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Slywyn

02-15-2011, 07:48 AM

((First one is also the most recent just because it's the first one I could dig up.))

It was going on eight years now since Slywyn had freely seen home. She snuck in now and again for certain things, but never quite had time to take in the sights, or visit any of the old familiar places. Each visit had to be cut short for fear of her life, for a crime committed before her exile.

She was standing outside the portal to Darnassus from Rut'Theran village, hidden inside thick plate armor. The helmet had two features about it that she liked. One, it hid her face and head entirely. Two, from it's unique shape, it produced an almost-perfect mimic of the voice of a Death Knight. She thought it ironic that her dead kin would be more welcome in Darnassus than one of the living.

She stopped for a moment, letting the memories wash over her. If she had to be cruelly honest with herself, eight years wasn't very long a time at all. For a life spanning thousands of years, it was barely a drop in the bucket of time. But it seemed much longer.

This would be the first time she was trying to sneak into the city itself, and one of the few times she had actually seen it firsthand. She let out a quiet sigh, thinking back to where her problem began.

Sly rolled over on her mat, trying to get comfortable. They were watching over Ashenvale forest in the dawning hours of the third war. The Orcs had only just attacked, and her unit was being sent to assist in the fighting. Her mother's ring, the last thing she had left of her, was resting atop a small jug near her mat.

A Sentinel near her rolled over, her arm splaying out, and tipped the jug. The ring slid off the top and nestled in a depression in the grass, out of sight. Several hours later Sly awoke, sitting up slowly on her mat and letting out a yawn. The flickering light from the fire someone started revealed it to be sometime in the late evening, going on night. Sly reached out for the jug and her ring, resting her hand atop it.

Her eyes shot wide open as she realized the ring wasn't there, and she scrambled to the jug to attempt to find it. In her haste, her knee struck the depression in the grass and soft dirt that her ring was resting in, pushing it even deeper into the hole. She let out a distraught noise, the Sentinel at her side coming awake.

"Sly? What's wrong?" She rubbed at her eye.

Sly was starting to get more upset now, her hands running along the ground to try to find the ring. "My mother's ring! It's gone!"

The Sentinel looked worried, then began to wake some of the other Sentinels of the camp to assist her in her search.

One of their newly awakened Sisters came over slowly, putting her hand on Sly's shoulder. "What does it look like?"

Sly looked up for a moment from where she was combing the ground with her eyes. "It's silver, with branches entwined along the circumference. You can't miss it, it shines in the moonlight."

Unless it was buried in dirt, as it was now. Sly's constant searching wasn't helping, and the other Sentinels walking around trying to find it weren't either. One of them stepped right atop it, pushing the ring in question even farther into the dirt.

From across the camp, a mocking laugh rang out. "Serves you right!"

Sly froze, looking toward the sound of the voice. An elf named Elsyn was walking toward her. The two had been at each other's throats for almost two months now. They had been amicable at one point, if never friends, but Elsyn's bow had slipped in the rain and grazed Slywyn's arm. Sly had always thought she shot her on purpose as a prank, and mutual hatred had grown from there.

The two were at least somewhat evenly matched in combat, though Slywyn held the edge in melee. If Elsyn could keep her at range, her superior bow skills would win a fight between them if it came to that. But they were in camp, and Elsyn was walking closer, into melee range.

"Maybe if you hadn't kicked my bowl over, your ring wouldn't have disappeared." Elsyn was talking of her idea of karma, where ill begets ill. Slywyn thought she was admitting to stealing the ring, and launched herself at Elsyn.

A fight broke out between the two, with Slywyn rapidly turning things even more in her favor as her fury at the other elf unleashed itself. Slywyn had always been known to have a bit of a temper, but that was quickly turning into murderous rage at the loss of the last memento of her mother.

While some of the other Sentinels tried to pull the two apart, largely unsuccessfully, some of the others went to find their commander, who was out scouting. They found her a few minutes later, returning with her quickly to the camp, which had degenerated even farther.

No one was ever really sure exactly where the dagger had come from, but everyone remembered exactly what happened afterward.

Elsyn had drawn the dagger from somewhere to try to defend herself, cutting Slywyn's arms and face several times in the process. But Slywyn had managed to overpower her and take the dagger from her.

Right as the commander strode into camp to attempt to calm things, Slywyn struck. The curved elven blade slipped right between Elsyn's ribs and punctured her heart, killing her almost instantly.

The camp seemed to freeze at that moment, many of the Sentinels expressions frozen in horror as the light went out of Elsyn's eyes, and she fell limp. Slywyn didn't seem to believe what had just happened, her hands quickly coming away from the hilt of the blade still buried in Elsyn's chest. She looked at her sisters imploringly, the words not seeming to come correctly from her mouth. "I didn't... I didn't mean to..."

Their commander's voice rang out into the clearing, clearly enraged at the murder that had just taken place within their ranks. "Restrain her!"

Several Sentinels snapped to the order, restraining Slywyn with ropes and leaving her near the fire. She didn't try to fight them, accepting what was to come.

It was several hours before the commander returned, moonlight shining down on them. She towered over Sly's form near the fire, motioning for two of the Sentinels at her side to lift her to her feet. She stood over the bound Sentinel, watching her, anger still apparent in her eyes.

"As much as I would like to remove your head for your stupidity, more death would not fix what happened here this evening. I will be sending a messenger to Hyjal to relay what I have decided shortly, but I am passing sentence now."

Slywyn seemed to shrink slightly, awaiting her decision.

"You are to be exiled from Night Elven lands for as long as you continue to live, never to return to darken our lands with your stupidity, or I -will- have you killed. As will any other dutiful Sentinel."

Sly opened her mouth to attempt to protest, but her commander cut her off short. "I would have your head right now if only to assuage my own grief at what you have done! But as I said, more death will not correct this." She motioned to one of the Sentinels behind her. "Take her armor. Give her clothing and one week's worth of food. If she tries to return to the camp, kill her."

She turned away from Slywyn, her silken cloak billowing out slightly behind her as she strode away.

Sly's head hung, the elf not even attempting to hold it high.

Slywyn opened her eyes, looking back to the portal from behind her helmet. If anyone could have seen her eyes behind the metal, they would have noticed they were shining, and it wasn't because of an internal light.

Slywyn

02-15-2011, 08:06 AM

Part One: The Imp

A deep voice rumbled through the abandoned mine in Elwynn. It was out of the way, inhabitted only by Kobolds. Most of which were now dead. The rest were cowering in the corner of this chamber, up against the wall. The voice spoke, but changed slowly from a deep, loud rumble, to a more refined, alluring tone. "Dagmat. Fetch me my robes."

An Imp, hiding in another corner, nodded several times before scurrying over to a large trunk. He flipped open the clasps and threw the lid up, causing it to bang loudly against the stone floor. The Imp reached inside and pulled out a long flowing purple robe. He shook it as best he could, getting as much dust off of it as possible.

The voice grunted, a hand reaching out to snatch the robe away. "You're just trailing it in the dust, idiot." The Imp lowered it's head and nodded.

---

A small Gnome, Dragmeet Fizzlespark, had finally made his way to Ironforge. He came here every month with a new design of some incredibly complicated contraption for the Ironforge Guard and the Gnomeregan Exiles to make use of. Every time he had been turned down. Either the design was frivolous, or didn't work, or was just impractical. No matter what, for years now, Dragmeet had showed up in Ironforge on the 15th of each month to present a new design.

This month would be different.

As was customary for the gnome, he stopped in the Forlorn Cavern to drop a line in the pool of water there. He had never once caught anything, but it was more ritual than practical. He sat down, his new design for a Mind-Amplification Dish rolled up on parchment beside him. He dropped a line into the water from his custom-made Polarity-adjusted Optimal Liftime Efficienator Fishing Pole (The P.O.L.E. Pole, for short) and waited. As usual, nothing happened, but that didn't seem to bother Dragmeet.

He had been up late the night before finishing the final details of his design, and hadn't had much time to sleep. He was starting to nod off when he recieved a tap on the shoulder. He turned to look at who it was when a shadowbolt caught him in the chest. The small gnome's eyes flared with a ghostly black light for a moment before he slumped over, dead. There was a man's laugh, and then silence in the Cavern.

Dragmeet's design was later found by the Ironforge Guard, along with his P.O.L.E. The P.O.L.E. was put into storage in case the owner came back to claim it, but the Mind-Amplification Dish was found to be a resounding success, put into wide use by Engineers across Azeroth. Dragmeet had finally succeeded.

---

"Dagmat. Get me my staff." Came the man's voice again.

The Imp nodded once, speaking in Demonic. "Yes Lo-" before it was cut off.

The man, his jet black hair pulled back into a ponytail on his head, glared down at the Imp. His eyes were those of someone who knew much about many things, and had a raptor's glare, like those of a predator. "You know what we discussed. No speaking. And it's Malcar, and that is all."

The Imp nodded, looking down at the floor. In the corner of the room was a half-finished design for a "P.O.L.E. Mk II", drawn in the dirt.

Part Two: The Voidwalker

"Mezzgarth?” the Human's voice sounded. "Where are you? He's wandered off again, hasn't he...?” Malcar frowned, looking around the streets of Stormwind. He hated bringing the big blue guy here, he was a liability. Always exploring. "Mezzgarth!” he yelled.

From around a corner came the giant blue anomaly that was Mezzgarth. "Coming, Master..." The Voidwalker's voice seemed tired. Old. And on top of that, it always sounded like it was fading between Planes, as it was. A Voidwalker is never fully in one plane or the other, and that is what makes them so incredibly resilient.

Malcar smirked a bit. "Wandering off again, hmm?" The Voidwalker nodded. "I'm going to stop bringing you if you don't stay with me, understand? Why do you think I only bring you late at night, when the city's sleeping? You'll ruin everything. I can't lead these people where I want them if they fear me for my Fel powers. You know this."

The Voidwalker nodded again, cowed. "Sorry, Master..."

---

Crag Deepbellow was a mountaineer and member of the Explorer's League for Ironforge. He had lived a long life, compared to most dwarves. And now he was security for a dig in the Badlands. His hands were far too gone for the fine digging work now, his eyes just a little too weak to tell what was valuable and what was garbage. But he was, and always had been, fiercely protective of the dig sites he was sent to, and so had been made head of security for the Badlands branch.

Today had been a bad day. A very bad day. First, a digger fell from a scaffold and broke his leg. Second, another one had been bitten by a scorpion and had to be evacuated by griffon to Ironforge. Third was the Trogg attack. And now the Lead Digger was missing. Crag was looking for him, alone in the wastes. "Where are ye, ye bloody nuisance..." He hated playing babysitter, but loved being near the digs, still able to feel the thrill of discovery.

And then he heard something. He turned his head this way and that, trying to make it out. He shut his eyes, putting his head lower to the ground. And he could hear it. "Issae... feet?" He opened his eyes, looking to the direction the sound was coming from. "Big ones..." He unsheathed his warhammer, gripping the big mace in his hands. "Caem on then!” he roared into the sandstorm that had been engulfing the area for the last two days. And then he heard something else. A scream.

---

Malcar lead the Voidwalker in his semi-nightly tour of the city, talking quietly to him in Demonic as they went. "Things are coming together, Mezz." They passed Stormwind Keep, which elicited a chuckle from the Warlock. "It is his stupidity that makes this possible. If the people didn't yearn so much for an improvement in life, they wouldn't listen to a word I say. They'd still be sheep, doing what they were told without a second thought. But he, and the rest of them, have grown complacent. They've let things deteriorate too much."

The Voidwalker floating slowly along at his side only half-listened. Its glowing eyes kept veering off to take in the architecture of the city, to examine hidden nooks and crannies. It began to wander off again, but was brought short. "Mezz. That's enough. Time to go." Malcar was glaring at him, and the Voidwalker knew he had pushed him too far. "Yes... Master..."

---

Crag charged into the billowing sands as fast as his aging feet would take him, following the sound of screams. Dwarven screams. He ran up a hill, and the wind died down momentarily. The Lead Digger was running from a large Crocolisk, but the Croc was gaining. Crag took off after the pair without a second thought, pumping his short legs as fast as he could.

Then the wind picked up again, and there was a scream. And then another, louder, and pained. He was too late. He had failed. And then a final scream, cut short. Crag sunk to his knees. He pounded his fist into the ground, his hammer falling forgotten to the ground beside him. "No!” he yelled, hitting the dirt again. Then a reptilian hiss sounded from in front of him. He looked up, and the Crocolisk was standing on all fours in front of him, a piece of the late Lead Digger's clothing hanging from its maw.

Crag sighed, bowing his head. And the Crocolisk attacked. Crag's screams joined the sound of the billowing wind.

---

Malcar was back in the small mine in Elwynn, standing in front of a fire. The fire consisted of clothing and junk from the Kobolds that were the mine's old inhabitants. Their bodies were absent, though there were still traces of blood upon the stone floor. Malcar turned from the fire, looking about the room. "Dagmat?” he asked. The Imp appeared from behind the large chest that was sitting, still open, in the far corner of the room. "What are you drawing this time?" Malcar's face looked stern, possibly even angry.

The Imp froze for a moment, and then hung its head. "A... rocket...” it replied. Malcar smirked. "You know what to do." The Imp nodded several times, and then went behind the chest again. It took the stick it had been using to draw and brushed the pattern for what had indeed been a rocket from the bit of dirt on the floor, and then brushed it smooth with the leafy end of the stick. The Imp slowly padded its diminutive form to stand at Malcar's feet, who then turned back toward the roaring flames. "Everything's coming together..."

---

Crag was starting to lose consciousness from blood loss when he heard a loud "WHUMP" from behind him. Something large had hit the ground. The Crocolisk looked up, taking a bit of Crag's thigh with it. It opened its mouth and hissed angrily, then exploded into flames. The Crocolisk scurried off a few feet before collapsing into the sand, being eaten by flames.

A face leaned down over Crag's head, looking down at the dying dwarf. It was a human with jet-black hair pulled back into a large ponytail on the back of his head. "I have a feeling you do not wish to die, my friend."

The old dwarf shook his head. "I'm done fer, laddie. Though I thank ye for doin' that thing in..." He let his head fall to the side, the sandy ground taking up his vision.

Then the human spoke again. "What if I said that this wasn't the end? That I could make you stronger than before, prolong your life, save you and make you more than you ever were. Would you accept?"

The dying dwarf laughed. "What's yer catch...?”

The human chuckled a bit. "Servitude."

The dwarf nodded, a tear coming to his eye. "Save me, boyo..."

---

Malcar walked to another portion of the mine, one much darker. The Imp stayed behind in the room with the fire, sitting its tiny body as close to it as possible without catching fire itself. Malcar looked around the darkened area, scanning for something. "Mezz. Coalesce. I want a word."

Some of the darkness within the room formed into an anomaly, glowing the faintest blue. Mezzgarth looked up; it's glowing eyes a little sad. "Yes... Master?"

Malcar motioned for the Voidwalker to follow. "Walk with me." The Voidwalker nodded, following him as Malcar took a stroll within the mine. One of the features he liked was that there was a chamber that made a loop. He could pace it endlessly without running out of room, and he headed there now. "I understand you don't like my plan." He didn't wait for the Voidwalker to answer. "However, I wanted to see them, and you know I do love to stir up things a little, now and again." The Voidwalker nodded, following at Malcar's heels. "And, before this is over, you might be able to see Ironforge again."

The Voidwalker stopped, hovering motionless. "Iron...forge...?" Malcar looked back, raising his eyebrow at the Voidwalker's reaction. "Yes, Mezz. I'll take you to see home, before this is done." The Voidwalker glowed a little brighter, his form seeming to pull strength from the shadows. It almost looked as if he were smiling.

Part Three: Succubus -

Dalrianna woke up slowly, her dizzy eyes taking much longer than she would have wanted to focus in the low light. Her head felt heavy, her limbs wouldn't react to the commands she tried to give to them. She finally managed to get her head to move around enough to take in more of the room she was in, and her own condition.

She was tied down to a table of some kind in a cold stone room. The air felt much colder than she could remember it being outside, which meant that they were either underground or the room itself was chilled somehow. Based on the light she guessed that they were underground.

She heard soft footsteps approaching and tried to feign like she was still out cold, leaving her eyes open only enough to try to see whoever had captured her.

There was a laugh, and a man wearing dark purple robes strode into view. She couldn't see his face from her position, or anything else identifying about him.

He placed his hands on the side of the table she was tied to, leaning on it. "I see you're awake. Don't try to hide it. I can hear your heart beating." One of his fingers lifted up in a pointing gesture, and he seemed to be listening. "... Ah, yes. Can you feel it spike? Like music to my ears."

Giving up pretense her eyes came fully open, her pupils dilating as she tried to see his face. All she could see was the bottom half of a black goatee on almost paper-white skin. The rest of his face was obscured by darkness.

"Why am I here?" She tried to keep the fear out of her voice, but was mostly unsuccessful.

The man laughed again, his voice deep. "Why, my dear, you're here to join my lovely little family." He made a motion to the air, and the deepest part of the shadows of the room slowly formed into an amorphous mass, taking a pear-shape. Two glowing, fiery orbs lit in the darkness, the creature's excuse for eyes. They seemed to be watching her with a knowing sadness.

The man waited a moment in silence, before his voice bellowed painfully loud into the small space. "Dagmat!" There was a high-pitched squeak from down the tunnel, and a small imp scurried into view. The fel flames across it's body added a little more light to what the candle on one end of her table was providing, but still not enough to let her see his face. The imp was carrying scrolls of some kind, it's face set in a worried expression. It spoke in demonic, looking up at the man.

He nodded with a smile. "Yes, she'll be joining us. Bring the scrolls up here." He motioned toward the top of the table, and the Imp scurried up one of the legs to stand near her head. He laid the scrolls upon the table, his body coming close to her cheek. She let out a squeal and turned her head away, the fel flames covering him singing her cheek.

The man let out a grunt and backhanded the Imp off the table, who crashed into the wall and crumpled to the floor. "Idiot! You've burned her." He bent down, looking with what must pass for concern with him. When she wouldn't look her gripped her chin with his hand, roughly turning her face to look at him.

He had the most vivid violet eyes, or at least appeared to from afar. When he leaned closer she could see that it was actually the blood vessels in his eyes, either bigger or closer to the surface in his eyes, that made his bright blue eyes appear to be purple. He smiled a bit, his ponytail falling over his shoulder. The bangs on either side of his face were left loose, and they hung down a few inches.

With a laugh he leaned back up, but she couldn't stop looking at where his eyes were. They seemed to transfix her, drawing her in. His voice came again, but quieter and more gentle. "Yes, look at my eyes. Maybe you'll be able to concentrate enough to ignore some of what is to come."

She came back to herself then, startled. "Wh- what? What's coming? What are you going to do!?" She looked around the room, then back to the scrolls. Realization seemed to hit her then, and she gasped. "You mean-! No!"

She struggled against her bonds, trying to free herself. All she managed to do was shake the table a little. He laughed again in amusement. His hands found one of the scrolls, spreading it flat on the table. Markings and runes of all sorts covered the parchment, some of them glowing of their own accord. She began to scream then, for anyone. Any help that she could attempt to summon.

He shut his eyes and leaned away from her, as if the sound were paining him. He leaned back after a moment and grinned widely, his white teeth showing clearly in the low light. "As much as I would love for you to keep screaming, as I do enjoy the sound..." He reached into a pocket and pulled out a cloth, shoving it roughly into her mouth. The screams turned into muffled whimpers.

He let out a contented sigh. "I need to concentrate. Wouldn't want to lose you."

He seemed content to watch her struggle and listen to her whimper, and simply stood at the table for almost ten minutes as she struggled. When she finally wore herself out, her smiled. She panted for breath around her gag as he took her chin in his hand again, though more gently this time. He turned her head this way and that, as if appraising her.

"The orphaned daughter of a noble family. Killed by my... aunt?" He looked amused at the question. "I was so terrible at keeping track of the bloodlines. Not that they matter. Family counts for little where I come from."

Dalrianna blinked. She knew that she was an orphan. But a noble? That she hadn't known. He must have seen the surprise, because he chuckled darkly. "You didn't know? How sad. Noble, yes. By blood, which shows in your rather beautiful face. Lesser nobles, but nobles nonetheless." He smirked. "That makes this all the more delicious, you see. Noble in more than one meaning, reduced to a slave for whatever I may desire."

His face seemed to set. "At any rate, it is time."

Her heart jumped into her throat, pounding a hammer beat as his hand extended over the parchment and flared to life, all the symbols upon it glowing with purple light. They illuminated most of the room she was in, and the rest of the man before her. He seemed powerfully built, not at all weak like most spellcasters were almost expected to be.

And he was looking at her, his eyes seeming to draw her in...

She almost seemed to travel toward him on a kind of conduit, and the pain her body was feeling seemed distant, far away. His voice seemed to sound from within her.

"Are you still holding on? Keep holding on. Watch as your dilated eyes shine for one last time..." She turned, though she couldn't feel herself expending any energy to do so, and watched her own body writhe on the table. She could feel, even as distant as it was, that the pain was excruciating. Her eyes flared wide open, a ghostly black light shining brightly from them before the light faded, and her body lay still.

"I have to bring you here, you see. The pain would shatter your feeble little mind." He chuckled darkly. "These soul gems do prove ever so useful."

She knew that she should feel something, but couldn't bring herself to feel anything. A profound sense of apathy suffused her. "You're taking this surprisingly well. I suppose that scroll works as it should." He seemed to be enjoying the whole ordeal.

"Now to put you to sleep..." His hand waved in front of the purple-tinted window she was only just now noticing, the air between it and her prison seeming to shiver. "Crawl back inside your little hole. You have things to learn when you next awake."

---

Malcar brought a new companion with him the next time he visited Stormwind on one of his late night visits. With cloven feet, horns, and a tight, form-fitting corset, Dalrianna couldn't have been recognized by even her own family, had any of them still been alive.

The succubus was kept on a thin metallic leash, almost as if she was being trained.

Slywyn

02-15-2011, 08:10 AM

The man let out a horrifying scream, fleeing in terror. Undead were storming over the hill behind him, abominations, ghouls, and banshees. They hadn't fled. They should have. Lordaeron was fallen. He swept into the house where only his son lived. He slammed the door, throwing a table in front of it as quickly as he could.

His son came running down the stairs, his eyes full of fear. "Father! What do we do!?" He only shook his head. They should have listened. They should have run. But this farm had meant everything to them. And now it was going to have cost them their lives. There was a thud at the door. And then another. And another. And then a crack as the door started to give way. Father turned to son and embraced him, waiting for the coming end. But suddenly there was only silence.

He released his boy, turning to the door. He started to take a step toward it, a step born from that last sliver of hope that everyone has just before they die, when the door exploded inward. He barely had time to recoil before a rusted metal hook came flying in toward him. With a sickening squelch the hook impaled the man through his midriff, like a fish on the line. He began to wail in sheer abject terror before the wind was yanked from his lungs as he was tugged outside.

The last thing he could remember seeing was the ghouls swarming inside and hearing his son's one scream, cut pitifully short. Flying through the air, his face connected with the abomination's fist, hitting with enough force to instantly dislocate his jaw and break his neck.

---

The undead shook his head, delirious eyes coming open. His eyes glowed a sickly yellow now, his jaw hung limp and mostly useless for anything but speech. It was a good thing undead had no real use for food. He stood shakily, clutching his clawed and rotting hands to his head. "CAW. CAW.", he yelled, "CAW. CAW. That's the sound they makes as they eats us! CAW. CAW."

---

He didn't know how long he had lay there unconcious before his eyes fluttered open, but he did instantly know the pain. His insides felt hollow, and at the same time, on fire. He couldn't move his head to look at the damage, but he knew it was bad. The pain was unbearable, but he couldn't even bring himself to scream. Nothing worked. Only his eyes. He tried to work his jaw but hung limp, useless. The view in front of him, his only view, was that of the shattered front door of his home. The only thing that remained of the barrier was a lone hinge, hanging on by a single screw, with a solitary splinter of wood hanging from that.

Inside the house was a nightmare turned real. Blood spattered the walls, the ceiling, the floor. Pieces of what could have only been his son were strewn about, the largest was a bit of finger that lay just outside the door. The scene was utterly silent for a time as tears welled up in the man's eyes and his breath caught, causing his insides to burn even hotter. He blacked out again, preying for the merciful release of death.

---

The undead came back to himself. Somehow he had managed to find his way knee deep into the sewage that ran through the Undercity. He looked up, crying his lament to anyone that would hear. "CAW. CAW. That's the sound they makes! CAW. CAW. The terrible sound! CAW. CAW." He collapsed on the stairs just outside of the sewage, his pitiful excuse for clothing barely clinging to him after months, possibly years, of neglect.

---

He came to again, and once more all he could see was his front door. He didn't understand. Why hadn't he died yet? What was keeping him held to this world, this torn fragment of a life? He didn't know. Maybe it was sheer will to live, teasing him when the cause was already lost. And then he heard them. The crows. There was the feathery, almost silent, flap of a crow's wing, and then one lit upon the ground before him. It looked at him, squawking "CAW" at him just once before tilting it's head to the side. It stared at him for a moment before letting out another "CAW". Seeing no reaction it looked up into the air and squawked twice, "CAW. CAW." Then another crow lit upon the ground. And another.

Soon there was an entire murder on the ground before him, every one "CAW"ing back and forth. His mind was filled with terror. He knew why they were here. Carrion birds always followed the undead, feeding from whatever flesh they could find. Some were already showing signs of undeath, feathers falling from their bodies or their eyes looking a bit more glassy than normal. And he couldn't do a damn thing to stop them. He began to cry again, silently, before the crows descended on his body. He felt every peck at his exposed insides, burning like the fires of the sun, before he was finally granted the blissful nothingness of death. But not before his mind suffered greatly from the experience.

---

The undead felt a tap tapping, like a peck pecking, up his shoulder, and he rolled over suddenly, his eyes peering fearfully at whatever was above him. An undead in a Deathstalker uniform was peering down at him, another behind.

"Oh, it's just this one again Simms. Do you think we should put him out of his misery?"

He continued to lay on his back, looking up at the two.

Simms shook his head. "Just leave him Rooks. He's not hurting anybody."

Rooks frowned. "You heard what the Commander said. If we found him in the sewers again we were supposed to get rid of him. He can be used for parts if nothing else..."

Simms just shook his head, reaching out a clawed hand. "Come on Caw." It seemed he at least still had SOME compassion left.

The undead on the ground didn't seem to understand that they were talking about him, that they had named him Caw mockingly months ago, for the constant cries he put forth in the city. Simms pointed at him, said "Caw.", and then pointed at himself, said "Simms.", then held out his hand again. "You're Caw. Now come on." Finally seeming to understand, he took the hand, and Simms hoisted him to his feet. "There we go. Now let's see if we can find some use for you. You heard Rooks, we can't leave you here any longer."

Caw just nodded dumbly, some part of his fevered and broken mind understanding, or perhaps coming back online after long disuse at the sign of compassion. He gripped the hand and looked forward, uttering a single quiet "Caw."

Slywyn

02-15-2011, 08:11 AM

Slaye sat in her chair in her small room in one of the smaller tunnels in the Caverns of Time. The room was small and mostly barren, the only decorations a vase with a single flower, and a picture. The picture sat in it's frame on the table in front of her. Slaye leaned on her elbows onto the table, her head resting on her hands. Her eyes looked wet.

Also on the table before her rested a few sheets of paper, along with a charcoal writing pencil. She looked at the picture for a few moments longer, then stood from the table. She stepped out of the room for a moment, presumably to get some air.

The picture within the frame was of her old Empire, specs of dust already gathering upon the thin glass holding the picture in place. Within it's frame were many members of the Empire standing in rows, as if for a meeting or some other kind of gathering. They looked resplendent in ceremonial dress or armor, each clearly captured onto paper as if by magic. There was no evidence of paint or an artist's touch of any kind.

Two of the sheets of paper had writing on them. The first was addressed to the Empire at large:

Empire,

Know that even if it's been months, or years, since you've seen me last, it has not been that long since I've seen you. I managed to capture an image of you all with a device given to me by one of the Keepers here. He says it'll be invented years from now. I don't even question how long any more. The time blurs together here.

I wish you could remember me. The things I did for you. The blood shed, the pain never shown. Time sacrificed, work done. Gold spent. None of that means anything now. I know that I am doing more for you now than I ever could have before. I'm protecting all of you from things that you won't even know could have happened.

Even so, I wish that you could remember me as I remember myself. Not as you remember me. I was harsh, cold, distant, and even angry toward many of you. I did my best to serve you even so.

I would say that I hope to see you soon, but soon seems to be relative here. Soon my time? Or soon yours? One isn't very soon at all.

Slaye

The second letter was hidden behind the first, addressed to a single person.

Nuane,

I hope you're alright. It's been rough for me. I wonder, at times, if you can still sense me through that bond you created between us. I doubt you can, or if it's even true. And a part of me hopes that you don't, because if you do, and it works, they'll have to take you here. Away from your 'family' in the Empire, your new friends that I know you're making despite yourself.

We would be together then, but this isn't much of an existence. It's a constant job with little downtime. We remain ever vigilant for things that you won't even suspect. I was able to catch a glimpse of you within the city when I was looking for that Mage. I don't even know how long ago it was. You wouldn't have recognized me.

You look strong, though you don't seem to have grown any. I think that new thing you're doing with your hair looks better than how you had it before. It looks better longer.

Stay strong, little one.

Slaye

Slaye stepped back into the room a few minutes later, rubbing the side of her face. Her expression seemed to have cleared, the walk doing her some good. She looked down at the letters with a bemused expression, then reached out toward the picture.

She picked it up and held it for a moment, looking it over. Her face grew slightly darkened once more, sadness haunting her features. She placed the picture on a shelf near the window, facedown so that she couldn't see it.

She looked back at the letters, then scoffed. " 'Writing to them will do you some good, Slaye.' Right."

She swept the letters up in her hand then crumpled them, tossing both into the fireplace.

Slaye stood silently watching them as both letters went up in smoke, then once more stepped out of the room. This time she brought her sword.

Slywyn

02-15-2011, 08:15 AM

((Takes a few liberties with Lore, so read with a grain of salt.))

Slaye only half-understood whatever it was the Ebon Knight was saying. She could honestly barely hear the stone, as concentrated as she was at the small spot on the wall. She hefted a shoe, holding it above her head. Small objects, and some not so small, littered the room, with a few even stuck in the walls. Her chest was heaving, and her hair, usually neatly in a ponytail, was starting to come loose. Her eyes were half-closed in concentration as she stared at the spot on the wall, near the floor. She was standing in front of the door to a room in the keep in Highbank, blocking it.

A few bags lay on the bed half-packed, as if she had been interrupted in the process of leaving. The room itself was in shambles, with things scattered everywhere. The shoe, if thrown, would join the clutter. Her eyes narrowed a little more, and then she spoke to the stone for a moment. The Ebon Knight had mentioned something about children. Mid-sentence she noticed what she had been looking for, the whispy moisture-print of a hand against the paint of the wall. Someone was leaning on it.

"I GOT YOU YOU LITTLE ANNOYANCE!", she bellowed, dropping her guild stone in her haste. It hit the floor and flickered, going off. She launched the shoe at the area of the wall with the handprint, and it struck home. Nuane yelped in pain as the shoe hit her in the leg and she lost her concentration, becoming visible. Something the smaller elf had seen this morning or late last night had damaged her goggles, which shouldn't have been possible, and frightened her to the point of cutting off all contact with Slaye.

Slaye had been preparing to leave without her when the door had shut, signalling Nuane's presence in the room, and the hours-long struggle to find her had begun. The room had been the victim of the fight. Slaye lept at her while she was still visible, dragging her down to the ground. Nuane struggled, elbowing her in the stomach, which only served to make Slaye more angry with her. Nuane had never struck her before.

As they rolled in their struggle, Nuane yelled out in pain as they rolled across the stone, toggling it off and on as the button was pushed.

"I'll find out what happened eventually, damnit!", Slaye yelled at her as she tried to lock down her arms and get her in a stranglehold without actually strangling her. She considered the smaller elf her daughter, even with all her oddities, and had no desire to actually hurt her.

They rolled away from the stone as Slaye slipped behind Nuane, pinning her knee into her back. She gripped the smaller elf's arms and pulled them backward, forcing her chest and face into the floor with her knee. Nuane may have been faster, but in a grappling situation the advantage was Slaye's, and she was pressing it for all she could.

Slaye pulled harder, threatening to pull Nuane's shoulders out of socket. The smaller elf finally went limp, and Slaye could feel her mind opening again.

"You win! You win! Stop...", begged Nuane. Slaye frowned at her, upset that it had come to this. She spoke out loud, whereas Nuane spoke directly to her mind, her only method of speech.

"Promise me that you will talk to me. Promise me that you won't try to run again. Or hide.", said Slaye. Nuane, her face to the floor, nodded. Slaye glared at her and gave her arms a tug and a squeeze. "Say it.", Slaye demanded.

Nuane let out a strangled and upset-sounding sigh, nodding again. "I promise. I will speak with you.", she conceded.

Satisfied, Slaye let go of her arms and took her knee out of the small of Nuane's back, coming to a knee at her side. She put a hand on Nuane's back, holding her to the floor. "Let me make sure you're not hurt first. Alright?", asked Slaye. Nuane nodded, turning her face away from Slaye. Slaye was only able to catch a glimpse of Nuane's face, but it surprised her. Nuane almost looked like she had been crying.

Slaye shook her head, dismissing it by deciding that she had caused her enough pain to warrant tears, though it nagged at her that she had never seen Nuane cry from pain before. She slid her hand across her back, checking to make sure she hadn't broken any bones in their struggle, then did the same to her shoulder and ribs. After deciding that Nuane would be fine, she stood and then leaned down to help Nuane up.

Nuane didn't take the offered hand and stood on her own, turning away from her immediately. Her body language was saying that she was ready to run again, and that had Slaye worried. Slaye had taught Nuane many things about society that she had missed in her training while she was younger, and one of the things she had impressed upon her the most was that your word was your bond in the world, and was worth more than any amount of gold. If you kept it. The fact that she seemed ready to break a promise so soon was troubling.

Slaye reached out her hand and grabbed Nuane's, spinning her around. The first thing she noticed was that Nuane was, in fact, crying. She let out a sigh and pulled Nuane into a hug, the younger elf's head barely reaching the halfway point on Slaye's chest. She gently patted her on the back and led her to a chair, gently sitting her down in it. Slaye kneeled in front of it, watching her. Nuane wouldn't meet her gaze, looking away whenever Slaye tried.

With a frown, Slaye spoke. "You need to tell me what's wrong. I can't help you if I don't know the problem."

Nuane let out a sigh, and tears started flowing again. The smaller elf's voice sounded quietly within Slaye's mind. "I have seen the future, and the past."

Nuane looked directly at Slaye. "In both, you die."

Slaye's mouth fell open as she stared at Nuane, at a loss for words. Nuane looked away from her as tears rolled down her cheek. Slaye worked her jaw several times, unsure of what to do or say. She could tell, just through their special way of communicating, that Nuane entirely believed what it was she just said. The sheer amount of conviction in that belief was staggering, and partly responsible for her inability to speak.

After a minute Slaye managed to shut her mouth, and then spoke to Nuane's mind as Nuane had taught her to. She was only able to speak this way to Nuane, because of the way the rogue's gift worked. She was hesitant, unsure of how to approach the topic. "... What did you say?"

Nuane shook her head, still not looking back at Slaye. Nuane spoke back, and she sounded afraid. "She... made me promise. I can't... I can't tell you. I shouldn't have told you this much, but... I wanted to warn you... or..." Nuane's mental voice trailed off. Slaye could feel, as she spoke, the emotions running through Nuane's mind. There was fear of losing Slaye to whoever had spoken to her, there was anger at something she couldn't change, and despair that she was going to be losing the one person she was close to in the world, in a manner irrevocable.

The sheer amount of impending loss that Nuane was feeling was almost enough to depress Slaye on the spot, but she pulled back from the thoughts. Slaye shook her head a little as she stared at Nuane. Slaye took her hands and pulled Nuane from the chair, cradling the small elf in her lap like a child. In many ways Nuane still was. Never given the chance to grow up properly, Nuane still retained some of her childlike instincts. She was capable of complete wonderment in the smallest things, something that many lost as age jaded them. Even so, Nuane possessed a killer's mind, and skills, and could put both to terrifying uses.

But right now, Nuane was not the cocky assassin, or even the young woman she was turning into. Right now, Nuane was a child, crying into her mother's arms. Slaye rocked her slightly, not wanting to disturb Nuane in her grief for an event that had no yet occurred. She was sure she could find some way out of it. She had escaped death before. Then again, how many chances did someone have?

Slaye kept rocking Nuane in silence, her mind racing. She almost didn't notice the sound from behind her, the small "Whump" that accompanied someone as they teleported into the room. The sound of air being suddenly pushed aside was unmistakable, something that anyone near or familiar with mages or Warlocks would recognize instantly.

Slaye reached for her blade, remembering as her fingers closed around air that she had already tied it to her pack, intending for it to be within easy reach as they traveled. That placed it out of her reach now, when she needed it. She felt as much as heard Nuane's sharp intake of breath at the same instant a thought formed in her mind. Nuane began to say "No...", and then everything seemed to slow to a standstill, as if the entire world had been dipped in molasses.

Slaye blinked. She could almost see the air around her as it stopped moving, as it seemed to thicken around her. It felt like the world hadn't so much stopped as she was moving faster than the rest of the world could comprehend.

From behind her, a relatively familiar voice spoke, sounding tinny and distorted in the thick air. Slaye froze once more, but from surprise as she recognized the voice of Chromie, an agent of the Bronze Dragonflight. "I am sorry for the events of the past few days. But decisions in the near past have returned to haunt us both, I'm afraid."

Slaye turned, holding Nuane against her, to face Chromie. It felt like she actually had to push the air out of the way in order to move, and getting Nuane to turn with her was a monumental effort. As she spun around, she could see the small female gnome in robes in front of her wince. She pointed a stubby finger at Nuane. "She's not going to be feeling well when we come out of this."

Slaye spoke then, sounding confused. Questions tumbled from her before she could stop herself. "What? Decisions? Come out of what? What are you talking ab-" Chromie held up a hand, stopping her short.

"I will explain. All things in time.", Chromie said. She walked over to the bed and hopped up onto the mattress, which didn't move, almost like it hadn't felt that the gnome was there yet. She actually left a small trail in the air as she pushed minute traces of dust and other things hanging in the air out of her way. The Gnome-dragon spoke again. "To answer some of the questions that I'm sure you have will take some time. Fortunately for us, due to my little spell here, we have plenty of time. For now." Slaye blinked in confusion as Chromie continued. "Now, to answer questions. Yes. Well." The Gnome frowned. "I made a decision in another time that has caused a fault in the timeways. My own unwillingness to allow death has caused this timeline to partly unravel. While the nexus point of this destabilization is you, I want you to know that none of this is your fault." Chromie put her hand to her chest, her expression apologetic. "It is mine."

Slaye frowned somewhat, finally finding her voice long enough to ask a question. "Death? You would mean mine?"

Chromie frowned somewhat, her eyes shifting to Nuane's slowed form. Her lips pursed in displeasure. "So she told you then." The Gnome's tone of voice was flat, disappointed. Though it lightened up considerably as she began speaking again. "Yes. It would be your death. In my own curiosity, which I suppose that I have picked up as a byproduct of the amount of time spent in this form, drove me to peruse the timeways farther down the timeline to see some of what happens to the world. Unfortunately what I found drove me to make a rather rash decision, which involved breaking off your marriage in order to save your life."

Slaye's mouth fell open for a moment as she interrupted. "Wait. What? I was married?"

Chromie nodded, answering without thinking. "Yes, to an elf named Niala." She pinched her brows together almost immediately after speaking, and raised her hand to stop Slaye's indignant spluttering. "Yes, the two of your -were- married for a short time. And yes, that is the source of the loss that you," Chromie pointed at Nuane, "and her, have been feeling for the past few weeks. I understand that this must be hard for you, but I ask your patience so that I can explain uninterrupted."

Slaye shut her mouth, which had been hanging open, and nodded. Chromie's mood seemed to lighten somewhat, and she said something quietly that Slaye couldn't quite hear. "Yes, I seem to have made the right decision this time." She shifted slightly on the bed, which still hadn't recognized that there was a Gnome sitting on it in order to act accordingly. "Right. I stopped your death in order to save a town. You saved a young man who grew up to save someone else who saved someone else who saved a town. Or something. I've forgotten the details." Slaye's mouth came open again to ask a question, and Chromie raised her hand once more before letting it fall back into her lap.

"However, it was pointed out to me by one of my superiors, Soridormi, that I was acting much like the Infinite Dragonflight. I was changing history and the future as I saw fit, because in my opinion it was the right thing to do. Short-sighted decisions such as that are what have led us into our current predicament with the Infinite Flight in the first place. Because of that I am here to offer you a solution to the problem that does not involve your death."

Slaye's expression turned incredulous, and one of her eyebrow's went up. Chromie raised a hand pre-emptively. "Yes, yes, let me continue." Slaye nodded, shutting her mouth, which had come open again.

"As I said", Chromie continued, "Soridormi was the one that brought it to my attention that I was acting beyond my place and station. However, she was also the one who agreed to it in the first place. I have asked for her assistance in the matter, and it was initially her who suggested the..." Chromie frowned in distaste, "suggestion which I will be offering you in order to save your life... Should you so chose. Your death, should you wish it for some reason, is as always an option."

