes against the night elven people! If you do not comply, we shall put you down here and now and burn your remains to cleanse the land of your wretched aura. I recommend you make this no harder on yourselves, and come quietly.” Parigan chuckled. He called out to the elf who had spoken, saying, “Compliance isn’t in our nature. And we have no plans to die today, elf witch. Why don’t you scuttle off into your woods and have a go at each other while the adults move on with their lives.” Brinnea rolled her eyes. The elf’s prior warnings had been in a steady voice, though tinged with the usual elven pride. However, her next words were dripping with bitter anger: “Undead, I gave you fair warning. For insulting my honor, you spit on the honor of all my people, and that I cannot allow! Not even Elune will be able to save your souls after what I shall do to you! Andu-falah-dor!” The night elves began knocking arrows all around the pair. The other half drew glaives and spears, closing in slowly and carefully. Parigan glanced back at Brin with his good eye. They shared a knowing look before facing their opponents and charged the elves. Brin ducked as arrows flew towards her, dark blurs nearly invisible with the dim backdrop of the Ashenvale woods. They were shot high so as not to hit the Sentinels on the ground. Brinnea took advantage of that, weaving her way into her enemies’ ranks before pausing to trade blows. She expertly parried spear thrusts and glaive strikes from several angles with her short sword. Despite the ferocity of the elves’ attacks, she stood her ground, an icy pillar with blades striking fast as a blur and stronger than any living being could deliver. One Sentinel swung her spear wide, using the reach to her advantage. Brin caught the shaft between the bones tied to her hand and pulled the elf close, plunging the blade of her short sword into the elf’s leg before disarming her. Another foe lunged forward, aiming high. Brin feinted a parry then dove past, fast as a feather in a breeze, hamstringing the elf as she went. The death knight flowed from elf to elf, gracefully delivering crippling wounds one after the other. The warrior, on the other hand, took a more direct approach. With his blade so thick, he was able to block incoming arrow volleys from hitting his body, then dove into the grouped-up elves, sword first, hacking the Sentinels into pieces. His first strike left three cut in half. His next strike buried another in the mud. By the third swing, the elves were already falling far back, relying on their comrades in the back to fire another volley of arrows. But these elves did not use the trees for cover as those at the flank did, and so Parigan leaped over the heads of the melee combatants and quickly ran across the archers’ line, hacking the lightly armored Sentinels apart as he went. The Sentinel commander seethed with rage, and drew her daggers, calling upon the light of Elune to guide her strikes. Moonlight drew to her blades as she charged Parigan, fast as a bullet. Before she reached him, she thrusted, well out of range. Parigan prepared to strike, but hesitated when a pair of moonfire bolts fired at him, faster than he could dodge. The warrior roared, swinging his huge blade wildly, aiming to strike the beams now, rather than the commander. The force of the blade blew away the beams entirely. The commander stared in disbelief as the undead continued his charge without hesitation. Her instincts kicked in, and she dodged his strike, but only just. Parigan followed up his missed attack with quick, overpowering strikes that forced the elf to dodge again and again until she was backed up against a tree. The other Sentinels attempted to flank Parigan stealthily, but the warrior’s keen instincts warned him of the danger long before they struck. He delivered a sudden kick to the commander’s leg, forcing her off balance while he spun around, delivering a strike that left the remaining Sentinels cleft in two. He turned back to the commander, whose daggers fell out of her hands immediately. Brinnea had been ducking and dodging in and out of the woods, pulling archer after archer from their perches before disarming and crippling them. She was down to her last two when they suddenly threw down their bows and leapt from their trees. One of them was the scout they had run across the other day. She spoke unhappily, “The commander has yielded to your comrade. We are beaten.” Brinnea sheathed her short sword and nodded. She instructed the surrendering elves to tend to their wounded while she returned to Parigan’s side. Her