Slaye frowned, but kept her mouth shut. Chromie smiled a little. "You learn quickly." Her expression settled again as she continued her offer. "As she is of the same mind as I and wishes to cause as little death as possible, as it was by our decision that you were spared in the first place, we have run..." Chromie's hands gestured at the air as she searched for a word. "Simulations, that's it. We've run simulations with the timeways to see what would occur if we simply... 'removed' you from them at the time of your death. It would allow you to continue living, albeit in a slightly different capacity that you now have."

Slaye's eyebrows shot up as she waited for Chromie to continue. "The end result is that, as long as you are removed from the timeways at the appropriate time, you do not actually have to die. Death is a wasteful state of being, and is always distasteful to cause. I hope, when the decision is offered, that you will chose to accept my offer."

Slaye's expression calmed. She could tell by the way Chromie's story was winding down that she was coming to a turning point. One of her eyebrows raised slowly before she spoke. "What... is this offer, exactly? What does it entail?"

Chromie's lips pursed slightly. "The offer that I have prepared is such: You will become a Warden of Time, bestowed with some semblance of the power that the Bronze Dragonflight holds. Namely, power over time. Now, we understand that power corrupts, and have prepared plans should something go wrong." Chromie's brows pulled together as her expression turned to a glower. "I would hope not to put those plans into action after I am putting my neck on the line for yours."

Slaye nodded slowly. She couldn't imagine what plans those could be, nor did she want the ire of an entire Dragonflight. Chromie's expression lightened again. "Very good. Now, onto the other parts of the offer. For one, you will, once again, be immortal. Due to the nature of the timeways we traverse, we must make you so in order that you do not age back and forth as you travel throughout time to complete your duties. You would be no use to us as a babe or rotting corpse. You understand?"

Slaye nodded, dumbfounded. "Very well. Those are what I would call the "pleasant" parts of this deal. The unpleasant parts are that you will have no contact whatsoever with the Empire you serve, nor anyone else of this timeline, unless it comes under the purview of the duties you are assigned. Also, you are to perform the duties you are assigned until we see fit to release you from our service, and you are no longer a Warden. You will also be released immediately should you become derelict in your duties, perform your duties in such a way as damages the timeways, or act out of accordance with our wishes at any time. Is that clear?"

Slaye nodded again. "Good!" Chromie clapped her hands together happily, the sound hallow and lacking cheer in their environment. "I am sure I have probably forgotten something, but the main points are clear. I would have you know that if it were not for services rendered in your past, or the ring you wear on your finger, this offer would never have been made in the first place. We find you to be a trustworthy individual. This is not something earned lightly."

Chromie slipped off of the bed, which was only now in the very beginning stages of showing reactions to Chromie's use. She walked to where Slaye was kneeling, extending her hand. Slaye reached up for it, but Chromie pulled it away, waving a cautionary finger at her. "This is my formal offering of our agreement. Should you take my hand, you accept unconditionally." Slaye's mouth came open in protest, but Chromie shushed her quickly. "You will be offered the chance to get your affairs, such as they are, in order. As I said, you need not die. Only your person needs be removed. Should you find a way to arrange your affairs in such a way that they cannot be traced back to you in a time which you should not have existed, which I will double check as a test of your abilities as a Warden, they will be allowed to transfer back through time when we restart this particular timeway at the time of your death."

Slaye nodded. "I understand."

Chromie offered the hand again, and Slaye gingerly took it in her own, giving it a slight shake. "Very well.", Chromie said as she smiled. "I shall come for you at a time in the near future to warn you. Once I warn you, you will have a single day to say your goodbyes. All your memories will remain intact, but everything that occurs after the point in which I warn you will not carry over into the new timeline. This allows you to tell those you love and care for exactly what is going to happen to you, and reassure them that you will be well. This will help prevent any lingering feelings of longing or loss, which are not under our control. Those are the domain of the Lifebinder, as they are a factor of life."

Slaye nodded once more. With a slight smile and a nod, Chromie was gone. And several things happened all at once.

As the world began to speed back up to match Slaye, several things began to happen. For one, Slaye could feel Nuane against her shoulder begin to heave. She reached out to her and felt that the poor girl was extremely dizzy from the movement that must have been impossibly fast for her. Slaye held Nuane to her shoulder as she caught her breath.

The bed, Slaye could see out of the corner of her eye, pushed down as if someone was sitting on it, even though no one was there. And a trail of dust, shaped by something no longer there, fell slowly out of the air. As Nuane recovered, Slaye was left thinking of the future. And what she would lose. It made her worry. Should Chromie appear again, Slaye would be ready with several questions for the small Gnome.

A few hours later, Slaye was packed. Nuane was coming with her. She stepped through the portal in the courtyard of Highbank Keep, appearing near the Earthshrine in Stormwind City. Slaye and Nuane began to make their way to Darnassus, where Slaye had sent ahead for a room to be ready for the two of them. She had preparations to attend to.

Slywyn

02-15-2011, 08:17 AM

Slaye rolled over on her back and groaned quietly, her eyes flashing open. It was morning, a time she could remember in years past being when she went to sleep, not when she woke up. She pulled the thin blankets of the Inn in Auberdine back over her head, attempting to block out the light. She wanted to sleep. It was the one day in a long time that she had allowed herself a day off, and she was going to sleep in. Morning be damned.

And still she could not fall back asleep. Something was nagging at the back of her mind. An annoying thought. She concentrated on it for a moment, and realized that it was Nuane. Slaye's eyes shot open. Nuane knew she was taking a day off. She wouldn't bother her unless something was wrong with the Keep. She allowed her to get through. "Mother! Mother! Wake up! Something... something terrible is happening! Something huge, a monster, rose into the air above the Eastern Kingdoms moments ago!" Slaye sat up in bed, wide awake now.

"What!?" She swung her legs over her bed to slip her feet into her boots when her ears twitched. Something was coming. Something big. She could hear it. It sounded like heartbeats in the air. The quiet "Whump whump" of a pair of wings flapping. And then the ground started to shake. She froze, intending to ride it out as she had done countless others in the preceding weeks. But this one was different. It grew stronger, and the heartbeats grew louder. The earthquake grew so strong that Slaye could no longer cling to her bed, as even that was being rocked from side to side across the small room. She could feel the entire building shaking beneath her.

And then the screams started. She recognized some of the voices. Elves hundreds or even thousands of years her superior were shrieking their lungs out like children in raw primal terror. Then something else began. It came upon the air like a keening wail, then grew louder, and deeper. It grew and grew as the earthquake grew stronger, until the sound was all there was. Slaye was thrown into a wall, bruising and possibly even knocking her shoulder out of it's socket, and then the building around her heaved.

It rocked to it's side, throwing Slaye against the door to her room and bursting it open. She tumbled into the hallway, some of her armor following. There had been a roommate sleeping in the room, but she hadn't thought to look before, and they were gone now. The hallway of the building was tilted at a crazy angle, and Slaye slid down it, tumbling down the stairs, her hair whipping around her face. She skidded to a stop on the floor below, her face pressed against the wall. She shook her head and stood, and then all sound seemed to stop.

She could see the sky through the open doorway at the end of the hall. It was a red sky, a blood sky. Blood had been shed this morning. And then she knew why. Something gigantic, a giant dragon, filled the sky visible through the doorway as it flew past. There was still no sound. And then a pressure wave, stronger than Slaye had ever felt, blasted through the inn, shattering windows. The wave of air slammed into Slaye like a hammer punch from a stone golem, cracking at least one rib audibly. She flew backward, smashing through the window at the other end of the hall, and plunging into the waters of the Veiled Sea.

She opened her eyes in panic and began to swim for the surface as the red sky grew brighter. Her face had barely begun to break the surface when a wall of flame rolled through, scorching the air, the ground, the buildings, and anything standing in it's way. The heat drove her back under the surface, the part of her face that had been exposed to the air feeling scalded as if the water clinging to the skin had boiled away instantly. Terror at being in the water was gripping her heart, driving her to the surface, but she knew that for now, the surface meant death. She watched, her eyes wide, as a humanoid shape was thrown into the water near her. It looked like it had once been an elf, blackened and crisped. He had been fried alive.

Slaye could feel the water beginning to heat and churn around her, and she knew it was time to escape. Something felt wrong about the water, but she couldn't place what. She clawed her way through the water, now almost as hot as the sky had felt. She gripped the earth of the bank, digging her nails into the soft ground, and scrambled free of the water, pulling herself up onto the surface. She splayed her legs slightly to keep her from rolling, as the ground here was tilted at an unnatural angle as well. She kept her eyes closed, her fist clamped to her chest as she willed her heart to stop racing. The terror of the water passed slowly to her, seeming to take minutes, when it was only moments.

Sound slowly returned, and she could hear other noises. There were elven voices screaming. The sight of the giant dragon, one she recognized, played itself again and again in her mind. Deathwing had come. The Destroyer was free. Another voice began to scream, and Slaye opened her eyes. She rolled over and pulled herself to the bank of what had now become a raging river, peering over the side. What had seemed so odd before struck her now full-force, as she realized the water was flowing inland. It was not flowing out, as was normal, but rushing toward the inner parts of Darkshore.

The voice that was screaming was an elf. His eyes seemed cooked shut, barely able to keep his head above the water. His arms were thrashing wildly through the air, his voice high-pitched and terrified. Slaye reached out her hand to grab him, her fingers brushing his, before her arm recoiled from the heat being thrown forth by the water. It was practically boiling. He was being cooked alive in his own skin. She watched helplessly as he continued down the river, his movements starting to slow as he was carried around the bend.

Slaye stood, knowing that he could return at any moment to continue his destruction, unaware that Deathwing was making his way back to the Eastern Kingdoms. She winced as her ankle twinged in pain. She felt she had twisted it, most likely when she had been thrown down the stairs. She looked toward the Inn, which was burning. She knew she had to make it back inside, even if just to retrieve her armor. Slaye stumbled through the door and almost jumped out of her skin as a hand grabbed her shoulder. She turned to her side, her fist already coming up defensively, as she saw the face of her 'assailant'. It was one of the druids who frequented Auberdine.

His face was pained, and Slaye was confused as to why. His skin was reddened, but he seemed to have escaped most of the heat wave that had rolled through the town. And then she realized that he was not standing. And that blood was flowing slowly and steadily from the corner of his mouth. He had been impaled on the door frame where the wood had splintered. He had been tossed onto the spikes of wood during the earthquake. His eyes pleaded with her, and Slaye knew what he wanted. Remaining there would be a slow death. She nodded, taking his head in her hands. His eyes seemed thankful, and he spoke quietly. "I wanted to see Hyjal one more time..."

Slaye twisted, the bones in his neck popping, and the light went out of his eyes. She spoke in Darnassian, her voice soft. "May Her light guide your way..." She turned to move deeper into the Inn. Sometimes she had to climb over debris, but she made her way to her room. Some of her armor had slid into the hallway with her, but most of it had remained in her room, and was in a pile against the wall. She had seen two other Night Elves on her way to her room, but both had died of their injuries before she reached them, the expressions on their faces forlorn.

Slaye reached for her belt, wrapping her fingers around her guild stone, causing it to activate. Almost immediately Valeatrah's voice sounded from it. "Slaye!?" She answered, her voice sounding raw. "Auberdine... it is gone..." She didn't know when she had started, but she was crying. She could feel the anguish of the land and her people within her, and it felt like the soul of the land was weeping in sympathy.

DarkAngel

02-15-2011, 06:37 PM

Slywyn

02-15-2011, 08:38 PM

You are not without talent. Keep working at it. For now I'll just review the first post, Memento. Creating a background for characters played is a good way to get started, and it looks like that's what you did here. Actually, this brief little snapshot of the protagonist's life has a great deal of potential. You have the creation down, but it's the execution that falls short.

The flashback sequence that occupies most of the story runs afoul of one of the cardinal rules of writing: show, don't tell. Ideally, a story like this would be streched over multiple chapters, slowly building the rivalry between Slywyn and Elsyn over months, if not years. Pepper that with returns to the "present," and you'll have something noteworthy.

It's meant to just be a one-off. Give a little information about who Sly is, and why she's not allowed. This was written to set up something else that's happening in game. Had to be kept short.

In terms of realism, there was no semblance of a court-martial at all. The commander has the power to arbitrarily impose a sentence without seeking consensus with other officers? That works with Orcs, not so much with Elves. Second, military justice tends to be a bit -ahem- harsher than what we're used to, especially during wartime. Exileing Slywyn would have the same effect as executing her: the Sentinel ranks are down by one. Plus, it carries the risk that the disgruntled ex-soldier would start helping the enemy. Killing her would be the obvious choice, unless she's related to someone important.

Even Orcs say that Elves are more savage than they are. Though that works more in the favor of killing her off. However, this is during war time. There's little time to come to a consensus with other officers, especially if there may not have been others nearby. That could be said to also lend support to just killing her off.

This probably would have been better longer, now that I think about it. But as I said it needed to be something quick to spark off an RP.

The Commander is someone that Sly has served with for thousands of years. They're friends. But they're at war, and there's no time to take care of it by normal means. She can't kill her friend, someone she's known that long, but she cannot not punish her, either.

Exile achieves the same outcome, without the bloodshed.

Also, she's related to someone semi-important. But very distantly. Ravenwind. Ravencrest. :p But that's not mentioned in the story, just a tidbit I suppose.

That's another important trick of the trade: be able to see the situation from the perspective of all characters present. Ask yourself, what would he/she do based on those perceptions? How would the others perceive those reactions?

That's all for now. Thanks for having the courage to put your work out there!

I thank you for the review. =)

Don't know if it needed a defense, but there you go anyway. >_>

DarkAngel

02-16-2011, 06:40 PM

Slywyn

02-16-2011, 08:56 PM

Next up: Malcar's Mengagerie (Pts 1, 2, and 3)
An interesting premise there: warlocks creating their own demons. Usually, warlocks summon their minions (there used to be a quest chain for each one), but I'm going to let that slide given the wonderful implacations of this idea.

Malcar is so evil, I can't help but love him. You are correct that warlocks avoid being seen with their demonic minions, but they should be a whole lot more paranoid than that. You see, consorting with demons carries an automatic death penalty in most of Azeroth's cultures. Practitioners of the Dark Arts must be very careful.

The one thing that bothers me most, though, is the fact that the scene changes are better-dilineated than the part changes. Maybe you should bold the headings or something? Keep at it!

Malcar is... not quite a Warlock, per say. He looks like one. And anyone that sees him do what he do would say "That's a Warlock." And he uses demons. But not quite a Warlock. Not going to say what he is, because that ruins something about the character.

Just know there's something there that you can't quite see. I will bold the changes though. They were originally separate posts entirely.

DarkAngel

02-18-2011, 08:34 PM

Review: Caw

OK, yes the scene is supposed to be intense, but don't let the need for action overrule the background tension. Take things slow. That's what made Hitchcock a master. To reiterate what I said before "show, don't tell."

Hmm. That reference was more apt than I thought it would be! Now, I know you're just posting shorts you wrote earlier, but once again this could benefit from being longer. It is my opinion that tales of prolonged anguish are something no-one in their right mind would want to read (I'm looking at you, Charles Dickens), but that is the task you set yourself here.

Once again, you show promise. My mom always says that you learn to write by reading. Experience shows she's right. Keep at it.

On an unrelated note, does this have something to do with the story?
http://www.wowtcgdb.com/images/medium/bonewall_simms.jpg

Slywyn

02-18-2011, 11:36 PM

No, not at all.

But that's so coincidental it's hilarious.

DarkAngel

02-21-2011, 05:49 PM

Review: Letter
This one you nailed. The pacing is right, even if your prose is choppy in the beginning paragraphs. More importantly, you stirred the emotions without falling flat or overdoing it. Bravo!

One question: what is this "Empire?" The Night Elf Empire once ruled by Queen Azshara? Your earlier work indicated Slywyn's exile dated to the Orc incursion in War3. Or is this the nickname of her old military unit, ala the "Heaven's Devils?"

Slywyn

02-21-2011, 06:12 PM

http://www.twilightempire.org/

The guild she used to belong to. =)

Was only an Empire in name.

DarkAngel

02-22-2011, 07:25 PM

Review: Warden

Something the smaller elf had seen this morning or late last night had damaged her goggles, which shouldn't have been possible, and frightened her to the point of cutting off all contact with Slaye.
Slaye had been preparing to leave without her when the door had shut, signalling Nuane's presence in the room, and the hours-long struggle to find her had begun. The room had been the victim of the fight.
These two sections should probably be their own paragraph. Jumping in and out of flashback is something that needs to be well-defined. Doing it in mid-paragraph is confusing. Also, a character as extraordinary as Nuane can't really be added in by asides of "x had happened." She's too 'big' for that. In fact, she needs her own story to explain where she came from!

If I may critique your work on a deeper level, it looks like you have a whole novel-length story planned out but have written only selected scenes. As a matter of personal preference, I would endeavor to put the whole thing out on paper. I hate the sense of seeing only bits and pieces of a larger whole. Who knows, you might impress someone someday. As Dogbert once said, "What's on the inside doesn't count because no one can see it."

In terms of lore, I don't really see why you posted that warning at the beginning, assuming this mysterious "Ebon Knight" has something to do with the Empire. Chronormu (aka Chromie) is well-established as a Bronze Dragon who enjoys working with mortals, and hijacking established characters is standard practice in fanfiction circles. Admittedly, it is one I perfer to avoid, but it's par for the course. The only problem I see is that Rogues use 'stealth.' They are hiding and creeping silently through the shadows. True invisibility is a Mage trick.

Other than that, very good. You have me wondering what happens next. Slaye's journey from military reject to immortal time-enforcer would make a good novel; but then, every story that enters my mind explodes into a novel in under 60 seconds.

You show great promise, young padawan.

Slywyn

02-22-2011, 08:36 PM

I appreciate it. =)

It is a smaller part of a larger story.

Maybe I should write up the whole thing some day.

DarkAngel

02-24-2011, 06:54 PM

Review: Earth, Wind, and Fire

Interesting: the telepath has to be deliberately let in. Usually, it's the other way around, but you can spin things that don't exist any way you want to. Sure is handy having a friend who can see the past and future, ain't it?

You did reasonably well on the lead-in there. Usually, I would say the scene-setting phase needs to be longer, but I'll let it slide in this case because the perspective character just woke up. Kudos for starting the action in a way that continues to set the scene.

Disaster sequences are action scenes, and come with all the associated caveats. Again, no matter how excited you get, take the time to say everything that needs to be said. Take the screams for example. Slaye recognizes the voices. Who are they? How does she know they're "hundreds or even thousands of years her senior?" This is where connections to an earlier scene reinforce the story.

Hint: "it's" is a contration of "it is." "Its" is the neuter possesive. After that, you started rushing. Why even bother with this detail about the roomate? If your intention was to slow down the narrative with extra details (which you need to do), they would be better found in the other glaring hole here. Slaye is getting thrown around like a ragdoll by forces beyond her control. She should be absolutely terrified. You need to suggest, if not outright state, what's going through her mind. A better choice would've been something like, "The hallway of the building was tilted at a crazy angle, and Slaye slid down it, her fingers desperately seeking purchase on the floor." This gives her agency as well as emotion.

Getting bounced against the walls and falling down a stairway is not something you just shake off and get up. Even if you're wearing armor (and Slaye's is falling on top of her) you will be stunned for a few seconds at least.

Again, slow down and give voice to her terror. For example, say something on the tension between the fear of fire and the need to breathe. Breathing eventually wins, and she's just lucky there wasn't another fire-wave coming through. Second, I suspect you meant "the terror of the water passed from her."

Walking with a twisted ankle is not something you just "do." Getting back to the inn, even if just a stone's-throw away, would take minutes. And that's not counting the broken rib. Now, I understand that Slaye is a seasoned warrior, but putting the druid out of his misery is a bit too...rational given what just happened. I would grant that her training allows her to suppress her emotions, but she needs to jump more, spend a bit more time mastering herself.
External helplessness tends to create an internal sense of helplessness.

Dang. I wrote a book on that one! Sorry about that. Hopefully, you won't take my critiques personally. I'm trying to help you get better. In fact, I wouldn't be going to such lengths unless I thought you were worth it. You are. There's an excellent writer hidden in there somewhere, and the world would be a better place if she was released from the rough. Until you post something more, I'm signing off. *salutes*

Slywyn

03-16-2011, 04:40 PM

Slywyn was hidden behind her armor, posing as a Death Knight as she often did when she needed to sneak into Darnassus. She hadn't had any issues with the disguise, which always served her well. The helmet encased her head, keeping her face hidden behind thick metal. She stood just inside the portal from Rut'theran, waiting for a clear moment to make her way to the Temple.

She still had friends, few as they were, within the Night Elves, and one of them had informed her that her mother's ring had been found after years buried in the dirt. Her friend was a tradesman who worked in the city.

"She's taken to wearing it", she said. "I overheard when I was delivering a dress to the Temple. Thinks you won't ever come back for it." Slywyn and her friend were sitting inside Slywyn's home in Stormwind.

Slywyn's brows drew together. "How did she get my mother's ring?"

Her friend took a bite of fried fruit, resting one of her arms atop the table. She waved the bit of fruit with her other hand, gesturing as she told the story. "I did a little listening, seems whoever she was talking to asked much the same question. As she tells it, an adventurer a year or so ago discovered the ring half-buried in the dirt in Ashenvale. You should feel lucky, that area's got a volcano over it now."

Sly nodded a little, her own empty plate resting in front of her. "I heard. Haven't been able to see it myself."

Her friend's expression dropped slightly, remembering. "It must be hard." She watched Slywyn for a moment, who sat silently, then shook her head. "Anyway, the adventurer turned the ring into Astranaar when they found the initials inside of it, and when Astranaar figured out they were your mother's initials, the Sentinels in Astranaar then sent the ring on to the Temple. I hear Wolfrunner herself sent it on it's way."

Sly looked shocked for a moment. "Why would she?"

Her friend shook her head. "I couldn't tell you. All I know is that once it was sent to the Temple, nothing else has happened other than that Priest wearing it."

Sly frowned, her expression thoughtful. "My ring shouldn't be worn by her. Or anyone else. I'll get it back."

That's why she was here now. She leaned against one of the pillars outside the Temple of the Moon, watching. There were two Sentinels standing guard over the doorway, though each went to patrol the walkway outside of it every few minutes. Slywyn had walked up while they were returning, so she acted like she was just out for a stroll and taking a break, leaning against the stone.

When they both turned to leave, she waited until they were a few yards from the doorway and then slipped inside, looking all the world like one of the few Death Knights that had returned to worship Elune after their freedom. She went inside the Temple and approached the statue in the center, then kneeled. She let her head bow, as if in prayer.

In reality, she was watching as the different priestesses went about their business within the Temple, looking for the one with light blue hair and the silver dress wearing her ring. She didn't know exactly how she was going to get the ring back. Getting into the city itself had been her only concern, and she thought she'd be able to figure out how to get the ring from her once she was inside the Temple. Truthfully, she couldn't think of anything short of knocking her out and taking it.

She must have been kneeling before the statue longer than she thought because one of the Priestesses approached her from behind. "Is everything alright?"

Sly froze for a moment. She recognized that voice, if barely. She felt like her heart skipped a beat. Even though she couldn't remember the name, she was almost certain that if she spoke or removed her helmet, she'd be recognized instantly. Instead she just nodded, standing slowly. The twin swords she wore on her back clinked together quietly as she straightened up, still facing the statue.

She clasped her hands together in front of her, as if in a reverent silence, and the Priestess stepped up onto the ledge of the pool to stand next to her. She stood quietly for a moment, then leaned over to speak to her. "Isn't she beautiful?"

Sly nodded again, still afraid to speak. She didn't want to look at her either. The helmet might replicate the echoing voice of a Death Knight fairly convincingly, but it did nothing for her eyes. They glowed as silver as any other living Night Elf, and would give her away.

The Priest, still trying to strike up conversation, looked at her for a moment. "Why are you here?"

Sly frowned for a moment, this wasn't really a question she could answer without speaking. "I'm just visiting."

The Priestess seemed a little taken aback once she spoke, her ears drooping slightly at hearing her voice. She looked her over again. "I see. Are you looking for answers perhaps? Or purpose?"

Sly shook her head, giving a quick glance in the Priestess's direction. "I was just on a walk."

She nodded, looking back at the statue again. She went quiet for a minute, then looked at Sly as if confused. Slywyn froze, unsure what was causing the Priestess to look at her. She continued to stare for a moment, and then her brows drew together. "You're not one of the Ebon Knights at all, are you? There's no magic about you. Take off your helmet. Why are you hiding?"

Sly went rigid. She never thought of that. It was a stupid thing to overlook. They were powered by magic. It's why they lived. She had no way to replicate that. Only the voice. And if someone found out she was faking the voice, like now, they'd probably be curious. She shook her head, unsure of what to say. One of the Sentinels within the Temple began her rounds.

The Priestess reached up, her hand going to the band securing Sly's helmet to her head. "Come on now. There's no need to hide." Sly's heart started racing, her mind started ticking over, trying to think of what to do. She knew she recognized the Priestess, but she couldn't remember her name. It was possible the Priestess would recognize her as well. All she could do now was hope she was sympathetic. Or run.

Running was probably the better option.

Sly stood still as the Priestess undid the strap holding her helmet on, and then slid it off of her head. Her ears, cooped up inside the helmet, sprung free. Her right ear, missing a chunk near the bottom, drooped lower than the other. The Priestess looked at her for a moment, seeming confused. Then Slywyn got a better look at the Sentinel on rounds moving their way, and her jaw dropped. It was Illyra, one of the Sentinels who had been there the day she was exiled. She'd recognize Slywyn. She was sure of it.

The Priestess, still looking unsure, followed her gaze to the Sentinel making her way toward them. When she saw who it was, her mind made the connections. She turned back to Sly. "Slywyn!?" The Sentinel stopped in her tracks, glancing up to the pair on the statue. "But you're... What're you doing here?!" Illyra looked at her and frowned, her face taking on a stern set. She immediately made her way toward the two of them, stopping in front of Slywyn, who seemed to be rooted in place.

She immediately drew her weapon, leveling it at her. "You are wanted by the Sentinels for murder, and I am also adding breaking exile to that because you're in the city. Come quietly, murderer." Sly set her face. She didn't want to hurt anyone in the Temple, but she didn't intend to be captured, either. Almost in the same movement she took her helmet back from the Priestess, and jumped backward into the fountain. The splashing water bought her enough time to fasten the strap around her neck to hold the helmet onto her head.

Illrya let out a cry, some of the other Sentinels in the Temple turning toward them with the splash, and then several began running toward them with the cry. Slywyn had enough time to draw one of the swords from her back before Illyra charged into the fountain, blade first.

Slywyn brought her sword up across her body in both hands, sweeping it up and under the front tip of Illyra's glaive. She wasn't trying to hurt the Sentinel, just escape. The motion threw Illyra slightly off balance, and Slywyn spun toward her, kicking water up into her face. As she spun past, she elbowed Illyra in the side forcefully. She could feel one of the ribs just under her arm cracking, and winced. She turned her blade sideways, guiding the flat of it the back of her head, where it struck the metal of headband, the same kind that all the Sentinels wore, with a loud crack. Already off balance and winded, she was knocked off her feet into the pool face first.

It had only taken seconds, but when Elves could move have again as fast as most Humans could, seconds were precious. Slywyn did have two things in her favor, though. She was far older than most of the Sentinels within this temple, and so was more experienced in combat. Secondly, she was fully armored. Most of the Sentinels were in their traditional guardsman armor, which was not meant for full combat.

Slywyn lept out of the pool at the foot of the statue and started running toward the door, her armor and cloak flinging water everywhere. As she ran she drew the other sword, holding one in each hand. The swords were twinned, the one that sat in her off hand, her right hand, about a third smaller than it's brother. It's hilt was also larger, used more for blocking than full attacking, though the blade was sharp enough that it could be used.

One of the Sentinels, faster than the others, intercepted Slywyn several feet from the door. She lashed out with her glaive, though the tip skittered off of Slywyn's shoulder armor. The screeching sound rang in her ears as she turned, lashing out with the sword in her right hand. The Sentinel dodged backward and Sly turned toward her, putting her back to the open door. The two Sentinels standing guard outside had been patrolling, but both stepped inside at the sound of metal against metal.

Slywyn slashed at the Sentinel she had swung at before, driving her back again. She spun around, facing the two blocking the door, and bull rushed them. She shouldered into one of the two, knocking her off of her feet with a gasp, and the other grasped at her arm. As the one she'd struck with her shoulder fell, she swept Slywyn's legs with her feet, knocking her to the ground. She hit with a clattering of metal, rolling out of the way as the one that had grabbed onto her arm brought her glaive around toward Slywyn's chest.

The glaive struck the ground, and Slywyn pushed herself to her feet, breaking toward the bridge across the lake surrounding the Temple. A bell somewhere began ringing insistently as an alarm, and Slywyn could see some of the Sentinels near the bank beginning to run from their posts towards the Temple.

She cursed, leaping from the top of the ramp down toward the bridge. She landed about halfway down, rolled, and took to her feet, intending to try to make it about halfway across the bridge and then jump to the water below. She'd climb down Teldrassil if she had to. As the Sentinels at the bridge ran to meet her, and the Sentinels behind her from the Temple gave chase, she turned toward the side of the bridge. She lept, diving for the water off the side.

She knew something was wrong almost instantly, feeling resistance to her flight. One of the Sentinels from the Temple had been closer than she thought, and had grabbed onto her cape as she lept. They planted their feet and pulled, stopping her short. Slywyn crashed into the curb on the side of the bridge, the stone denting her chestplate as it made contact. The Sentinel that had grabbed her was pulled from her feet, falling forward onto her knees.

Slywyn came to a knee, holding out one of her swords, only to find two or three glaives at her neck. She stopped. She knew she was caught. If she jumped into the water now they'd just swarm her. She could try to fight but she didn't want to hurt them any more than she already had. She dropped her swords, letting them clatter to the stone of the bridge. "I ask one thing."

One of the Sentinels, wearing a badge signifying her as being higher rank than the others, raised her eyebrow. "What is it?"

Slywyn hoped they'd grant her this one thing, but she almost knew they wouldn't. "One of the priestesses, she has something of mine. Could you bring her to me so I can see it before you take me?"

The Sentinel almost laughed. "Of course not." She looked at the Sentinels gathered around her. "Take her to the dens. Now."

DarkAngel

03-16-2011, 08:01 PM

Review: Repentance

Italicizing the flashback is a good move for distinguishing it from the other. However, this "friend" needs a name. No matter how small the part might be, only mooks and redshirts can get away without names. Unless, that is, you have some reason to keep the reader in the dark about the friend's identity, but it doesn't sound like that. I have to ask: is there really a such thing as "fried fruit?" Usually it's "dried fruit."
Her friend's expression dropped slightly, remembering. "It must be hard." She watched Slywyn for a moment, who sat silently, then shook her head. "Anyway, they turned the ring into Astranaar when they found the initials inside of it, and when Astranaar figured out they were your mother's initials, they sent the ring on to the Temple. I hear Wolfrunner herself sent it on it's way."
This paragraph suggests that "Astranaar" is a person and not a place. I can see why this happened, though. "They" is refering to too many different things. Perhaps if the adventurer had a defined sex, you could use "they" for the town. Glad to see you did your homework on the town, even if mentioned only in passing.

The Sisters of Elune are usually described as "priestesses," which you start using later on. Just be consistent. If Knights of the Ebon Blade returning to worship Elune are so rare, why doesn't this attract immediate attention? As an aside, the past tense of "kneel" is "knelt." So, both the priestess and the Sentinel are people she knows, or did you intend just one of them?

To me, something more formal would be better for an arresting officer, like "Slywyn [whatever her name is], you are under arrest for breaking exile. Come with me." Simple and to the point. Personal feelings shouldn't get in the way of the job. But then, I was raised in the land of Miranda Rights, so I expect cops to be professional. Who knows what they do in Darnassus?

The escape attempt is plausible, but there are way to many "she's" flying around. Not sure how to fix that though. I'm also glad to see Sly doesn't have the miraculous escape ability of Jack *cough* sorry, Captain Jack Sparrow. And capes, while flashy, aren't such a good idea in close-quarters. "No capes, dahling!"

It might be premature to say you're improving, but I'd say you are. Keep working on it.

Slywyn

03-16-2011, 11:06 PM

Review: Repentance

Italicizing the flashback is a good move for distinguishing it from the other. However, this "friend" needs a name. No matter how small the part might be, only mooks and redshirts can get away without names. Unless, that is, you have some reason to keep the reader in the dark about the friend's identity, but it doesn't sound like that. I have to ask: is there really a such thing as "fried fruit?" Usually it's "dried fruit."

This paragraph suggests that "Astranaar" is a person and not a place. I can see why this happened, though. "They" is refering to too many different things. Perhaps if the adventurer had a defined sex, you could use "they" for the town. Glad to see you did your homework on the town, even if mentioned only in passing.

The Sisters of Elune are usually described as "priestesses," which you start using later on. Just be consistent. If Knights of the Ebon Blade returning to worship Elune are so rare, why doesn't this attract immediate attention? As an aside, the past tense of "kneel" is "knelt." So, both the priestess and the Sentinel are people she knows, or did you intend just one of them?

To me, something more formal would be better for an arresting officer, like "Slywyn [whatever her name is], you are under arrest for breaking exile. Come with me." Simple and to the point. Personal feelings shouldn't get in the way of the job. But then, I was raised in the land of Miranda Rights, so I expect cops to be professional. Who knows what they do in Darnassus?

The escape attempt is plausible, but there are way to many "she's" flying around. Not sure how to fix that though. I'm also glad to see Sly doesn't have the miraculous escape ability of Jack *cough* sorry, Captain Jack Sparrow. And capes, while flashy, aren't such a good idea in close-quarters. "No capes, dahling!"

It might be premature to say you're improving, but I'd say you are. Keep working on it.

Always glad to have your review. =)

1) No, capes are not the best idea. But she never thought she'd have to fight in that uniform. x3

2) Yes, Fried Fruit exists. The sugar in them caramelizes. Very sweet. Fry some up in a pan sometime, but try not to burn them. Usually apples or some other seed fruit.

3) The friend is kept in the dark on purpose, she'll return in the future though. =)

4) That is confusing. I'll edit it.

5) It does attract attention, but they didn't know she was an Ebon Knight until she actually spoke. And yes, they're both people she knows. She had the absolute horrible luck to run into not one, but two people who could identify her while she was trying to sneak in.

6) The Sentinels were very, very angry that she "Got away with" what she did.

7) Glad to know you think I'm getting better. :3

Slywyn

03-19-2011, 01:39 PM

"Everything is perfect."

Nu looked in on the building with satisfaction. The table was set, the cook had carried everything used to set it up back into the kitchen. There was noone in the room. She gently slipped the blade of her dagger into the window latch, and jiggled it upwards just enough to pop it. The hinges made not a sound, having been well oiled hours before. She slipped into the room without a sound, feet in padded boots making but the softest whisper on the carpet. She turned around and closed the window quietly, it wouldn't do to have someone walk by and notice it open. Not even a cat or a dog could have heard her as she creeped over to the table.

Sprinkling the prepared contents of a small pouch onto all the food set around the table, she grinned behind her mask. This one was too easy. Twitching her ears slightly, she turned her head the slightest bit, to see the cook coming back out of the kitchen. Quickly, she slipped under the table, blending in with the darkness and shadow. She watched his feet move around the table as he made last minute adjustments to placesettings, dishes, chairs. Moving silverware about. Her ears picked up on the slightest noise he made as he fine tuned everything to his exact likening. Finally finished, he retreated to the kitchen once more.

Slowly crawling out from under the table, Nu made her way back to the window. Opening it silently once more on the oiled hinges, she hopped up to the ledge, and turned for one brief look into the room, to make sure things were exactly to her likening. They were, and she silently dropped to the ground, closing the window. She took up her station on the garden wall opposite, once again blending with the shadows and gloom as she waited for the planned situation to unfold.

Without even the slightest movement, she watched as the family made its way home from the market. They walked, not being the type to flaunt their wealth. The man of the house opened the door for his wife, small children, and his son, who would soon be taking over their business. Nu knew all of their names, knew their favorite foods, times to play. She knew that the youngest son kept a small frog in his room, against his mother's wishes. She also knew they were all about to die.

She kept watch from her perch as they came home, settled into their chairs, and began their dinner. Her sensitive ears picked up the conversation as they each praised their cook's skill. Watched as they spooned it into their mouths, feeding themselves their own method of execution. She smiled behind her mask.

The youngest, the one with the frog, was the first. He complained of a belly ache. His mother shushed him, telling him he simply ate too much. The daughter was next. She too started to complain. The mother looked worried. Nu only smiled. Next was the mother herself. The father and son put down their forks, realizing. It was too late. She could read the panic in their eyes as the started to feel the paralysis. Once again the youngest was first. He simply dropped to the floor. Nu watched as the mother tried to go to him, panic rising, but her movements were slow, sluggish. The father stood, but fell. His own legs unable to support his modest weight. The son had a look of resignation about him, as he sat in his chair, watiing. The daughter began to cry, an emotion her mother soon echoed. The father whimpered on the floor as slowly their bodies begain siezing up, disobeying every thought, every attempted action.

Once again, the youngest was first. She could see all through the window. She watched as his small body stilled, and finally, lost it's lifelike color, shine. Nu simply grinned as slowly, the rest of the family followed suit. Finally, none were left, the entire family strewn across the room in different poses of death. Nu slipped back to the window, once again sliding her blade into the latch to open it. She slipped into the room, to check. She learned that early. Always check. It was a good thing she did, too. The son. Sitting upright in his chair, resigned to his fate, but not yet having met it. He watched her as she inspected the rest of his family. She could hear him. Knew he was alive. She wanted him to see. She finally moved over to him, cocking her head sideways as she stared into his eyes. He uttered but one word, with the last breath he would ever take.

"Why?"

Nu unwrapped her mask, and smiled. Holding a finger to her lips, she placed the mask over his mouth and nose, pressing down. Real terror was in his eyes now, as he sat helplessly in his chair. Nu watched, smiling still as his eyes finally glazed over, and stopped rolling frantically in his head. Taking her mask off his face, she tied it back around her head, and walked into the kitchen.

The cook was sitting in a corner, crying. "Is it done? Can I go now? My family, I must see them."

Nu smiled behind her mask, remembering visiting his home only hours before. He'd be seeing them again, very shortly. She looked at him, shaking her head. He looked up at her, eyes wide. "They are not dead? But he said..."

His eyes closed. He knew what was happening. What had happened. Small tears of pain rolled down his face. "Make it quick, give me that."

She obliged him.

DarkAngel

03-19-2011, 07:23 PM

Review

Much darker than your usual fare, this. I was wondering about the lack of tension as Nu was sneaking in and out of the room; now that I know the ending, I can see why this happened. Usually, this sort of scene would be filled with palpable fear, but there isn't really suspense when Nu has no reason to fear getting caught. Yes, you want to make a shocking twist, but logically, she has no reason to hide if the cook is already "on her payroll" in a manner of speaking.

There is also the complete lack of discription. We don't know where, or when, the story is taking place. We know nothing of what any of the characters looks like. In fact, we don't even know why Nu is bumping off this particular familiy, other than to presume it's a hired hit. This is obviously deliberate. Ambiguity can work wonders in the right hands, but this could benefit from a bit more context. Take a look at this example (http://wow.incgamers.com/forums/showthread.php?t=420504). The lack of description prevents the reader from pre-judging the main character, but also creates a barrier of distance between them. The author overcomes this barrier by making the piece longer. We get to know the unnamed protagonist from the inside out, which takes a very long time to do.

I hope that wasn't over your head. The rest is small things:

The past tense of 'creep' is 'crept.'
"exact likening" You use this phrase twice, so perhaps there's a dialect difference between us. Usually, I see "exact liking."
"lost it's lifelike color, shine" 'Its' is the possesive (confusing, I know). You could also use a lesson in parallel construction (you did this more than once). Commas insert pauses, but they're not a substitute for words. "lost its lifelike color, its shine."
"Make it quick, give me that." Better make that two sentences.
Over all, good work. Mostly, it's the minor things, but you're to the level where further development is going to require "advanced courses." That's a good thing.

Slywyn

03-19-2011, 07:38 PM

This story is actually.... kind of old. Contracts was originally written like two years ago. That may be why it might come off as kind of a step backward in certain areas. I posted it because I found it. :3

But the storyline(There are 6-7 more of these) didn't quite end up going the way I wanted it to, so I just posted the first one(Which I like) in the hopes that I'll be rewriting it soon.

Slywyn

03-24-2011, 04:26 PM

((Takes place early in Wrath. Probably nasty to some. Dark humor(?).))

Magor was a necromancer. He also worked for the Ebon Blade. Magor was also an Orc. All these things people could tell just by looking at him. What they didn't know was that Magor also had a bit of a... creative side. His Ghouls were said to be the best. They thought that this was just because Magor was a stronger necromancer than others.

What it boiled down to was that Magor took a bit more time to create Ghouls because he considered his work art. The higher quality Ghoul he made, the longer it would last, and the more worth was put into his work for the Blade. His Ghouls were masterfully crafted, his necromantic energies guided carefully to repair and strengthen his creations.