husband stood leaning against his sword while regarding a kneeling Sentinel commander. “What do you think, Brin?” Parigan began in a dangerous tone, “Let this one go too, so she can bring more friends after us? Or will you let me put them down this time?” Brinnea closed her eyes and lowered her head in thought. “They will be allowed to return home with no further trouble.” She ignored the incredulous look Parigan gave her as she addressed the commander, “I hope you keep in mind that we spared your troops upon your surrender, Commander. I know you would not listen to a request to break off any attempts at pursuit henceforth, but perhaps the memory of what happened here will convince you to delay for a time.” The commander bit her lip, her pride singed by Brin’s implied demands. At last she replied, “We will…need time to tend to the wounded. However, the Horde will not slow in their chase. Perhaps… we did not see which way you were going after you claimed victory from us.” Brinnea smiled. She replied in a soft tone, “You are doing the right thing, Sentinel Commander. No more of your people need be put in harm’s way for our sake.” She motioned to Parigan for them to be off and started walking again. Parigan lifted his sword from the ground and as he sheathed it, said to the commander, “You’re lucky she’s special, elf. If it were just me, none of your party would have lived through this encounter. Thank your god for such little miracles.” With that, he followed behind Brinnea north towards Felwood. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Quaran had just received word while riding on the back of his Sunwalker kodo of the fugitives’ escape from the Sentinel’s ambush. He gnashed his teeth together, displeased that they had managed to evade capture once more. Even more so that the night elves had somehow managed to lose track of the undead altogether. Despite being so close to the elven base at Raynewood Retreat, the pair had found a way to vanish, their direction impossible to determine. So much for relying on the elves’ knowledge of the landscape. To add to his displeasure, Quaran noticed Orgog maneuvering his way through the hunters’ march to come up beside the tauren’s mount. Orgog was dressed in his dragonplate armor, both of his vicious fiery battleaxes strapped to his back. Despite the great weight, his huge dire wolf seemed perfectly content with carrying the burden. The orc rode beside his friend, saying not a word. Instead, he laughed mirthfully, as if some inaudible joke had amused him greatly. Quaran knew he was being baited, but said anyway, “The elves lost the undead by Raynewood Retreat.” Cutting off his laughter, Orgog replied, “So I’ve heard. I suppose that is all that could be expected of Alliance scum. Whatever are we to do now?” Quaran sighed. “Nothing different. We carry on hunting them as we are. They cannot outrun us on foot,” the tauren answered. Orgog clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “And wait for them to find mounts? For them to fly off or teleport across the world and leave us a square one? No, I think I’ll take my chances with plan B.” Quaran’s ears twitched worriedly. “Come again? What is this plan of yours?” “An old friend of ours is going to pay the undead a visit. She is much faster than our hunters, and will be able to track them effortlessly. She is quite accustomed to hunting undead, after all.” Quaran’s eyes widened in shock. “You didn’t—how did you even find her?” Orgog chuckled lightly. “I have my ways, old friend.” “But how could we hope to contain her after the others are put down? She could prove to be an even worse problem…” Orgog shook his head. “She’ll listen to me. You’re a holy man now; take that on faith.” ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Cynthia’s grin stretched wide across her flawless skin. “Don’t worry yourself so much, my dear Quaran. All our efforts will pay off soon, hmm.” She opened her eyes to a room far from where her mind had just been. Felwood had been a playground for warlocks years before these youngsters had even walled themselves off from the world. It was amusing to her that their hope of escape took them right into the jaws of danger. The sound of metal scraping against metal brought her attention back to the dimly lit room in which she now sat. A female undead, made more of metal than her verdantly-tinged skin, shuffled forward to kneel before Cynthia where the witch sat. The undead moaned a question from behind her stitched lips. Cynthia giggled merrily. “Colette, the time is ripe for your attack, hmm. Move