Magor took great pride in his work. And it showed. The premier necromancer at the Shadow Vault, outside of the Death Knights themselves, he was tasked day after day with reanimating and producing Ghouls, Abominations, and Geists to continually fight the Lich King's forces trying to remove the Ebon Blade's foothold in Icecrown.

He felt in a particularly good mood today, despite his chilly and dreary surroundings. He raised a Geist with a flourish, one of his personal abominations watching mutely as he danced alongside it as it crept out the door, shuffling sideways as many Orcs were known to do.

He shuffled back toward his table, motioning with his hands for the Abomination to pull another corpse from the wagon on the other side of the room. The creation shuffled over and lifted one such corpse unceremoniously by the foot, dropping it with a crash onto the table. Magor tsk'd, looking over the blackened and burnt corpse. It was almost impossible to tell what it had been, other than it had armor fused to it's body.

Part of the head had been blown away from the left side, leaving a gaping hole with a shriveled and blackened mass inside, what was left of the brain. The shoulder armor was nowhere in sight, and didn't seem to be in the cart either. Magor's brain raced with the possibilities. He didn't know whether to make a Geist, fuse a few bodies together to create an Abomination, or raise the corpse as-is to create a Ghoul. He mulled it over, walking to the entranceway of his small room to peer out the door at the battle.

The Ebon Blade's forces seemed to be holding their own, faring better than they had just a few days ago when the Lich King had sent Frost Wyrms against them. Some of the Alliance and Horde had already been to Icecrown, but they were still a trickle, their vast reserves of adventurers still working their way north through the icy continent.

He shrugged, deciding he had a bit of time to experiment. He decided he was going to create a mix between a Geist and an Abomination, fusing several bodies together to create a complete form, but using the right magics in the right places to create something smart and sinister like the elite Geists were.

Even so, it would be animated much like a simple Ghoul, because no matter how special it turned out to be, it would only be sent against the forces arrayed against the Blade. He cracked his fingers, then sent dark magics into the corpse with an arc of impossibly black lightning. No longer amazing to watch like it had been at first, he still enjoyed the sight of the black arcs seeming to suck the light from the room with their darkness.

He motioned for his abomination to bring another corpse from the wagon. "And make sure it has a head! We need the rest of a brain." He grinned, guiding the magics infusing the corpse to the right places to repair certain damaged parts. The fingertips, missing most of the flesh, blackened bones showing through, would remain. He used only the magic he had to in order to repair them to function. He then guided the magic to the corpse's chest, causing the heart to begin beating.

He found something odd, in that the corpse already seemed to have been animated once before, but decided it was probably another necromancer's work. There was residual energy in it's veins, meaning that his work to get the body functioning again would be that much easier. He left the chest where it was as he usually did, leaving the 'life' giving spark until he was satisfied with the body's repairs.

The abomination returned then, dropping the corpse of a dwarf, chopped almost in half, to the floor. Magor grinned, rubbing his hands together. "Yes! A brain." He lifted the Dwarf onto the table, cutting into it to get at the parts he needed. "Yes, yes. Brain. Oh, a good one." He prodded it a few times, judging the size. "Yes, a smart one." He glanced over the Dwarf's body, and judging by the clothing and beard, it had been either a noble or spellcaster. Both were usually smart.

"Perfect!", he exclaimed, raising his arms to the ceiling. One of the Death Knights walking past his door paused for a moment, until it registered that it was Magor he was seeing. He facepalmed with an echoing sigh, continuing on his way.

Magor didn't seem to notice, bringing forth a wicked dagger. He carved into the Dwarf's skull, taking a bit of flesh from it to repair the damage to the other corpse. He frowned a little, realizing that he still had no idea what kind of corpse he was working on. Holding his dagger in one hand, he brushed some soot and what looked like melted hair from the thing's face. The first thing that became apparent was elf ears, springing from the head after the hair was pushed away. Apparently the explosion or fire that had killed it, Magor was leaning toward explosion, personally, had plastered the ears to it's head, and the melted hair had held them there.

He continued his examination, his eyes travelling lower... to find out that the elf was female. He grinned a little, raising an eyebrow. He'd always found the elves to be graceful, and maybe even a little beautiful, even if they'd been his people's enemy since they'd arrived on Azeroth.

He poked around a bit until he was satisfied with his examination of the corpse, letting the crisped armor that he'd pried loose from the skin fall back into place. "Too skinny." He shook his head a little, then pulled the Dwarf's brain free as he undid it's skull. He held it up, looking at it. The brain looked mostly undamaged, if a bit rattled from it's treatment during the Dwarf's death. He used a bit of magic to restore a bit of the elf's brain, then carved away at the Dwarf's to fit them to match.

Despite the Dwarf's size, they had a large head, or so Magor thought, and the brains were a bit similar in size. Distracted for a moment as his abomination belched something green, slimy, and possibly humanoid into the floor, he sliced off most of what was left of the Dwarf's memory. "Oops." He looked at it for a moment then shrugged, deciding it wasn't needed.

He continued to trim unneeded bits from the brain until it fit what he needed, then fit the two brains together like some kind of macabre jigsaw puzzle. Using a bit of magic to fuse the two together, he returned them to the elf's shattered skull.

He took a bit of bone from the Dwarf's skull and fit it to the elf's until he decided the fit was good, and then took the skin he'd carved off and sewed it onto the elf's head, holding it all in place. He then used a bit of magic to fuse it all together into a working, and (mostly)whole cranium.

He nodded, satisfied with the results, and continues to clean and prepare the corpse for reanimation. He guides the magic through it until he is completely satisfied with it's condition. He then begins to set up for the reanimation ritual, preparing to return the corpse to 'life'.

At the culmination of the ritual he arcs more dark lightning into the corpse, kickstarting the heart. And then something he wasn't expecting happened. As the corpse returned to life, and it's eyes opened, instead of flashing yellow or silvery-white as most elven eyes of this type were prone to do, they ignited a flaming icy-blue.

Then he stood frozen. One of the major rules that had been impressed into him by the Blade was that while Ghouls, Geists, and Abominations were accepted, raising a member of the Blade from their deserved rest was heavily frowned upon. The Blade did not want to create more of themselves, not wanting to bring more into their number to share cold eternity with them.

The corpse, now alive, turned it's eyes on him. As the brain rebooted as best it could, her expression slowly changed from impassiveness to confusion. "Where...?", she questioned, as she looked around the room.

Magor cleared his throat, feeling a little sorry for his creation. "You're in the Shadow Vault. In Icecrown. You were..." He didn't want to say "reanimated" as that was against the rules. Perhaps... "knocked out." He finished. A little plan was forming itself. Maybe she could go back to work for the Blade, and no one would be the wiser.

She nodded, accepting the notion immediately. "Okay." Her voice changed tone, as the Dwarf side of her brain showed itself. "Who'm Ah?" She questioned again, and the sudden transition startled Magor. He fished for a name, settling on someone from his childhood, who still owed him a whole gold piece for a bet lost. "Daxil. You're Daxil."

Once again she nods. "Arright!" She hopped off the table, landing a little unsteadily upon the floor. She looked around the room for a weapon, and her sight finally settled upon someone's old runeblade in the corner. She brushed some metal dust and grime from the blade until the runes emblazoned into it were mostly clean. A icy blue light sprung from her fingers to the runes, and they shone brightly as they reactivated.

Magor's hands went to his temples in surprise. She could still use runic magic! If Darion found out... He guided her to the door. "Here. They're fighting just outside. There's some old armor on the racks. Take the bit left on you off and replace it with something that fits. They need you out there!" He practically shoved her out of his door, hoping that would be the last he'd see of her.

He sank down against the side of his work table, resting. His heart felt like it was going to beat right out of his chest.

The abomination belched again, something else spilling out onto the floor. He raised his eyebrows, peering at it. "No witnesses..."

DarkAngel

03-25-2011, 07:45 PM

Review: Reanimated

Dark humor is good. As they say, "If you stop laughing, you'll start crying." I wasn't aware the Ebon Blade hired outside contractors, especially for things they could do themselves. But hey, this is a comedy: it doesn't have to make sense, right?

He raised a Geist with a flourish, one of his personal abominations watching mutely as he danced alongside it as it crept out the door, shuffling sideways as many Orcs were known to do.

This sentence crosses the line from 'complex' to 'run-on.' One of these details needs to be moved somewhere else.

Part of the head had been blown away from the left side, leaving a gaping hole with a shriveled and blackened mass inside: all that was left of the brain.

Might I suggest this correction? Not all pauses are commas.

Most of the time, Undead are said to have no heartbeat.

He carved into the Dwarf's skull, taking a bit of flesh from it to repair the damage to the other corpse. He frowned a little, realizing that he still had no idea what kind of corpse he was working on.
This transition is unclear. The burned body has Elf ears, or the Dwarf?

and possibly humanoid into the floor
Usually it's 'onto.'

He nodded, satisfied with the results, and continues to clean and prepare the corpse for reanimation. He guides the magic through it until he is completely satisfied with it's condition. He then begins to set up for the reanimation ritual, preparing to return the corpse to 'life'.
Watch the verb tenses! This is a story, not a synopsis.

Then, something he wasn't expecting happened: as the corpse returned to life, and it's eyes opened, instead of flashing yellow or silvery-white as most elven eyes of this type were prone to do, they ignited a flaming icy-blue.
Suggested rewording.

Overall, I like it. The pacing was right. It flowed like water except for a few places. It made me laugh. Really, what more could I ask for?

Slywyn

05-05-2011, 12:49 PM

((Not sure what inspired me to write this, but here you go. Also, probably some blood and gore and whatnot in here somewhere.))

A bloodcurdling scream rent the air just outside the Orc encampment in Ashenvale. Something had died, and by the sound of it, painfully. The Orc commander pointed at two of his Grunts with his fingers, motioning for them to head outside the firelight to investigate.

It was just past midnight, the stars twinkling brightly overhead. The Orc encampment was a new one, only just recently set up to start hauling lumber from a new part of the forest. The commander waddled off to start waking troops, wary of an attack.

The two Grunts hefted their axes, stepping into the inky night. They stayed shoulder to shoulder, crouching low and creeping through the woods to investigate. They headed in the direction they guessed the scream had come from, whispering quietly to each other in Orcish.

"That sounded like an Orc.", said the first one. Gronk was the elder of the two, and arguably the wiser.

"It sounded like a dead Orc.", said the second, T'unk.

The first nodded, before his foot squelched in something wet. He stopped, then looked down. Something was glistening in the moonlight, and he reached down to feel it with his fingers. It was definitely wet. He brought his fingers to his nose, sniffing them. He looked to T'unk knowingly. "Orc blood."

T'unk nodded, shifting his grip on his axe. He started to walk forward when a branch snapped behind the pair. Both whirled around, axes raised to confront the threat. Gronk began to charge when another Orc stepped from behind a tree. It was Arklek, another younger Orc.

Gronk frowned at him, motioning for him to join the two of them. He leaned in close, whispering. "You almost got yourself killed."

Arklek nodded, looking excited and ready for battle. "Apologies. But Commander Grankon ordered me to assist you."

Gronk nodded, stepping ahead of the two to lead them. He started off to the left at a guess, heading toward some bushes. They were moving gently in the dim light of night, branches swaying as if in a breeze. Even though the night air was still and silent.

Gronk motioned for T'unk to investigate once they got close enough, and T'unk stepped toward the bush. As he reached it, Gronk heard the slightest whisper of... something above him.

Gronk looked up, to see the last thing he would ever see.

Arklek heard Gronk gasp, then turned to see his world slow. An elf, clad in the normal minimal armor of a Sentinel, had lept from a tree. She landed in front of Gronk with such force that the ground between Arklek and Gronk actually registered the impact, some leaves being thrown into the air.

She landed with ...is that a club!? Arklek thought. It looked like a giant broken piece of tree, raised above her head. When she landed, she turned her momentum into force, bringing the branch down upon the older Orc's head.

Gronk's forehead practically exploded when the wood connected, and the branch lodged in his head. It's force was so great that as the wood continued to move, it simply drug the now-dead Orc along with it, slamming him facefirst into the ground.

Arklek started to move, drawing his axe, as T'unk finished turning around from investigating the bush. What had seemed like a full two minutes to Arklek as he watched was really only a fraction of a second.

T'unk began to bellow a warcry and move toward the elf before she wrenched the treebranch or whatever it was from Gronk's ruined face and flung it sidearm at the charging Orc. T'unk took the huge chunk of wood full to the chest, the impact illiciting an audible crack as his ribs shattered under his thin armor and the branch knocked him back into the bush he had just been investigating.

Arklek, now the only able-bodied Orc left, did the only sensible thing he could think of: He charged. The elf met him head on, her speed incredibly surprising to the young Orc. She almost seemed to be toying with him, seeming to remain in place only long enough for him to be absolutely certain that his axe swing was going to gut her, or behead her, or take a limb, before she darted away so fast she seemed to be a blur.

As Arklek spun to yet again attempt to disembowel the elf, he felt something solid catch the wood of his axe-shaft, stopping it dead in the air. He looked for the offending object, finding the obstacle to be the elf's hand. His eyes began to go wide. She caught the handle -midswing-.

Then he felt a sickening pain in his gut, and looked down. The elf's hand, the pommel of a weapon of some kind obvious in her palm, was rammed up against his stomach, dark fluid beginning to run over her hand. He winced, his expression confused, as he looked up to the elf. She easily stood half a foot or more over the green-skinned orc, his axe still caught in one hand while her other held her dagger inside of him.

As he watched her, she smiled. Then he felt the dagger twist and rip sideways inside of him, and his world went as black as the night.

((Part 1, as I have things to do. Will be finished when I get a chance.))

Slywyn

05-10-2011, 07:10 AM

Slywyn now stood alone in the silent clearing, towering above the rapidly-cooling body of the Orc she'd just killed. Her dagger was clenched tightly in her fist, the skin of her knuckles slowly turning white as her grip only increased. Her entire body shook with anger she couldn't control.

She screamed, suddenly exploding into movement as she kneeled over the corpse at her feet, going into a stabbing frenzy. Blood flew and coated her as she continued her frantic movements, seemly trying to work out her frustrations on the dead body before her. Then, just as suddenly as she started, she stopped.

Slywyn turned her head to the side, peering at the broken bush that one of the Orcs had been flung through. Then the sound came again. A low moan of pain and semi-consciousness emanated from the bush. She went to a knee, watching it for a moment as she seemed to decide what to do. Seeming to make up her mind, she crept toward the bush on all fours, keeping low.

She pushed aside the branches of the bush with her dagger once she reached it, peering inside. It seemed like the Orc's body had broken a hole through the foliage to come to rest on the other side, so she crept around the bush to the back, looking for the Orc who remained alive.

She came upon him on the back side of the bush, the piece of wood she had thrown at him resting in a hollow inside his chest that it had created. He was laying at a strange angle, his body not seeming to be in one piece any longer. His chest was the only part of him still moving, rising and falling where it could with tiny, shallow breaths.

Slywyn slowly moved to be beside his head, speaking in broken Orcish. "Camp. Where? How many?"

The Orc opened his eyes and laughed, small amounts of blood leaking from his mouth belying the great internal injuries he was suffering. "I'll tell you nothing, elf. You'll just have to find it yourself."

Slywyn frowned, the anger seeming to boil over again, and she raised her dagger into the air above his chest. The Orc's eyes watched the daggertip closely, waiting for the moment where it would plunge down and end his suffering. But it never came.

She was watching his eyes as they followed the tip, and she realized she had some small amount of leverage over him. She shut her eyes for a moment, mastering her anger, before letting the tip of the dagger rest against his throat. "Tell me and you die." She pressed the point against his neck for emphasis. "Refuse and live." She drew it back.

She knew now that the only thing the Orc could hope for now was death, and that by threatening to withhold it she may be able to get him to talk.

He opened his eyes again, his pain evident within them. His voice was quieter, blood trickling out of the corner of his mouth. "Fine. Fine." Slywyn crouched lower, raising the tip a little farther from the green skin over his throat.

"Tell me." She pressed the tip against the hollow in his throat, waiting.

He coughed once, blood splattering against the metal. "There are only a few of us. Just south of here, ten minute walk, maybe. It's a small camp. A fighter like you shouldn't have any trouble."

Sly nodded and grinned, the rage flaring up in her eyes. "Good."

She slammed the dagger home, the thin metal piercing his throat and spinal cord, killing him almost instantly. He shuddered once and lay still. As she pulled the dagger free, she noticed the expression on his face had changed. He almost looked to be smirking at her, as if he had gained something in his death.

"Stupid Orcs." Slywyn shook her head, wiping the dagger clean on his rough shirt. She turned to the south and took off at a sprint, heading directly for the small camp he had described.

Slywyn

05-12-2011, 11:52 AM

Less than a minute after Slywyn had sprinted away, several more Orcs crashed into the small clearing.

"It came from over here! There's bodies here!" one of them yelled, waving over several others.

One that looked to be in charge ran toward the clearing, slowing to a walk as he stepped inside. He took one look at the Orc laying on his back with the dagger wound in it's throat around the back side of the bush and winced. "That one's almost decapitated."

Another gently kicked the body of the first Orc to have been killed over, gesturing at it's face, or lack of. "Look at this one."

The Orc's eyes went wide, looking at it. He whistled through his teeth. "You think it's the same one that hit the other camps?"

The Orc standing next to the body without a face nodded. "We haven't seen any other elf inflict this kind of damage. His face is caved in."

The commanding Orc nodded. "Then it must be her." He whistled, making a hand gesture in the air over his head to call for the trackers. "Find her! Spirit of the woods, or flesh and blood elf, I want her found!"

It wasn't long before they found her tracks heading south, and quickly began to follow. As they followed the tracks, one of the tracker Orcs looked back at the commander. "She's heading right for one of the lumber camps. She can't be thinking of attacking it alone, can she?"

The commander shook his head, stepping over some deadfall. "She's attacked camps and outposts but never anything that big. She may not know what she's facing."

The tracker looked incredulous. "But her path is straight toward it. It's like she knows exactly where she's headed."

---------

Slywyn had almost reached the small camp the Orc told her about. She could see the glow of the fire between the trees, which only served to fuel her anger. She sped up and then lept out of the tree line, her dagger clutched tightly to her side.

Almost immediately she knew she had been tricked, as this was no small camp. Part of what she could see as she sailed through the air toward the fire was dominated by a large lumber-processing building in the back of the camp. And there had to be a large force of Orcs here. She'd never fought anything this large alone.

As she landed next to the fire among a large amount of Orcs that had been eating, several had already thrown their food aside and were reaching for weapons.

Disregarding the odds, Sly lashed out with her dagger at the nearest Orc with a scream of fury, the blade slicing through his eye.

More Orcs closed in. The fight was on.

Slywyn

05-15-2011, 10:01 AM

The Orcish commander back at the small camp, to the east of where the three Orcs had been killed, was staring at a table. Another Orc in robes and a shrouded hood was sitting across from him, fingers clasped together in a thoughtful manner.

The commander spoke first. "The three have not returned. Neither have the trackers."

The one in robes only nodded. "I think it's her," the commander continued. "Spirit of vengeance. Elf. Whatever it is. She needs to be stopped. We cannot continue to focus resources on a single target. They want reports of progress, not that we're continuing to lose Grunts to the forests."

The Orc in robes nodded. "I agree. I am going to make my way to the larger lumber camp in the south."

The commander looked momentarily confused. "Why?"

The Orc looked up and smiled. "I just have a feeling that I will be needed there shortly."

---------

Slywyn knew almost as soon as battle was met that this could not end well for her. There were simply too many Orcs. She'd managed to grab an axe from the hands of one of the Orcs, as her dagger was too short to use in combat like this. Even so, the weight of it was foreign to her and she was slower than she would have liked. She'd taken several small hits already because of it, and it was only a matter of time before something more threatening slipped through.

They'd backed her toward the main lumber building, away from the forests where she could escape. She'd taken down perhaps twenty Orcs so far, but had paid for each kill with small wounds that only further served to slow her down.

She continued backing and fighting until she felt wood underfood. Cut wood. They'd backed her into the lumber building, and would corner her soon unless she figured something out. She stole glances around herself as she continued to fight, noticing several barrels full of some kind of liquid that was dark and didn't seem to be water.

Slywyn parried the thrust of an Orc with her axe, but took a glancing blow to her arm. It was enough to force her to drop the axe she was holding, leaving her defenseless.

She stomped the floorboards with enough force to shake them, causing several Orcs to lose their footing and fall, and dashed toward the barrels. She ripped a torch from it's holder as she went, carrying it right toward them. One of the Orcs realized what she was doing as she was doing it and yelled out a warning, something she couldn't understand.

She gripped one of the barrels with her free arm and dumped it to the side, spilling something thick and foul-smelling all over the wooden floorboards. A few Orcs started to make their way across the slick of whatever it was when Slywyn tossed the torch onto it.

Whatever the liquid was caught fire almost immediately, burning fiercely in the night. Another cry went up from the Orcs, several that had been standing in the slick catching flame as well. Sly stood atop the rim of the second barrel and kicked it as hard as she could with her back to the wall. It skittered across the floor before upending before the Orcs that had backed her into the lumbermill, splashing across them.

The fire continued to spread, catching several of the newly-doused Orcs aflame before spreading more to the woodwork, sending the dry timber up like matchwood. Sly hated to see the wood burn as it was such a waste, but it was better than it being used to fell more trees. She slipped through a window of the building as the Orcs switched their attentions from her to the blaze to try to save the building, and began to make her way back to the trees.

She made her way almost out of the camp before she started to sprint for the treeline. She'd almost made it before someone or something in robes stepped out from behind a tree, hand raised. Slywyn let loose a scream of frustration, pulling her dagger from her belt, and lept at the figure to attempt to end the threat before it could really begin.

What looked like lightning ripped from it's hand, darker than the night around it. The magic slammed into Slywyn's chest and stopped her mid-air, propelling her backward and into the ground. Her head struck something hard and she lost focus, her vision swimming.

Whatever the figure in the robe was doing to her hurt more than anything she'd ever experienced. It felt like her insides were on fire and eating her alive from the inside out. Her hands clawed at her stomach before the pain grew too great and her world went white, and then dark.

Slywyn

06-30-2011, 08:36 AM

Slywyn slowly came back to consciousness in fits and spurts. She felt like she was swimming in tar, the surface so close and yet so far away. She could hear ghosts of voices, mumbled words and phrases in a language she knew, but couldn't remember. And then the pain would hit her, and she'd tumble back down into darkness.

Over time, rising near the surface became easier for her, and it slowly felt as if she was simply sleeping, instead of lying where she was, dead to the world. Eventually, she was able to open her eyes a crack, and she was brought back to the world of the living.

Her whole body ached. She felt like she'd been run over by a kodo and then dropped off a tree. Every joint felt swollen and almost useless. It hurt to move. She stirred a bit even so, trying to sit up and see around her. Either her eyes weren't quite working yet, or she had some kind of covering over her.

Sly finally managed to sit up, having to take a deep breath and push the pain of the movement down. She moved an arm to try to wipe the darkness away, though it encountered no resistance. A moment of panic hit her as she worried she might have lost her sight, but she could still... almost see. She could make out the shapes of her body, but beyond perhaps the length of halfway down her arm when held out before her, everything dissolved into blackness.

She heard a noise to her right, turning her head toward it. There was a chuckle, and more movement. It began to speak in Orcish, most of which she could make out.

"I see you are awake." She knew that voice. She'd heard it while she was trying to break through the darkness. She squinted, trying to see him better, and the Orc laughed. "That will do you no good. Your vision is spelled." The statement came as a relief, and she could feel herself relax a tiny bit. "Can't have you escaping, now can we?"

As feeling came back to her extremities other than a dull numbness, she could hear him walk away. She began to try to figure out where she was through hearing and touch while she had time.

She could hear... almost nothing. No sounds of vegetation. No sound of leaves rubbing together. No wind in the branches. Though, there was the sound of wind. She'd heard it before. The sound of wind blowing through stone. Which meant a cave... or a very large building.

She held a hand out to try to tell, but she could only feel that the air around her wasn't hot, and didn't feel very humid. She could only think of a few caves near Ashenvale, and none of those were very big. There also weren't any Orcish buildings in Ashenvale that she thought were big enough to feel like this.

But she didn't know how long she'd been swimming in the dark. If she was out for any length of time, they could have taken her any number of places, and the farther she was from Ashenvale, the lower her chances of escaping safely were.

She could hear him coming back, and listened. The sound of leather shoes scraping across stone. She was definitely inside of something. But she couldn't tell what. Then her ear twitched slightly. From the same direction as the scraping of shoes came, she could hear the quiet tinkle of thin metal against thin metal. The sound of the shoes stopped near her, and she heard hands grab onto something.

They were inside leather gloves. She could smell it, just as she could smell that the air seemed stale. And she could smell Orc. Filthy, unwashed Orc. The gloved hands rubbed against something. It sounded like they were scraping against roughly hewn metal. Bars? A cage? She couldn't tell.

And then when she moved her leg to try to get closer, she realized that something was bound around the heavy boots she wore. She was chained to the floor or bottom of whatever it was.

The voice chuckled again. "Oh, this shall be fun. I've never had a live one to study."

DarkAngel

06-30-2011, 06:19 PM

Comments: Captive, Part V
Ah, if only she'd had the sense to run when she realized she was outmatched; but that would defeat the title of the story, now wouldn't?

So the anti-vision spell makes it like a dark room, rather than simply shutting off the circuits in your brain? Interesting.

"Study?" Hopefully, this won't involve dissection; or rape. On the other hand, the warlock sounded like he was interested in Sly specifically.

She'd heard it before: the sound of wind blowing through stone, which meant a cave...or a very large building. (That's how I would've done it.)

Keep going on this; you're doing well!

Slywyn

06-30-2011, 06:29 PM

involve dissection

She's had this particular scar for a while. I've just never explained it to anyone.

And I plan to skip over it for the most part in the story. Sort of fade to black.

Even I'm not wanting to read/write that.

Slywyn

06-30-2011, 07:07 PM

The Molten Front

(Note: This is not meant to be canon. It's just a write up of my character's point of view as she goes through the Molten Front as if she were 'the' hero. It's also probably going to make Sly look like a sue, but it's for narrative purposes, I promise.)

"Miss Ravenwind! Miss Ravenwind!" Sly stopped short as she walked through the Trade District of Stormwind, looking around for who was calling her name. A guard ran up behind her, panting a bit. She turned to stare at him, her arms crossed.

The guard pushed his visor up, his cheeks billowing as he caught his breath. "You elves sure do take big steps." He bent over, his hands on his knees. Sly looked him over for some indication of what he wanted, noting a rolled up parchment in his hand. As he stood up, she snatched it right as he began to speak.

"I ha-." He stopped, peering at where the paper used to be. "Um, your assistance is requested in Hyjal." Sly turned away from the paper she'd already begun to read, and glared at him.

"Bye."

The guard blinked for a moment, then as Slywyn continued to glare at him, began to look unsettled. He finally turned on his heel and started away, walking much faster than would seem normal. Sly's scar, and her predator's glare, usually did that to people. She smirked a bit, then turned to the parchment, her eyebrows slowly going up as she read.

The Guardians of Hyjal, led by Archdruid Malfurion Stormrage, seek brave heroes to assist with a full-scale assault on the Firelands.

Willing and able-bodied heroes of the Alliance should report to the Sanctuary of Malorne in Mount Hyjal immediately.

Her lips pursed, then she tossed the paper to the street. "Looks like I'm getting altitude sickness again."

----

Matoclaw the Tauren stood at the Sanctuary of Malorne as heroes from all over Azeroth slowly turned up to assist the Guardians in their impending assault on the Firelands. Undead, Elves of both kinds, Humans, Orcs, other Tauren, all were answering the call.

But someone they were waiting for was still missing. She craned her head, looking for the familiar ear she'd gotten used to seeing the last time the Elf had been in Hyjal. She opened her mouth to yell as she spotted a head of white hair, but it turned out to be a Blood Elf.

Then she saw her. "Slywyn!" The Tauren waved her arm, gesturing the Night Elf over once she caught her gaze. Several angry cries came from the crowd of defenders and heroes as the Night Elf pushed her way over. She stood about half a foot higher than the Tauren, and her familiar blue armor made her an imposing sight, especially with the hilt of her sword sticking up over her shoulder.

Slywyn smirked at the Druid. "You called?"

Matoclaw nodded, letting out a slightly relieved sigh. "Thank you for answering our call for aid, Slywyn. Many of the Guardians did not want to start without you. Unfortunately..."

Slywyn quirked an eyebrow. "Unfortunately...?"

"You're a bit late. Hamuul, Malfurion, and some of our esteemed guests have already traveled to the invasion point, atop that cliff. Our gate to the Firelands is not yet completed, but it will be shortly. The sooner we can break through, the better. Go on! Hamuul will be expecting you." Matoclaw pointed behind her to a cliff with some kind of strange portal-thing sitting atop it.

Slywyn nodded, then looked to the cliff that Matoclaw pointed out. She spun on her heel, immediately heading away. Matoclaw's goodbye was drowned out by the growing din of the crowd.

----

Slywyn strode up to Hamuul Runetotem after climbing the hill, tapping the Tauren on the arm. He spun around to see who wanted his attention, then smiled. "Slywyn. It is good to see you again. Our gate is nearly opened."

Hamuul gestured behind him to the strange portal. "We appear to have everything under control. Our invasion portal to the Firelands will be opened momentarily, and the elementals have not put up much fight. Assist our druids by dispatching the last few of these elementals. Then, once the gate has been opened, we can make our move."

Slywyn looked around his shoulder, leaning to her right, to see that several elementals were indeed harassing the defenders, but they were being put down quickly. She nodded, then moved to stand at Hamuul's side as they waited for the portal to come open.

Finally, the portal tore open with a flash of flame, and a veritable army of elementals rolled through. Hamuul turned to Slywyn to call for her to enter the fray, but the Night Elf was already off like a rocket, charging straight for the nearest elemental.

----

The combat was short and quick, dead husks of elementals cluttering the ground before the newly-opened portal. Slywyn pulled her blade free of the molten corpse of one, going to sheathe it, before she noticed something stirring in the portal's maw.

She turned toward it, and the shape of a female Night Elf came into view. Clad in flame-wreathed robes, she strode out of the portal as if she owned it.

Hamuul raised his arm, calling out to the gathered Druids. "Druids, hold your fire! She is unarmed!"

Slywyn turned to ask Hamuul if he was an idiot, but her jaw dropped. Standing next to and slightly behind Hamuul Runetotem, was none other than Malfurion Stormrage. She had to fight the urge to go to a knee. Malfurion also raised a hand. "Wait a moment... I know that girl. Leyara, is that you?"

Slywyn pivoted back toward Leyara, eyeing the Druid clad in flame. She took a step toward the Druid, but recoiled almost immediately. She was giving off so much heat that the trailing edge of Slywyn's armor actually began to glow red.

"Minions of the Firelord, lay waste to these invaders! The Guardians of Hyjal shall burn for their arrogance!", the Flame Druid called out. Slywyn's face turned down into a frown, and she readied her blade.

"You will all suffer the wrath of Ragnaros! DIE!" The searing heat around her turned out to be a prepared spell, and Leyara unleashed a nova of flame around her that killed some of the more adventurous Druids almost immediately.

Slywyn had to turn away to shield her eyes, feeling the outskirts of the spell wash over her. She snarled, then turned and charged the Druid of the Flame, leading swordpoint first. The Flame Druid simply laughed, jumping into the air.

She turned into a phoenix midjump, and Slywyn hacked at empty air. She glared up at Leyara. "No matter. I shall watch Hyjal burn from afar." Leyara then flew out of arrow or spell reach, winging off to another point in Hyjal.

Slywyn turned to the two powerful Druids, waiting for some kind of information or orders. She once more sheathed her sword.

Hamuul spoke first. "A flame druid... she is dangerous, Malfurion. You know her?"

Malfurion turned to Hamuul. "Yes, Hamuul. And she's more dangerous than you know."

Slywyn raised an eyebrow, striding toward Malfurion. "Just what the hell was that."

Malfurion eyed Slywyn, his lips pursing ever so slightly. "We should not worry about this "Druid of the Flame" for the time being. We must be concerned with the continuance of our operation. Return to Matoclaw at the Sanctuary of Malorne. If Ragnaros was prepared for our arrival, then I anticipate that his forces will launch a counterattack soon."

Slywyn nodded to Malfurion, gave a wave to Hamuul, and started back down the hill.

Slywyn

06-30-2011, 08:33 PM

(Note: This is not meant to be canon. It's just a write up of my character's point of view as she goes through the Molten Front as if she were 'the' hero. It's also probably going to make Sly look like a sue, but it's for narrative purposes, I promise.)

Slywyn pushed her way to to Matoclaw, brushing a bit of soot off of her armor. Most of the crowd was still focused on the portal to the Firelands, now still and silent.

Matoclaw gasped when she saw Slywyn, moving toward the Warrior. "What happened up there? I saw fire and... never mind, you can tell me later. We have other, more immediate matters to attend to."

Sly's eyebrow went up, questioning the Druid.

Matoclaw continued. "Our invasion plan looks to have backfired. Several of our birds have already reported in, speaking of fires breaking out across the vales of central Hyjal." She gestured out to the east of the Sanctuary of Malorne.

"Now, many of our druids are stranded out in the field, unprepared for such a large-scale attack. Thisalee was near Ashen Lake, and several others were out in the Regrowth, to the northeast." She looked at Slywyn meaningfully. Then shoo'd her when she didn't get the idea.

"Go, Slywyn! Find them, and make sure that they do not succumb to this backdraft!"

Sly frowns a bit at her treatment from the Druid, nodding curtly before stepping off into the Regrowth.

----

Slywyn spotted Thisalee first near the lake, swooping down on the back of Malcarion, her Black Drake. Riding him in Hyjal was a risk, as he could be mistaken for a Twilight Drake, but time was of the essence. Mal landed flat atop one of the elementals, crushing it under his weight and claws. Slywyn lept from her saddle, driving her blade through the center of another elemental's core, and killing it instantly.

She ran to the Druid of the Talon's side, helping her up from where she'd fallen when Mal landed. She looked fairly beat up, breathing heavily. "Hey, Slywyn, you're here! These guys came out of nowhere! Help me out while I catch my breath."

Sly nodded, turning her back to Thisalee while the Druid caught her breath.

Between her and Mal, the elementals attacking her were able to be held back long enough for Thisalee to recoup herself. "I can handle things from here. I'll meet you back at the Sanctuary, Slywyn."

Sly glanced behind her, saluting with her sword. She muttered something in Draconic to Mal, then climbed onto his front left foreleg, standing on his claw. She wrapped an arm around his leg and held on as Mal took off into the air.

They headed east, back into the Regrowth, to look for the next fighters. It didn't take long to spot the besieged Elderlimb, some of the Ancient's branches already having caught fire.

Sly looked at Mal, and as if acting on some unspoken command, the drake flung Slywyn into the air, and she pointed herself like a missile. It was something they'd done before, but only rarely. And she trusted his aim.

True to Mal's mark, Slywyn impacted with an elemental at high speed like an armored wrecking ball. Most of her force disappated on impact, but she still had to roll to cushion her landing on the ground as pulverized elemental rock rained down around her. Her shoulderpads, specially reinforced and augmented for exactly that purpose, took most of the force of the blow, leaving Slywyn unscathed.

Mal landed atop another elemental, melting it with a gout of flame from his maw. The battered Ancient looked like it could have cheered. "Your arrival is timely, Night Elf. I tire of fighting these wretched things."

Slywyn smirked at the Ancient, standing under it's sheltering limbs to continue the fight against the elementals. After several minutes, it appeared that they'd beaten back the worst of the attackers. "I can hold them off from here, Night Elf. We will meet again at the Sanctuary of Malorne."

Slywyn was already running up Mal's tail, who was making ready to take off, before the Ancient had even finished speaking. She settled into the saddle as the drake took off, the Ancient waving his goodbyes.

It wasn't long before the pair spotted the last of the embattled fighters, a Druid pair that Sly could have sworn was a 'pair' the last time she met them for a short time. Mal hovered for a moment in the air, the drake beginning to look winded. Sly dropped from her saddle to the ground, landing with a metallic clank. The drake flew a short distance to catch his breath while Slywyn assisted the two Druids.

Tholo was the first to notice Slywyn and speak. "Look, Anren! Slywyn has come to help us!" And so she did.

It wasn't long before the elementals were beaten back here as well, and it looked like there were less on the field than before. They were either being beaten back, or gathering for something. Either way, Slywyn knew she had to get back to the Sanctuary soon. Tholo seemed to sense her decision, waving to Slywyn with his back to Anren. "Thank you, Slywyn. As long as we stay together, Anren and I will be fine. Go check on the others!"

Sly nodded, then put an arm up into the air, circling her hand around with her pointer extended. It seemed to be some sort of signal, and Mal appeared a few moments later. She lept up, grabbing ahold of the saddle strap with one hand, and hung there as Mal kept flying toward the Sanctuary.

She could already see from the air that they were under heavy attack. Slywyn knew she was a good fighter, but it didn't look like things were going well at all. She wondered if she'd be able to stem the tide.

Slywyn

06-30-2011, 11:37 PM

Sly's armored boots hit the ground like twin thunderclaps when she lept from Mal's back. She stood slowly, making her way to Hamuul, who was holding the line in bear form. She put her hand on his shoulder. He spared a glance her way. The elementals were coming.

He tried to sound hopeful, but it was clear he was putting on a front. "Slywyn! You're back!" He grunted, swiping an elemental that ventured too close. "They've pushed us back to the Sanctuary. We are vastly outnumbered. At this rate, the Guardians of Hyjal stand little chance of survival." He looked to Slywyn, eyeing her. "I'm glad you're here with us."

Slywyn's expression grew grim, and she slowly drew her greatsword from her back. She faced the elementals, readying her blade.

They came for her.

The fighting began in earnest as the elemental's second massive wave hit the Sanctuary. The defenders were holding, but barely. Slywyn's armor was starting to have more scorchmarks than clean spots by the time she finally opened her mouth. "What the hell's the plan here? Die?"

Hamuul called to her from a short distance away. "Malfurion is working on a miracle for us. He believes that, in this time of peril, he can resurrect Malorne to protect the sanctuary. I have faith in him." He glanced to Slywyn meaningfully, intending her to catch what wasn't said. She did, and snorted, slicing a smaller elemental in half in the process.

"In the meantime, we need to hold this perimeter. Stand by, and make sure no harm befalls my fellow arch druid."

Slywyn laughed. "What the hell do you think I'm doing!?"

She didn't believe that Malfurion could resurrect Malorne. She'd watched the great stag die. No one came back from something like that. But she would hold the line as long as she was able.

As the fight drew on, Matoclaw spoke out from somewhere nearby. "The invaders are fast approaching, Malfurion! Give up this ritual and join the fight!"

Malfurion grunted. He was standing near the statue of Malorne, channeling magics into it, or the ground, or something. Slywyn couldn't tell, and didn't have time to look. It was all she could do was hold them at the stairs at this point. Footing was becoming perilous, shattered molten stone littering the steps she was defending.

Matoclaw spoke out again, her voice had a slightly shrill edge to it. "With your help, we can repel them!"

Malfurion shook his head. "No, Matoclaw. Ragnaros will not be content to send mere foot soldiers to attack us. I sense something larger is coming, and we will need the strength of Malorne if we are to survive."

Slywyn snorted again, looking up at an elemental. "As if we didn't have big enough problems.", she muttered.

Hamuul seemed to have heard her, speaking to both Matoclaw and Slywyn. "Have patience, Matoclaw. The ritual is nearly complete."

Slywyn turned to him, gaining a moment by cleaving three elementals to bits. "Patience? We're running out of ground." Ironically enough, this was the point Slywyn slipped. She caught herself on her arm, barely able to parry the strike of an elemental. She kicked it down the stairs, knocking over several more. "We're running out of time here, Malfurion!"

Appearing out of the distance, almost as if emphasizing her point, a massive elemental, towering over most of the trees, began his slow walk to the shrine. Slywyn could tell. If this thing reached the shrine, they were done. She watched it approach, calling out of the corner of her mouth. "Malfurion... you really need to do something!"

Matoclaw apparently chose this point to break, her voice shrill. "Elune's light... what is that thing?"

Hamuul's voice rang out. "Hold them back! We need to buy more time!"

Slywyn hit an elemental with the flat side of her blade as hard as she could, shattering it's arm and side with the force. Her blade shook in her hands, almost threatening to shake itself loose. Her strength was flagging. The battle was wearing on her. "WE'RE OUT OF TIME, MALFURION."

The massive elemental was almost here. It's voice bellowed, sounding deeper than anything she'd heard before. "Buuurrnnn!"

Slywyn heard as much as she felt power being released behind her. Malfurion's voice sounded strained. "Hold the line! They must not break through!"

Slywyn let loose a scream, charging the elementals. She wasn't going to die defending some stupid steps. She was giving herself fully to the fight, giving the elementals everything she had.

She could see the massive elemental charging some kind of spell. The fight was about to be over. And it wasn't going to end well for the defenders. "Succumb to living flame!" It raised it's arm.

Hamuul's voice rang out above the din of battle, clear and strong. "Stand strong! Only a bit longer!"

Slywyn was lost in the battle. She only realized what happened then the elementals stopped fighting her, staring up at something massive behind her. She turned to look over her shoulder, and all she could see was a gigantic white leg. Thicker than a tree trunk. Hooves as sharp and hard as diamonds.

Malorne, reborne.

Slywyn's eyes rolled up in her head, and her legs went weak. "Malorne..." Her legs gave out in shock, and everything grew silent. All she could see was the huge stag charging over her, antlers lowered to attack the elemental.

She felt the collision more than she heard it, and then her back hit the ground, and her world went dark.

Slywyn

07-01-2011, 06:28 AM

Slywyn awoke to someone gently tapping her face. "Slywyn. Lady Slywyn! Wake up!" She opened her eyes, blinking in confusion. She wasn't quite sure what happened, and peered at the Guardian tapping on her face. "There you are."

She sat up, pushing herself out of the bed she was in. She put a hand to her head to try to soothe her headache. "What the hell happened?"

"By all accounts you were knocked out by an elemental. Something hit your head. No permanent damage, just a nice little knot that will heal in time." Slywyn nodded, waving the Guardian away. She stood, then noticed her sword leaning against the side of the tent. She grabbed it, slowly sheathing it.

"What's going on out there?" She pointed out of the tent.

The Guardian smiled at her. "Malorne drove the invaders back. And Malfurion wants to see you." Slywyn raised an eyebrow, then nodded. She waved him out of the tent with her hand, then headed out after him.

Slywyn climbed the steps to the shrine proper, peering at Malfurion. "Yeah?"

Malfurion didn't offer a smile, beginning to speak. "Malorne's strength alone may have just saved Kalimdor. To imagine, Malorne has returned today, after so long an absence..." Malfurion gestures around the area to the Sanctuary and regrowth. "We've taken heavy losses. Though the immediate threat is no longer present, our forces will need time to heal, and to put out any remaining fires here in Hyjal."

His brow drew down. "Our attack on the Firelands will have to wait." He gestured to Hamuul. "Runetotem wishes to speak to you." With that Malfurion turned around, ending the conversation.

Slywyn made a face at the Archdruid's back before stepping off the short distance to Hamuul. The Druid seemed slightly worried, and began speaking before she stopped in front of him. "We suffered heavy losses during the backdraft after our invasion attempt. Our second attempt cannot fall. We need more reinforcements before we attempt another invasion. Please, Slywyn, work with Matoclaw to obtain enough resources to afford reinforcements. Then, we take our second and final stab at the Firelands."

Sly nodded. "I'll get to it."

Hamuul smiled a small half-smile and nodded, then gestured toward Matoclaw, who stood a few yards away. "The sooner we can break through our invasion portal, the better."

Slywyn grumbled a bit at being sent all over the place, then headed toward Matoclaw. The Tauren Druid gave a bit of a sheepish smile, apparently still embarrassed about her behavior, before starting in on tasks.

The work began.

----

A few days later, Slywyn returned to the Sanctuary of Malorne, having received a letter from the Guardians that they were ready for the next stage of the invasion. Hamuul was waiting at the Sanctuary when she arrived. Sly stepped up in front of him, raising an eyebrow. "Are we done yet?"

Hamuul nodded. "Excellent work. I will send for our reinforcements right away."

Sly grumbles, turning to watch Hyjal. "Could have done that while I was on the way..."

Hamuul placed a hand on her shoulder. "Before we depart, Slywyn, I have another matter to which you should attend."

Sly turns her head to face him, raising an eyebrow.

"A Druid of the Flame has been spotted in the ruins to the northwest. I suspect it is the same one that attacked us at the portal several days ago. Now would be an ideal time to see what it is that she truly wants... and if necessary, dispose of her. See to this flame druid, then we can continue on our planned course." Hamuul pointed off to the west, toward the edge of Hyjal.

Slywyn's brows knitted together, and her lips drew up into a snarl. "Gladly." She circled her finger in the air, already starting off down the stairs toward an open area for Mal to land.

----

Slywyn climbed down off of Mal's saddle, standing just outside the small ruins on the edge of Hyjal. She could see someone standing just on the edge, and drew her blade. She waved Mal off, who headed back to the Sanctuary to await her.

She began walking toward the figure, able to tell it was Leyara as she ventured closer. The familiar flaming Druidic regalia was a dead giveaway. Slywyn strode up to the Druid. Her instinct was telling her to strike first and ask questions later, but she wanted to know what all of this was about.

As she approached, Leyara began talking. "That Malfurion... fitting of him to send his Night Elf underling to speak with me." It seemed she was speaking to noone at first, but turned to face Slywyn as she continued. "He has proven himself a coward, as always."

Sly's lips drew up in a snarl. "I am no one's underling. And, Malfurion, a coward? How can you justify that?"

Leyara let out a sharp bark of a laugh. Her voice sounded strange, as if the air inside her was boiling. "Never you mind, Night Elf. The details of my past were burned away when I joined the Druids of the Flame. They are of no concern to you." She waved a hand to Slywyn dismissively, earning an irritated growl out of the Warrior. "Besides, I am here to discuss the future of this realm. And I do not plan to discuss it with you."

She went rigid, her eyes beginning to burn with power. "Now answer me... where is Malfurion!?"

Slywyn wanted to recoil at the sudden flash of heat, but held her ground. "Malfurion is not here. Only me." She went into a guarding stance with her blade, expecting the Druid of the Flame to attack. Instead, she only laughed.

"Very well. Malfurion shall press into the Firelands, and we will deal with him there. His judgment can wait for a few more brief days." Her eyes burned even brighter, and she cackled in glee. "The tauren arch druid, however, will not be so lucky."

Slywyn's brows drew down in confusion. "Tauren arch druid? Do you mean Hamuul?"

Leyara's answer was a burning blast of flame into Slywyn's face, knocking her to the ground. Her blade skittered out of reach. She was stunned and unarmed, at the mercy of the Druid of the Flame. "It is already determined. You have no hope... the flames will consume all!" Leyara's head went back, a cackle like that of a hyena leaving her.

Slywyn could hear heavy footfalls behind her, and then Hamuul's voice. She began to try to stir to lift herself up, but found herself unable. Leyara's fireball seemed to have drained her strength, leaving her a heap on the ground.

"You... you're the one from the portal... the druid of flame..." Slywyn couldn't even lift her face to look at Hamuul and try to warn him. "You killed dozens of my students. You will pay for what you've done." Slywyn heard energy crackle, and then Leyara let out a scream of pain.

"Enough of this!" There was a pop, like something displacing air after being summoned.

Slywyn heard Hamuul's voice again. He sounded afraid. "What is this? I...can't move! Someone, help!"

Slywyn managed to push an arm under her chest to try to lift herself, but her limbs felt filled with lead. Her heart, already racing, sped up to try to assist her, but nothing she could do would lift the magical hold the Druid of the Flame had upon her. She struggled against invisible bonds, unable to pick herself up.

There was a crack, like a thunderclap, and the crackle of flame, followed by Hamuul's pained yelling. Slywyn could smell burning leather. "Burn, tauren! BURN!"

Leyara's cackle rent the air. "Have you had enough yet? Have you felt enough pain?" Slywyn felt something akin to being kicked in the gut, her armor doing nothing to stop the blow. She was rolled over by the force, and the sight that met her eyes was Hamuul, wreathed in flames. She tried to draw in air. To breathe. But nothing came.

"Now, look before you! One of Azeroth's most powerful "druids", reduced to nothing but a charred husk. Such is the will of Fandral Staghelm. Such is the will of the flame!" She raised her arms into the air in exultation of Fandral's name, another laugh jumping from her lips.

Slywyn was finally able to suck in a breath, tears of pain coming to her eyes. Her gut felt like it was going to be black and blue for days. Leyara spoke again, slowly beginning to shift into her phoenix-like flight form. "Go on, then. Weep over the body of your precious tauren... though I assure you that your tears will not bring him back."

She cackled again, then lifted off. As Leyara flew away, several of the Guardians flew up. They let out surprised and pained gasps at the sight. Slywyn curled into a ball around her stomach, and one of them dropped to his knees in front of Hamuul. "What... what has happened?"

Slywyn sucked in a breath, quickly relating the story to the Guardian, her voice pained. She could feel strength slowly returning to her limbs, but far too late. The Guardian looked at her, his face betraying tears. "Slywyn, I will attend to the Arch Druid. Malfurion and Matoclaw have requested your presence immediately."

Sly nodded, slowly pushing herself to her feet. She clutched at her stomach, striding to her blade. She wished she'd remembered to get her weapon chain fixed. She'd almost lost it entirely, sheer luck playing it's part in the weapon not dropping off the side of Hyjal.

Slywyn began the trek back to the Sanctuary, not having the strength to even call for Malcarion.

----

Matoclaw run up to Slywyn as she approached. It seemed the Sanctuary was in an uproar, but whether it was from the news about Hamuul, or the impending attack, Slywyn couldn't tell. She put her hands on Slywyn's shoulders. "What happened!?"

Slywyn stood up straighter, beginning to explain the story. Matoclaw listened intently to her. "I went there, to the ruins, like Hamuul asked. Leyara was there. She mentioned something about 'plans for the realm', and that Malfurion was a coward." Slywyn raised an arm to point offhand at Malfurion, who she could see speaking to someone atop the shrine.

"She... stunned me, with some kind of magic. There was nothing I could do." Matoclaw becomes visibly distressed as Slywyn continued. "Hamuul showed up. I guess he was worried. She stunned him the same way, I think, and then..." Slywyn shut her eyes, trying to block out the memories of Runetotem shrouded in flame. "Burned him."

Matoclaw's eyes filled with tears, and blame. She blamed Slywyn for what happened. "You deviated from our plan, Slywyn. Our attack was supposed to happen today! All this preparation... how will we succeed without the aid of Hamuul?" Her voice was filled with accusation.

She shook her head, pointing to Malfurion. "He said meet him in a few hours. He has a few final preparations to attend to."

With that, the Druid started away, leaving Slywyn alone.

Slywyn

07-01-2011, 03:21 PM

Slywyn spent the few hours Matoclaw had told her that Malfurion needed sitting out in a cleared part of the Regrowth. She spoke to no one, did nothing, and seemed simply to sit and think, her arms crossed across her knees, her legs pulled up against her chin.

One of the Guardians eventually found her, touching her gently on the shoulder. "Lady Ravenwind. Malfurion is ready for you." Sly glanced up at him, then put her hand against the ground, pushing herself to her feet.

She dusted off her hands, nodding once at the Guardian. "I'm coming."

----

Slywyn strode up to Malfurion as he waited at the foot of Malorne's statue, stopping just in front of him. He nodded once, then began speaking. "There will be time to mourn for Hamuul later. His is the first of many inevitable casualties in this war... but our attack cannot wait, nor should the momentum we have gained over the last several days be wasted." He pointed to the top of the cliff, where the portal was once again open and spitting flame.

"The portal atop Nordune Ridge is now open. Our reinforcements are prepared, and they await only my order to pass through the portal. We will meet again on the other side of the portal. Once there, we shall ensure that our foothold is secure."

Sly nodded once, looking to Malfurion. "I'll meet you there."

The Archdruid gave a single nod in return, then shifted into his flight form and took off toward the portal.

Slywyn turned to begin down the steps, passing by several people. They'd gathered Hamuul's body, and were apparently wrapping it up to bury it. It felt like her heart jumped up into her throat, and she passed by quickly, not wanting to linger.

The Tauren Archdruid had been a valuable companion in the attacks on the Fire elementals in the past, and losing him was a heavy blow. She looked up at the portal on the ridge, vowing to herself to avenge him. Slywyn started the journey up to the portal.

----

She stood just outside the entrance to the portal. Those responsible for the burning of Hamuul, and those responsible for the renewed attacks on Hyjal, lay inside. The heart of the Firelands could actually be seen through the swirling depths of the portal itself. Heat was radiating from it like it would from an oven. Slywyn steadied herself, and stepped through.

The first thing she could sense after she ported through was the heat. The dry, overbearing, overwhelming, heat. But she imagined that being that she was entering the Firelands, she should have expected it to be rather hot. She opened her eyes, and was greeted by the sight of Malfurion and an Elf she hadn't seen before fighting an elemental. Malfurion turned to her as she stepped through the portal, waving her over. "Slywyn! Help!"

Slywyn drew her blade and attacked the large elemental, helping Malfurion and the Elf, who she found out during the fighting was a "General Moonfall", dispatch it.

"Well done. We should be safe for the moment, but we haven't much time." Malfurion started toward a small cave, heading down inside. He pulled a single, large seed from a pouch on his belt.

Slywyn had seen one of those before. She gaped at it. "Is that a seed of the World Tree?"

Malfurion nodded in acknowledgement. "With this seed, we set root. With time and attention, we should be able to grow shelter from this charred, hostile realm."

He held the seed up, which began to glow a soft green. "Here we will hold firm against the onslaught of the elements." He let his hand drop the seed, which fell slowly through the air, suspended by magic. "Here we will draw the attention of Ragnaros' army so that others might strike at the heart of his realm." A crack opened in the scorched earth, and the seed slipped through. The earth then flowed back over the crack, covering the seed. "And now, the war begins." Malfurion nodded at Slywyn, then walked back outside.

Slywyn began to hear combat noises, and followed the Archdruid out. It seemed while they were planting the seed, more defenders and reinforcements had arrived. Slywyn stepped to Malfurion's side. He turned to her, handing her several small, coinlike objects.

Slywyn rolled them in her palm, peering at them. "What are these?"

Malfurion turned to her, then his eyes flicked to Jarod. "Ask him." The Archdruid turned away, joining an already existing conversation between several other Druids who had just arrived. Sly growled slightly at the dismissal, then turned away.

Jarod was standing near several other Druids, conversing with them, when Slywyn walked up next to him. She rolled the little tokens in her hand, showing them to the Commander. "What are these?"

Jarod smiled a little, poking one of them. "They are tokens of respect, purchased only with blood on the battlefield. Earning enough of these marks will be critical if we plan on winning this war."

Slywyn raised an eyebrow, appraising the Commander. "And why is that, exactly?"

Jarod withdrew his hand, turning to sweep it over the view in front of them. That of the Firelands. "To stand a chance in this battle against Ragnaros, we must gather allies who will gladly brave the scorched plains of the Firelands. And before we can recruit such allies to our cause- be they druid, soldier, or simple provisioner - we will need to give them a reason to join us. Carrying even a handful of these marks signifies you as a hero to our cause. Gather them in the hundreds... and you will lead armies." Jarod smirked, turned back to Slywyn, and closed her fingers over the marks there. "Are you beginning to see the plan yet?"

Slywyn's eyebrow slowly crept up. "Possibly."

Jarod nodded, then pointed over to Malfurion, who Sly just now noticed was calling to her. She looked up at Jarod once, then started toward Malfurion. She pocketed the marks she was given in one of the many pouches on her belt.

Malfurion was waiting. He nodded once as she approached. "The Shadow Wardens are back in the Regrowth. I know that they take the loss of Fandral from their custody very seriously, so it wouldn't take much prodding to bring them to the Firelands to hunt the Druids of the Flame, and perhaps aid us otherwise in the process." He gestured to the pouch that Slywyn had stashed her marks in.

"Should you come upon enough marks, you should seek out Captain Saynna Stormrunner at the Sanctuary of Malorne and secure her aid." He pointed back toward the portal. "And I've just received word someone back at the Sanctuary wishes to see you."

Slywyn's eyebrows went up, practically disappearing into her bangs. She nodded once, then started back toward the portal to return to the Sanctuary.

DarkAngel

07-02-2011, 05:19 PM

Comments: The Molten Front

(Note: This is not meant to be canon. It's just a write up of my character's point of view as she goes through the Molten Front as if she were 'the' hero. It's also probably going to make Sly look like a sue, but it's for narrative purposes, I promise.)
No problem. The game sort of boxes you into that role. Why not have fun with it? Anything that keeps you writing is a good thing.

About this scar you mentioned in the previous story; it's on her face, I take it? It would have to be to get that reaction. Forgive me if you mentioned it somewhere before.

Aha! So this is what really happens when you accept a quest. Still, that does leave the question about why the guard (presumably working on behalf of someone higher up) would flag her down specifically. The message sounds more like something that would be posted on a bulletin board. Then again, that would eliminate the humorus encounter. As a second note, does Sly think of herself as a "hero of the Alliance?" I'd think she'd be much more cynical about it, given that she's been treated harshly by one of the Alliance governments.

Okay, this is crossing into Sue territory. The Guardians wanted her sepecifically, out of all the hundreds of mercenary/adventurers roaming the world? On the other hand, it sounds like she has quite a history with them already. See, this is what happens when you start a story in the middle instead of the beginning. It make her esteem seem unearned.

I've always wondered how it is we can smack weapons into elementals made of lava and not get your swords melted. Then again, mounts materialize out of nothing.

"so much heat that the leading edge of Slywyn's armor actually began to glow red" You meant the facing side, right?

"Sly frowned a bit" This story is in past tense.

Slywyn just happens to have a Black Dragon at her disposal? There's got to be a story behind this one too.

How do you melt a Fire Elemental?

You need to decide whether the Ancient is an 'it' or a 'he.' Don't use both.

Again, forgive me if I've forgotten, but Sly fought in the War of the Ancients? That makes her pretty darn old.

"Slywyn could tell that if this thing reached" I think that was supposed to be one sentence.

The massive elemental was almost there. Third-person past perspective.

"The Guardian" may be a bit character, but he needs more description. Just specifying his race would be enough.

"Malfurion gestured around" Game text might need some retooling before going into a story, heh heh.

With that, Malfurion turned

"A few days later?!" After following the quests that closely, you suddenly make concession to reality? Sacrelige!

"Sly grumbled,"
"Sly turned her head"
"Matoclaw ran up to Slywyn"
I'm seeing a pattern here...

How did Sly deviate from the plan? Or, is Matoclaw just projecting her emotions onto a scapegoat?

"Lady Ravenwind?" Why does everyone keep calling her that?

She closed her eyes. That was our loading screen, I bet.

Jarod Shadowsong just appeared? You didn't confirm his identity by using his surname, nor did you in any way indicate surprise at his sudden appearance. Did we lose a paragraph somewhere in there?

Over all, I think you're doing very well. However, you're following the quests a bit too closely for my taste. Porting a book into a movie forces you change some things. That might apply here, too.

Slywyn

07-02-2011, 07:41 PM

Comments: The Molten Front

No problem. The game sort of boxes you into that role. Why not have fun with it? Anything that keeps you writing is a good thing.

About this scar you mentioned in the previous story; it's on her face, I take it? It would have to be to get that reaction. Forgive me if you mentioned it somewhere before.

Aha! So this is what really happens when you accept a quest. Still, that does leave the question about why the guard (presumably working on behalf of someone higher up) would flag her down specifically. The message sounds more like something that would be posted on a bulletin board. Then again, that would eliminate the humorus encounter. As a second note, does Sly think of herself as a "hero of the Alliance?" I'd think she'd be much more cynical about it, given that she's been treated harshly by one of the Alliance governments.

Okay, this is crossing into Sue territory. The Guardians wanted her sepecifically, out of all the hundreds of mercenary/adventurers roaming the world? On the other hand, it sounds like she has quite a history with them already. See, this is what happens when you start a story in the middle instead of the beginning. It make her esteem seem unearned.

I've always wondered how it is we can smack weapons into elementals made of lava and not get your swords melted. Then again, mounts materialize out of nothing.

"so much heat that the leading edge of Slywyn's armor actually began to glow red" You meant the facing side, right?

"Sly frowned a bit" This story is in past tense.

Slywyn just happens to have a Black Dragon at her disposal? There's got to be a story behind this one too.

How do you melt a Fire Elemental?

You need to decide whether the Ancient is an 'it' or a 'he.' Don't use both.

Again, forgive me if I've forgotten, but Sly fought in the War of the Ancients? That makes her pretty darn old.

"Slywyn could tell that if this thing reached" I think that was supposed to be one sentence.

The massive elemental was almost there. Third-person past perspective.

"The Guardian" may be a bit character, but he needs more description. Just specifying his race would be enough.

"Malfurion gestured around" Game text might need some retooling before going into a story, heh heh.

With that, Malfurion turned

"A few days later?!" After following the quests that closely, you suddenly make concession to reality? Sacrelige!

"Sly grumbled,"
"Sly turned her head"
"Matoclaw ran up to Slywyn"
I'm seeing a pattern here...

How did Sly deviate from the plan? Or, is Matoclaw just projecting her emotions onto a scapegoat?

"Lady Ravenwind?" Why does everyone keep calling her that?

She closed her eyes. That was our loading screen, I bet.

Jarod Shadowsong just appeared? You didn't confirm his identity by using his surname, nor did you in any way indicate surprise at his sudden appearance. Did we lose a paragraph somewhere in there?

Over all, I think you're doing very well. However, you're following the quests a bit too closely for my taste. Porting a book into a movie forces you change some things. That might apply here, too.

1)It's the same scar that's in my avatar. That's the most correct drawing of her face that I've had done yet. =)

2) The guard was sent to find her specifically, but he was given only the generic bulletin board message to give her. But he mentions they wanted her when he says that her assistance is requested. I'm probably leaving too much up to the reader to infer.

3a) That's why I mention in the disclaimer that the story is painting her as 'the' Hero. According to the 'lore' or backstory of this particular story, Sly is the Night Elf who's done it all. Saved Darkshore, pushed the Horde out of Ashenvale, etc.

3b) She doesn't see herself as a hero of the Alliance. She helps who she wants when she wants. If she hadn't have felt like going out to Hyjal, she simply wouldn't have gone.

4) Kind of the same as 3a.

5) Enchanted weaponry/armor.

6) I meant that to be her -shoulder- armor, which does have a leading edge.

7) She does have a Black Dragon at her disposal. But yeah, that would take an entire other story. He's all magically bound and blah blah.

8) Rock < Magical dragonbreath.

9) It's a he. :p But yeah, I should probably change it.

10) Slywyn's favorite answer to 'how old are you' is "I was old when Vashj'ir was above sea level."

11) (Yes I'm skipping some of the questions, but mostly the grammatical/writing ones) Yes, because it would logically take time to gather reinforcements. They can't just magically poof there, or Malfurion wouldn't mention they need time to gather them.

13) From what the inferred meaning of that particular quest is(I felt), heading off to look for Leyara seems like a personal favor to Hamuul, rather than anything that was 'scheduled'.

14) They call her "Lady Ravenwind" because Slywyn is the last known member of the Ravenwind line. That makes her the "Lady" or leader of her household/line/house/whatever. What people call her varies(And is meant to lend a little realism) because not everyone would recognize her by the same name, depending on how they'd heard of her.

15) Realistic interpretations of loading screens whee. >>

17) Slywyn can't be everywhere at once, but Jarod Shadowsong was chosen as the Commander of the Ancients earlier in the Hyjal quests(And if you haven't done those particular quests, he doesn't show up in the Molten Front, a rather cool nod to the questers on Blizzard's part). His showing up there, when he's supposed to be in command of the war effort(Under Malfurion, of course), shouldn't come as much of a surprise. So, Slywyn doesn't seem all that surprised to see him.

18) I know, but I wanted this to be -as- close to the quests as possible. But being that I'm at the section where you just have to daily for 10 days with no story movement, I'm wanting to post maybe one or two of Slywyn doing random things. Perhaps visiting home, or doing some of the 'daily' tasks, or earning a few marks.

19) I bet you didn't notice I skipped two numbers.

DarkAngel

07-04-2011, 01:37 PM

1)It's the same scar that's in my avatar. That's the most correct drawing of her face that I've had done yet. =)

The one that looks a lot like Varian's? How do you get that from surgury?

8) Rock < Magical dragonbreath.
That one was intended as a joke. We destroy Fire Elementals all the time. We can also kill Ice Elementals with frost damage.

10) Slywyn's favorite answer to 'how old are you' is "I was old when Vashj'ir was above sea level."
Not to burst your bubble, but if Sly is so old, how come she was just some enlisted no-ranker at the time of war3? Allow me to explain myself: It has been calculated that if accidents, homicides, wars, etc. were the only causes of death, real life people would have an average life expectancy of 5000 years. Obviously, it would be possible to live quite a bit longer than that (Tyrande). Just by attrition, seniority would have gotten her promotions. Then again, you didn't specify the seniority of the soldiers in that camp back at the beginning. Anyway, your story, your call.

EDIT: A hot temper could be the plausible culprit. Chronic insubordination and fighting leads to being passed over by the promotion board. She did kill somebody, after all.

EDIT EDIT: Do the Sentinels have a formal promotion process? For all we know, promotions could be at the discretion of the CO.

17) Slywyn can't be everywhere at once, but Jarod Shadowsong was chosen as the Commander of the Ancients earlier in the Hyjal quests(And if you haven't done those particular quests, he doesn't show up in the Molten Front, a rather cool nod to the questers on Blizzard's part). His showing up there, when he's supposed to be in command of the war effort(Under Malfurion, of course), shouldn't come as much of a surprise. So, Slywyn doesn't seem all that surprised to see him.
My point was that if you turn around and there's suddenly someone there, you're going jump, even if you know them.

19) I bet you didn't notice I skipped two numbers.
Only after you pointed it out. ;)

Looks like my logical streak is ruining everyone's fun, as usual...

Slywyn

07-04-2011, 01:50 PM

The one that looks a lot like Varian's? How do you get that from surgury?

That one was intended as a joke. We destroy Fire Elementals all the time. We can also kill Ice Elementals with frost damage.

Not to burst your bubble, but if Sly is so old, how come she was just some enlisted no-ranker at the time of war3? Allow me to explain myself: It has been calculated that if accidents, homicides, wars, etc. were the only causes of death, real life people would have an average life expectancy of 5000 years. Obviously, it would be possible to live quite a bit longer than that (Tyrande). Just by attrition, seniority would have gotten her promotions. Then again, you didn't specify the seniority of the soldiers in that camp back at the beginning. Anyway, your story, your call.

EDIT: A hot temper could be the plausible culprit. Chronic insubordination and fighting leads to being passed over by the promotion board. She did kill somebody, after all.

EDIT EDIT: Do the Sentinels have a formal promotion process? For all we know, promotions could be at the discretion of the CO.

My point was that if you turn around and there's suddenly someone there, you're going jump, even if you know them.

Only after you pointed it out. ;)

Looks like my logical streak is ruining everyone's fun, as usual...

I thought you meant something else. That's my bad. The scar on her face is from an incident in ICC. The scar that's from the events of captive runs across the entire front of her body. It's covered by armor.

Sly was never interested in leading. And her temper/insubordinate nature got her passed over 9 times out of 10. She got to fight as an 'enlisted no-ranker' and that's all she was ever really concerned with. Not to mention she only joined the Sentinels after their creation. She wasn't really in the 'military' prior to that. I've never specified anything she did prior to the Sentinels, specifically.

Only that she didn't want to be a Priestess, and that she was decent at melee.

Sly's not really the jumpy type, and if she did 'jump' she'd probably just turn around kind of quickly and look at whoever at was with her eyebrows raised.

Slywyn

07-04-2011, 01:55 PM

((The character is a Night Elf by the name of Ethaelen. The character herself is supposed to be somewhat of a mystery. These were written for people who already know the character enough to be somewhat familiar with her. They're not really 'stories' so much as glimpses into her head, but I decided I wanted to post them anyway.))

Ethaelen lay on her back in her bunk in the Sentinel's Bunkhouse. She had her own place to stay within Darnassus, but wanted to start getting used to sleeping among the others as much as she could. She was more readily available this way, even if it was harder for her to sleep. She had just finished tossing and turning, and had a slightly frustrated look on her face as she lay there with her eyes closed.

She ran her hand up her chest and then down the neckline of her tunic, feeling for the chain of the pendant she always wore. She pulled the pendant free, setting it atop the cloth. Keeping her eyes closed, she wrapped her right hand around the pendant. She held it like some held religious icons in times of trouble, seeming to draw strength from it. A dull green glow emanated from the emerald set in the center of the silver pendant, enough to illuminate her face in the darkness.

Using the pendant as a security blanket, she slowly dropped off to sleep. Her facial features relaxed, her breathing evened out.

She didn't stay peaceful for long. She began to toss and turn in her sleep, her facial features distorting as something ravaged her mind. Her ever-present nightmare, the one thing she couldn't escape.

Green flames, shadows flickering upon the scene. Ethaelen was standing in the middle of a ring of flames, surrounded by them. Shadowy apparitions passed into view and faded, their expressions contorted into those of hatred. They reached out for her from all sides. If she tried to back away from one, she would run into the grasping fingers of another. She let out a pitiful-sounding cry, her head on a pivot as she tried to find a way out. But none could be found.

The ring of flames began to contort, the boundaries shrinking. And the monsters came closer until she could feel them upon her. Their claws raked at her flesh and clothing, trying to deal damage, pierce her skin, mar her face. And while each and every one pained her greatly, not a one broke the skin. The flames drew ever inward until they touched her. They climbed her clothing, covering her in them until she was a bright green glowing torch in the ever-present darkness.

And the shadows began to scream her name.

Ethaelen awoke, sitting bolt upright in her bunk, her skin covered in a glistening sheen of sweat. She grasped at her pendant, her hand squeezing so tightly around it that her knuckles turned a dull pink as there was no space left for blood. She shuddered, trying to calm herself. She could still hear the apparition's cries of anger and anguish.

"You did this to us!"

"You caused this!"

"Nightmare!"

Slywyn

07-04-2011, 01:57 PM

Ethaelen lay quietly in her room at home, having chosen this night to be alone. She was without a blanket, letting the temperate Teldrassil air run across her as it would. A window in the back of the room was cracked open, letting a slight breeze through the similarly open door. Her right hand, as was customary, was curled loosely around the green pendant she wore around her neck. The stone within glowed with a dim green light, throwing her face into shallow relief as she slept.

As was often the case, it appeared her dreams were not entirely peaceful. She seemed to be concentrating on something with inhuman focus.

As usual, the only light came from the sickly green flames that always illuminated these dreams. She knew that's what they were in her waking hours, but when she was dreaming... they seemed far too real.

Ethaelen was sitting cross-legged in a circle of flames, her hands resting upon her legs. She was concentrating, her eyes clenched shut as she tried to focus. Her hands lay open, palms up. A drop of sweat ran down her brow, stalling on her cheek. She did not move, seeming almost to be a statue if it were not for her labored breathing.

A gash was open on the side of her leather armor, the purplish blood leaking from the wound glistening brightly in the reflected firelight. It seemed rather large, and deep. But she didn't even seem to notice. The ground around her in a circle reaching out a foot from her body was browning and dying from some unknown cause.

A translucent, dark figure materialized next to her. The figure bent down, placing the area where it's mouth would be right up against her ear.

"You cannot save them."

Around the area could be seen the figures of several Sentinel sisters, each seeming to be in some state of duress. Each was bound. Several were lying on their sides. Some were sitting up, or leaning on things. One was standing off to the side. But each one seemed to fade in and out, as if Ethaelen was not focused on them. And each glowed ever so slightly with a dim green light.

Only one out of all of them seemed focused and sharp. One of the smaller, younger looking ones was laying off to the side on her back. She lay still, and was glowing the brightest of all. She almost seemed to radiate the green light, as if she was being focused on intently.

Ethaelen herself seemed strangely absent this light.

The figure bent down again, it's voice harsh and grating.

"Give up. They -will- die."

Ethaelen shook her head ever so slightly as more of the area came into view. There were trees all around, walls, ruins. Cages. Beyond those looked to be some kind of camp, and troll-shaped figures paced back and forth. The circle of dying vegetation slowly but surely grew, inching outward.

The figure seemed to kneel or squat down, bringing it's head level with hers, and spoke at length.

"Why do you try? They mean nothing to you. Their deaths would not upset your oh-so-important balance. It is not so delicate that their deaths would tip the scales. And you would be able to save yourself. You are dying."

It did not move, watching her.

Ethaelen knew, even if she would not express it, that she would let herself die to save these Elves. These Sentinels. She didn't know why. The figure was right. They mattered little to the balance. She didn't know why she was trying. But try she did.

It would not be enough.

The figure spoke again. "You have failed."

The Sentinel, glowing vibrantly only moments before, gave a slight kick. The light faded until there was nothing left. And then even the dream-form of her body faded into nothingness.

Ethaelen awoke with a cry, gripping at her side as if the wound, now healed, was paining her anew.

She shuddered in her bed, her eyes shut tight against the memories. She clenched her eyes and jaw, willing herself not to dwell on the thoughts. But they would not go away. She was forced to watch again as life faded from some of the Sentinels, and was forced to watch again as one of the bodies, life already gone, was carted away by a larger-than-life Kaldorei in plate armor.

She had failed them.

"Just as I failed them all", she whispered to no one in particular.

Slywyn

07-04-2011, 01:58 PM

Ethaelen was clutching the green pendant in her hand tightly, though the expression on her face was peaceful. She lay in a bed not unlike her own, though the room was different. And the air here was bitter cold, meaning she was covered in a thick blanket. Her arm, head, and pendant were the only things uncovered. The pendant began to give off a gentle glow, and the expression on her face grew to one of curiosity.

"I know you are near. Changing what and who you are does not change your past. I know what you search for when your eyes close. You will not find it."

There was a flash of a face, glowing eyes glinting in darkness. It's expression was one of resignation and perhaps sadness before the vision faded.

Ethaelen's expression changed. Her look of curiosity gave way to one of sadness and regret, her brows drawing down.

She slept peacefully for a time, and then the nightmares began once more.

Unable to sleep because of them, Ethaelen slowly sat up, wrapping the blanket around her frame. She walked outside and to the edge of the balcony of the building in Winterspring. She gazed in the direction Hyjal, trying to catch a glimpse of Nordrassil.

The snow clouds cleared for a moment and the Tree stood silhouetted against the moon and night sky before it was obscured once more.

Ethaelen let out a sigh. She looked full of regret, and longing for something she had lost. She tried for a few more minutes to catch another glimpse of the Tree, but in vain. Giving up, she turned back to the building to attempt to sleep.

Slywyn

07-04-2011, 01:59 PM

Ethaelen strode into the Cenarion Enclave in Darnassus looking tired, as had become the norm. One of the Druids there, a fellow by the name of Erendrathis Ivyleaf, stopped her near the door. It had been him who had found her in Rut'theran Village a little over a year ago, wandering confused through the buildings there. She had seemed to have no memory of who she was or what she had done before that point.

Even so, he could tell she had a closer connection to nature than others, and had brought her in for candidacy testing for Druid training. Unfortunately she had failed. They found that, strangely, she could not connect to the Dream by any means. Even when guided by others, it eluded her as if the Dream itself would not allow her within.

They had kept her on, letting her work with them and learn what she could from them. Eventually she was able to stand on her own two feet, so to speak, and was able to secure her own place within the city instead of bunking at the Enclave. She stopped by from time to time, though ever since she had joined the Sentinels as a healer, the visits were fewer and farther between.

That she had come in was a rare treat, but Eren could tell something was wrong.

"You haven't been sleeping again, have you?" He looked at her face, noticing the discoloration under her eyes from lack of sleep.

She had always had trouble sleeping. Almost since the day she appeared she had been wracked by terrible nightmares that often persisted for weeks or months at a time, causing her to lose sleep or even not sleep at all for extended periods of time.

Ethaelen shook her head, turning away from him slightly. "No."

He frowned and nodded, leading her away from the door. "Are they similar?" She nodded without speaking. He let out an unhappy sigh, guiding her to the bench. "You're here to spend the night again, aren't you?"

Ethaelen nodded, leaning back against the wall with her eyes closed.

Whenever the nightmares were at their worst, Ethaelen could always be guaranteed at least one good night's sleep if she slept near the moonwell in the bottom of the Enclave's tower. Something about it's healing energies enabled her to keep the nightmares away, at least for a time. It never lasted long because she always insisted she felt strange near the moonwells, though he often thought she simply didn't want to impede on their hospitality longer than she needed to.

He nodded, standing. "I'll go get you a blanket."

Ethaelen opened her eyes and nodded, giving him a thankful look. "Maybe they'll leave for the night."

He smiled at her before turning away. "They always do."

Slywyn

07-04-2011, 02:00 PM

Ethaelen sat up suddenly in her bed, gasping for breath and clutching her pendant. She looked around the room for a moment, reassuring herself as to where she was. Willing herself to calm, she looked around the Sentinel's bunkhouse. None of the others were awake.

She didn't like people to see her like this, trembling against her will at the nightmares that haunted her sleep, but it wouldn't be the first time someone had rushed to her side after watching her awake. She hated that, never able to make them understand just how bad the nightmares were.

Each one was a fear or scenario of failure made real, and she was mocked internally by each. She pushed the thin blanket off of her legs and strode to the balcony overlooking Darnassus, watching the city. Moreso than other cities, Darnassus was alive this late at night. For the majority of it's residents, the night was like the day. They slept during the day and carried out their normal tasks at night.

She jumped down from the second story, landing with a quiet thud on a knee, her hand splayed against the ground. She stood after a moment, her hand immediately going back around her pendant to clutch it against her chest.

She walked among the people of the city for a time, but no matter how many surrounded her, she only ever felt two things:

Fear at being found, and alone.

Slywyn

07-05-2011, 06:03 AM

Slywyn was gasping for breath, curled up on her side inside of her cage. Her hands were clutched against her sides, holding onto herself tightly. There was a line purple line of blood that ran from under one armpit, down across her side, turned sideways across her front below her navel, and then back up the other side to cut off just under her other arm.

The Orc hadn't been lying when he said he wanted to study her. They had cut her open, keeping her alive with magic. The pain was unbearable. When they had sealed her closed again, they had injected her with something that they wanted to study the effects of.

She had absolutely no idea what it was, but she knew it was causing her chest to feel like it was on fire. She couldn't take more than the shallowest of breaths before her chest felt like it was going to explode, and her whole body felt like it was on fire.

She let out a quiet moan of pain, curling even tighter against herself. It was only the first night of her being here, but the Orc had promised her more. Much, much more. It was her own fault, he said. She shouldn't have done what she did. Shouldn't have drawn attention to herself.

She uncurled just a bit, feeling her muscles tighten as they slowly became exhausted from the constant strain of holding herself into a ball, but as soon as she did, the pain in her sides flared up again. Something hadn't quite mended right when they sealed her skin closed, and any movement set the wound on fire.

They could have set her outside and told her to run for her freedom, and she wouldn't have been able to move at this point. The pain was simply far too great.

As she curled back upon herself, she could feel that she was still chained. She cried out in frustration and pain and kicked out her other foot, the one not chained, and hit metal. The jolt shot up her leg, setting her chest and sides on fire again. She felt like the pain had gotten worse this time, rendering her even unable to think.

She laid there for a long time, a ball of pain and misery, before someone finally came back. She'd apparently begun crying at some point, because the first thing they did when they returned was mock her.

"Shhhhh. Shhhhh. It'll be okay.", the voice said. A hand reached through the bar to pat Slywyn on the shoulder gently. She flinched away from it, trying to move to the other side of the cage. "That was only the first night. I'd be so sad if you were a broken toy after the first night."

Sly's only answer was a groan of pain. The movement of jerking away from the hand had caused the pain to flare up again. She felt like needles were jabbing into her all over her torso, sinking in deep only to be removed and stabbed right back in. Then there was the searing pain coming from her sides.

They had removed her armor on her chest, leaving her only in her tattered shirt, which was likely not doing anything for her modesty, which they didn't seem to care about anyway. She was an object of study, and that was all.

She could barely hear his feet shuffle across the floor as he moved around to her side of her cage. He left his leather-covered hand to run across the bars, and it made a sound as it touched each of them. She could barely start to get some sort of mental picture of what her room must look like before the pain would wipe it away again.

Not only was her pain keeping her from escaping should the have the opportunity, it was also keeping her from gathering details and planning, something that was almost as bad. All the Sentinels had been given some training on resisting torture, but most of that was focused on not answering questions.

It had said nothing about how to deal with these levels of pain. Slywyn felt the hand reach out and gently touch her shoulder again, and her body flinched. She didn't move away, as she didn't want the pain in her side to flare up again.

She could feel when he touched her shoulder from the way his finger slid, that she was probably covered in sweat. Her whole body was shaking from the pain as well, so she likely looked like someone in the grips of a fever.

He let out a quiet laugh, pulling back from the cage. "Mm. All this after only the first night. I imagine you'll be reduced to a blubbering, useless mess after three."

Sly pulled a deeper breath, risking the pain, to reply. Two words. "Fuck you."
She grunted and curled up again as another wave hit her.

She could almost -feel- the Orc's smile as he leaned in against the bars. "With that kind of attitude, I'd almost say you're ready to begin anew. I'll return shortly."

A little cry of surprise and fear left her lips. She didn't think he'd start again so soon. She tried moving back to the 'center' of her cage, as best as she could tell where it was, but she was frightened, and moved too much. Her sides flared up again, which made her jerk in pain, which only made matters worse.

She eventually ended up spread eagle on the bottom of her cage, wracked with pains. She couldn't move without stirring up some kind of pain somewhere, and every breath brought her the smell of her own blood. She felt like she had torn something inside, perhaps weakened by the 'studying' the Orc had done.

Her chest was beginning to feel numb, and she was starting to wonder if she was going to last the night.

Slywyn

07-05-2011, 06:16 AM

Ethaelen sat up quickly in bed, shocked awake. She had died in a nightmare. This hadn't happened to her before, and it shook her, scared her. Her hand clutched around her pendant as tightly as it could without cutting her skin, and her arm was shaking from the effort.

She pushed herself out of bed, trying to walk around her room to burn off nervous energy. Her dream kept coming back to her, and it was scaring her. She was shivering in fear from images that she could not escape.