into the valley and await their arrival.” Colette groaned, clearly pleased. She stood and began to shuffle off into the dark hallways of Cynthia’s lair. The warlock was left alone with her thoughts. Cynthia stood from her cushioned sofa and stretched her legs as she drifted slowly to the back room behind her lounge. She kept her favorite specimens and experiments back here. Here she kept spawns of rare and dangerous species, remnants of threats long past, relics of forgotten civilizations: pretty much anything that society would deem too dangerous to be kept in the hands of mortal men and women. Cynthia craved the breaking of society’s laws and found no greater joy than in showing them how pitiful and powerless the lawmakers were to stop her. An abnormal movement caught the attention of her crisp golden eyes. Inside a casket hidden behind tables of research notes and test subjects, something was moving. Cynthia sighed and shuffled her way past the clutter, careful not to scuff her spider web pattern dress in the process. She sat atop the casket and stroked the polished wooden frame playfully. “Oh, my darling. Be patient, now. Your chance will come soon enough, hmm.” The movement within the casket ceased for the moment. Cynthia’s smile widened. “Yes, soon I will have a use for you, but today you must rest, my dear child. Rest…”
  18. ((I think I can manage to attend. As long as you don't mind me entering as a mystery knight for the joust and melee!)) ((Edit: Shoot, I'll almost certainly be working that night. ))
  19. Beryl Falconia is a brand-new guild looking to recruit members for its in-character founding. Its purpose will be to transform common people, degenerates, outcasts, and anyone else who wishes to join into monster hunters and guardians of the common people. Those who join this guild do so with the knowledge that their deeds will more often than not go unrewarded and without thanks. For some, the rush of fighting evil is reward enough. For others, the desire to protect people runs deep in their veins. Others still simply need a group to watch their backs because no one else will. Falconia is the guild for all these people, and more. OOC Activity: Beryl Falconia is intended to be a guild dedicated to combating threats to peace by whatever means necessary. To fulfill this fantasy, it will be my pleasure to help members with PvP and PvE related tasks including Battlegrounds, Arenas, Dungeons, Raids, and more. The goal of the guild is to work together to solve problems we could not otherwise handle, and so I would encourage anyone who joins to support their fellow guildmates in their endeavors to progress, be it in item level, PvP or PvE skill, or in practicing roleplay. Since the guild is still very new, and not officially formed ICly, it will be the primary goal of its first members to divine a purpose for the guild, as well as its direction. I am in the process of laying the foundations for the guild's creation in a story arc currently, and happily invite any assistance in progressing the story in whatever ways you can. IC Activity: The Hierarchy of the guild will be a basic Initiate, Member, Officer, GM setup until such time as a working system is implemented. The GM is Brinnea Velmon, who recently escaped from an execution and is hunted by both Alliance and Horde soldiers who wish for her to pay for her crimes. As such, the guild will initially draw in those who have no qualms with bending the rules or operating outside desirable boundaries of society. With Legion fast approaching, it makes most sense for the guild to focus its monster-hunting and evil-vanquishing on demons on the offset, although its members will be well trained to handle threats made by major factions. The guild will also have strong ties to Gilneas, thanks to its primary funds coming from a noble named Esmerra Blackmane. Anyone interested in helping this guild take its first steps into the RP community, please contact me here via PM with a character in mind for the guild. I appreciate your time and any help you can offer!
  20. ((I prefer to make my own lore to make my weapons more iconic, but this is a pretty cool way to help people out if they want some ideas!))
  21. Like the title says, my sketches are almost acceptable. Not good, but not the Antichrist of art or anything. These are just my attempt at trying to show people what my characters look like in my eyes. That said, here is Brinnea Velmon using the portrait of Lucina (Fire Emblem: Awakening) as the base sketch. And here is Parigan Blackmane, using Guts (Berserk) as the base sketch.