She had been in Darnassus in her dream, wandering the city and thinking as she usually did. She had come across a guard paying particular attention, and the guard had stopped her. She began speaking in Darnassian, and when Ethaelen had answered in Common, it had given the guard pause.

She'd asked her to repeat herself in Darnassian, and Ethaelen had replied that she couldn't, that she hadn't learned the right word. This seemed to raise red flags with the guard, and before she had known what was going on, several more guards had turned up. They were flinging questions at her so fast that each one began to feel like a physical blow.

And then the real nightmare began. One of the guard's mouths had opened, spitting green flames, which latched onto Ethaelen's arms. Another struck her back, flames erupting from her armor where the guard's hand had struck.

Ethaelen had screamed in terror, trying to break away from them, when all of them spoke in unison. "Let you be consumed by what you wrought!"

The flames suddenly engulfed her, wreathing her entirely within them. She had run blindly, falling off the edge of the bridge over the lake in Darnassus, unable to see around the flame. She had sunk like a rock to the bottom of the lake.

The water hadn't put out the flames, and she could still feel them burning on her skin and face. And then she realized that she hadn't taken a breath, and in her panic she was quickly running out of air. She tried to struggle against the water to reach the surface, but it was almost like arms were dragging her back down to the bottom of the lake.

As she began to run out of air, she could see the face that constantly haunted her dreams grinning down at her from near the surface. "You can never escape us.", the voice had said, before Ethaelen's air finally ran out.

Her chest burned for air, and in her panic she opened her mouth to try to breathe. Water flooded in, weighing her down even more. She struggled further, but eventually her strength ran out, and her world went dark.

All she'd been able to hear was the laughter. The horrible laughter, before she awoke, safe and sound in her room.

Or, as safe as anywhere could be when these terrors constantly haunted her.

DarkAngel

07-05-2011, 12:50 PM

What are you trying to do, drown me?! You make seven posts in two days? I'll just have to forgive you. Given the somewhat hostile tone of our most recent transactions, I want to make clear that my random musings while reading do not necessarily demand an answer.

Ethaelen #1:
Very good. Nothing to report so far. My Plot Predictor™ is cranking out possibilites:

The pendant is in fact causing the nightmare. The anguished spirits are trapped inside and want revenge.
The pendant is a magical ward given to her by sympathetic druids. The spirits are angry at her for something she did or failed to do in the past.
The pendant is a magical ward given to her by sympathetic druids. The spirits are angry at her for something she will do or fail to do in the future.

Ethaelen #2:
Is there some particular reason she would want to be alone? She was trying to get used to sleeping with others. Maybe they got freaked out by her behavior.

Nightmares about failure are commonplace, but this tormenting figure has me concerned. It sounds like a POW camp, but prisoners would not be armored. Some kind of quarentine, then?

Ethaelen #3:
cleared for a moment, and the Tree
Run from your past, and it'll hunt you down even faster.

Ethaelen #4:
Mind erased. Forbidden to enter the Emerald Dream; explains why she can't sleep. Did she piss off the Green Dragons?

Ethaelen #5:
If Darnassus is running on nocturnal time, why is everyone always sleeping at night in this story?

And suddenly, we're back to Slywyn!
There was a purple line
And who is 'they?' The Orc and his assistants?

Ethaelen #6:
Fun Fact: According to urban legend, if you have a dream in which you die, you won't wake up.

I generally avoid excesive compliments, but you're getting really good! As in "rivaling Ori Dubya" good. Your early work was choppy -and a bit too sentimental- but those problems have been solved. I truely feel 'inside the head' with these characters, something I myself never seem quite able to achieve. You've reduced me to complaining about plot logic. If I could declare you "graduated," I would. Bravo.

Slywyn

07-05-2011, 09:35 PM

What are you trying to do, drown me?! You make seven posts in two days? I'll just have to forgive you. Given the somewhat hostile tone of our most recent transactions, I want to make clear that my random musings while reading do not necessarily demand an answer.

Ethaelen #1:
Very good. Nothing to report so far. My Plot Predictor™ is cranking out possibilites:

The pendant is in fact causing the nightmare. The anguished spirits are trapped inside and want revenge.
The pendant is a magical ward given to her by sympathetic druids. The spirits are angry at her for something she did or failed to do in the past.
The pendant is a magical ward given to her by sympathetic druids. The spirits are angry at her for something she will do or fail to do in the future.

Ethaelen #2:
Is there some particular reason she would want to be alone? She was trying to get used to sleeping with others. Maybe they got freaked out by her behavior.

Nightmares about failure are commonplace, but this tormenting figure has me concerned. It sounds like a POW camp, but prisoners would not be armored. Some kind of quarentine, then?

Ethaelen #3:
cleared for a moment, and the Tree

Ethaelen #4:
Mind erased. Forbidden to enter the Emerald Dream; explains why she can't sleep. Did she piss off the Green Dragons?

Ethaelen #5:
If Darnassus is running on nocturnal time, why is everyone always sleeping at night in this story?

And suddenly, we're back to Slywyn!
There was a purple line
And who is 'they?' The Orc and his assistants?

Ethaelen #6:
Fun Fact: According to urban legend, if you have a dream in which you die, you won't wake up.

I generally avoid excesive compliments, but you're getting really good! As in "rivaling Ori Dubya" good. Your early work was choppy -and a bit too sentimental- but those problems have been solved. I truely feel 'inside the head' with these characters, something I myself never seem quite able to achieve. You've reduced me to complaining about plot logic. If I could declare you "graduated," I would. Bravo.

Hostile? I've never detected any hostility. :<

If I've come off as angry at ANY point, I sincerely apologize. I LOVE the critiquing.

For Eth 1, your first possibility is... possible. And I'll just say that.

Eth 2, she hates other people seeing her weak. Also that story was based on an ingame event. Several Sentinels were captured by trolls, and tortured/poisoned. Eth tried to save many of them at the expense of her own health, and still failed.

Eth 4, ... sort of.

Eth 5, it was said -somewhere-(I looked and can't find it) that many Night Elves have switched to being awake during the day to better facilitate working with the other races.

For Sly, yes. Orc and assistants.

Eth 6, that's why it shook her up so much. She'd been close before, but never quite reached that point.

Also: Yay. :3

Slywyn

07-18-2011, 04:38 PM

Slywyn could feel some kind of semblance of coherent thought returning. It felt like it had been days since she had last been able to put one thought behind the other to create a train. Her entire body felt like it had been beaten and bruised, stomped on until bleeding, and then left to roast in the sun.

She couldn't even move, she felt so exhausted. They had seemingly put her through everything they could think of short of certain 'experiments' that would have killed her outright. Even so, the Orc in charge of her captivity had said several times he fully expected her to die at any point. That he was stretching the limits he knew of already.

Slywyn didn't like that that implied he'd taken other subjects to study before her.

She could feel it in the air that it seemed to be sometime in the evening, or perhaps the earlier parts of the night. Her vision had yet to be restored, leaving her in a constant and near-total state of blindness. She stretched her ears as well as she could, trying to hear -anything- she could. She was rewarded with an almost silent sound of a leather-covered foot scraping across the floor at the end of a step.

She froze even more still than she was already, barely letting herself take the shallow breaths her injuries allowed her. She heard the sound again. But it sounded... more, than it should. She listened, and heard it. There was a barely noticeable second sound behind the first.

Someone was sneaking around the Orcish camp. And there were two of them. Slywyn desperately hoped they were friends.

She continued listening, trying to track the movements of whoever it was as they continued through the stone halls. She knew she was too weak and injured to flee should they attempt to break her out or take her from this place, but she could hope that whoever it was could carry a message back to the Sentinels...

And that made Slywyn think. She vaguely remembered something from her Sentinel training. Something about sneaking. When scouting in pairs, Sentinels were... taught to step in unison to cut down on the sound. Her body went rigid. There were Sentinels in the Orcs' base.

Sly wanted to call out. Wanted to draw attention to herself in the hopes that they could come for her. She wanted so desperately for the pair to whisk her away to freedom. But her making noise would work against them. It could spook them. It could draw the attention of the Orcs. So she lay still. And quiet. And waited.

She continued to listen for the sound of steps being taken, but the sound was so faint and quiet that half the time she felt like she was imagining or hallucinating it. She also couldn't track the sound, as it was too soft for her to determine which direction it was coming from, other than it growing louder or softer as it moved away from or toward her.

Her first indication that her suspicions had been correct, and that she had been found, was a soft gasp that came from inside her room. It was quickly followed by a sharp intake of breath, and a whispered "By Elune...". Slywyn imagined that she must look quite the mess.

The sound of Darnassian, and the fact of the spoken exclamation, were enough for Sly to know that she had been found. By Night Elves. And Sentinels, at that. She wanted to cry. To shout. To make any sound of joy. But she held herself. She opened her eyes, only just realizing she had closed them to try to hear the soft sound of footsteps better.

She opened her mouth to whisper, to try to communicate to them somehow, keeping her voice as quiet as she could manage and still create speech. "Sisters...?"

She could feel as well as hear as the two Sentinels practically rushed to the cage, keeping their voices low. They spoke almost in unison, a twinned pair. Rare, but not unheard of, especially in scouting positions. "You live! Your injuries..."

It started to hit Sly now, just how much of a mess she must have been, that they thought her dead instead of still living. Her spirits sunk, her estimation of how long she had left to live dropping by the moment. "Are survivable." She lied as best she could. "Do you bring help?"

She could hear one of the sisters draw in another breath. But she couldn't quite detect the change in her voice. Slywyn was so elated that someone was here that she wasn't paying enough attention. But she could tell as she spoke that her hope was not well placed.

"Sister... It's Slywyn." The voice came from one side of her cage, the reply from another.

"... It is." The sister's voice deadpanned, no longer elated at finding the elf alive.

Slywyn's voice faltered, panic starting to creep into her mind. They knew of her past. They knew what she'd done. They were going to leave her here. She pleaded with them. "Please... just get me out of here. I'll leave the Sisters alone. I'll leave our lands completely. Please..."

She could hear the two stepping away from the cage, and they spoke as one. "You deserve this, Ravenwind. And you were exiled. We are not allowed to provide assistance to exiles. May your death be prolonged when it comes." They paused, and one of them spoke up separate from the other. "It shouldn't be long."

They went silent, as Sly lay there still in her cage. She could hear their footsteps retreating as the two withdrew from the Orcish camp. She listened until she could no longer hear the footsteps, real or imagined.

She felt as if something inside her had just died. But she could feel something else growing within her. Something familiar. A great rage welled up inside her.

They had -left- her here. To die. Slywyn had protected her people for years. Fought in wars. And when she defended herself and killed another, they all turned their backs on her.

Slywyn felt like some kind of fog descended over her thoughts, then. Things no longer seemed to come as clearly as they had before. All she could feel was this horrible throbbing rage at everyone. Her people. The Orcs. The Humans that had come to the forest before.

All of them had done wrong. None of them could be absolved. She hated every single last one of them, from the oldest elder, to the youngest child.

Slywyn lay in her cage then, and seethed. She let the rage inside of herself have free reign. She felt changed. Like her old self had died, and something else had taken it's place.

She welcomed it.

DarkAngel

07-21-2011, 09:57 AM

More good work! I've decided to just let your blog be. If there's something embarassingly bad, I'll PM you.

"Are survivable," she lied as best she could. "Do you bring help?"
I think that was your intent, wasn't it?

Please, don't begin sentences with 'but.' I'm willing to let it slid if it's just once in a while, but it gets on my nerves when it's every other sentence. Yeah, I'm a Grammar Nazi. Never forget that the Gestopo is watching everything you do. Bwahahahahaha!

"You deserve this, Ravenwind. And you were exiled. We are not allowed to provide assistance to exiles. May your death be prolonged when it comes."
Ouch! There does come a point where 'even the enemy doesn't deserve this.' Why the hate? She was apparently well-liked enough to avoid death for murder. Was one of these girls a close friend of (whoever is was she killed)?

All right! Face-Heel Turn! Let's go kill some babies! Just kidding. Obviously this gets resolved, given chronologically later episodes. He wasn't injecting her with demon blood, was he?

Slywyn

07-21-2011, 02:24 PM

Ouch! There does come a point where 'even the enemy doesn't deserve this.' Why the hate? She was apparently well-liked enough to avoid death for murder. Was one of these girls a close friend of (whoever is was she killed)?

All right! Face-Heel Turn! Let's go kill some babies! Just kidding. Obviously this gets resolved, given chronologically later episodes. He wasn't injecting her with demon blood, was he?

She's been under incredible mental and physical anguish/stress for quite some time by the time this post rolls around.

Straw that broke the camel's back, and all that.

And, Sly was never exactly popular except with her commander. Rumors start. Get spread.

Eventually everyone thinks you went on a giant murder-death spree.

Slywyn

07-21-2011, 08:54 PM

Ethaelen had chosen to remain in Darnassus while the rest of the Shan're went on to Hyjal. She wasn't allowed, and wasn't going to tempt fate by trying to sneak around the mountain.

She was laying in bed, dreaming. But she could tell that this dream was different. Something about it didn't click. It wasn't like the others she'd had.

She was left in a small, closed room. She couldn't see any exits or entrances, no windows. The room was entirely sealed, leaving her completely alone.

Suddenly she felt this horrible feeling, like something creeping up from deep inside of her. She felt like she was going to puke, or explode if she couldn't relieve the pressure. She felt something climbing it's way out of her throat, until this disgusting black ooze began to seep from behind her lips.

Thoroughly alarmed and disgusted, Eth couldn't do anything to stop it. For some reason, though, it felt... good. It felt... familiar. She couldn't breathe, collapsing on the floor as more of this awful... her eyes went wide as the flow of ooze from her mouth continued. She knew what it was. This felt exactly like the power she'd wielded while corrupted within the Dream.

The Nightmare was oozing out of her. Ethaelen retched, expelling the corrupt disgustingness as quickly as she could, wishing and hoping to be free of it.

Ethaelen retched one last time, and felt the last of the ooze, feeling strangely solid, flop from her mouth to the ground. She wiped her mouth on the back of her leather sleeve, noticing that her lips left black marks on the surface. She frowned, looking at the puddle of ooze.

She turned her back on it, hoping that for some reason a door or window would have opened. Stranger things had happened in her dreams. She went to the side of the small room, running her fingers along the wall. It appeared to be wood, but smooth and polished from age. She pressed against it, testing it, but it didn't give an inch.

"Times are grim these days, aren't they?"

Ethaelen froze. She didn't say that. But it sounded like her voice. She turned, expecting to find the room she'd just been in, but the scenery had changed.

She suddenly found herself in a large, dark, clearing. She appeared to be in Feralas, somewhere near Dream Bough. But that wasn't even the most startling change. Standing in front of her, dripping the horrible oozing blackness, was a dragon. But not just any dragon.

She was facing herself. Her mouth fell open. She could recognize that form anywhere. The chip in her horn from where she fell in battle and smashed it against a rock. The missing tooth that was knocked from her maw by a swung claw.

She felt a pang of heartache in her chest, and unconsciously she reached out her hand, just trying to touch it, to feel it. Her dragon-self in front of her chuckled, though she could hear now that the sound was slightly distorted, warbling.

She stopped her arm's progress, pulling it back to her body, and stared up at... herself. The dragon-form in front of her pulled it's lip up into a sneer, turning it's head to peer down at her with one dull eye.

"I see you haven't changed any. Still holding on to what you cannot have." Her dragon-self advanced a step, causing Ethaelen to stumble backward.

She glared up at the Nightmare monstrosity, balling her fists at her sides. "There is always a chance. Always hope."

The dragon reached forward, then clipped Eth's shoulder almost lazily. Even so, the blow was enough to send Eth flying off of her feet to faceplant in surprisingly hard soil. She impacted hard enough to drive the wind from her lungs, leaving her face throbbing.

When Eth recovered her breath and sat up, she was back in the small room. There was no sign of her nightmare self. Not even a remnant of a puddle.

Suddenly, louder than she imagined her ears could take without damage, she heard her nightmare self scream "GET UP".

Eth sat up in her bed suddenly, blinking confusedly. She looked around, not really understanding what had just happened. The pendant around her neck glowed a soft green, and she instinctively wrapped her fingers around it.

Then, something else happened that hadn't happened before. She heard her distorted voice laughing derisively at her. "There's no hiding, now."

Her nightmares had just become real.

Slywyn

08-29-2011, 02:26 PM

(I know I haven't written things in a while, but I've been pressed for time, what with work and whatever. But a friend of mine bet me that I couldn't write a Night Elf being in our modern time without it being stupid. And I have some measure of pride in my writing, which means I have to take this challenge. No matter how godawful it turns out to be. You guys can be the judges. Feel free to post your thoughts after this. Should you read it.)

Sly unfurled the plans for her new contraption onto the table, checking things one last time. She scratched her chin with her left hand, her right tapping a certain spot on the plans. "You know, I still don't understand why we need four Khorium cores for this, Jinx."

She turned her head to look behind her, at a small(even for a Gnome) Gnome working at a Gnome-sized bench. The Gnome, Jinxilat Spinscrew, was a close friend, and was in fact the Gnome that had taught Slywyn engineering in the first place. He waved a hand over his shoulder. "You have seen the size of this teleporter, haven't you? This could send a Steam Tank all the way to Northrend from the depths of Gnomeregon!" He continued tweaking the power supply, four oblong tubes about six inches in length, to get it all to fit inside the housing.

Sly blew air through her lips, turning back to the plans. "Where did you get these, anyway? I mean, I can get all the way to Northrend from Booty Bay with my Wormhole Generator, and that doesn't even take a core!" She didn't sound worried as much as amused, her eyes flickering over the details on the paper before her.

He raised an eyebrow and turned back to her, stopping his work for a moment. "You do realize that your Generator is using dimensional folding that we don't even fully understand yet." He waved a wrench at her accusingly. "I told you several times not to build it. And yet you did. And what's happened since then?"

Sly sighed. "I dunno, Jinx. Why don't you tell me what's happened? You sure love doing it." She turned around to look at the Gnome, leaning on the bench with her arms acting as supports behind her.

The Gnome ignored, or simply didn't hear, the implied barb, as he launched into what sounded like a well-practiced list. "When in Ulduar, a stray jolt of electricity activated it and teleported half your squad to Sholazaar. Then there's the time where you turned it on by accident, didn't input coordinates, and almost sent yourself to Tanaris. And -then- you actually managed to come back from Outland with it, which is something that I still don't know how you managed to pull off."

Sly frowned a little. "I've told you a dozen times that Ethereal plugged in the coordinates to get me home when I was hurt. I don't even know how he did it."

He waggled the wrench at her again. "That's exactly my point! You don't know what he did to make that happen. You haven't been using it since then, have you?"

"Well, no. It still makes a funny sound when you start it up."

"I told you to take that thing apart. It's too dangerous." He frowned and turned back around to continue tinkering, going silent.

Sly shook her head and turned back to the plans, grumbling. "You know, I'm not getting on you about how you pulled these out of a half-destroyed mechagnome's CPU or some shit. Or that they take four cores to work."

Sly pursed her lips and continued to look over the plans, then to the large circular device in the corner of the room. "Why'd you pick me to help you with this, anyway?"

Without turning around, he quipped back. "Because you have no imagination and follow plans to exact standards without trying to alter them."

Sly glared at him for a moment. "Fair enough."

---

Several days later, Slywyn and Jinx stood before the completed teleporter, which now took up most of the room. It looked much like any other location teleporter, but was about three times larger, and was constantly whirring with the power supplied by it's cores.

Sly glanced toward Jinx, her hand on the satchel at her side, and a somewhat worried look on her face. "I still don't trust this thing."

He smirked. "That's why you're going first. You have your parachute with you?"

"Yes."

"Teleporter?"

"Yes."

"And you left the Generator at home. ... Right?"

"Right."

"You don't sound so convincing."

Sly glanced back at him, frowning a bit. "You don't trust me?"

"Not really." He stared back.

Sly shifted a bit on the spot. She didn't want to tell him that she did in fact have the Generator on her, hidden wrapped in a sock in the bottom of her satchel. She trusted it more than she let on, having gotten her out of several situations she'd managed to get stuck in before. "Just once, trust me. It's at home."

He let out a sigh and finally nodded, looking back toward it. "Alright. I input the coords from when I tested my teleporter. It should land you just outside of Gadget. But you've got that rebreather I made you. And your parachute. You're wearing your armor. You have a cloak." He was starting to sound somewhat nervous himself. "You've got your sword. Just in case. Right?" He wrung his hands together.

Sly smirked a little, stepping into the circular 'launching pad' of the teleporter. "Yeah. I've got all that." She felt a slight rumbling from her side, but decided it was just nerves. Or her bag shifting against her leg, as it had done before.

He nodded again, then stepped to the controls. He pushed a button, starting up the power sequence. The humming in the room grew louder as the teleporter surged to life, several tracking arms around the top beginning to spin slowly, measuring and calibrating to the size and mass of the subject within. The teleporter was easily twenty feet in diameter, dwarfing the elf in the center.

Jinx continued the startup sequence, metal screeching against metal as the components jerked and scraped to life for the first time. Lights winked on as the containment field arms swung out from behind the supports, spinning around Slywyn slowly, but steadily picking up speed.

Sly shifted a bit in her spot, the whirring growing louder as all the components began to spin and work faster, steam blowing out from the capacitor as it heated up.

Unbeknownst to both of them, Slywyn's Generator began to react to all the power being unleashed around it, the crystalizied elements that acted as it's power source being awakened by the energy in the air. It began to glow within it's sock, the chaotic elements within starting it's own startup sequence.

The twin sets of arms around Slywyn began to spin faster and faster until they were simply a blur. Sly's hair whipped around her back in the vortex created, her cape billowing around her legs and whipping around the platform.

Sly began to feel a pull of sorts, and Jinx's voice came from behind the console. He had to yell to be heard over the commotion of the machine, cupping his hands around his mouth to attempt to amplify the sound. "Ten seconds Sly!"

He punched in a final line of code, and hit the enter key on the console. Whatever happened next couldn't be stopped, the machine moving too quickly at this point for either participant to react.

Five seconds from activation, Jinx watched in horror Slywyn's Generator jumped to life, the portal materializing inside of the teleporter. Slywyn gasped as the dim blue-white light suffused the platform. Whatever she said next, Jinx couldn't hear it. An edge of the portal touched the tracking arms and was instantly stretched as the energy of the portal latched onto the spinning arms, engulfing Slywyn inside it.

With a horrid screeching noise, both devices discharged at the same time, bowling Jinx over as a blast of air radiated from the center. When he picked himself up, his eyes went wide at the state of the teleporter in front of him.

The entire platform was warped in on itself, the tracking arms dripping molten metal onto the floor of the workshop. The containment field arms were bent and warped outward, one of them having sliced through the console when the machine discharged.

The entire teleporter was scrap metal. And Slywyn was nowhere to be found.

"Oh, Cogs." Jinx sighed, putting his face into the palm of his hand.

(I'd finish but I'm short on time. Booo.)

Slywyn

08-29-2011, 09:05 PM

Sly felt like she was being stretched, smashed, burnt, and frozen all at the same time. It was agony and it was bliss, all at the same time. She could feel something pulling her along, almost like there was a rope tied inside her core that she was being pulled along. Something had gone terribly wrong, but she was in no position to try to figure out what it was.

She could almost feel things as they whizzed past her. One moment she felt intense heat that left her feeling crisped, and then there was such intense cold that she could have sworn there was frostbite on her face. She could see flashes of light that made no sense, and then millisecond long flashes of darkness so intense she wanted to recoil from them.

Finally she felt like the rope stuck inside her snapped, or was removed, and felt like she was falling. Her fall was short, and she faceplanted into something hard. Metal scraped against rock as she slammed into the ground, her armor steaming and smoking, while she felt icy cold to her core. She would have shivered would she had been able to move.

The ground around her felt scorched and barren, but she couldn't even bring herself to open her eyes to see what it was. Suddenly, she felt something fly past her head so fast that it had to be something unnatural. Maybe a dragon? She put her hands under herself as a shot of adrenaline at the imminent danger of whatever it was that had just passed her surged through her body.

She opened her eyes, noting that the ground in front of her was black and semi-reflective, before something green and small flew past her face with a high pitched screeching noise and the smell of something she didn't recognize. Something else careened past behind her with a similar sound. She pushed herself from the ground, noting that somewhere along the way her hair had come loose, obscuring her vision.

She could feel her armor around her body was hot enough to possibly be dangerous, but was in too much danger to even consider removing it. As she stood and gained her bearings, two more things streaked past her at speeds she hadn't imagined possible. The only thing that came to mind was a high speed dive out of the skies on Malcarion. But these things were on the ground.

She put a hand out in front of her as a brown one came speeding toward her, but noted dimly in the back of her mind that it wasn't slowing down anywhere near fast enough. She crouched as it approached her, readying herself to jump as that same high pitched squealing came from it. Something on the front of it blinded her as it approached, and she had to guess when to jump.

Slywyn pushed off of the ground as much as she could, leaping straight up into the air. She could catch only the faintest image of... a human? peering out of the thing. The sight startled her so much that she botched the landing, coming down hard on a foot and knee. Another one sped toward her, slowing down, but not nearly fast enough.

Slywyn hopped as well as she could, and she imagined in her mind that she must look something akin to a fish flopping on the ground after being thrown out of the water. The thing, whatever it was, impacted her with the sound of crunching metal and shattering glass. Slywyn had been expecting something a bit more solid, or at least something with less... give.

That didn't make the impact at all less painful, though her armor took the brunt of the impact. And if she wasn't mistaken, the person inside the... whatever it was, had begun screaming. The thing carried her a few feet before finally stopping with a sudden lurch, tossing Slywyn off the front of it to roll on the ground. She groaned, noting somewhere that it had definitely been a human inside of the thing. And that her nose was bleeding, which was likely the least of her injuries judging from the pain she was in.

Sly lay on her side on the ground until something touched her shoulder. She gripped it with her right hand, noting that whoever it was wasn't wearing armor of any kind. Her mind instantly lept to a Mage, and she knew that if they were readying a spell as retaliation for her destroying their... thing, she was as good as dead.

Fortunately, all the thing in her hand seemed to want to do was scream some more and try to pull away, which wasn't doing it any good. Sly turned her head to look at it, noticing another human. Several of the things that she had seen speeding along the road were stopped around her, parts of them leaning open. She could see the one she'd impacted looked severely damaged, and was leaking steam, among other things.

Slywyn rolled over onto her front and began to stand, all of her joints protesting furiously. Her left arm seemed to be mostly useless, but wasn't bent at any odd angles. Just likely dislocated. She noticed several humans standing around her, but as they began speaking animatedly, she realized she couldn't understand a word they were saying.

It sounded only very very vaguely like Common, but was so far removed from it only the basic sounds remained the same. Try as she might, she couldn't pick out a single word she recognized among the multitudes.

A few of them gasped aloud as Slywyn rose to her full height of near seven feet. It seemed that while she was in a great deal of pain, the only limb with any severe damage was her left arm, which hung loosely at her side. It was dark, but that didn't affect her much other than dimming her vision slightly.

She turned her head, and several more of them yelled something and pointed at her head. It seemed they'd noticed her ears. Sly tried to speak, her voice hoarse, either from the cold or heat, or just the method of transport, she couldn't tell which. She tried Common, Darnassian, Draconic, every language she knew, but their sounds only grew louder as more of them approached and began speaking.

Suddenly, flashes began to emanate from the crowd. Slywyn caught a glimpse of some kind of handheld device and dove, expecting projectiles or spells to go flying past at any moment. She rolled and tried to come up, forgetting momentarily that her left arm was useless. She fell to the ground with the sound of metal grinding on the stone as she slid, her momentum carrying her through the crowd.

Several more screamed, the crowd backing away from her and scattering. Sly shakily pushed herself to her feet, realizing that there was a stand of trees not far away. One of them pointed to the sword strapped to her back and yelled something she still didn't understand, and Slywyn decided that it was time to get away. She lowered her shoulder and charged for the treeline, cradling her left arm with her right as she bowled several of them over.

The din of the crowd faded swiftly as Slywyn sprinted at her top speed into the cover of the trees, and she was dimly aware that several impressed-sounding exclamations followed her.

Lord Grimtale

08-29-2011, 10:35 PM

I've just now caught up to this, pretty interesting read so far from what I've read.

Keep up the good work. :D

Slywyn

09-05-2011, 11:04 AM

Slywyn crept through the stand of trees, which only seemed to be something like one hundred feet wide, and strangely straight. She could hear more of those things whizzing by with their odd humming noises. They sounded almost like the steam engines she knew from home, but they had a much deeper note than what she recognized.

The entire area smelled awful. Now that she had a moment to herself, she felt like she could feel the smell burning into her nose and dimming her sense of smell somehow. It was acrid and seemed to suffuse everything in the area.

She let her eyes travel over the trees, confirming something she'd already gathered from glances. None of these trees looked remotely like any species she recognized from home. Oddly enough, though, some of them looked strangely similar to some of the trees from Elwynn and the rest of the Human-controlled areas.

This, among a few other factors such as the strange machines, led Slywyn to believe that she was no longer on Azeroth. But this didn't look anything like Outland, and she didn't recognize any of the sky above her, when she could catch glances of stars between the cloud cover.

She noticed that the moon above looked very different as well, both a different size and color from the ones she knew. The only option left to decide based on all the information she had, was that she was somehow in an entirely different part of the Great Dark Beyond than she had been before.

Sly could really only blame herself for this. If she hadn't brought along her Worm Hole Generator, she likely would be in Gadgetzan right now enjoying a drink and some sun while she waited for a Gryphon to fly her back home. She let out a sigh, deciding not to dwell on the problems anymore, and instead try to figure out some kind of solution.

First thing she needed to do was fix her arm. The entire time she'd been walking, she had been scanning the trees and underbrush for something suitable. She needed a crook or a divide in a tree that she could wedge her arm into.

Now that her adrenaline was fading, she could feel that she'd probably need to fix her arm soon, or the pain would just get worse. As of right now it was just radiating from her shoulder joint, but at a level she could deal with. She could already feel it spreading though, meaning she didn't have long before it would get bad enough to cloud her thinking.

Making matters worse was the fact that she could very vaguely hear things moving in the brush behind and off to the side, in the direction from which she had come. They were looking for her. Normally, she'd be able to travel in such a way that she could leave minimal tracks, if any at all. But being in her suit of armor, and having crashed into the brush as she did, she knew that she was leaving a much clearer track than she had been trained to do.

She could hear some kind of high pitched whining sound in the back of her mind, and wondered what exactly it could be. The sound changed seemingly at random, but the randomness would be followed with some kind of pattern. Thinking about it was making her head hurt, which she mostly attributed to the growing pain in her shoulder.

It also seemed like she was running out of trees, as before her she could see that the line of trees she was in ended a few hundred feet ahead. There looked to be some kind of dip in the land that just didn't seem entirely natural to her.

As she crept closer, a bit of a grim smile crept onto her face as she spotted what she needed. She smirked a bit, thinking quietly to herself. "Even on worlds removed from mine, you can always trust the forest to provide."

Just a few feet off of the general path she'd chosen was a pair of trees entwined with each other. They'd grown too close together, and had fused and split apart several times, eventually splitting and growing into two separate trees, though their bases were conjoined. Just about half a foot below Slywyn's chest level, they had finally split, leaving a somewhat oddly shaped V that she could use.

Sly winced in pain, gritting her teeth to keep from making any noise, and raised her injured left arm, placing it inside of the crook of the tree. Grunting in pain with each blow, she used her right arm to knock on her left, and wedge it into the gap as much as she could. Then, bracing herself for what she knew was to come, she put all her weight into the tree, trying to shove her arm back into socket.

It was something she'd only ever had to do once, hundreds of years ago when she fell from a free due to some moss she hadn't seen that forced her to lose her grip. She'd smacked her shoulder on the way down hard enough to knock it out of place. But that time she'd had someone to help her, and now she was on her own.

She gasped in pain, her knees going weak, on only the first shove. She apparently missed, or didn't use enough force, and she felt like someone had stabbed a knife into her shoulder. Her face grew damp as she struggled to remain standing, the pain searing all through her left shoulder and arm. She gathered herself for a moment, fighting against the pain, and pushed again, with as much strength as she could muster.

It seemed her luck held, for with a sickening grinding noise that made her stomach lurch, and a bit of a quiet pop, she felt her shoulder pop back into place. She went as limp as she could against the tree, being held up by her arm wedged into the crook. Her chest heaved, her nostrils flaring, as most of the pain faded from her shoulder and arm.

After a moment, she was able to gather her legs under her and stand, though she was much shakier than she would have liked to be. Her left arm was still in a rather large amount of pain, but it was back down to the tolerable level it had been before, and she'd be able to move on.

She pulled her arm free from the tree, wincing a bit as she looked over the damage her armor had done to the bark. Not only was the damage somewhat unnecessary, it would be a clear sign of her presence to anyone trying to find her.

She dimly noted that the strange whining sound had grown quite a bit louder, and she realized that it was coming from without, rather than within, as she had suspected. Somewhat relieved that she wasn't just hearing things, she continued toward the break in the trees.

She moved a bit slower, trying to leave as hard a trail to follow as possible. When she came to the break in the trees, she realized that the strange road the things had been moving on had a twin, where more of the things streaked by in the opposite direction. It was some kind of one-way pathway system, that the engineer in her wanted to study. But she knew she didn't have nearly enough time to stand around and observe.

Sly crouched and crept toward the strange dip, separated from the trees by a good fifty feet or so of open ground. Thankful that she had chosen to keep her armor with a matte finish rather than something shiny like many of the Humans chose, she made her way to the dip.

She peered over the edge once she arrived, a bit confused that the sides of it seemed to be some kind of incredibly flat stone that she didn't recognize. It was far too uniform in composition to be natural and smelled very very dimly of Human when she put her nose near it. It was laid in slabs, creating some kind of aqueduct that water flowed through.

With a shrug after her brief examination of the stone, she slid down it as quietly as she could manage, the only sound being of metal scraping against stone. Once in the bottom and holding herself just out of the water as she lay against the stone, she was faced with some kind of choice. She had noticed off in the distance that there was a strangely large amount of light radiating up into the night, presumably from a city of settlement of some kind. That was to her right, and to her left, she had noticed more woods and a lack of the same kind of light, though there seemed to be light everywhere in this world.

She decided to go right toward the city/settlement, wanting to know more about where she was. And she figured it might be easier to find some kind of shelter nearer something like that. If these Humans were anything like the ones she knew from Stormwind, they were likely to leave empty houses or shelters littering the landscape once their owners had moved on.

Dimly noting in the back of her mind that she felt strangely weak and tired for such a comparatively small amount of physical exertion, Sly slid into the water and crept her way downstream, making her way toward the city.

DarkAngel

09-05-2011, 10:06 PM

Well, this is quite a burst! This explains the lack of updates to Internal Armor, I suppose. This is excellent work, such that most of my suggestions are more tentetive than usual. Asthetics is a matter of personal taste, and I shouldn't impose mine over yours.

Please refrain from starting sentences with 'but.' It's okay once in a while, but it's not a good habit to get into.

Suddenly, she felt
She hadn't said that; but it sounded
near the Dream Bough.
dripping the horrible, oozing blackness,
from when she fell

Ah, to Eth actually is a Green Dragon. That makes things more interesting.

Where The Wild Things Are
Well, that is a challenge indeed! We'll have to see how this goes.

Ignoring the hand problem?

The Gnome ignored, or simply didn't hear, the implied barb, as he launched into what sounded like a well-practiced list.This sentence is correct. However, it also provides an example. You tend to use a lot of commas. While complex sentence structures are good, there is a such thing as too many commas. Personally, I would've set off the aside "or simply didn't hear" with dashes, rather than commas. It breaks up monotony.

at a small (even for a Gnome)
the large, circular device
he quipped back, "Because

looking back toward it. The last 'it' that came up was the smuggled generator, not the new teleporter.

Jinx watched in horror as Slywyn's Generator jumped to life

Okay, it's too late to keep going on this, so I'll be back tomorrow.
I'm back! Let's see how this transporter malfunction plays out. The only thing more fun than a transporter malfunction is a holodeck malfunction!

something green and smallHere we have a problem. Last I checked, cars were big.

It was agony, and it was
millisecond-long flashes

That's some pretty impressive armor! Then again, Azerothian ores are capable of stopping bullets.

Well, I'd say you pulled it off. A Night Elf in the real world without sounding ridiculous. There is an undertone of humor from the absurdity of the situation, but her reactions a very believable. How often we forget the unnaturalness of our modern lifestyle, unprecidented as it is. Now, how long will it take before Sly is shipped off to Area 51 for study?

Slywyn

09-05-2011, 10:14 PM

Ignoring the hand problem?

Yeah. I felt like it would be waaaaaaaaaay too much of a handicap for her. She's a right handed fighter. Not having her right hand means no fighting.

It also means she's heavily handicapped should she need to build/construct things.

I decided it might make the story more enjoyable if she had both of them.

It's also supposed to be set before she went to Hyjal with her guild, but maybe I should have clarified that.

The lack of updates to Internal Armor is actually because the person she's in a relationship with has stopped RPing on that character entirely, so I'm leaving her 'alpha story' as it were, in limbo until Ty's player figures out what they're doing with the character.

Valkrysa

09-05-2011, 10:30 PM

I finished reading the CAW story a bit earlier and I must say that I quite enjoyed it, felt really sympathetic towards the characters handicapped status and inability to even live what little 'life' one could find as an undead being.

I look forward to reading the rest of your stories later on~

Slywyn

09-05-2011, 10:37 PM

Slywyn

09-15-2011, 10:37 AM

((DA, as far as the car thing, I had just figured that a Night Elf who was used to seeing ships, steam tanks, giant floating dirigibles, among other things, a car wouldn't be all that big. :3 ))

"Dude, I'm telling you. That's what it was."

"You're insane."

"Come on! Look at iiiiit." Dwayne pointed at the computer monitor, where something big and covered in blue metal was glaring at the camera phone. The image was blurry, but it was just one of hundreds that had been popping up from the incident on Interstate 90 yesterday.

Colin turned to stare at the same picture Dwayne had been pouring over for the last hour. "I'm -telling- you, you're insane. Night Elves don't exist, dude. You're just trying to turn your ridiculous fanboyism into something real. Someone photoshopped a picture. Or something."

"Dude. Come on. It was on the news. They wouldn't report something like a photoshopped picture on the news. Have you seen how many pictures there are? Someone has to have gotten a video."

Colin plopped down on the couch to stare at the same news channel they'd been watching since the story broke yesterday. Something about seven feet tall had flashed into existence over the I-90 late yesterday afternoon, falling to the roadway. Government vehicles were already swarming the scene, and the interstate from Montana to Illinois had been shut down to keep vehicles off of it.

There was some kind of scorch mark in the asphalt where the thing had landed, and there were still pictures of the totaled car that it had hit, even if the car itself had been confiscated. The craziest part of the story to most people was that the thing had been wearing some kind of blue-colored armor, and had sprinted off into the trees at Olympic speed after being hit by a car.

"Dude..." Dwayne's voice came from over by the computer. "Someone got a video."

Slywyn

09-15-2011, 09:05 PM

Slywyn had walked most of the night, sticking to the river as long as possible. She didn't know who was following her or how long they'd remain after her, so she was using as much caution as her considerable knowledge in woodcraft would allow.

She was steadily working her way toward the city she had guessed was there, and could tell it would be nearing morning soon. She couldn't tell which direction she was travelling, as she couldn't just assume that their sun rose and set in the same direction as Azeroth's did. She hadn't seen a moon, so either they didn't have one, or it just hadn't ever come into view.

She'd climbed a tree just about an hour ago by her guess, and checked the distance on what she'd presumed to be a city. She'd noticed the same glow, though slightly dimmer, and kept toward it. At her best guess she'd reach it in another hour or so of travelling.

She still couldn't shake the feeling that she'd felt somewhat... diminished since she'd arrived. Like something was missing, but she just couldn't place what. She was getting tired faster than she would have normally, her armor felt heavier. She almost felt like she was getting sick, but that shouldn't be possible. And it was moving a lot faster than any sickness she knew of other than the plague.

Up ahead she could see some kind of rickety old building near where the tree cover started getting thinner. As she made her way closer, she could smell the distinct smell of moldering wood and rusting metal. This building had clearly been abandoned for some time.

When she reached it, she remained hidden for some time, just to make sure there wasn't anyone inside hiding. When she couldn't hear, see, or smell anyone, she made her way to it.

As soon as she stepped inside she knew it wouldn't serve for any kind of shelter. The floor felt like it would give way under her footsteps at any moment, and the roof looked like it was going to give way under the next storm. She'd have to get closer to the town if she wanted to find anything.

---

Colin jumped off of the couch and covered the distance to the computer as quickly as he could, his eyes glued to the screen. Dwayne had pulled up a video on youtube, taken from someone's phone. Dwayne spoke first as the video loaded. "I told you, man. It's a Night Elf. Just look at her."

Colin couldn't dispute him. She looked exactly like the game had portrayed them. Tall, purple-tinted skin, with glowing silvery eyes. "Man... I can't believe what I'm seeing."

Dwayne looked back to him and grinned widely before hitting "Play" on the video. The elf onscreen stood, then looked over the crowd. There was too much noise to hear what she was saying when her mouth moved, and when she took off through the crowd the camera lost sight of her. But that was enough for both of them.

"Cooooooooooooooooooooool!", They both blurted out at almost exactly the same time.

----

It was now sometime around midmorning, and Slywyn had been scouting the outskirts of town. She'd come across something rather strange as she made her way in a very wide circle. It seemed these Humans lived in very regimented housing at the edges of their towns, but built extremely artificial dwellings for themselves, with a great deal of individual customization.

She'd found several more of the moving things, and had some time to examine an abandoned one of them in much greater detail. She'd drawn the inside workings of it on a few sheets of paper, but had been unsuccessful in taking it apart. The bolts and fittings had been too rusted, and breaking them would have made far too much noise.

She'd scavenged some parts off of something else she'd found, though she didn't know if they'd prove any use. As she'd been hiking through the woods earlier, she'd made a short stop to examine her Wormhole Generator. Not only did the elemental parts powering it seem to be completely dead, but the inner workings were fried. She wasn't about to get home any time soon unless she seriously got to work on it. And she had no parts.

As she made her way around more of the outskirts of town, she'd caught sight of a few signs. It worried her that the writing was completely unrecognizable. She'd hoped to find something familiar in the writing, but that just didn't seem to be the case.

Eventually, though, she found another small building. This one seemed much more recently abandoned, as well. It was down a short road just outside of one of the strangely arranged housing districts, around a bend and completely fenced in by trees. The road that led to it was dirt, meaning she could check every time she made her way back for tracks. Just in case.

Even better, there was one of those machines outside. Only slightly rusted, this one could prove to be much more fruitful for her examinations. The door was another strange contraption. It was broken up into three parts. The top was glass, then there was glass covered by metal mesh, and then a metal square. It creaked incredibly loudly when she tried to open it, so she'd chosen to go around back where there was a more-conventional wooden door with a small diamond-shaped glass window covered by metal foil of some kind.

The entire building itself was on deflated rubber wheels like the machines were, and smelled of mildew and the very beginnings of decay. If anything on this world worked like it did at home, she could guess that it'd been abandoned at most a year ago.

Luckily it seemed sound, and in her quick and furtive examination of the other rooms she hadn't found evidence of any kind of inhabitant. Everything was covered in an undisturbed layer of dust. Many new and exciting things had been found inside as well, contraption after contraption practically littered the building.

But first things first, she needed rest. She ventured back outside, taking some cut-up cans she'd found in a cabinet with her. They were red with white markings and more writing she couldn't read. The liquid inside had smelled foul, and tasted worse. It fizzed when she drank it, and she could barely convince herself she hadn't been poisoned. But so far, other than a slightly upset stomach, she hadn't noticed any ill effects.

After littering the dirt around the front and back doors with many cut up pieces of the metal and then covering those with dirt, she returned inside. There had been a spool of thread inside one of the drawers, which she then tied to a tree across the pathway toward the house. She looped it around another tree, then ran the line under a window that she cracked only slightly. She tied it to another of the cans that she'd filled with the pieces of metal, and set it next to the bed. If anyone were to trip across it, it would jostle the metal in the can and wake her.

Slywyn remained in her armor, but crawled into the bed. She felt as if she'd been awake for days, even though it had only been one, and in a battle besides. When she flopped onto the bed she stirred up a cloud of dust that had her coughing for a few minutes, but when she finally settled down she was out like a light before her head had really had time to settle on the pillow.

----

Colin's phone rang, and he groaned. He rolled over in the bed, glancing at his clock. Almost midnight. And he had work tomorrow! That asshole better have a good reason. "Yeeeees?"

"Dude, Colin. She's disappeared." Dwayne's voice rang out clear through the earpiece.

"What? I don't care. I have work!" He pinched his nose between his finger and his thumb.

"No, dude. You don't understand. They can't find her. It's like she's dropped off the face of the earth. They followed her trail to a river under the interstate and then they lost it. Dogs, helicopters with infrared, manned searches, none of them turned up single a trace. They've given up."

Colin groaned again. "Why do you care?"

"They released a map of the area she was found. It was right outside of town, dude. Like, just east of here. The whole town's been alerted. They think she's dangerous because she was carrying a sword. No one has a fucking clue, dude. They're all stumped. The government's been collecting statements from people who were there. They've been pulling the pictures and video off the internet, man. It's gone. I think they're scared."

"Give it up, man. I know what you're thinking. And you're an idiot."

"Come on! You know what kind of chance that could be? What if we-"

"No." And then Colin hung up the phone, laying back in his bed.

Slywyn

09-16-2011, 12:08 PM

Slywyn sat up slowly. She felt mostly rested, but like she'd been hit by a steam tank. Which, now that she thought about it, wasn't really all that far from the mark. Her joints ached, her head was throbbing, and when she wiped her hand across her face, she realized she'd had a minor nosebleed at some point.

All in all, she was in pretty rough shape. On a world she knew next to nothing about, hiding out in a building on wheels that hadn't been touched in ages, in less than stellar fighting condition, with the only way home she was aware of nonfunctioning. She took stock of her current situation. It sucked. And to top it all off, she felt sick. She'd been sick all of once in her life, and it was one of the least pleasant experiences she'd ever had the privilege of having. She really didn't need a problem like that on top of everything else.

She checked the can near her bed, her day brightening just a fraction when she saw it was completely undisturbed. She pushed off of the bed, groaning. Her back was stiff. While the bed had seemed soft at first, there were metal springs inside it that had poked and prodded her all night, hard enough for her to tell through her armor. And they made her sleep awkwardly, being used to sleeping on feather or straw mattresses.

It was well past sundown outside, and she could barely make out the stars in the sky. It saddened her, even if she didn't recognize any of them. She made her way into what she guessed was the kitchen. This is where food was, even if the vast majority was far gone from being edible. She opened some of the cabinets and cupboards, checking what she had on hand that she could probably eat. There were pictures on some of the cans and boxes of things that looked slightly familiar. Carrots, some vegetables of other kinds, and there even looked to be a can of soup.

There was a sink buried in the counter, instead of standing free like she'd seen in most Human homes before. She opened the door underneath, noting the plumbing. Some of the homes in Stormwind had had a much more rudimentary system than this seemed to have, and there were more pipes than she was used to. Just to check, she turned the faucet on one of them, and strangely enough water flowed.

It looked dirty and smelled of rust, but it was running. She frowned a little, but was buoyed by the fact she wouldn't have to go drink from a river of indeterminate sewage content. If the water would run clean any time soon, that is. She turned it off, deciding to leave it alone for now.

She walked to a small switch on one of the walls, curious as to what it was for. She flipped it and immediately switched it back off when lights in the room came on. Surprised and a little afraid she'd set off some kind of trap, she crouched in the room to wait.

She gave it about five minutes with no movement before she stood back up. Apparently this place also had electricity, though from what she'd seen the lights here were much brighter than anything Gnomes had been able to produce so far. She wondered if she'd ever run out of strange things to find and study here.

After a few more minutes of exploring, she'd found another few rooms with more objects she didn't understand, a room that was apparently used for bathing, and another bedroom on the other end of the building. It was completely empty save for a bed, devoid of some of the little knickknacks and other things she'd seen in the first.

Now outside, Slywyn made her slow way down the dirt path to the house, checking to be sure there weren't any new tracks. Other than those of a deer, she didn't see anything. Though she happily took note of the fact that wildlife existed here.

Satisfied that no one had found her yet, she returned to the mobile home. She'd decided to call it that even though it didn't seem capable of self-movement, simply because it possessed wheels. Even if those wheels were deflated, dry rotted, and useless.

Making her way to the kitchen area, Slywyn took out her small pocket knife and set about opening a few of the cans to try to find something to eat. She tried the soup she'd seen first, getting a bit on her finger for a taste-test. She almost choked on the amount of salt in it, closing the can as best she could and setting it back on the counter for later.

However, none of the cans fared much better. It seemed everything in a can was heavily salted like marching meat had been when she'd been in the Sentinels. With a grimace she ate cold canned food, though if she set the factor of much salt on the side, the food itself wasn't all that horrible. All the bagged, boxed, or otherwise open food had spoiled long ago, and there was a large white box with two doors that she was dreading opening.

Even though it was closed and seemed to be sealed, there was a horrible smell coming from it that she suspected was from more rotting food. She reached into her satchel that she was still wearing at her side, and dug around for a minute. She pulled free her collapsible multi-tool that she'd built about a year ago. It had a shovel, an axe, a wire cutter, and a hammer. She'd built it after a customer had requested something similar for camping use, and she'd kept one around for her own uses. It was made of a mix of Mithril and Steel, making it both strong and light. And somewhat expensive.

After a few minutes of searching through the building, she came up with a large enough box to use to put all the food inside, and then piled everything she could carry that was rotten into it. She brought that outside, and set about digging a hole big enough to bury that food and quite a bit more she suspected to reside elsewhere in the house.

----

Earlier that morning, Dwayne's doorbell rang, and he pulled his headphones off to go see who it was. Making his way through his house in his socks, he opened the door. He blinked several times, a bit confused. There was a guy in a suit, complete with sunglasses and militarily-short haircut.

They stared at each other for a moment before the guy produced a picture. Dwayne's mouth fell open as he recognized the elf from the video he'd seen yesterday. The guy spoke first. "I see you recognize it." He pulled a notepad and a pen from a pocket on his suit. "We're investigating a matter of national security, and based on your town's proximity to the initial crash site we're going door to door to find out as many details as we can. If you could please provide me with any information you may have, it would help us immensely. No detail is too small."

Dwayne blinked a few times, a bit taken aback by the guy's attitude and dress, both completely cool and professional. It reminded him of the Men in Black. "Uh... we heard about a car crash on the news, and then all those pictures that got onto the internet about it, and then we saw a video."

"I see. Could you please tell me who 'we' are and what exactly you saw in the video?"

Dwayne scratched his head. "Colin is my friend. The both of us watched the video and the news about it. He's at work though?"

The Suit nodded, writing all of this down. "And what exactly did you see in the video?"

Dwayne could feel his cheeks heating up a bit. He was about to reveal his nerd-status to some government suit on his doorstep. "Well, it looked a lot like one of the elves from a game that came out a few years ago. Warcraft? Maybe you heard of it? The company went under a couple of years later, but I swear she looks exactly like the elves from the game."

The guy's mouth drew into a thin line, and then his head tilted down a few degrees to look at Dwayne over his sunglasses. His hand began scribbling all the information down, even if his expression was skeptical. "I'm going to take your name down, if you don't mind. Any information you can provide could be critical in our investigation."

Dwayne nodded a few times, now confused. The guy's expression had shifted from bored, to skeptical, to curious, before it walled up again to look bored. He stood up straight, looking to the side of the door where Dwayne's house number was. He wrote that down too, before turning back to Dwayne. "Thank you for your assistance. Have a nice day." He turned on his heel, moving back down the pathway from the sidewalk to Dwayne's house before moving on to the next house down the street.

"Huh..." Dwayne shrugged his shoulders a little before shutting the door and heading back inside to get some lunch. "They sure seem worried."

----

Slywyn was back inside 'her' building, resting a bit. All she'd done was dig a hole and then bury the rotten food, and she felt drained and tired. The large white box had been cleaned too, though it had given her quite a shock when she pulled it open. She tried the top door first simply because it had looked smaller, hoping that would also mean less work.

When she pulled the door open, she'd been met with a blast of cold air. She had hurriedly shut the door again, thinking it was some kind of magical trap. But when nothing inside exploded or made any other noise than the dim hum that the whole thing was making, she pulled it back open.

The entire inside of it was caked with ice, which amazed her. The building itself was cool, but not cold. Definitely nowhere near cool enough to support ice inside of the thing. There had been food inside of it, but it was all frozen completely through and covered in frost. However, none of it had seemed expressly bad, so she left it in there. As long as they stayed frozen, she didn't see any reason why they'd be particularly in danger of spoiling. And some of it was meat.

The larger door, however, was a different story entirely. Practically the whole thing was full of rotting or rotten food, and she'd had to plug her nose to work past the smell. The entire contents had been buried outside, along with the towel she'd wet in the sink to wipe it out. It wasn't perfectly clean, but at least it wasn't leaking a stench like it had before.

She didn't know exactly how long she'd be staying in this place, but she'd decided to at least make it habitable in the meantime. It wouldn't do her much good to ignore a problem now and have it come back to bite her in the ass later.

After venturing back outside, she'd discovered a small shed just inside of the treeline. It was full of bees, but aside from that it was practically a treasure trove of machinery and tools. She'd had to force herself to not make a sound, as she wanted to scream for joy. Many of the tools were things she recognized. Wrenches, sockets, screwdrivers. Most of the tools she was going to need to fix her wormhole generator. The problems were going to be parts, wiring, and power. Power would be the largest problem by far.

Something else she noticed about this place was the seeming lack of magic of any kind. She'd done some very minor studies in the Arcane when she was younger. Just enough to detect magic. This place seemed entirely devoid of any kind of magic at all. She vaguely pondered if that's why she felt so tired.

Without any source of magic in the smallest amount, she wondered if she'd feel any effects, and how badly. Night Elves were magical creatures by nature, having grown up near the Well on Azeroth. It was something she'd never understood about the banning of magic. They used it every day, and yet all those sources remained. The only thing that'd vanished was the Highborne.

She shook her head, deciding she had bigger problems than magical quandaries centuries removed in the past. She headed back inside the house, deciding to try and take stock of what else she had in her possession here.

Lord Grimtale

09-16-2011, 10:30 PM

Grimtale likes this continuation.

Slywyn

09-17-2011, 12:04 PM

Jinx stood inside the destroyed lab in Ironforge. He'd just been allowed back inside after Ironforge officials, among Gnomish technicians, had examined the area for any kind of radiation or power leak that could be dangerous to the city as a whole.

They'd left the wreckage alone at his request, not that there was a whole lot left to salvage anyway. He was taking stock of the damage, noting which parts would need to be replaced, which ones were salvageable, and which would need to be rebuilt completely. He frowned a bit when he noticed the half-destroyed console blinking at him.

He took a few steps toward it, scribbling some notes and half-baked plans for rebuilding. He wasn't focusing overmuch on what exactly the console had to say, until he noticed the depleted power source was trying weakly to broadcast coordinates. He blinked in confusion. If she had been eaten by a wormhole, then there shouldn't be exit coordinates.

He quickly scribbled down the numbers on a clean part of the paper, then ripped the piece off carefully. He put it in a pocket of his jumpsuit, saving it for later.

Jinx looked up at the machine again. If the machine had managed to procure exit coordinates in the moment between the wormhole opening and the machine's destruction, that meant that an exit had been found and she hadn't been simply ejected into the Nether to die. Which also left the very vague possibility that she was alive.

He pursed his lips a bit. He'd have to call in a few favors to get the machine rebuilt. But he'd do it the right way this time. No mistakes with unsupported wormhole generators. Their experiment, while surprising, unexpected, and disastrous, had proven something Gnomes had been unsure about for about a year. Dimensional folding and teleportation sciences could work together.

----

Slywyn was not far from 'her' home/building/base, exploring the town in the night. She'd decided that exploring at night was going to be much easier than exploring during the day after a few quick observations suggested that the humans here were diurnal instead of nocturnal like her own people.

She was currently poking around a fenced in area of one of the houses after having carefully climbed the fence. It seemed that a rather large amount of them fenced off areas of vegetation, essentially claiming parts of the wildlife as their own. She didn't approve, but it wasn't like she was in any position to do anything about it.

She'd had a run in with a dog in one of the fenced off areas, though it was much much smaller than similar dogs on Azeroth. It also appeared to be much less threatening, and of a breed she didn't recognize. So much here was so strange, she noted for probably the hundredth time since arriving.

She crept up to a window in the house she was currently skulking around, peering through the glass. She saw a few items that looked similar to things she'd seen back at the house she'd claimed, but most of them looked much sleeker and newer than what she had.

Satisfied with her cursory examination of the buildings around the little base she'd established, she updated the small map she'd drawn to help her return. The pathways with more of the strange stone she'd noted at the dual pathways with the fast-moving machines were drawn out, as they seemed like the main ways of getting around.

It reminded her very much of Stormwind's streets and pathways, but excessively refined. A light shone from around a corner, and Sly crouched down behind a bush to watch. One of the machines rolled down the street with an audible hum of some kind of engine before pulling up to one of the buildings.

A human opened a hatch in the side, climbed out, and then shut the hatch again. Once he'd made his way into the building, Sly crept over to examine the machine. Many parts of it seemed hot, or at least warm, meaning that it ran off of some kind of combustion or heat source. The exhaust pipe smelled acrid, and was radiating so much heat she didn't want to get near it.

In contrast to the machine outside the building she'd claimed, the inside of this one was new looking and smelled of leather instead of rust and mold. There were dials and buttons and switches of all kind that seemed to be for myriad uses. She drew a quick sketch before crouching low and making her way back to the treeline to venture home, her curiosity satisfied for now.

Certain to skirt her tripwire, and making sure that there were no new tracks in the pathway to her home, Sly made her way inside. She made a mental note to improve the defenses around it soon, perhaps the next night. As she walked through the kitchen area she heard a strange kind of "whump whump" sound she only vaguely recognized.

Sly tilted her head at an angle to try to hear better. The sound was getting louder and deeper, implying that whatever it was was coming closer. As it passed overhead, a bright searchlight passed over her building. Sly threw herself to the floor, her heart pounding.

As the thing passed on, she recognized the sound of it. It sounded just like her whirligig that she'd built, though it appeared that the rotors spun much faster and powerfully than her own did. She was rather curious as to what they were using as a power source. She hadn't seen evidence of water tanks or power cores on any of the machinery. As a matter of fact, the engines didn't seem to have any power sources at all.

She shook her head, climbing up from the floor and dusting herself off. Now that she suspected that Nordrassil's blessings no longer had any effect whatsoever, she guessed that she'd have to clean this place up a bit to avoid some kind of infection or sickness. Especially since a place like this was likely to have diseases she'd have no defense against.

She frowned a little and glanced around the room. There was a lot of dust. Deciding to do it later, she moved back into what seemed to be the main room of the building. There were two couches against walls, and something with a large screen and a bunch of buttons. She guessed that it was some sort of video screen, based on similarities to things she'd seen in Tinkertown and Gnomeregan after it was partly retaken.

Deciding to leave it alone, especially since she didn't know exactly what it was for, she sat on the carpeted floor and dumped out her satchel. Aside from her wormhole generator, she had a few other things. A parachute, her multitool, her hammerpick and Gnomish Army Knife. Multiple teleporters, which all seemed strangely nonfunctional, as well as her goggles, a few knives of differing sizes, a few samples of food she'd forgotten in the depths of her bag for far too long, and a change of clothes. There were a few other minor things, but nothing worth much notice.

Then, attached to her armor in various places, were her handheld High-Powered Bolt gun, combat knife, screwdriver, wrench, and bootknife. Her crossbow was folded against her thigh, bolts secured under it. Satisfied with her personal inventory, even though the majority seemed useless to her, she stowed everything away back where it needed to be.

She looked up at the ceiling as she heard several more things fly overheard. More than a little curious, she decided against going to look and putting herself more at risk. She looked back at the state of the building. She'd set about cleaning and making this place more habitable while she could.

----

Dwayne groaned, rolling over in his bed and looking at his clock. 6:30 in the morning, and someone wanted his attention. He rubbed at his eyes, slipping on a pair of slippers. It was the last day of the weekend, and he'd been looking forward to sleeping most of the day before he had to go back to work the next day.

He padded to the door and pulled it open, only to be mostly blinded by more than one light pointed in his direction. He raised his arm to block the light, and gasped. There were three Suits standing right in front of his door, and more around. One of the flashed a badge.

"We've been told you may have information on the extraterrestrial that landed two days ago. Would you come with us please, sir?" They didn't wait for an answer, taking Dwayne by his arms and frogmarching him toward several waiting SUVs.

"Hey! Wait a second!", Dwayne was angry and more than a little confused.

One of the men faced him, then pulled open the door to the backseat of one the SUVs. Colin waved meekly before the man pushed Dwayne's head down and forced him into the seat.

"Sorry, sir. Matter of national security." Dwayne looked out the window to see several more Suits entering his house before the SUV pulled away from the curb.

Colin's voice came from beside him. "What the fuck did you do this time?"

DarkAngel

09-20-2011, 05:07 PM

((DA, as far as the car thing, I had just figured that a Night Elf who was used to seeing ships, steam tanks, giant floating dirigibles, among other things, a car wouldn't be all that big. :3 ))
Okay, I was just assuming the default size-comparason standard is your own body.

It was on the news. They wouldn't report something like a photoshopped picture on the news.Sadly, they do.

since the story had broken yesterday.

Somehow, I get the uncanny feeling that I've met Dwayne and Colin somewhere.

Getting sick... She's already lost her immortality before, so it can't be that. It could the classic 'you die if you stay in the wrong universe for too long.' Worst-case scenario: Night Elf biology is similar enough to catch the same germs as humans, pathogens to which she has no immunity.

a video on YouTube,
Luckily, it seemed sound,
But first things first: she needed rest.

"The guy?" Wouldn't it be better to say "the man?"

Wait, Blizz is bankrupt? I suppose that's needed to explain the general ignorance.

"centuries removed in the past." How about just "centuries in the past?" Come to think of it, wouldn't that be millenia?

She acutally opened the doors of the car? That's pretty hard to do quietly.

One of them flashed a badge.
Wait a second!"

I'm liking this. I can always use a few laughs to brighten my day, and you deliver. More of your excellent work, please!

Exxile87

09-20-2011, 05:35 PM

DA, you've been on everyone else's new updates but not Lehne's. He's sad.

HalfElfDragon

09-20-2011, 05:36 PM

Whenever I see this thread I read "Sly's Suppository". Just thought you should know.

Lord Grimtale

09-21-2011, 11:28 PM

To anyone that liked Slywyn's fanfics as much as I did but haven't seen anymore of his updates to them I found this website and his fanfic updates are located in them.

http://www.fanfiction.net/s/7393905/9/Collision

I don't know why he would move them there instead of updating here, come to think of it I haven't seen him post a lot either.

Grimtale am sad. :(

HalfElfDragon

09-21-2011, 11:33 PM

Then please just stop posting if all you're going to do is whine.

Kay. Bye.

That's Sly's last post.

AndyJP

09-22-2011, 01:31 AM

I haven't read through everything yet, but I really love that you put so much thought into your characters!

DarkAngel

09-26-2011, 05:47 PM

That's Sly's last post.

His loss. Those who don't post here don't get me. The wierdest part is that his conversational posts felt "male," while his fiction felt "female." Maybe it's me.

Slywyn

09-26-2011, 08:08 PM

His loss. Those who don't post here don't get me. The wierdest part is that his conversational posts felt "male," while his fiction felt "female." Maybe it's me.

There's a reason for that.

And thank you for what you do, DA. You're a credit to SoL.

Slywyn

11-30-2011, 10:49 PM

The third day after her arrival on the planet, Slywyn woke sore and tired. She'd cleaned her strange home from top to bottom after concluding that her environment was probably what was causing her to feel ill. She didn't bother to sit up. She felt awful.

Sly looked over to the can tied to her tripwire, and it was undisturbed. She let out a groan and finally prodded herself into sitting up. She put a hand to her forehead and let her head rest in her hand for a moment. She felt sick, limp, and drained. Her whole body ached, her stomach was roiling even though she hadn't eaten last night, and she felt like she was cooking in her armor.

She pulled herself out of her bed, stumbled a bit and bumped into the wall. She hung there for a moment, supporting herself against the steadiness of the wall. Her vision was spinning and she felt lightheaded. She continued to the kitchen. She still had no idea what was causing her to feel this way. Was it the food? Was it some kind of sickness brought on by the warphole? Was it a disease?

She groaned and peered out the window. It was raining. Sly leaned her face against the window, feeling the cool caress of the glass. She shut her eyes, remaining there until her heated skin began to heat the window. Once the coolness was gone, she continued her journey down the hallway. She wanted something to settle her stomach.

Her objective was a sealed pack of crackers she'd seen in the kitchen. Once when she was a little girl, her mother had made some thin wafer crackers that had helped settle her stomach when she ate a rotten fruit. Once she'd let them sit for a while and soak up whatever had been making her feel awful, her stomach had settled. She almost wished her mother was here. Her legs felt like they didn't have the strength to reach the kitchen.

Sly could almost feel her temperature rising the more she walked, and she began shedding her armor. Attackers be damned. She couldn't fight them off in this condition anyway. And if she was going to die, at least she'd die comfortable if she couldn't fight.

Shaking her head to try to clear the melodramatic thoughts, Sly finally reached the kitchen. She yanked open the cabinet door, pausing for a moment as she was almost overcome by nausea. She stuck her hand into the cabinet once the nausea had mostly faded, then pulled free the package. She tore it open, the plastic giving her immense amounts of trouble when it would have been child's play before.

One problem. When Sly stuffed the crackers into her mouth, she realized that her mouth was suffering from pretty much the same problem the rest of her was. It was really really hot. And she couldn't remember the last time she'd had something to drink.

Her eyes scanned the kitchen as her mouth crunched on the now-incredibly-sticky cracker paste that was in danger of beginning to choke her. She'd even take one of the horrible red cans. If she hadn't drained all of them, that is. Sly lurched her way toward the sink. The water'd begun to run clear last night, even if it tasted like Stormwind's canal water that was used for sewage.

Sly stuck her face into the faucet and turned it on, trying to wash down the cracker-y mess she'd gotten herself into. She gulped water as soon as she could, eventually clearing the blockage in her mouth. Even though, now, she felt as if she had giant chunks of cracker still stuck everywhere. Which she did.

As she turned away from the counter, the nausea hit her again. Her knees gave out and she collapsed to them, bent over herself and dry heaving on the floor. What the hell was going on? And then, out of nowhere, the heat returned. This time, however, she literally felt like she was on fire. Sly gasped for breath, her chest restricting in the heat.

Her head swiveled, looking for anything she could to relieve the terrible heat, when the door caught her eye. Sly half crawled, half stumbled her way to the door before she pulled it open. Unable to stand, she simply tumbled down the steps into the rain. And landed right on the shredded remains of the cans she'd put there for her defense.

Slywyn couldn't even muster a groan of dim pain, as far into the grip of fever as she was. She rolled off the cans and simply turned herself onto her back, her face up into the rain. Her hair was splayed behind her like a fan, and she was completely exposed, but she didn't care. The rain felt like a miracle from the Goddess on her body, helping to cool her.

It didn't even register that it was still daylight out.

---------

Earlier that morning.

Colin and Dwayne were both pushed forward against their seatbelts as their SUV lurched to a stop. They'd pulled up in front of the town's police station, which now looked like some kind of command post straight out of a movie. There were government agents everywhere, and every one of them had an earpiece of some kind, constantly in contact with each other.

One of the Suits from their vehicle hopped out as soon as it stopped, and made his way to Colin's door. He pulled it open swiftly, then motioned for both of them to exit. "The quicker we get this done, the quicker the both of you return home, got it?"

They nodded as one, then both filed out of the car. They stood in awe of the proceedings for a moment before both of them were ushered into the building flanked by multiple Suits. Dwayne was the first to speak as they made for the Police Station door. "Who are you guys?"

One of the Suits glanced to the side. "This is a CIA and FBI joint task force. Our little visitor attracted a lot of attention. The nearby military base picked it up when it materialized over the I-90. Some kind of energy reading on the radar."

Dwayne blinked. He hadn't exactly expected information. Surprised and somewhat mollified, he remained silent as the two of them were lead to their seats. There was activity all around them. Everyone was presenting some kind of information to everyone else, and the whole place felt alive and excited. Maybe they were just relieved that First Contact hadn't been with someone who immediately started shooting? It sure seemed like it was that way. No bad alien movies today.

Dwayne's attention was drawn to a particularly loud man with a buzz cut talking to a stereotypical scrawny guy in what looked like a lab coat. They were discussing rather animatedly and heading straight this way.

"- mean to tell me that this thing is real, Talbot?"

"Yes, General Taggart."

Dwayne blinked a bit. Now the buzz-cut guy's green suit made sense. He'd thought he was dressed like the Riddler at first.

"Alright. I'm listening."

"Of course, Sir. You see, we got a DNA sample off the blood we collected from the vehicle we confiscated."

The General blinked and spit coffee. "You –what-."

"Yes, sir. And when we analyzed it it came back with a reading that the machine couldn't actually understand. You see, where Humans have 23 pairs of Chromosomes, this sample had 34."

"-WHAT-."

"Yes, sir. And the machine found traces of some kind of energy in the blood itself. It faded before we could collect a reading off of it, but we know for sure it was some kind of radiation we've never actually encountered before sir."

"-WHAT!-" The General grabbed Talbot by his arm, stopping him right in front of Dwayne and Colin. "You mean to tell me that not only is this thing certifiably alien, we've collected a blood sample, found out that it is nothing like us, and it's blood is radioactive."

"That's the idea, sir."

General Taggart put a hand to his face and quickly ran it down, trying to coax his thoughts. "Very well. Any hostile activity?"

"None at all, sir. In fact, we've identified the object that was on her back. It was a sword, sir."

"Wait. You're telling me that it's a -she-. And she was carrying weaponry?"

Talbot blushed slightly. "I've studied the footage quite extensively General. Her facial structure is reminiscent of both feline and human female facial anatomy. We've enhanced the video we pulled from YouTube as much as possible, which has allowed for us to do quite the study of her and her armor."

"No one mentioned anything about armor."

"It's how she survived the car crash, General."

"What."

------

Sly sat up after what felt like ages. The sun was quickly going down over the tree tops, but she felt somewhat better than she had before. She put her hand to her head, brushing away a bit of water from the rain. Her hair was a tangled and dirty mess, but at least she wasn't cooking alive in her skin anymore. Her hand against her head told her two things. She was no longer as hot as she was before. And that she was covered in dirt. And very very wet.

She pushed herself to her feet, crouching for a moment as a fit of dizziness washed over her. As it passed she crunched back over the crushed cans, dimly noting that rain plus crushed cans equals lack of dirt coverage and a less-than-effective trap. She pushed her way back inside, dripping water and dirt across her newly-cleaned floors. She didn't quite care.

She lurched her way to the bathroom where she'd located a shower the night before. Without bothering to strip she pulled the curtain open and fell rather than climbed into the tub. She fumbled for a moment before she found the control-things, quickly turning on the cold water.

She knew which one was the cold water because she turned on the hot water the night before and burnt her arm. Being a smart Night Elf, Sly quickly realized the correlation between the red box and the blue squiggly and hot and cold water. Deciding to momentarily drown herself in cold water and the misery of the flu, she simply remained sprawled in the bottom of the shower, clothes, armor, dirt, and all.

---------

"Eh, wot?"

Jinx put his fingers against the bridge of his nose and squeezed, his eyes shut against the building headache. He'd pulled in every favor anyone had ever owed him ever, and a few that people didn't know they actually owed him to boot to get the Dwarven Engineering guild down to his lab. What he hadn't realized was that "Dwarven Engineering guild" apparently meant "Dwarven get-falling-down-drunk-and-blow-shit-up guild". Most of them didn't know anything about Engineering other than "Righty-tighty, lefty-loosey", and Jinx was doing more teaching than building at the moment.

"You don't know what a trans-dimensional discombobulator is?"

"Naep."

Jinx let out a loud sigh. "Fit the glowing blue thing into the circle marked with the blue circle. Just like the glowing blue thing is." He marked both items with blue circles from the marker he was carrying.

The Dwarf looked from one to the other and back again before it hit him. "Oh! Aye!" He then went about shoving the rather delicate piece of machinery into it's home in a somewhat rough manner.

Jinx sighed again, sitting in his chair in front of his desk. Which was, for the moment, covered in the plans for rebuilding the machine that had sent Slywyn wherever she was now. The only difference between the two was that this one was equipped with a wormhole generator. That was fully functional. And grounded.

----------

Dwayne looked at Colin, then back to the General. He looked back to Colin and put a finger to his lips. He wanted to hear everything that these two had to say.

The General was still reeling from finding out that the alien had been struck by a car- and survived.

"Yes, sir. I am aware of the irony. That an alien would 'land', in a manner of speaking, and be immediately hit by a car."

General Taggart recovered enough to speak. "Alright. So tell me, Talbot. She's carrying weaponry. Was struck by a car. And surrounded by citizens with cell phones that drove her off. That's what you're telling me right now?"

"Indeed I am sir."

Taggart looked thoughtful for a moment. "I would assume that this alien is not hostile. She had ample time and opportunity to go on a spree, and did not."

"We had been leaning that way, sir", Talbot countered, "But at the same time, it could have been some kind of disorientation from her method of entry. You see, according to eyewitness accounts she literally fell out of the sky and landed on her face. From an entry point about eleven feet off the ground."

"I see. Are you aware that the CIA already has hunter/killer teams out in the wilderness around town searching for this ali-" Talbot gave the General a look, and he sighed. "For her. Christ, Talbot, how many times did you watch the video."

Talbot's face turned a slightly darker shade of pink. "Enough."

The General shot another look before reaching for a radio on his belt. "General Taggart to H/K Leader, over."

The radio crackled with static for a moment before a quiet voice answered. "This is H/K leader, over."

"Have all teams switch to non-lethal weaponry unless attacked. This alien has shown no hostile tendencies and I will not start a war over a misunderstanding, you hear me? Over."

"Copy, General. Will inform teams. H/K Leader, over and out."

The General put his radio back in it's holster on his belt, then his eyes went to Dwayne and Colin, noticing them for the first time. He drew back in surprise. "And who the fuck are these two jokers?"

Dwayne recoiled slightly, and Colin's mouth turned up into the tiniest of smirks. Talbot spoke for them. "From what I understand these two have some information on her, Sir."

General Taggart raised an eyebrow and motioned for Dwayne and Colin to come with him. "Very well. Follow me, boys."

Dwayne looked at Colin before standing and beginning to walk after the General, who was already moving down the hall. Colin followed momentarily, keeping in step behind Dwayne.

Slywyn

12-01-2011, 07:09 AM

Both men followed General Taggart and Talbot down the hall, passing many Suits and Police Officers along the way. Dwayne's head was on a swivel, taking in and listening to as much as he could all around him. Everyone was excited, relieved, and curious in seemingly equal measure. They all wanted to learn more, hear more. Dwayne didn't realize they'd stopped and almost ran into Talbot.

General Taggart held open a door to one of the Police Station's interrogation rooms, motioning both of them in. "In here boys. We've got a few questions for you."

Dwayne nodded and stepped into the room, Colin following him quickly. There were four chairs around the table, two on one side and two on the other. Taggart walked around the back side of the table, farthest from the wall, and pulled out the two chairs. He and Talbot sat in those, letting Dwayne and Colin sit in the ones closer to the door. They hadn't locked it.

Taggart began while Talbot pulled a notepad and a pen out of a pocket on his coat. "As you can see, boys, you're not under arrest. You're not in trouble. You're free to go whenever you wish. But we'd like you to answer a few questions for us."

"So why'd you take us out of our houses like that?" Colin frowned, leaning an arm on the table.

Taggart made a disgruntled face, moving a hand up to rub at the back of his head. "That was a misunderstanding. I gave the order to the FBI to bring you in for questioning, and they passed it along to the CIA. Apparently someone in the old guard led your pickup. Some Cold War dinosaur."

Colin and Dwayne both blinked. Taggart looked to be in his early fifties. At least. He had a soldier's face, lined and weathered, like he'd spent far too long in the desert. Which, if he'd had anything to do with the three Middle Eastern Wars, he likely had. His hair was graying and thinning on the top, making him look older than he likely was. Dwayne reconsidered. Maybe he was in his late forties.

Talbot spoke next. "At any rate, it was a misunderstanding. They were supposed to request you to come with them. As you can see, things were muddled somewhat. And we apologize."

Dwayne gave a nod, putting a hand out to gesture on the table as he spoke. "I don't really mind. I'd like to share whatever information I can. I don't really know how much help it's going to be to you, though."

"What makes you say that, son?" Taggart raised an eyebrow.

"Well, it's from a video game." Colin looked to his side at Dwayne and continued speaking. "Dwayne was a big fan of it, but the company went bankrupt a few years ago. Their main lore developer kept talking about how he was 'waiting for a vision' to continue working on the game. They only ever came out with Warcraft 3."

Taggart's face went blank, then he looked at Talbot. "You mean to tell me that our only source of Intel on her is a video game?"

Talbot flushed again, reaching up to adjust his glasses. They were frameless, and the arms holding them to his head disappeared into his hair, cut fairly short with a dark brown color. He looked to be in his mid-thirties. "Well, sir. I've done some research based on the information that Steggart brought back from his interview of Mr. Young here." Talbot gestured to Dwayne. "And what we know so far checks out with the physical description I was able to find."

Taggart's face took on a curious slant before he continued. "… Very well. Tell us what you know, son. Start from the beginning."

Dwayne nodded.

------

Slywyn awoke, though she wasn't immediately able to get her eyes open. They seemed crusted shut, and she had to rub them several times with the back of her hand to get them open. She didn't immediately know what time it was, but her internal clock was telling her that it was early evening. Likely some time before the sun was going to go down. She didn't know how long she'd been asleep, but the shower had been on the entire time.

She felt …old. Her whole body ached, her muscles screaming at her every time she moved. She barely had the strength to turn the water off. She was shivering, having been lying in the cold water for who knows how long. She flopped out of the tub, lying on the linoleum floor for a moment while she tried to catch her breath. She still felt like she was burning up, hotter than she knew how to deal with. She could somehow sense that unless something happened, and soon, she might not make it much longer.

She felt her stomach churn, then felt bile rising in the back of her throat. She managed to choke it down, but it left her throat feeling burned and raw. She crawled to the door of the bathroom, it in itself almost proving to be an insurmountable obstacle. She hoisted herself up by the door knob, then used the counter next to the door to bring herself to her feet, barely able to stand. She pushed the door open, then flopped into the wall opposite the bathroom. She leaned against it for support as she slowly made her way to the kitchen, the packet of crackers still abandoned on the floor.

Crossing the area with the couch in it was the hardest part, and she almost fell twice as she lurched across it. She felt like death, and she could immediately tell it wasn't something she ever wanted to feel again. She finally made it into the kitchen, leaning against the u-shaped kitchen counter.

She looked up, searching through the cabinets hanging from the ceiling. She found what she wanted soon enough, a cup to hold some water. She turned the faucet in the sink on, then quickly filled the cup. She drained it in one gulp, only realizing just how thirsty she was when she put the cup to her lips. She did this twice more before the shivering began again, so violently that she almost flung the cup across the room.

Sly gripped herself tightly, wrapping her arms around herself in a hug as she tried to pull herself together. She spoke for the first time since her landing, trying to reassure herself in her native Darnassian. "Come on, Slywyn… You've made it through worse than this." It didn't really work, but hearing her native tongue comforted her somewhat.

She remembered the blanket on the bed in the bedroom just down the hall, and slowly began working her way toward it. Hopefully it would help a little.

Once she reached the bedroom, she was at a loss for what to do. She needed some kind of plan. She couldn't do anything sick like this. Scouting was out of the question. She couldn't try to repair anything with her hands shaking this badly. She looked around the room, seeing what she could learn from another once-over. The can tied to the string was still undisturbed. A good sign. There were books all around the room, but none of them had any writing on the spines that looked even remotely familiar. They may as well have been written in Orcish.

Then her stomach growled. Against all odds, and the nausea, she was hungry. She didn't remember the last time she'd eaten. Then she remembered the crackers, and decided they didn't count. She pushed off of the bed, beginning the long journey to the kitchen again. As she worked her way there, she caught a glimpse of the strange video screen in the room with the couch again.

An idea began forming in her head. She knew nothing about the world she was inhabiting. Maybe trying to fix that could lend a bit of insight into what her next move should be. Until she found a power source for her Wormhole Generator, she was stuck here. May as well play explorer while she could.

She grabbed the crackers and a larger glass of water, then made her way to the living room. Her armored leggings felt heavy, and were needlessly weighing her down, so she took them off, adding them to the armor that was littering the floor from where she'd taken it off in her 'dash' outside the day before.

Sly plopped herself down on the floor in front of the video screen, then began searching for a means to turn it on. There were six buttons in the bottom of the thing. Four of them had up and down arrows, something she didn't immediately associate with power, so she ignored them. The last two buttons were on either end of the row of buttons. One had a red circle with a line through it vertically. On a guess, she pressed it.

Nothing happened at first, then the thing began to hum. The screen suddenly flicked to life, flashing a bright white light that momentarily blinded her. It was unexpected, but vaguely reminded her of something similar that the Gnomish screens would do if they had been off for a while.

Slowly, video began to play, and sound began to emanate from the thing. Sly blinked a few times, watching it. The screen was filled with a Human sitting at a table, reading what looked like a larger version of a news bulletin that she'd seen in Stormwind a few times. She tilted her head to the side, then popped a few crackers into her mouth and took a glass of water.

Sick, shivering, and alone, Slywyn began to learn more about this place that she was stuck in.

-----

"About eighteen years ago, a company named Blizzard released a game called 'Warcraft: Orcs and Humans'.", Dwayne began.

Talbot interrupted. "Wait. I've heard of that game. Didn't it win a lot of awards and things?"

Dwayne nodded. "It did. It was one of the original RTS games. It was hugely successful, then was followed by two more games; Warcraft 2: Tides of Darkness, and Warcraft 3: Reign of Chaos."

Taggart smirked a bit. "You really are a nerd, son. But I'm interested."

Dwayne took a breath, then continued. "The one we're interested in at the moment is the third game, Warcraft 3. That's the game that the Night Elves were introduced in. The woman I saw in the video on YouTube and the cell phone photos matches the physical description from the video game almost perfectly. If I had to take a guess, that's what I'd say she was."