  22. Quaran knew his old friend Orgog had entered the camp when he heard a fight break out near his tent. The Sunwalker exited into the cold, wet air of Ashenvale to see the cause of the commotion himself. Orgog was standing over another orc with a black eye, shouting taunts to the other Horde soldiers gathering around. “Do any of you spineless louts have anything further to say about my methods?” Orgog shouted, glancing around with a questioning look. “No? Good.” He gave the orc on the ground a sharp kick to the gut and walked over him as the unfortunate hunter hacked up blood on the muddy ground. Orgog approached Quaran and said, “Your hunters have a bit of a discipline problem.” Quaran did his best to hide his exasperation. “Orgog,” he began, “Why did you punch that man in the face?” Orgog licked his lips and replied, “He asked me if I was insane. I thought a quick right hook to the eye would answer his question just fine.” Quaran pinched the fur between his eyes with frustration. “And why did he ask you if you were insane, exactly?” “Oh, something about butchering some elves I found on the road when they wouldn’t tell me where our prey went,” Orgog said casually while drawing a knife to clean his nails. Quaran stared at Orgog in disbelief. Was this a joke, or had he really done something so stupid in the two hours he had been away from camp? “Orgog, you do realize we aren’t at war with the Alliance at this moment, yes? And that we are in Ashenvale to hunt fugitives only because the elves have given us express permission to do so? That said, WHAT HE HELL WERE YOU THINKING!” Quaran bellowed, his arms spread wide. Orgog didn’t bother looking up from his nails. “You mean before or after I cut those elves into small pieces?” Quaran sighed loudly. “Your actions jeopardized our chances at finding those two before they vanish altogether again! If the elves find out we killed their people, it could lead to far worse consequences, and I will not be held responsible for starting another war with the Alliance!” Orgog spat on the ground by his foot. “Or we could just say the fugitives did it. Hell, turning the Alliance against them would make ferreting those two out even easier.” The Sunwalker gnashed his teeth. It wasn’t a terrible plan, but the dishonesty of it had a sour taste to it. “Was this your plan all along, Orgog? You wanted to force me into a corner. Why?” Orgog shrugged and replied, “There have been many betrayals in our ranks lately. Maybe I just wanted to see whose side you are really on.” With that, he gave Quaran a lazy mock salute with his dagger and walked off. Quaran snorted loudly. Now he had a choice to make. Would he tell the elves of Orgog’s misdeeds, or pin the blame on those they chased? Orgog had been a fine friend, always loyal to the Horde and to his comrades. Yet now, his reckless nature was getting the better of him. It was clear he wanted this business with the undead done quickly; Quaran did as well. Yet this undue haste risked far too much. Quaran withdrew to his tent. He had much to think about. For now he focused on the map of Ashenvale lying on a desk at the center of his quarters. The fugitives had gone down into the forest just north of Falfarren Crossing. His best trackers were sniffing along the riverbank for any sign of what direction they were heading. Quaran peered at the many settlements dotting the northern half of Ashenvale, wondering to himself where the two of them were hoping to flee to. Not likely they would risk relying on the elves’ protection, but who else would shelter them this far north? Would they plead with the Cenarion Circle? Did they plan to trade with the Everlook goblins for safe transport? None of these options seemed right to Quaran. In any case, where they went, sorrow was sure to follow. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Brinnea and Parigan had been limping their way through the woods as quietly as possible since Brin had awoken. She didn’t know where they were headed; all Pari had been willing to tell her before they took off was they needed to keep moving north. The two of them stayed away from the paved roads, and kept off well-travelled dirt paths as often as possible. They had yet to encounter anyone, but the unnerving quiet of the forest put the Death Knight on edge, wondering when someone would pick up their trail. Parigan stopped suddenly, and said softly, “Get down.” He fell to his knees and drew a dagger from his belt. Brin knelt down as best as she could with her leg in a brace and moved forward to Pari’s side. He pointed straight ahead at a family of deer grazing just upwind of them. Motioning to his dagger, he whispered to her, “How accurate are you?” Brin took the weapon. “I can take one down from here.” He nodded and drew a second dagger. Brin flipped the dagger, holding it by the blade edge with her uninjured right hand. She squinted at her target, the buck on the lookout for predators, and lined up her throw. Without a breath or hesitation longer than