Taggart and Talbot both looked incredulous, though Talbot was the first to speak. He looked to Taggart. "Sir, when I did my research, I concluded much the same result. The physical description is eerily accurate, right down to her projected height of near seven feet." Talbot looked back to Dwayne. "Sorry. Continue."

"Well… I don't exactly know what else to say. You saw how fast she can run. Her eyes glow. They have magic in their blood. A-"

Taggart shot out a hand. "Wait a second. Magic? You didn't mention anything about magic. And her eyes do what?"

Dwayne gathered his thoughts for a moment. "Well, in the story, the Night Elves used to live around this big well of arcane magical energy tens of thousands of years ago. They were mutated by it, and it became a part of them and their everyday life. Their eyes took on a glow, which could change depending on what kind of magic they could use. I don't really want to go into detail about it, but that's what causes it. Her eyes glow because of the magic within her. And her blood would show traces of it. Night Elves are inherently magical creatures."

Taggart glanced at Talbot. "I want you to take your readings of the energy you found in her blood, and study them. Devote an entire team to it. Find out everything you can."

"But, sir, we only got a very minor read-"

"Look. Talbot. I don't care. I want you to find out everything you can about this. Study what you have. That's an order." He looked back to Dwayne. "But not yet, I want to hear what else he has to say."

Dwayne gulped. "What else do you want to know?"

"What happened to the company? Bizzaro or whatever." Taggart waved a hand dismissively.

"Oh. Blizzard. They went under a few years after Warcraft 3 was released. Their main lore developer said that he got the idea for the story from a vision he received in a dream. He kept waiting and waiting for another, and eventually the fans lost interest. They moved on. Everyone thought he was nuts, but now that there's a living, breathing Night Elf on Earth, I want to say he might not be so crazy after all."

Taggart looked at Talbot. "Do you think we could bring him in for questioning?"

Colin interjected. "You can't. He died in a car crash a year ago. Sped right into a pole. And, good luck finding anyone else who knows anything about it. They all used to say he made the whole thing up. None of them believed him about the visions."

Taggart frowned. "Shame."

Talbot put his chin in his hand, thinking. After a moment, he spoke. "The only real course of action I can see us taking now is finding her. Without her, other than the blood and the crashed car, we don't have any tangible proof of her existence. The public at large are going to realize that something really did land here soon. I give us another day or two before things start getting out of control. If we don't find her before then we might have a panic on our hands."

Taggart looked to Colin and Dwayne. "Well, boys. Seeing as you're our resident experts on this thing, as much as I don't believe a damn word of it, we could use your help. What do you say?"

Dwayne looked at Colin. "Uh…"

"You'll be paid."

Colin put his hand over Dwayne's mouth quickly, stifling any objections. "We'll do it."

Slywyn

12-01-2011, 07:13 AM

Taggart walked down the corridor with Talbot toward the prefabricated laboratory in the rear of the building, which had once been the gym for the police officers. He stood nearly a head taller than the scientist, with his close-cropped graying hair. Three stars adorned his green Army dress uniform, and a few medals were positioned on his chest opposite his nametag and a badge with a bar code on it. He slid that badge through a reader on the outside of the plastic wall of the lab, and stepped inside with Talbot.

Once they were out of hearing range of the two young men, Talbot finally spoke. "Do you really believe their story, sir?"

Taggart turned to watch the two as they seemingly argued outside the room the two had been questioned in. "Honestly? I don't believe a word of it. But I've heard stranger stories from more reliable stories. So until we receive proof otherwise, treat what they've told us as fact. It's all we have to go on." The General stuck his hands in the pockets of his pants, then pulled out an unlit pipe. He didn't put anything inside it, just holding it in his teeth.

Talbot took his glasses off, wiping them clean on his labcoat. "What about paying them? Are we really going to?"

Taggart nodded. "We can keep them on in an advisory position as long as we might need to ask them questions. Pay them a stipend for lost income and whatever travel and food expenses they might incur. They seem willing enough, and nothing in their background checks came up as red flags. Just a couple of teenagers with a crazy, but possibly true story for now.

Talbot watched the two as the one named Colin smacked Dwayne on the shoulder to emphasize something he said. "What if they turn out to be right? What if she really is some kind of super-powered magical alien? I read whatever I could about that race he spoke about." Talbot nodded toward Dwayne. "If any of it's true, she's more than a match for our soldiers. And our preliminary analysis of the metal shavings we managed to collect from the car is coming back a completely unknown metal that would far surpass anything we can create in both strength and lightness."

Taggart's eyebrows went up. "Speaking of samples, I want to know everything you do about anything we can collect from her." He frowned. "If it's even a her."

Talbot nodded and motioned toward one of the tables. "I arranged all our findings so far here." He moved toward the table, and Taggart moved to the other side, turning a few papers around so he could read them. "This is what we've managed to gather so far. The energy in her blood is a previously unrecorded radioactive signature that we only got the faintest of glimpses of before it faded. And that's all we know about it. We don't know if it's dangerous, the wavelength, or even the strength. It was there, and then it was gone. It would seem that whatever it is comes from her body, and fades quickly when removed. I suppose If we got a fresher sample we could learn more about it, but that would require finding her first."

Taggart nodded, then began reading through the report on the metal. "So we have nothing like this on Earth?"

"No sir. It comes off a bit like Titanium, but it's molecular structure is very different. The samples we collected had an incredibly high tensile strength, and needed almost twice the heat that Titanium does to melt down. And she's wearing a suit of it that we believe is anywhere from a quarter of an inch to half an inch thick."

Taggart looked up, surprised. "That's thicker than we have on some tanks!"

Talbot nodded. "I'm aware, sir. But as you can see… Where is it…" He fumbled around in his pockets for a moment before he pulled out a remote, and pointed it at one of the computers on a table nearby. It beeped on, and then an image was projected on a screen hanging from the side of the lab. "As you can see, judging from the images we collected, and gauging the width of her armor based on her height and the Humans around her, it seems to be half an inch thick on her shoulderplates, and as thin as a quarter of an inch on her hands, where the gloves give way to leather."

Taggart stood in a position known as "parade rest" as he listened to Talbot. "There seems to be some sort of paint on it, as the metal we recovered was silver, but what she's wearing is blue. You can even see some scratch marks on the paint where the armor shows through. These shine, meaning either the metal oxidizes, or it has some kind of coating on it to provide it with a matte finish. Presumably for stealth of some kind."

"Or she just doesn't want to blind people around her." Taggart looked at Talbot and raised his eyebrow.

"Er… yes, sir. But from the information I gathered from the website, the Night Elves lived in forests and deep wilderness. They were mostly nocturnal, excellent archers, and guerilla fighters."

The General frowned and looked over the image. "That probably explains how she escaped from police and still hasn't been found, then. We couldn't even pick up a trail after the first hundred feet, even with K-9 units."

Talbot nodded. "We were also able to tell from the video," Talbot hit a button on the remote, and the image began to play, revealing that it was the cell phone video recovered from YouTube, and Taggart held out his hand.

"Wait. You're telling me that this video is the one we recovered from YouTube?" Talbot nodded, and Taggart put a hand on his chin. "Damn. I didn't know cell phone cameras were that good."

The scientist smiled. "Well, we did have a video tech touch it up quite a bit. Sharpened it and brought the colors out more. Anything to learn more about the subject. As you ordered, sir."

Taggart nodded. "Right."

Talbot let the video play until the camera lost the Elf in the treeline, then rewound the footage and let it loop. "She ran at a top speed of very nearly fourty miles an hour. Which is nearly twice the fastest speed that a Human can achieve. And she did that in armor that we guess might weigh as much as sixty pounds."

Taggart looked to Talbot, his expression unbelieving. "There's no way."

"The video doesn't lie, sir." Talbot froze the video on an image of the elf's face, her large dark scar dominating it. "Whatever she is, video game, elf, or something else, she's definitely not anything we've ever dealt with before, sir."

Taggart frowned and nodded. "That is probably the most factual thing you've told me all day." He turned toward the image, staring at the face captured in it, and brought his hand to his chin to think.

-----

Dwayne stepped out of the room after the General and scientist walked off toward the back of the station, Colin following right after him. "I really don't think this is a good idea, dude." He turned to his friend.

Colin shot him a look. "They're going to pay us, man. And being here when we very well might make First Contact is totally worth missing school for. I mean, you're failing anyway so what do you have to lose?"

Dwayne frowned and watched the two older men disappear through a doorway, then leaned up against the wall. "But something about those two doesn't sit well with me, man. They're probably going to capture her and do all kinds of crazy experiments on her and shit. She'll die. Or something."

Colin stepped out into the hallway in front of Dwayne, then turned to face him. He poked him in the shoulder. "Why do you even care? It's not like you're her friend or something. Just take the money, tell them whatever they want to know, and shut up. She's some elf or something from another world."

Dwayne just shrugged his shoulders. "It wouldn't be right, man. I still think we shouldn't be a part of this."

Colin slapped Dwayne on the shoulder with the back of his hand. "Oh, if you're going to whine about how they're going to treat her, you go find her! And I'll stay here and get paid to do nothing."

Dwayne smirked a bit then, making Colin lean back a bit. "If I leave, then what use are you? I'm the one that knows all the information."

Colin huffed, thinking. "Then… I'll go read the wiki! Like you did."

"That scientist already did that. You'd be nothing to them. You didn't even really play WC3, man." He said 'WC3' as "Wee-see-three". "You don't know any of the story, or what they can do, or anything."

Colin finally seemed defeated. "Fine. But at least give it a few days! See if they come up with anything. If they treat her like shit, we can protest or something. But at least take the money for a few days."

"Fine. But the first time they start shooting at people, or someone gets stabbed by that bigass sword she was carrying, I'm fucking gone."

Colin laughed. "Fair enough, man."

DarkAngel

12-03-2011, 08:10 PM

Couldn't stay away, eh? I've actually read the new chapters (save the last one) since you kindly directed to the fanfiction.net posting from your now-defunct blog. It's funny: I actually started missing the wit of this story. So, it's good to see you back.

Just FYI, every medal issued by the military has a unique stripe pattern on its ribbon. In most cases, the decoration is represented by a bar with corresponding stripes. It's only in the very, very most formal situations that the actual medal is worn. Back when General Petreus was briefing Congress on the war(s), he had a solid plate. Then again, you could already know this and just be simplifying.

Taggart's eyebrows went up. "Speaking of samples, I want to know everything you do about anything we can collect from her." He frowned. "If it's even a her."It's a little unclear that Talbot is the one speaking here, but that's not too much of a problem. Just be careful.

Sadly, all the projectors I've seen take nearly a whole minute to warm up.

stranger stories from more reliable sources.
true story for now."
I suppose if we got
The general frowned
from the video..." Talbot hit a button
her large, dark scar
"Whatever she is, video game elf -- or something else -- she's definitely

the general and scientist
failing anyway, so what do
treat her, you go find her!
smirked a bit, making Colin
He said 'WC3' as 'Wee-see-three.'

I like it; excellent work. Hopefully, you'll keep going on this? You certainly leave me wanting more. And for the record, I agree that Night Elves are awesome.

Slywyn

12-03-2011, 08:37 PM

I know about the medals thing. But it's been a while. I'd have to actually go back over what I wrote for them to see what exactly I meant for him to have. Dress uniforms(Like, very dressy) will actually wear the little medal. Though they almost never wear the fullsize medal.

And they have digital projectors now that you just turn on and they go. No oldschool stuff. Connected directly to a computer.

And it was actually Taggart speaking there, not Talbot. =3

I'm planning on actually taking this a lot farther. It was meant to be a oneshot deal, but... I liked it too much.

Connecting the worlds and such.

Slywyn

01-04-2012, 12:42 PM

Two days had passed since Colin and Dwayne had agreed to help find her, and Slywyn had mostly recovered from the illness that had gripped her. She didn't know it, of course, but she'd survived a bout with the flu. Barely, it seemed.

Her whole body still ached, but it was dull rather than acute, and didn't affect her at all unless she really pushed herself. As she'd done on a run through the woods this morning. She'd woken up, checked the can next to her bed to see if anyone had approached the house, checked the 'traps' near the front and back door, and found nothing.

Spirits higher than they'd been in days, she felt as if she'd practically been overflowing with energy just begging to be used. She checked the direction of the sun's flow during the day, measured the length of a day, and using the timepiece on her gauntlet, had compared it to the length of day she was used to the day previously. Strangely, they seemed to be nearly the same. The day here was at most an hour shorter than what she was used to.

Using that, she'd assigned directions based on the facing of moss on a rock nearby, and had drawn a rather rudimentary map of the area. Just streets she remembered, and a ballpark estimate of where the large road with all the vehicles had been.

Now, it was nearing noon, and she was making her way back through the woods. She'd worn her armor in an attempt to really push herself, and she was glad she did. Something wrong was tickling at the back of her neck, and she just couldn't place what it was.

She knew better than to discount her intuition. It had saved her life before. But she just couldn't place what was wrong. She was getting the feeling like someone was watching her, but even though she'd scanned the woods around her several times as she walked, she just hadn't been able to find anything.

Then, her alarm level rocketed up several notches as she realized just what was bothering her. The woods were silent. Just a few minutes ago they had been full of noise. Some wildlife noise, wind, rustling, things like that. Now there was nothing. The air was still.

She raised her head a bit, sniffing. And there was an odd smell on the wind. It reminded her of... leather, and plastics that the Gnomes had begun using in some things. She crouched, growing even more alarmed. She began creeping through the underbrush, still smelling.

She could detect a few other things, but her nose just wasn't sensitive enough to pick up anything other than faint hints. She couldn't get a direction or distance based off of it. She'd give anything for a Worgen.

Then, she froze. Her ear twitched. She'd heard something, but it was so faint that she couldn't remember what it was. Then she heard it again. A quiet, faint, rasping sliding sound, followed by a click. It was metallic. Definitely not natural. She drew the sword from her back, going into a fighting stance.

Then the woods around her practically exploded.

-----

Taggart and Talbot were examining maps in the Police Station, bent over one of the woods, with several large red rings drawn upon it. Taggart pointed at several of them, apparently explaining them to Talbot.

"This one, around the edge," He motioned toward the largest ring, with the thickest outline, "Is the distance she could have covered within two days of hitting ground if she was able to sprint as fast as she did for four hours a day. As you can see it covers a gigantic area."

Talbot nodded, pointing to a much smaller ring. This one was covered in hatchmarks. "This is the area you searched initially?"

Taggart nodded, placing a meaty finger in the very center of that ring. "And what we keep searching daily. This is the area she would have covered if she went to ground with her injuries almost immediately."

Talbot frowned, looking over the map. "This is a huge area. With several towns within it." He gestured to one of the smaller towns. Which happened to be the one that they were based in. "Have we searched the town?"

Taggart nodded, though he looked disappointed. Or frustrated. "We have. Several times. But we didn't think to do it until the second night, when we realized she'd escaped our initial net. She could have gone to ground anywhere. We just have no id-" Taggart stopped suddenly, the radio on his belt crackling to life.

"This is HK-2. We have movement just north of Newburg."

Both Taggart and Talbot stared at it. It had been days since they heard anything at all from one of the teams. They'd been instructed only to call Taggart if they had a hit they suspected to be the alien. That one of them called now could only mean something big. Especially when they were just outside of the city.

Taggart quickly unhooked the radio and spoke quietly. The team leaders all wore earpieces, but if what information they did have held true, as unlikely as it seemed, the alien's hearing could be incredibly acute. "You watch, and you report. You do not engage. I repeat. Do not engage."

The radio remained quiet, and both of them just continued to stare at it. Talbot was actually sweating, his face glistening with sweat born of extreme excitement. The tension in the room simply grew, and when the radio crackled again, Talbot actually jumped he'd been so tense.

"This is her. Repeat. We found her. Alien subject, roughly seven feet tall, long pointed ears. Wearing metallic armor of unknown origin. Carrying large sword roughly five feet long. First spotted running at a speed we were unable to match. Tracked nearly a mile before spotted returning along the same path taken. She seems to be heading back- Hold."

Both of them continued to stare at the radio. Several other scientists, agents, and other personnel had noticed them, both within and without the little plastic command room. They stared openly, either directly at them or through plastic. Every single person in the room had their eyes locked directly on the radio.

It crackled again, and the voice coming from it sounded like it was on a hair trigger. "She's stopped. Subject looks alarmed. Sniffing the air. Crouching. She's drawn a-" And then there was gunfire from the radio.

Talbot's face paled considerably, and he looked up at Taggart. "Oh no."

-----

As Sly pulled her greatsword free, a flash of light from almost directly in front of her startled her. It was followed immediately by an incredibly loud crack, which was in turn followed by several things at once. For one, she felt almost as if she'd been punched in the chest by a Titan, being thrown off of her feet and into the brush. She felt pain, though it was dulled. Something had struck one of the thickest parts of her armor.

Secondly, she heard someone... no, scratch that, several someones yelling loudly in that language she didn't understand. Someone was very upset. And she heard more of those clicky-raspy sounds she couldn't place.

She lay there on the ground, catching her breath from where it had been knocked entirely out of her from the hammerblow to her chest. Her armor felt indented, though not badly. She was feeling very, very angry, but didn't have the breath to do anything about it.

At the same time, perhaps this was some kind of warning? It had hurt, yes. But she wasn't dead. Didn't seem to be injured. Caution tempered her anger. She had the feeling that these Humans around her had the capability to kill her if they really wanted, so she waited. She seethed, yes. They had shot at her. They had dented her armor. But she wasn't injured, and they hadn't done anything else to her just yet.

Her ears twitched, and she heard just one voice. Someone was speaking. Very quietly. He had a curt, businesslike tone to his voice. She'd heard that same tone from a Goblin describing a business deal to her once.

Then, someone got close to her. She felt more than she heard it. The ground nearby vibrated softly, the loam of the woods bending and denting as a foot settled into it. She took that as her opportunity, sweeping the flat of her blade across the ground as fast as she could. At the same time as it would knock whoever was closest to her off of their feet, she was hoping it would throw dirt and plants at whoever was near them. Maybe it would disorient them. Maybe even get them to avert their eyes for a moment.

At the same time as she swept her arm, her other hand went to her shoulder, pushing against the ground. She arched her back, throwing her legs into the air, pulled tight against herself. She pushed with her arm at the same time as she seemed to make a jumping movement. The two forces combined were enough to throw her onto her feet, low to the ground and in a crouch.

It took less than half a second to complete both movements, and the Humans around her were only just beginning to react. Dimly in the back of her mind she realized they were much, much slower than the Humans she remembered. They weren't likely raised in a world like she was. And the fact that she was an Elf didn't hurt.

She let out as loud of a feral growl as she could manage, aiming to startle. As she did, she brought her sword arm in a flat arc across her chest. The flat side of her blade cracked against one Human, and she felt something in his chest give. She planted her feet for balance and spun her sword back the other way, just as hard and fast. She'd noticed this particular Human raising what looked like a rifle. She instinctively knew she couldn't let this happen.

The sword connected first with the weapon, which shattered under the blow. Several screws went flying as the thing came apart under the sheer force of the blow, metal bits flying everywhere. Then her sword's blade swung into his shoulder, and she felt rather than heard the crack that accompanied it. He wouldn't be using that arm any time soon.

Then, she felt another punch hit her in the side. This time accompanied by pain. A lot of pain. Something hot, sharp, and very fast rocketed into her middle, and Sly's back went straight. The pain of it almost whited out her vision, but she willed herself to stay conscious. She turned again, gritting her teeth against the tearing she felt in her middle. The gloves were off. She was in a lot of pain.

She led with the edge of her blade... but the other Humans were out of range. She was facing several more rifles. There were more of them than she'd realized at first, and there was nothing more she could do. She dropped the blade in her hands, letting it dangle from the weapon chain connecting the hilt to her hand.

Then she dropped to her knees, her insides feeling like they were on fire. She instantly knew something vital had been hit. Sly coughed once, vaguely registering the taste of blood in her mouth as her world went black and she slumped to the ground.

-----

Back in the control room, everyone had gone as still and quiet as statues as noises rang out over the radio. There was a gunshot, the sound of metal clanging violently on metal, and then silence. Then there were the sounds of fighting. In particular, several almost feline growls and screams had shocked even Taggart, followed by a loud shattering sound. Then there was another gunshot, and everything went quiet.

When HK-2's voice came back over the radio, they knew more than ever things had gone terribly wrong. The normally cool voice was shaky with what seemed like fear, and actually sounded incredibly worried.

"Alien subject has been subdued. Several men need immediate medical attention. She's been shot."

Taggart looked at Talbot, and the scientist spoke. "This is bad. Very bad."

DarkAngel

01-25-2012, 04:08 PM

The flu? That was all it was? After all that hinting at magical withdrawl? Then again, Night Elves shouldn't have that problem.
Also, do be careful how much information you give as narration.

"This one, around the edge," He motioned toward the largest ring, with the thickest outline, "Is the distance she could have coveredI'm always unsure what to do with these. Yes, there's a pause in the dialogue ripe for putting in a description, but that's usually reserved for a verb phrase of the speech. Heck, I'll just call it right.

several large, red rings And yes, that does make a lot of commas in one sentence.
As you can see, it covers

Good job on building the anticipation there.

Well, certainly sets a new record for 'fewest puncuation/grammar errors!' Angelo the Dark is impressed. Excellent work.

Slywyn

01-25-2012, 05:54 PM

The flu? That was all it was? After all that hinting at magical withdrawl? Then again, Night Elves shouldn't have that problem.
Also, do be careful how much information you give as narration.

I'm always unsure what to do with these. Yes, there's a pause in the dialogue ripe for putting in a description, but that's usually reserved for a verb phrase of the speech. Heck, I'll just call it right.

several large, red rings And yes, that does make a lot of commas in one sentence.
As you can see, it covers

Good job on building the anticipation there.

Well, certainly sets a new record for 'fewest puncuation/grammar errors!' Angelo the Dark is impressed. Excellent work.

No disease resistance, and away from the blessings of the world tree. She ran through a sewer and traipsed through wet woodlands. She had to catch something.

She is suffering magic withdrawal, but it was the flu that brought her down.

Edit: I also got about halfway through with Chapter 12 but I just cannot focus enough to get the words to the page. I don't know what it is, but writing this has gotten extremely hard. It's been almost two hours and I've gotten maybe 800 words down.

Slywyn

02-07-2012, 07:58 AM

(Little story I wrote for my rogue alt)

"Get well, Father."

Those were the words spoken when praying to the Goddess the night before. No others. She felt no concern for herself. She was skilled. She knew the risks she took on a daily basis. She didn't worry. No, she worried for him.

Her family had lived in Auberdine since before her father's father was born. They probably helped create the town. She didn't know for sure, but she felt it fit. They'd been somewhat of a fixture in the town, even if not particularly important. Her whole family had made a life on the water.

Her whole family, save herself and her father, had been wiped out by the Cataclysm.

And she wasn't sure her father would make it much longer.

Elabroche sat in a small, rigid wooden chair next to his bed, his hand held in her lap. He was wasting away, put into a coma brought on by the malady that had afflicted the Elves thrown into the waves when Auberdine was destroyed. Most of them had died. Some had recovered. He was on the precipice between life and death, not yet dead, but not quite living.

His once strong frame had wasted away to nothing but skin and bones, once bright eyes dim reminders of their former glory. Corners of bones stuck out at odd angles all over his body, the thin soups that the bednurse was able to feed him only able to sustain him, not bring back health.

The poison, disease, whatever it was, had affected him so strongly he almost died. But he hadn't, and had survived, if weakened. He'd even been able to walk about on his own for a while. Then the wasting happened, a stage of the affliction that hadn't been seen before.

Ela was reminded of the small girl in Ashenvale who was similarly afflicted by a sleeping illness. She idly wondered what had happened to her.

"We raided another shipment last night, Father. They were headed for Zoram'gar, and we snuck up on them from behind in the mists. I know that you don't like that I hired that Mage to come aboard, but she's proven valuable in close engagements. She managed to set the Captain's trousers on fire, and he was distracted long enough for one of the archers to take him with an arrow. The rest of the Orcs fell quickly enough."

He hadn't responded to her in over a year. She wasn't even sure he heard her. But she spoke anyway, if only to keep herself going mad with grief during the visits. "We captured supplies headed for the Orcish holdouts. Mostly gold and armor, though I did find an elven rapier." She glanced down at the blade, clipped tightly to her hip, before looking back to his sunken face.

"I distributed the goods to the crew. I'm sure you would approve. I only need enough to keep the help to keep you safe. The rest goes into ship repairs, or ammunition, or pay. I may be a privateer for the Alliance, but they just allow me to do what I do. They don't pay for the costs."

Ela sighed, about to start in with another story, when there was a quiet knock on the door. "Miss Seaspray?"

It was Cogglebolt, the Gnome bednurse that Elabroche had managed to find in Stormwind. Night Elves had been immune to disease and the like before recent years, had healed quickly with the help of Druidism and the Priests, so bednurses among her own people were rare to non-existent. But with the radiation poisoning brought on during the fight for Gnomeragan, there were more than a few skilled nurses among the Gnomes. Ela had hired the best she could find.

Ela nodded, standing from her chair. "I'm sorry, Miss Seaspray. But I must give him his bath and turn him so he doesn't get sores."

"Of course, Cogglebolt. I need to be going anyway." Ela strode to the door, which was only a step away. The small house she'd taken in Lor'Danel was really only big enough for his bedroom, little more than a bed and the chair she'd vacated, and the room she took for herself. There was a small dining room/kitchen, and then that was it. Not much in the way of creature comforts.

Ela leaned against the doorframe, feeling that same dejected feeling she felt each time she left the quiet home. "You know, Father..." She glanced down at the wood flooring. "I was transferred. The Sentinels felt my skills at sea could better benefit a smaller, more mobile unit. I'm a member of the Moonblade, now. You would be proud." Her voice choked up a bit as she finished the last sentence, and the small Gnome female glanced up at her.

"You should rest, Miss Seaspray."

Ela shook her head. "No, no. I need to get back to Darnassus. Take care of him. Please."

The Gnome nodded. "Of course, Miss Seaspray."

With that, Ela turned and left the house.

DarkAngel

02-09-2012, 11:31 AM

A change of pace can be a good idea when facing writer's block. I quite often find that getting blocked on one story can be alleviated by working on another, since it doesn't seem to carry over. Good move.

"Get well?" Isn't that something you'd say to the afflicted, not the diety?

A coma victim's eyes are closed.

I only need enough to keep the help to keep you safe.Pay the help?

with the help of Druidism and the Priests,Are those proper nouns now? I'll admit it's a gray area.

The poison, disease—whatever it was—had affected him
though I did find an Elven rapier."
Night Elves had been immune to disease and the like before recent years, and had healed quickly

It was short, but otherwise excellent in almost every respect. There were a few cases of unclear or awkward wording, but vast majority was very well-done. It's quite impressive how much underlying emotion and conflict you were able to suggest in such a short piece. BraVO.

Slywyn

02-09-2012, 01:18 PM

Thanks agan, DA. =3

I know I can trust you to keep my head out of the clouds for the most part. =p

Yeah, I've been told a few times that I'm apparently rather good at capturing the emotion of a scene. I'm glad, as most of what I write needs that.

Luinil

02-22-2012, 10:30 PM

So, any news? How does your work continue?

Slywyn

02-23-2012, 12:06 AM

So, any news? How does your work continue?

I've posted... a few other posts of my other story I can't post here.

That one(probably because I'm writing about something I enjoy -so fucking much-) is easier to write for.

I've put a few more words on the next chapter of collision, but I think it might need a rewrite. I'm just not happy with it.

Luinil

03-16-2012, 09:29 AM

It's been more than 3 weeks since your last addition. According to the Rule 73 of the Internet I hereby ask for
http://fapit.net/imgs/1206/moar.jpg

Mustrum

03-16-2012, 09:32 AM

It's been more than 3 weeks since your last addition. According to the Rule 73 of the Internet I hereby ask for
http://fapit.net/imgs/1206/moar.jpg

Sylwyn's dead. Didn't you hear?

http://www.scrollsoflore.com/forums/showthread.php?t=22528

Luinil

03-16-2012, 09:41 AM

After thorough reading I came to the conclusion that you are mistaken. No, he isn't dead. At least he still reads what others write. So, I'm going to presume that he will read this and post an update.

Mustrum

03-16-2012, 09:44 AM

You're no fun.

SmokeBlader

03-16-2012, 09:48 AM

Luinil

03-16-2012, 10:05 AM

I think I don't understand what do you mean. I know that a picture is equal to a thousand words, but this is surely an exception to this well-known rule. Please try to put more effort next time. Thank you :D

Slywyn

03-16-2012, 11:18 PM

I do check this. Sometimes. But I'm still writer's block'd with Collision.

I've been writing this (http://forums.darknestfantasyerotica.com/showthread.php?6530-Homecoming) instead.

Read at your own risk. It's on Darknest.

Tags are in the first post.

cosmictimelion

03-17-2012, 12:39 AM

http://i.imgur.com/YuWEi.gif Hey, Sly. http://i.imgur.com/YuWEi.gif

Millenia

03-17-2012, 01:05 AM

... you write that story?! Oh my.

I, ah, liked it when I saw it a while ago.

Nozdormu

03-17-2012, 02:10 AM

Is it som erotic novel or something? I have to log in to see it and I just saw the page was named fantasyerotica.com in the top left corner.

Millenia

03-17-2012, 05:44 PM

Is it som erotic novel or something? I have to log in to see it and I just saw the page was named fantasyerotica.com in the top left corner.
Darknest is a porn site, mainly focused on WoW, though of course people post their own things in the various creative sections.

And yes, it's erotic. Very much so.

Shadowsong

03-17-2012, 09:19 PM

Oh my

Slywyn

04-10-2012, 07:45 AM

Working on and off on the next chapter of collision but I just can't make the scene right in my head.

Kinda frustrating.

Edit: Decided to just finish it up so I could post it. It's not my best, but at least it's a continuation.

Taggart and Talbot paced just inside the plastic-coated headquarters of their operation, Taggart biting his knuckles with his head practically buried in his chest, and Talbot constantly cleaning and re-cleaning his glasses every few seconds. Taggart kept glancing at the projector screen, where the computer’s images were being displayed on the backdrop.

The HK leader had had a video camera mounted on his helmet, which documented everything from the first sighting where the elf had gone speeding by at well over twenty miles an hour, to the final moments before she was shot in the side by one of the team members. She’d pulled her sword, though hadn’t actively attacked anyone, and a different team member had shot her in the chest, thankfully stopped by the thick armor she wore. Taggart had been surprised by this, as the shot hadn’t even seemed to damage the armor, and the elf hadn’t seemed very phased by taking a direct high powered rifle shot to the chestplate.

They’d downloaded the video directly from his helmet to the computer using a wireless connection, and they’d been studying it while waiting for the ambulances to arrive. They’d set up a makeshift field hospital in the area anyway, as several men had had accidents with equipment or other things, and the area’s hospital wasn’t very well equipped.

The altercation had happened at an area about half an hour’s drive from here, and they had sent several ambulances to pick up both the wounded men, and the alien. Taggart was more nervous because the operation had gone to complete shit under his watch, while Talbot was worried he wouldn’t have a chance to speak to the Alien at any length before she died. If she could even understand him! Talbot growled with frustration, causing Taggart to glance at him with a raised eyebrow.

Both of them almost jumped when someone banged on the plastic door to the room, and Taggart was surprised to see Dwayne banging on the glass with his fist, yelling something Taggart couldn’t make out. He gestured to one of the Military Police in the lab, waving his arm. “Let that idiot in before he breaks something.”

The MP nodded curtly and snapped a quick salute before moving to the door. He barely had time to unlock it before Dwayne pushed through, pointing an angry finger at the General. “You got her shot, you asshole!” He growled and tried to jump at Taggart, who was thoroughly surprised. Dwayne was normally docile, and he hadn’t expected anything like this from the younger male. Two MPs wrapped him up with their arms, and Dwayne struggled against them.

“What? You think I wanted this to happen? Are you some kind of idiot?” Dwayne cooled a bit as Taggart spoke, barely keeping his voice from becoming a yell. “The first alien we’ve had contact with in history, and she gets shot. How do you expect that makes me look, huh?” He glared at Dwayne, who finally pursed his lips and nodded. “Why do you care so much anyway, son?”

“Because I-“ They both turned their heads to look down the hallway as several people began running down it toward the doors.

“They must be here!” Taggart pushed Dwayne out of the way and took off down the hallway toward the front door. He almost knocked several people to the side as he ran, pushing through the swinging doors out the front of the station where an ambulance and two EMT Humvees were parked. He skidded to a halt as the military medics unloaded the two wounded soldiers first, rushing them inside the building.

One of them didn’t look very serious. He came out of the first medical humvee on a stretcher, his boot removed and a pack of ice around his ankle to keep swelling down. The second soldier was removed from the ambulance, with a civilian paramedic at his side. His right arm was bent at an odd angle from his shoulder, and he was writhing in pain. They quickly carried him into the building and out of sight.

A crowd was gathering around the last medical humvee, emblazoned with a red cross on a white field to denote that it was a purely medical vehicle. Guards were trying to keep soldiers and a few curious civilians who had gathered around out of the way, as the operation, as per Taggart’s orders, hadn’t released very much information about what was happening, and why they were there. One of the MPs gave an order, and the soldiers backed away slowly. The civilians still hung around and tried to get a good look.

As the medics pulled the stretcher bearing the alien out of the humvee, Taggart was mortified to see that it was covered in a sheet. Splotches of purple blood covered the sheet, and the form underneath was still. Taggart rushed over, pushing one of the MPs out of the way, and stopped one of the medics. “What happened!?” His face was pale, his actions more hurried than he would have liked.

The medic spoke quietly, trying to reassure him. “She’s stable for the moment. We just knocked her out with an injection and covered her with the sheet to keep eyes off until we see her first, Sir.” The medic nodded toward the door. “She’s bleeding internally and we need to get her inside. Sir.”

Taggart nodded, only just now realizing that he was blocking the way to the door. He stepped to the side and let them pass, only to follow them moments later. They quickly led the way through the cleared hallway, having had it emptied by the soldiers on gurneys passing through moments before.

Taggart kept pace with the medic as they wheeled the alien on into their command center, then around to the side where the hospital area had been set up. The other two soldiers had already been taken into medical bays and curtained off. All Taggart could hear from them was the quiet groans of pain from the soldier with the shattered arm that had been hit by her sword.

Taggart considered him lucky, if she had chosen to, she could have removed the arm rather than just break it. He was still curious why, even when being shot, she had chosen not to react lethally. She could have potentially killed or seriously wounded multiple members of the HK team. He supposed that he’d have to try to ask her. If she survived, and if they could find some way to speak to her, he mused.

The medic wheeled the stretcher with the elf atop it into the largest of the medical bays, reserved for actual surgery and that maintained as much of a clean room environment as they could manage. The medic gently pushed Taggart back. “We need space to work, sir. We’ll notify you when the operation is complete.”

Taggart nodded, though he noticed that the medic hadn’t said ‘when the operation was successful’, choosing to just say ‘complete’ instead. That really didn’t bode well for her, Taggart thought. He began pacing back and forth outside of the operating area, waiting for something to happen that he could actually take part in. A few moments later one of the medical bays with one of the wounded soldiers pulled it’s curtains aside, and a soldier on crutches came hobbling out. “The one with the ankle.” Taggart thought.

He made his way over to the soldier, who was hobbling away, and put his hand on his shoulder to stop him. “How is it?” Taggart moved to the soldier’s front, stopping him from going anywhere else, and watched his face. The young man’s nametag read “JOHNSON” in big block letters. When Johnson looked confused, Taggart gestured to his ankle.

“Oh! It’s… well, it hurts sir, but the doc told me that it’s just a sprain. She didn’t hit me hard enough to break it. Guess she just wanted to knock me over.”

Taggart raised his eyebrow at the young man. “You mean the alien? Why say ‘she’?”

Johnson’s face colored a bit, his hands waving womanly curves into the air in front of him. “Well, if she isn’t a she, you’re going to have a few confused men in your hands.” He shrugged his shoulders. “She’s certainly something to look at, sir. We’ve all seen the pictures from the room you have set up over there.” Johnson hooked his thumb over his shoulder, pointing toward the plastic-encased room where Taggart and Talbot had been going over all the evidence.

Taggart gave the man an odd look for a moment then finally nodded, patting him on the shoulder. He moved to walk away, but Johnson called him back after a moment. “Sir!”

Taggart turned, facing Johnson once more, a somewhat confused look on his face. “Yes?”

“I… I’m the one that shot her. In the chest. She raised her weapon, and… well, training took over. Sir.” Johnson looked ashamed of himself, but Taggart just nodded, his face setting a little.

“We’ll handle that later, son. Go do whatever Doc told you to do.”
Johnson nodded, then quickly hobbled away.

Taggart began moving back toward the command tent they’d set him, and a sidelong glance at the door told him that Dwayne was still watching the room, his eyes glued onto the curtains that hid the alien from view. As Taggart opened the plastic door to the tent, he waved at one of the MPs. “Someone bring him in here. We need to talk.”

“Who, sir?” Replied one of them.

“Dwayne. And his little friend Colin, wherever he is.”

The MP nodded. “Right away, sir.”

Talbot was waiting for Taggart when he returned to the tent, a horribly worried expression on his face, glasses clutched between his fingers where the nervous scientist was still cleaning them. “How is she?”

Taggart grabbed a mug and began pouring himself a cup of coffee. The afternoon was beginning to turn into evening, and he had a feeling it was going to be a long night. “Bad. But we’ve got some of the best army medics here. She’s in good hands, Talbot.”

Taggart noticed that even he was calling her a she now, but he supposed that was just going to be easier. He glanced up at the feed from the HK lead’s helmet, noticing the frame had been frozen on the elf’s face, screwed up in the expression of tense combat. He guessed they wouldn’t need images and video now that they had the real thing.

If she survived the night.

Slywyn

04-10-2012, 09:09 AM

I updated the first post with all the links to the other chapters of the story, posted the new chapter in the post above this one, and I guess doubleposted. Or something. Meh.

DarkAngel

04-24-2012, 05:17 PM

Couldn't stay away, could you? :smirk: I'm always amused by how many people "quit," but end up coming back. Anyway, I'm not here to gloat. I welcome anything.

several men had had accidents with equipment or other things, and the area’s hospital wasn’t very well equipped.Wouldn't they be more concerned about the guy who just lost an arm? Granted, setting up an infirmary is standard procedure for exactly this reason.

Taggert is surprised to hear the alien as a 'she?' Hasn't the command staff been doing that behind the scenes for quite some time?

Taggart began moving back toward the command tent they’d set him,Say what?

She’d pulled her sword--though hadn’t actively attacked anyone, and a different
a chance to speak to the Alien at any length Capitalized why?
“You got her shot, you asshole!” he growled,
information about what was happening--and why they were there.
until we see her first, sir.”
Taggart kept pace with the medics as they wheeled the alien
He supposed that he’d have to try to ask her--if she survived, and if they could find
‘when the operation was successful,’ choosing
A few moments later, one of the medical bays
wounded soldiers pulled its curtains aside,
The one with the ankle, Taggart thought.
“Oh! It’s… well, it hurts, sir, but the doc told me that it’s
“Who, sir?” replied one of them.

Very good, as usual. I note I seem to be developing a liking for dashes...
EDIT: And if you're up for it, I'd like to invite you to where the cool kids are playing these days. (http://noblefiction.com/forums/)

Slywyn

04-24-2012, 05:39 PM

Well, I'd stipulated in my "quitting" post that the only things I'd still be paying attention to here would be the fiction forums and my own threads.

I just actually left everything for a while because I was pissed at a few people here. I lost my temper and needed to cool down for a week or two.

Mark_Romaneck

04-24-2012, 06:21 PM

Slywyn

05-15-2012, 09:09 PM

Taggart sat on the steps of the police station. Things had been quiet in the last week or so since the female alien had been brought here. She’d survived the surgery alright, but either as some kind of coping mechanism, or possibly through loss of blood, she’d been unconscious. It wasn’t clear if she was simply sleeping, or in a true coma, as they knew nothing about her, or her physiology, other than what they were able to document while trying to save her life.

The bullet from the rifle had penetrated her armor, but through luck, or perhaps as a testament to the durability of the metal- which they had stripped from the elf nearly as soon as she’d arrived on the stretcher and was still undergoing tests, the bullet had been deflected up, and barely missed what they were assuming was her stomach. It had penetrated a lung and perforated her diaphragm, meaning that for a day or two they had her on an artificial breather until her body took over.

Talbot said he hadn’t seen anything like it. She was healing at a rate that astounded the scientists and doctors brought in to study her, and which had never been matched in Humans. They didn’t know how she managed it. As Talbot had so aptly put it: ‘It’s not like she’s out of a comic book, you know, that guy with the claws… But it’s definitely inhuman. We’ve never seen anything like it.’

Taggart frowned and looked down at the small wooden block in his hands. He was sitting off to the side of the training area they’d been set up in, on some stairs that led what he guessed were showers. He’d never gone exploring in the station before now. He’d always been too busy with leading and finding the alien. Now that she was finally here, and wasn’t a threat to anyone at the moment, most of the CIA and FBI personnel had left. At least the ones that didn’t need to be here for some reason or another.

The HK agent that had fired on the elf was being court-marshaled for disobeying the direct order not to fire, but Taggart had recommended he simply be punished instead of jailed. He assumed that Johnson would probably be knocked down a rank, and removed from the HK teams, but he wasn’t sure. And it was out of his hands now, that much was certain. He frowned and tilted the block in his hands from side to side.

He was whittling, something his father had taught him when he was a young boy in the ‘40s. He was trying to figure out just what it was he was carving, as he hadn’t been paying much attention to the strokes he was making. He tilted the carving the other way and finally realized that he had been carving the armor that the elf had been wearing. He’d spent almost an entire day in there with the analysts, looking over the armor, and he had to admit to himself, marveling at it.

The thing was practically a work of art. It was held together by a combination of riveting, welding, and leather straps, but the leather didn’t match any known species of animal. And the welding and riveting was on a level that he wasn’t sure Humans could even match. Every rivet and weld were absolutely perfect, and his fingers tingled when he touched the cold, blue-hued metal. The analysts had informed him that the same strange radiation that they’d found in her blood was coming from the metal.

However, it didn’t seem to be some kind of ambient radiation that was on everything from… wherever she came from, as her pants and shirt were entirely absent the radiation. It was coming from her, from the armor she’d been wearing, and the sword she’d been carrying was practically –glowing- the readings coming off of it were so strong. But otherwise the objects she’d been carrying were practically ‘normal’, if not for the strange materials that most of it was made of.

The cloth didn’t match any known samples, the leather of her boots and leggings didn’t match DNA of any known animal species, and the metals were all strange. Except for one sample of Iron they’d collected from a buckle. That had astounded everyone almost as much as the rest of it had. Wherever she was from, they also had iron. And the iron hadn’t been anything special. It was just… iron. Good old Fe on the Periodic table.

The spectral analysis of her blood was still in it’s preliminary stages, mostly because they’d been afraid of taking more than a little because she’d lost so much during the surgery and from her injuries. The surgery itself had been complicated by the fact that they didn’t have any blood or fluids to give her, meaning that whatever she lost, stayed gone.

Talbot had come up with the idea of using a dialysis machine jury-rigged in ways that Taggart didn’t understand in order to clean and recycle some of her blood, and the doctors credited him with likely saving her life. Taggart supposed that he’d have to reward him somehow soon.

While he waited for something to happen, Taggart continued to muse. He glanced around the room a few times, noticing several soldiers talking animatedly. He pocketed the small knife he’d been using to carve, swept the wood shavings against the wall with his boot, and placed the small carving in one of his pants pockets. He’d likely simply trash it later, but it might come in handy for now.

He stood then made his way toward the two soldiers talking, starting to be able to make out what they were saying as he neared them. “Did you see the blood!?”

“Yeah, I saw it Jones.” The second one seemed almost bored, as if they’d discussed this several times. As they likely had. All the personnel involved, other than those already sent away for debriefing, were being contained here. All communication devices, including phones and computers, had been confiscated. They couldn’t risk anything about what was going on here getting out.

“It was purple, man! Who has purple blood?” Jones continued. “I mean, it was on the floor, and the tools, and the Docs had it on their scrubs. It’s crazy, man.” Jones scoffed incredulously. “This is some straight up Aliens shit, man, I swear.”

Taggart stepped up behind the two soldiers and stepped a little louder than he needed to. Jones turned to stare at Taggart for a moment before he clapped to attention, saluting Taggart. His friend, name “BLYTHE” on his jacket, followed suit quickly after. “Sir!”

Taggart snapped the two a quick salute. “I heard you were talking about our alien friend.”

Blythe frowned and glanced toward Jones for a moment before nodding. “He was.”

“Well.” Taggart began. Talking about the alien wasn’t against the rules or anything, but they were trying to discourage too much talk about it, as it was less likely for rumors and things to start that way. They were hoping that by keeping a lid on discussion would keep rumors and speculation to a minimum. Some of the soldiers were spooked enough as it was, and Taggart didn’t want things to get out of hand. “How about you two go get some lunch, hm? I’d say that there’s probably something you two could be doing other than standing around with your thumbs up your combined asses, no?” He smirked a bit at the end. His soldiers generally knew that he was teasing them, as Taggart preferred not to be a hardass to his command. It tended to grease the wheels, and make subordinates more willing to do what they needed to do, if they didn’t feel threatened or cowed by their command.

Both of them saluted again quickly before hurrying off, two hurried ‘Yes sir’s following them. Taggart smiled and began making his way back toward the tent set up inside the large gymnasium-like space, when he saw Talbot practically come flying out of the plastic tent. He skidded to a halt several feet away.

“General! She’s waking!”

Taggart’s eyebrows flew into what was left of his hair. “We better hurry then! And get the boys!”

-----------------

Colin and Dwayne were sitting in one of the cells of the prison’s jails, and though it had been dressed up a bit with a TV and magazines and somewhat more comfortable seating, it still felt like a jail cell. They were effectively trapped here until further notice.

Taggart had corralled them in his tent just a few minutes after the elf had been brought into the station for surgery or something, he hadn’t been clear in the details, to explain that it was now out of his hands, and that they were going to be staying here at the station until further notice. He’d allowed them a phone call each to their families and workplaces, to explain that they wouldn’t be home for a while, but that was it. Aside from news, which had moved on from the odd occurrence on the interstate once new information hadn’t been forthcoming, and re-runs of old shows they could find on basic cable, they were bored out of their minds.

Dwayne had tried to get them a gaming console or maybe even an old computer with no internet, but nothing had shown up yet, even though Talbot had promised that he was working on it when he came down for a visit the other day. Dwayne wasn’t even sure what day it was anymore. The soldiers had even taken their watches, since they were digital, and no natural light got down here, since the jail cells were underground.

There was a clamor down the hall, and Dwayne and Colin both stepped out of the cell to see what was going on. They were stuck on this floor, where they had three different cells between the two of them, one for sleeping, one was a makeshift kitchen, and the other was the ‘living room’, where they’d just been, so they weren’t locked in a tiny cell. Just this floor.

The peered down the hallway to see another soldier they didn’t recognize come running. He stopped a step or two away from them and beckoned them with a hand. “The General wants you! She’s waking up!”

Dwayne glanced at Colin and then back to the soldier. “Okay. Cool.”

---------------------

Slywyn slowly opened her eyes. For the third(or fourth?) time in recent memory, she awoke feeling like she’d been run over by a mammoth. Or maybe chewed on by a shark. Or maybe a little bit of both. She felt like shit, she quickly decided, and she didn’t like it. She also felt strangely naked.

She managed to open an eye and also immediately decided that it was far too bright, in wherever she was. She raised a hand over her head- well, attempted to. She found that she couldn’t even manage that. She was trapped in some kind of white, scratchy cloth that she again decided she didn’t like- so many things she didn’t like about this situation.

She struggled against the itchy fabric for a moment before she finally managed to free an arm. She also noticed that she felt much weaker than she would have liked to feel when waking up in an odd place. She placed an arm over her eyes and opened both of them, now that they were shielded from the sun-like light overhead.

She was in some kind of very strange room. It was very bright, the bed, or whatever it was she was on, was very, very uncomfortable, the blanket itched, and she was cold. This place smelled like death and blood, though she quickly realized it smelled like -her- blood. She frowned at this as she began to remember why she was here in the first place. She’d been shot by one of the strange, smaller Humans, with a gun that she didn’t recognize. She certainly couldn’t build it, she was sure of that.

She let out a quiet groan and cursed in Darnassian. She felt so weak that even holding her arm over her head was taxing. And when she tried to take a deep breath she had to catch herself because of the pain. That’s because you got yourself shot in the stomach, stupid, She remembered.

She let her arm fall to the bed and squinted her eyes while they continued to adjust to the bright light. She had no idea where she was, she was cold, tired, weak, and for the first time she noticed that there were two Humans holding what looked like clipboards of some kind on the other side of what appeared to be glass.

Today was not going to be a good day. She could feel it.

Slowpokeking

05-15-2012, 09:10 PM

That's nice.

Slywyn

05-15-2012, 09:16 PM

That's nice.

wut. You read that in a minute?

Slowpokeking

05-15-2012, 09:18 PM

wut. You read that in a minute?

Not done yet when I post.

Slywyn

05-16-2012, 11:48 PM

((Written for my characters on ToR. Where I recycled names, because I'm super-duper creative. Bite me.))

A Jedi walked slowly through the space station drifting somewhere in Hutt space. Her head swung from side to side, more like a radar dish scanning for signals than someone actually looking at the wrecked interior of the derelict space station.

Her hair was stark white and pulled back into a tight bun on the black of her head, and her eyes were covered with a thin, matte black metal sheet. Contrary to what most Jedi wore, she was clad in battleworn durasteel armor, scorch marks and saber burns readily apparent, and worn proudly as scars of battle. A single, silver-colored lightsaber hilt hung on her hip, always easily accessible and readily available for use.

Behind her walked a man taller than she was, wearing a large floppy hat that covered his eyes, and a collared blue trench coat that swept the ground as he walked. The way the fabric was stiffened at the shoulders and around the neck hinted at metal reinforcement in his clothing as well, showing clearly that these two were ready and prepared for battle- as if their cautious steps and careful gazes didn't belie that already.

All around them was the detritus of destroyed military equipment, scorched and destructed metal, and even debris from the space station itself. Whatever had torn through this space station had done so with the force of a rancor, leaving the entire area looking as if a bomb had gone off. Or several bombs, was more likely.

Slywyn the Knight stopped and raised a hand, her head pointed off and to the upper right of a hallway. She was a Miraluka, a strange and unique breed of alien. Near-human and without eyes, they saw entirely through the powers of the Force. They possessed precognition as a rule, making them especially deadly and powerful melee fighters, and spent so much of their lives immersed in the Force that they were able to become some of the most powerful Jedi ever known. And the most depraved, lunatic Sith, should one fall.

The man stopped up right beside her and glanced in the direction her head was pointed, then let out an exasperated sigh. "You know not everyone can see through walls."

She seemed to come back to herself, her face softening for a moment. "Right. Sorry, Doc. But... she's up there. I can feel it."

"I'd rather she not surprise us... but she can see us too, can't she?" Doc placed his hand atop his blaster, as if expecting his quarry to come flying around the corner ahead at any moment.

"Yes. She too is a Miraluka. She likely already knows we're here." Sly's voice was soft and controlled, completely modulated to be as even and neutral as possible. Miraluka were a people of extremes. As they spent their entire lives immersed within the Force, their alignments played a much more prevalent role in how they acted, and even perceived the world around them. Light-sided Miraluka were known to be the most peaceful, determined, level-headed Jedi on record. Dark-sided Miraluka were abominations of the Force, twisted and malevolent on a level that astounded even most Sith. And incredibly powerful.

"Remember, Doc. She's fallen. We can't give her any chances." Sly's face contorted for a moment. "If you get an opening, you shoot to kill."

Doc drew his blaster and nodded his head quickly. He flipped the power switch , letting the small handheld firearm whir to life. "Got it." He also brushed his trenchcoat to the side, revealing the scattergun hanging behind his back on a sling. "Ready when you are."

They began walking toward the end of the hallway, where one of the bodies of the station's Republic crew was still smoking. Doc cringed as they passed it. Slywyn didn't even flinch. Doc stepped faster for a moment, pulling level with Slywyn. "Sly. I have a question."

Slywyn let out a soft sigh. "Ask away, Doc." Somewhere deeper in the station there was a deep groan, as if an entire section of metal had been torn away, and the floor beneath their feet shook with a gentle tremor. The lights of the station flickered.

"She's your daughter. Are you sure you won't hesitate?" Doc asked the question he knew they were both wondering.

"You and I both know I can't afford to."

-----

The Sith stopped. She pivoted her head like a magnet, looking down and off behind her and her companion, her long black cape swishing around her feet.

The man behind her stepped back as if she was about to attack him, but stopped short when he realized her attention was focused elsewhere. "My lord?" His voice was nasally, as if his nose was constantly stopped up, and his eyes were covered with what appeared to be sunglasses, but were actually extremely high-tech HUD readouts, with battle data and a constant stream of information. At the moment they were simply cataloging dead bodies.

"Mother is here, Malavai." She stated simply. Her voice was deep for a female, but was also electronically filtered. She wore a breather mask over her face, providing a constant stream of painkillers directly to her airway. Dark-side Miraluka wallowed in the agony of their own sins constantly. Amonem had reacted by growing incredibly introverted and passive on the outside and around normal company, but prone to incredible bursts of fury and rage in battle, fueled by her own pain. Which only grew worse with every atrocity and murder that pushed her farther along her path to the Dark.

Encouraged by her Sith masters, and groomed by an especially interested Darth, Amonem had been twisted from the Light path her mother had raised her on. She was now spiralling uncontrollably into unfathomable levels of Darkness, and she only grew stronger the farther she fell, her rage and pain fueling her Force abilities. Now that she had grown so potent, the Empire wielded her like a tool, sending her to capture and destroy targets that would have otherwise taken platoons or even entire battalions of normal footsoldiers.

Malavai Quinn, Amonem's loyal Imperial Captain companion and sometimes-healer, went rigid. "Your mother is here? Then she fell for our trap as expected! We need to act now." He clenched his fist before his chest. "Imagine the political victory in store for us if all goes to plan. The fallen daughter of a celebrated Republic war hero, capturing her mother and turning her over to the Sith for questioning." He took a deep breath. "It will shatter morale on planets across the Republic."

"Capture. Yes." Amonem wasn't going to let on that her plans were anything but. She blamed her mother almost as much as herself for her fall to the Dark, claiming that her mother's strict teachings and Jedi upbringing left her feeling cloistered and repressed. Most of her hatred was directed inwardly, at herself for allowing herself to grow weak enough to succumb to the temptations of power and prowess, but she always felt a red hot spike of pure hate toward any Jedi, or any mention of her mother. She had to prove which of them was the better. And she intended to do so today, with the death of her mother.

Amonem waved a hand toward a hallway. "Come, Quinn. We settle this." She turned to make her way deeper into the station, her cloak swirling about her as she did. It revealed the twin matte-black lightsabers hanging from her hips. Where her mother favored a single saber, Amonem dual-wielded them, allowing for much more force and destruction behind her blows.

The corruption within her was readily viewable even with the metal band covering her eyes- which happened to have been stolen from her mother before her daughter jumped to Imperial space all those years ago- as dark bands of black lightning on otherwise soft, paling skin, following the veins along her eyes in her face.

-----

Mother and daughter began heading toward each other, and even at this distance Amonem could see the shining beacon of Light that was Slywyn. Even as Slywyn could see the sucking vortex of pain and anger that represented Amonem in her vision. It pained her to see her daughter in such a state, but she knew from experience that the only release for a Miraluka so fallen into torment was the cold embrace of death. She was only relieved that it would be her doing so, as she still felt guilt over her daughter's defection.

As they moved closer and closer toward each other, Slywyn was beginning to be able to feel the pure power radiating from her daughter, driven by her agony. She turned to Doc and whispered- for the first time appearing visibly nervous. "She's grown so strong, Doc."

The man hefted his blaster. "She can still be taken down by your lightsaber, or a shot from the 'Doc Special', here. Remember that. As powerful as she may be, she'll go down just like anyone else. We just need an opening."

Slywyn nodded. "Of course. Sorry, Doc. It's just..."

He placed a hand on her shoulder. "I know. Now, that's enough of that. You need to be strong. For her, as much as yourself. We're going to save her. You know that. One way or the other."

Sly nodded and clenched her fists. They were getting even closer now, the Darkness radiating off of the Sith actually beginning to overpower and cloud her vision. It was going to be a hindrance she hadn't anticipated. She stopped in the middle of the hallway, just around a corner from the hallway she could see Amonem walking down. "This is it, Doc." She took a deep breath, then kneeled. "You better head back to the ship."

This was the part that Doc had been dreading. He knew that she had been intending to send him away, worried that he'd make an easy target. "You know I'm not going anywhere."

Sly turned her head toward him. Even though she didn't have eyes, Doc always knew when she was looking at him. It was one of the qualities he liked the most about her. She knew how he felt, but he also knew that she wouldn't, couldn't return them. Not without breaking her Jedi vows. But she had also intimated to him one lonely night in the reaches of space that if there was ever a man she'd break her vows for, it'd be him. But that day hadn't come. Not yet. "Very well, Doc. Just try to keep yourself safe."

He hadn't expected her to relinquish the fight so easily, and was actually a little shocked. But he nodded and clenched his jaw anyway. "I'll have my eye on you, hot stuff." Doc winked at her and turned to find a place to hide. He was confident in his own abilities, but he wasn't about to make a stupid mistake and give Sly's daughter an easy target right from the get-go.

Slywyn began to meditate as Doc took up a position further down the hallway, and waited. Soft light began to billow up around her as she communed with the Force, drawing on it's strength and peace, steeling herself for the fight she knew was coming.

-----

Amonem could see her mother further down the hallway, just around the bend. She turned to Malavai and pointed to a small nook with a computer access that they'd scouted before her mother had arrived. "It's time to get to work, Malavai."

The Imperial Captain nodded, quickly hurrying over to the terminal. "I'll have the station's defenses online before you two finish talking."

"Don't fail me, Quinn." Amonem began walking away from the Captain, leaving him to shake in his inspection-ready uniform.

"Wouldn't dream of it." He still had nightmares of what she'd done to the last companion that had failed her. And it'd taken him weeks to get the vomit smell out of his uniform.

Amonem began taking a strictly measured pace down the hallway. She had planned the entire encounter with Quinn, even going so far as to spike several computer terminals along the route she knew her mother would take toward her so that Quinn would have easy access to the station's systems, in order to bring defense shields and turrets online when needed.

Her metal-clad boots slapped audibly against the metal floor of the wrecked station as she walked, as if the hammerblows of the bringer of armageddon himself were ringing out in the hallway. She knew she was stronger than her mother, but her hatred only fanned the flames of her power. It was going to be a onesided match, and only one of them would be leaving the station alive.

She finally rounded the corner, seeing her mother in the state she'd expected her to be in. Her mother meditated before every battle and fight she'd ever taken part in, centering and calming herself so that her vision would be as clear as possible. Amonem wanted to shake her up.

She paced before her mother, holding her arms out in front of her in a mocking gesture. "Do you like what I've become, mother? Do you still blame yourself for our argument? Would you have let it go if you knew it'd come to this?" Amonem was referring to the argument they'd had the night before she'd defected. The night she'd finally had enough of the prim and proper, and stifling and backward, Jedi Order.

"You'd severely injured your trainer. You know as well as I do that we couldn't have let you continue your training after an outburst like that." Slywyn hadn't been intending to respond, but the pure malice coating her daughter's words like a poison had drawn the response out of her.

Slywyn pushed herself to her knees and forced herself to look upon her daughter. She wanted to disown the thing before her, she didn't even want to call her a Miraluka anymore, she was such a twisted perversion of what the majority of her people stood for, but she knew that she had to face her fears and doubts in order to overcome them. She had to admit that what Amonem had become was partly her fault.

"I was too strict on you. I was trying to form you into an instrument of the Light. I wanted to-" She was cut off as Amonem barked a laugh, muffled by the breathing mask her daughter wore.

Even with the constant stream of painkillers, all the mask did anymore was dull the edge. And even that was losing it's effectiveness. Her breaths were audible because of her mask, and everything she said was given an electronic overtone. "You wanted to what!? Turn me into another Jedi lapdog? As brainwashed and obedient as you?"

Amonem practically spat the words, and Slywyn wanted to recoil at the pain behind them. "No. I wanted to save you from the darkness I saw within."

Amonem drew her twin lightsabers. A light behind Slywyn winked three times. On-off, on-off, on-off. The signal from Malavai that he was in control of the station's defenses. Her dual sabers flashed on with the distinctive sound of a lightsaber being powered on, each one glowing a bright and potent green.

Slywyn drew her lightsaber as well, but didn't light it just yet. "This doesn't have to happen, Amonem. We can take you back to the Order. They can fix this. You know they can." It was a last-ditch effort. But Slywyn had to try. At least once.

"Oh, mother, it does. It very much does." Amonem raised a saber to the sky. Her signal to Malavai. "NOW!" She lept toward her mother with a roar. Doc stood. And a shield sprang across the hallway before and after Amonem and Slywyn, cutting them off from their companions.

"NO!" Doc cried out and flung himself at the shield. He was so stupid! He should have expected this. He slammed his fist against the unyielding energy of the energy field. But it didn't give. Wouldn't give. And several turrets popped out of hatches on the walls. "... Oh crap."

Slywyn barely had time to light her saber and grip it before her daughter's twin sabers collided with it, sending sparks leaping into the air between them. The telltale sound of lightsabers meeting filled the air, screeching and whining in protest.

"You die here, mother!" Amonem cried, and lashed out with the Force. Slywyn was thrown back several feet from the blast, but landed lightly on her toes.

"I tried to warn you, Am! It didn't have to come to this!" She raised her bright blue saber in front of herself in a guarding stance, and activated her shield generator. It wouldn't do much other than deflect some of the off-center thrusts, but after seeing what levels her daughter was willing to stoop to in order to secure victory, she knew that only her own unwillingness to see the depravity her daughter was capable of had led to her being separated from Doc. She couldn't squander any possible advantage. Not now.

Amonem slashed both sabers in front of herself, bright green blurs of light, and unleashed a primal scream of rage that was strong enough to actually stagger Slywyn. She's so strong!, Slywyn thought, and she instantly knew that it was a mistake to come here.

While Slywyn was still staggered, Amonem charged, pointing both lightsabers straight ahead at her mother, trying to spear her through the chest. Slywyn slipped to the side and batted them to the side, settling into the calm of battle.

They began exchanging blows with ever-growing ferocity, neither one managing to land even the smallest of touches on the other. The two Miraluka's precognitive abilities were proving a match, as they were able to anticipate each other's movements. Sparks flew, and soon the floor and walls were seared and scorched with marks from lightsaber tips as the two Force-wielders duked it out in the square of space that the force shields had created.

Behind them, Doc was barely holding out against the turrets when a lucky shot from his blaster knocked out the power supply of one of them. "Aha!", he cried, and instantly turned to the other. It wouldn't take him long to disable this one now that he knew how. "I'm coming Sly! Just hold on!"

Malavai grunted as his console. Slywyn's companion had gotten lucky. He had miscalculated. There was only the one turret left in the compartment he'd trapped Doc inside. And the station's Droids had all been destroyed in Amonem's attack. He cursed and glanced to the corner where the Jedi and Sith were battling. It would take him exactly six and one-half seconds to cover the distance at a dead sprint. He quickly began punching commands into the computer.

Slywyn was beginning to flag. The blows being exchanged were so powerful and furious that the battle was starting to drain even her Force-amplified reserves of strength. She had to do something to turn the tide. She noticed a piece of metal hanging from the wall, barely attached by a few wires.

Attempting not to think about what she was doing, since Amonem would be able to sense it and block her attack, she let the Force guide her instead. As Amonem raised her sabers for an attack, Slywyn swept her arm across her face.

The chunk of metal tore free with a screech, flying toward the Sith. Malavai had just reached the energy field when both of them failed, as timed. And Doc managed to take out the second turret just as his barrier flickered and died.

Both companions turned toward each other, and there was a moment's pause. Then Amonem's cry of pain rent the air as the metal collided with her back. She had only her armor to thank that the impact didn't instantly break her back. As it was, it threw her off of her feet.

Malavai reached out a hand in horror. "No!"

Doc leveled his blaster at Quinn and cried, "Sly! Now!"

Amonem lay on the ground before Slywyn. And Slywyn hesitated. She raised her lightsaber to strike down her daughter, and a memory flashed unbidden to her mind. The day that Amonem was born, pink and crying from her birth. She realized that she couldn't bring herself to kill her own daughter.

That was all the opening that Amonem needed. She lashed out with the Force, sending out a blast that was so concentrated and forceful that it actually broke Slywyn's nose when it impacted, and sent her flying. She flew right into Doc as he fired at Quinn, causing him to just barely miss. His shot went wide, striking Malavai in the arm instead.

He let out a bleat of pain and spun on the spot, blaster arm flinging wide. Amonem sprung to her feet and relit both of her lightsabers, then let out a bellow of rage. She lept at her mother, laying defenseless atop Doc. Slywyn gripped a chunk of the floor, and literally threw it at the incoming Sith, using her Force-augmented strength to speed it along it's way.

Amonem cut through the sheet of metal as she flew, but it altered her course enough to cause her to land several feet away from Slywyn. This gave her mother enough time to take her feet again, but the Jedi was clearly losing this fight. Her normally tight bun was coming loose, leaving ragged strands of hair to dangle at random intervals along her face, her breaths coming in quicker than she would have liked.

Amonem twirled her lightsabers in her hands and began to pace around her mother. Slywyn raised her lightsaber in front of her face, steeling herself for the incoming attack, and began to circle, keeping Amonem in front of her at all times. Doc began to sidestep with her, staying just to her back and side to cover her with his blaster. He muttered "Just need one opening..." to himself, keeping his weapon leveled at the Sith.

"Are you so weak you need to bring help to our battle, mother?" Amonem's tone was mocking, biting. She swung a saber in front of herself, taunting the Jedi. Her face was leveled at her mother, just waiting for the perfect moment to strike. A cobra circling the wounded mongoose.

"And who is he supposed to be, then?" Slywyn gestured with her head at Malavai, who was beginning to climb to his feet, clutching his arm. Doc's shot had gathered enough force behind it to spin him, but it was just a burn. It hadn't taken anything out of his arm. But it was still incredibly painful.

Amonem glanced back behind her for a moment. "Quinn? Why, he's the one who almost killed your lover there."

Slywyn's impassive mask faltered for a moment, and Amonem seized it. "Oh? Struck a nerve, have I? Is the Jedi who always lectured me about controlling my feelings actually -falling- for her compatriot?" Amonem's face contorted into a malicious sneer. "I wonder how much you'd suffer if he died..."

Doc started to say something, when suddenly he was lifted from his feet and began to choke. Amonem let out a sadistic cackle. "Save him, mother! Save him like you tried to save me!" She raised her arm high above her head, and Doc was lifted with it. His blaster fell from his fingers as he clutched at his throat, gagging and clawing for air.

"No!" Slywyn cried out, and for the first time, took the offensive. She lept at her daughter, who deflected her, just barely, with her lightsaber.

"I believe I've struck a nerve." Amonem sneered and pulled her hand into a fist. Doc cried out in pain and fell to the floor. He didn't move.

Slywyn let out a cry of distress and swung her blade. There was a power behind it that Amonem hadn't been expecting, and her lightsaber was knocked from her grip. She screamed in rage and lit her saber's twin, but she wasn't fast enough.

Slywyn cut across Amonem's stomach, nearly spilling her daughter's insides out onto the floor. As it was, metal, cloth, and skin smoked from the lightsaber's passing, and Amonem went rigid. "My lord!", shrieked Malavai. For all their planning, Slywyn had managed to beat Amonem in single combat.

Amonem fell to her knees before her mother, clutching at her stomach. "N-no..."

Slywyn herself didn't seem able to believe what had just happened, and she fell to her knees in front of her daughter. "Am! No, Am!" She couldn't bring herself to accept that she'd just sliced open her daughter's front.

Malavai struggled to his feet behind them and leveled his blaster, but this time at the wall. "Time... to put the exit plan into motion." They'd discussed what he needed to do if she lost. But he hadn't believed they'd actually need those charges.

Slywyn realized what he was doing a moment too late to stop him. Malavai fired at one of the many pre-placed charges along the outer wall of this hallway, which was along the outside of the station. The charge went off instantly, blowing a hole into space.

He was barely able to grab onto a wire to hold himself in place as the vacuum of space began to suck everything not bolted down out of the station and out into the inky blackness. Part of which included Amonem.

Slywyn reached out for Amonem as she began sliding along the floor, but she realized that Doc's body- no! He was still alive, but barely clinging. She had to choose.

Slywyn chose Doc. She used the Force to pull her friend to herself, and then launch the two of them behind the blast doors that were beginning to close themselves across the damaged section of hallway. Malavai was trapped on one side, and Slywyn on the other, as Amonem's limp form was sucked out into the blackness of space.

As the blast doors sealed shut, cutting Malavai off from Slywyn and Doc, the suction forcing him to cling to the wiring that had saved his life abated. He was able to release it, and he instantly turned to the window out into space and snapped a smart military salute. "It has been an honor, my Lord."

Slywyn gripped Doc's body and stood. She paused for a single moment to watch what she thought was Amonem's body float away like so much garbage, and for the first time in her life she wished that she had functioning tear ducts, so that she could put physical action to the pain she felt welling up inside of herself.

As it was, she couldn't do anything of the sort, and so she did the only thing she could. She broke out into a Force-driven sprint back to her ship, carrying Doc's limp body. The ship droid could save him. She knew it could.

-----

As Malavai watched the Jedi's ship disengage from the station and head away, he knew that he could easily take one of the ship's defensive guns and blast it out of the sky. They wouldn't be expecting it, and it would be the ultimate coup de grace, to strike when the enemy thought herself victorious. But the will to do it just wouldn't come.

His Lord was gone, and he began the lonely trek back to her- now, his, ship. He would be the ranking officer aboard the Fury-class vessel now. He'd have to be the one to bring the news back to Drommund Kaas, that Amonem had been slain in battle.

But as he began the long walk back through the empty station, something began pulling at his mind. It directed his gaze out into space through a window. Could it be...?

He began running to his ship. He had to try.

DarkAngel

05-28-2012, 11:11 AM

It's been one of those times. We've all had them — those times where you keep meaning to do something but stuff keeps happening to stop you. At long last, I got this done. *pant*

It wasn’t clear if she was simply sleeping, or in a true coma, as they knew nothing about her, or her physiology, other than what they were able to document while trying to save her life.This sentence is emblematic of something that pops up in many others as well. Be careful how much information you try to cram into one sentence. It disrupts the all-important flow. That and taking more time to say something is never a bad thing in this business. :D

never been matched in Humans.May I ask why this got capitalized? "Humans" aren't a race (in Taggart's thinking).

Taggart had recommended he simply be punished instead of jailed.Technically, being jailed IS a punishment, but I understand what you're getting at. 'Disciplined' might be a better word. Then again, the military terminology is "confined to disciplinary barracks," so it may not be much better.

the metal—which they had stripped
stairs that led to what he guessed were showers.
the CIA and FBI personnel had left; at least the ones that didn’t need to be here for some reason or another.
Every rivet and weld was absolutely perfect,
the sword she’d been carrying was practically glowing the readings
But otherwise, the objects
practically ‘normal,’ if not for
the strange materials that most of them were made of.
the Periodic Table.
was still in its preliminary stages,
mostly because they’d been afraid of taking more than a little — she’d lost so much
He stood, then made his way
“Yeah, I saw it, Jones.”
It’s crazy, man,” Jones scoffed incredulously.
he clapped to attention, saluting. redundant
“Well,” Taggart began.
They were hoping that keeping a lid on discussion would keep rumors and speculation to a minimum.
threatened or cowed by their commander. If 'command' refers to the commanded...
inside the large, gymnasium-like space,
Talbot practically come flying out of it. Tent already mentioned

one of the police station's holding cells, more redundancy
locked in a tiny cell—just this floor.
They peered down the hallway
“The general wants you!

For the third (or fourth?) time
far too bright…in wherever she was.
hand over her head — well, attempted to.
didn’t like — so many things she didn’t like about this
It was very bright;
realized it smelled like her blood.
That’s because you got yourself shot in the stomach, stupid, she remembered.

There was some confusion, especially in the later parts. I'm chalking that up to 'being heavily medicated at the time' again. Nonetheless, I love it. Get well soon!

EDIT: Just noticed word-play on 'blythe.' Well done!

Slowpokeking

05-28-2012, 11:38 AM

EDIT: Just noticed word-play on 'blythe.' Well done!

Do you mind give some advice to my TCW fanfic?:P

Slywyn

08-17-2012, 09:22 PM

((A story from Slaye's training as a Warden. It's been nearly a month since I've written anything at all, and I was inclined to write this. Enjoy it, if you like.))

"And now you shall see the world as it could be. As it shall be. As it will be. As it will never be. This is our burden. To know what must happen, what will happen, and what will never come to pass. We must work to ensure all of the outcomes remain pure and viable, even those which we may find horrifying. Including this one."

Slaye stood in complete darkness, as she had when she stepped into the timeway, watching nothing. Then, without warning, the bottom seemed to drop out of the world and she was falling. Falling into nothing. It almost felt like that moment between the waking world and the world of dreams, when nothing is real. Reality has a way of dispelling dreams.

She slammed into the ground with a thud, landing square on her chest with a slight 'ooph'. For anyone else, it would have knocked the wind out of them and cracked a rib, maybe two, but for the Warden, it did little other than cause minor discomfort. Such came with being removed from time- minor annoyances could be completely ignored. Like breathing.

She pushed herself up from the dirt, realizing that she tasted ash on her tongue. She pondered for a moment before she forced herself to take a breath, and she realized that it -was- ash she was tasting. And smelling. And breathing. She let out a quiet gasp as her eyes adjusted... and she realized she was standing on the edge of Teldrassil.

If she had been breathing, it would have taken her breath away, the realization that she was standing on the edge of a dead world tree. She hadn't landed on dirt, as she'd thought. She'd landed on burnt wood, long turned to charcoal and ravaged by the weather and remaining forces of nature.

Slaye turned, boots kicking up little puffs of ash in the night, to glance behind her, and what she could see would have frozen her heart in her chest had it been beating. It was Kalimdor, as far as the eye could see. Or... what had once been Kalimdor. The Mists that had covered the sea were long gone, leaving dark water thrashing against a dead land. Where once Darkshore and the trees of Ashenvale had stood, there was nothing but glass, blackened and burnt trees, cooked sand, and here or there she could make out the white shapes of bones. At this distance, they were likely something extremely large, perhaps dragons or drakes.

Mount Hyjal rose majestically in the darkness, topped by the skeleton of what must have once been Nordrassil, now as blackened and dead as the world tree whose boughs she stood upon. She felt, for the first time in many, many years of training to be a Warden, she felt something. She felt despair, she felt sadness, anguish at seeing the lands she had known for millennia reduced to a dead husk.

But at the same time, she knew that this was a timeline that had been preserved. The drake that sent her here had made that much clear. This was the correct path for this timeway. This world of death was the pure, true ending. It could not be changed.

That thought seemed to grip her chest tighter than even the abominations of Icecrown had managed when they'd gotten their hands on her. But she knew it was something much deeper than the clammy grip of an undead beast. It was the grip of fear. Something she'd thought that she'd forgotten in the intervening years.

This had to be a test of some kind. A test of resolve. Seeing if she could still complete her mission as a Warden. If she could preserve the timeways, even if it meant the result was the world that was all around her. This dead husk of nothing.

She looked around, wondering if the drake was there, when she began to feel that sensation of falling once more. But she hadn't moved. Instead the world itself was moving, first bright orange, then like paint running from a canvas in reverse, color bled back into the world from the bottom up, like a bizarre dream gone horribly wrong.

She blinked several times, wondering if she was going insane, and if her mind was unraveling finally, but everything worked fine. It was the world that had gone mad, not her.

Then, as if some giant god had breathed life upon the world and forced it to drop into order, the paint dried, and she was left with the breathtaking sight of Azeroth in autumn. Leaves blared color like only Teldrassil could manage, in every bright, fiery hue of the rainbow that she could imagine.

Slaye felt a breath on her shoulder, and she turned to find the drake that had brought her here was staring her directly in her eyes, watching her. Studying her. Slaye felt more alive than she had in years, more vibrant and more ... more. Seeing Teldrassil in it's full, vitalized glory after the vision she had quite literally been dropped into, seemed like it had awoken something within her, some kind of Elven spirit that had never died, only been forgotten.

She could feel a smile gracing her features, and she wondered what it was the drake wanted.

"You have exactly ten minutes." The drake's mouth barely moved, but the sound of Draconic grated upon her ears.

Slaye blinked. She was brought back to the world as it was, her world, the world of a Warden, by his rumbling voice. "Ten minutes until what?"

"Ten minutes until the Destroyer comes. Until Deathwing rains fire upon the world. In this timeway, Deathwing had grown so strong before his return, that once he emerged with the Cataclysm, he set fire to the world. He reduced Azeroth to a cinder in a matter of hours, never to recover."

Slaye could feel the darkness, the apathy, settling in upon herself. "Why are you telling me this?"

"In Darnassus, a short sprint from this very spot, there is a portal open to the Maelstrom. Deathwing was not the only one to grow in strength in this timeway. This very moment, Thrall and the Aspects are charging the Dragon Soul with power. They will strike Deathwing at his most vulnerable, when he is first breaking free of Deepholm, and stop the Destroyer forever."

Slaye gasped. There was still time, time for this world to thrive. "What happens?"

"In exactly eight minutes and thirty-four seconds, Deathwing's first tremors will shake Azeroth. Kalecgos will lose his footing on the outcrop, and be tossed into the sea. He could resume his Draconic form and recover, of course, but too much precious time will pass. They will fail in their ritual. A small chance, a tiny occurance, of someone losing their footing, will doom this world. You can save it. You alone know what will happen. Thrall will reach for Kalec's shirt, and miss by scant inches. You can stop his fall. If you do, there will be enough time for them to fire the Dragon Soul. This world will be saved. By your actions. And your actions alone."

The drake lowered his head, placing one glassy eye directly in front of her own. "You have exactly seven minutes and fifty-seven seconds."

Slaye didn't know what to do. She knew what she wanted to do. She wanted to run to the portal, to grab hold of Kalec as he fell, and save this world. But there was another voice trying to reason with the first. It was an internal war, and she knew that this war was the purpose of her being here. She knew that she could save this world, save the life, save everything that had ever meant even the slightest iota of importance to her.

She also knew that if she did, she would be as evil as the Infinite Flight. She had seen the timeways in which the Infinites had prevailed. They were contained, of course, the coming death of Murozond made sure of that. The moment of his death, the ceasing of the Infinite Flight as a threat, was bound and always would be bound within all timeways, wrought by the Timeless One himself. But the timeways in which they had prevailed, some went on to be prosperous for many eons. Others unraveled and threatened chaos for all the others.

Slaye knew what she had to do. The timeway must be preserved. She closed her eyes, gathering herself and everything around her into a moment as she had been taught... and pulled. The world shifted. Exactly seven minutes and thirty-seven seconds into the future.

The drake, who she had pulled along, looked into the sky for a moment, thoughtful. She wondered if he was judging her. She found she didn't care. The moment she'd pushed the timeway forward, erased her chance to save it, she'd felt that vibrancy, that life that she had felt awaken, wither and die within her. She knew now that it was not gone, simply... reduced. But she also knew it would be harder to awaken next time, after seeing what she was forcing herself to see.

"You have exactly... eighteen seconds. That is not enough time to save this timeway."

Slaye frowned. She diverted her gaze out over Kalimdor, though the clouds and across the lands, to where she was surely imagining she could see the Maelstrom swirling. It was surely hidden by the curvature of the planet, but she imagined she could see it all the same. And she waited. She didn't have to wait long.

It happened with the same sort of distant power that heralded a coming lightning storm. A distant orange haze upon the horizon, like the blooming of an impossibly large flower just over the line that separated sky from earth.

"This timeway is doomed."

She felt it before anything else. A shaking, an ominous groan that shook Teldrassil to it's roots. The entire tree shifted inches, swaying as the planet broke. She could see the black plume that rose, heralding the smoke and flames of Deathwing's return. A gout of orange burned into the sky, impossibly bright, the fight sign of the Destroyer himself upon the world.

Kalimdor itself split in two with a crack that shook her to her very bones, signalling the beginning of the end. The fire that rose over the land, she could see it from where she stood. A black shape, big enough to blot out an entire section of sky even from this far away, rose into the air.

"You seem unconcerned about the death of this world."

Slaye turned her head a fraction, glancing back at him through the smallest corner of her eye. "The correct, pure path of the timeways must be preserved. This is why I am here. This is why we Wardens exist. Had I taken the portal, I would be no better than those I hunt."

She grew silent then, turning back to force herself to watch the Destroyer raining his vengeance upon Azeroth. She was now responsible for this timeway. She could have stopped the death. And she had done nothing but hasten the timeway's demise. She had to watch. She owed everyone who was now dead or doomed that much.

She would be the last one to see the world. She would be the herald of it's end. She alone would bear witness.

She drew her hand across herself and gathered the thread of time that governed the drake and herself... and shifted it. Just enough to place the two of them out of sync with the world by a few minutes. This would give them plenty of time to watch and leave without danger to themselves. It was an unnecessary precaution for Slaye. Even if her time loop was disrupted, the fail-safe would kick in and restore her within a day or so's time. She didn't know if the dragon was so unfortunate.

"All is as it should be..." She watched in silence as the Destroyer rained fire upon Azeroth. Her eyes filled with burning orange and angry red, her ears filled with the terrified screams rising from the city of Darnassus. And once the Destroyer had passed, once the fires had died, only then did she once more shift them into the timeway, leaving them safe from the flames.

"All is as it must be." The drake corrected.

"Dust.... dust and echoes."

Slaye felt as if the life within her would never return.

"Take me back. I must attend to my duties."

The drake smirked, or would have were reptiles capable of the expression. "You will make a fine Warden."

He opened a rift in time, stepping through. It remained open, but left Slaye alone in the newly-desecrated world.

"Dust... and echoes..."

A moment later, she stepped through the tear and sealed it behind her, leaving a silent autumn behind, with no one left to bear witness.