necessary, she threw the dagger, which buried itself in the deer’s eye. As it collapsed, Pari’s dagger flew, taking down the doe beside the buck. The remaining deer scattered. The pair approached the deer briskly, admiring their work briefly before Brin set to work. She used a longer knife intended for skinning to butcher the deer. Her intent was to draw as much blood as possible before it went too cold. Her body trembled at the sight of it. It had been much too long since she had sated her bloodlust. A year or two ago she would not have been able to contain her need for it so long. But things had changed. With most of her runes disabled by the brand, it was a slow process using the animal blood to repair her wounds. She prioritized clearing up the burns as much as she could. Once the blackened skin regained most of its pale complexion, she moved on to her knee. Converting blood energy into bone was a difficult process, and she was no master of blood. However, when she ran out of blood, her leg was usable again. She removed the brace and stretched her newly repaired leg, finding her work to be satisfactory. Shortly after, the two undead were on their way north again, the pace set even faster now. Brin asked Pari as they settled into their new pace, “Maybe you ought to tell me where we’re going. In case we get separated.” Parigan glanced back at her without stopping. “We won’t. I’ll die before I lose you again,” he said flatly. Brin frowned at him and replied, “Fine, well maybe you can just humor me then. It’s starting to feel a bit like a prison march.” Pari clicked his tongue. “We need a way out of the Horde’s grip and there’s only one person I trust who has the sort of funds to help us disappear. She lives in Winterspring,” he said. Brin’s eyebrows rose. “Are you sure she’ll be willing to help us out?” “I know she will. She was at Thunder Bluff to help you out, too. Many of her druid friends fell, and she narrowly escaped, herself. I don’t think she was expecting me to show up.” “She thought you were dead, too. She asked me to look for you in Tanaan.” Parigan was quiet for a while. Eventually he continued, “What was she hoping to find?” “She wanted me to bring your soul back, if you still lingered. She wanted to speak with you before…” “Was she hoping for resolution? Forgiveness? Did she expect me to feel sorry for the things I’ve done, tearing apart our family?” Brin sighed. “I don’t know what she’s hoping for. Maybe just closure. It felt like you would be around forever, and then you were just gone. Maybe it’s just now hitting her, how much she missed you.” Parigan held up a hand. Brin became alert and started glancing around for threats. Parigan drew his massive greatsword and tossed a dagger at a nearby tree. A night elf fell from the branches to avoid the thrown weapon. Before she even hit the ground, Parigan was on top of her, pining her to the ground with the edge of his sword so she couldn’t move without cutting herself. The elf shouted at him in her native tongue, clearly unhappy with being pinned. “Speak bloody common, and do so quietly, girl,” he said sharply. Brin watched on without a word, a hand resting on a short sword Parigan had provided her with. The elf switched languages, but continued to shout, “Heathens! Cursed undead, this land belongs to the Kaldorei, and you shall not sully it with your foul presence!” Parigan grinned wolfishly. “What, are you planning on making us leave? Forgive me if I’m a bit less than convinced with your ability to do that.” The elf spat on Parigan’s cheek. “That was for my friends, you murderer!” Parigan wiped the saliva from his face with his metal hand. “I haven’t killed any of your kind recently. You want to explain what that comment was about?” “Do not lie! A dozen of my sister Sentinels were strewn across the road in pieces south of here, by the river crossing! You heathens are responsible, I know it!” Parigan lowered the blade across her neck. Brin’s grip on her sword tightened. She wasn’t sure whether it was for the elf’s sake or for Parigan’s. Parigan said, “And who told you it was us? Your elven intuition?” The elf spoke a bit quieter now, but no less bitterly, “My party was informed by your pursuers, the Horde hunters.” Parigan chuckled. “And you bought that? I bet they carved up your pals for sport and used us as the scapegoat. It’s too easy.” Brin stepped forward and tapped Parigan’s shoulder. He huffed and stood up off the elf, drawing his sword away from her throat. The elf immediately leapt up and bolted into the foliage. Parigan scoffed. “She’s going to warn her friends about us.” Brin replied, “We have to give her a chance. Killing her when she’s helpless isn’t right. It’s not who we are.” Parigan shrugged as he put his weapon back in its sheath. “If we want to survive, it’ll have to be.”
  23. RiktheRed21

    Orphan

    ((Awesome story! I hope we get to RP someday! The potentially drama excites me.))
  24. ((Now I would come, but I'm not sure my appearance would be appreciated ))