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Old 02-15-2011, 07:46 AM
Slywyn Slywyn is offline

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Default Sly's Repository

I have.... quite a few of these. I saw these forums and thought it might be a great place to put these. And I'd love to hear what you think of them. Also, instead of putting them all in different threads I can just compile everything into one thread for the most part. =)

NA: Not active
D: Done(complete)
A: Active

Memento(D): Slywyn's first entrance into Darnassus under her own steam since her exile.

Malcar's Menagerie(NA): A rather mysterious character builds his forces.

Caw(D): A story of the horrors known only to the Undead.

Warden(D): How a soldier becomes something more. (Posted after by mistake, but read before Letter.)

Letter(D): The unsent letter of a Warden to those left behind.

Earth, Wind, and Fire(D): The Shattering of Auberdine.

Repentance(D): The Exile returns home.

Contracts(NA): Saga of a killer.

Reanimated(D): The (re)beginning for a Knight of the Ebon Blade.


Captive(NA): Blood stains the forests of Ashenvale.

Pt. 1: Fury
Pt. 1
Pt. 2
Pt. 3
Pt. 4

Pt. 2: Despair
Pt. 1
Pt. 2
Pt. 3


The Molten Front(NA) - Updated as I do the questline.

Pt. 1: The Portal
Pt. 2: Backdraft
Pt. 3: Malorne
Pt. 4: Runetotem
Pt. 5: The Front

Nightmare(NA)
Pt. 1
Pt. 2
Pt. 3
Pt. 4
Pt. 5
Pt. 6
Pt. 7


Non-WoW Fiction

Where The Wild Things Are: (A)
Post One
Post Two
Post Three
Post Four
Post Five
Post Six
Post Seven
Post Eight
Post Nine
Post Ten
Post Eleven
Post Twelve
Post Thirteen

Cartriss Station (D)

Last edited by Slywyn; 05-16-2012 at 11:52 PM.. Reason: Adding links!
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Old 02-15-2011, 07:48 AM
Slywyn Slywyn is offline

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Default Memento

((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.
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Old 02-15-2011, 08:06 AM
Slywyn Slywyn is offline

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Default Malcar's Mengagerie (Pts 1, 2, and 3)

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.

Last edited by Slywyn; 02-16-2011 at 08:58 PM.. Reason: Separating the posts.
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Old 02-15-2011, 08:10 AM
Slywyn Slywyn is offline

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Default Caw

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."
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Old 02-15-2011, 08:11 AM
Slywyn Slywyn is offline

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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.

Last edited by Slywyn; 02-16-2011 at 09:00 PM..
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Old 02-15-2011, 08:15 AM
Slywyn Slywyn is offline

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((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.
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Old 02-15-2011, 08:17 AM
Slywyn Slywyn is offline

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Default Earth, Wind, and Fire

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.
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Old 02-15-2011, 06:37 PM
DarkAngel DarkAngel is offline

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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.

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.

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!
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Last edited by DarkAngel; 02-15-2011 at 06:38 PM.. Reason: Spelling
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Old 02-15-2011, 08:38 PM
Slywyn Slywyn is offline

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Quote:
Originally Posted by DarkAngel View Post
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.

Quote:
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.

Quote:
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. >_>
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Old 02-16-2011, 06:40 PM
DarkAngel DarkAngel is offline

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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!
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Old 02-16-2011, 08:56 PM
Slywyn Slywyn is offline

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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.
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Old 02-18-2011, 08:34 PM
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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?
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Old 02-18-2011, 11:36 PM
Slywyn Slywyn is offline

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No, not at all.

But that's so coincidental it's hilarious.
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Old 02-21-2011, 05:49 PM
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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?"
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Old 02-21-2011, 06:12 PM
Slywyn Slywyn is offline

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http://www.twilightempire.org/

The guild she used to belong to. =)

Was only an Empire in name.
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Old 02-22-2011, 07:25 PM
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Review: Warden

Quote:
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.
Quote:
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.
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Old 02-22-2011, 08:36 PM
Slywyn Slywyn is offline

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I appreciate it. =)

It is a smaller part of a larger story.

Maybe I should write up the whole thing some day.
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Old 02-24-2011, 06:54 PM
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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*
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Old 03-16-2011, 04:40 PM
Slywyn Slywyn is offline

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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."

Last edited by Slywyn; 03-16-2011 at 11:08 PM..
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  #20  
Old 03-16-2011, 08:01 PM
DarkAngel DarkAngel is offline

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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."
Quote:
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.
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  #21  
Old 03-16-2011, 11:06 PM
Slywyn Slywyn is offline

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Originally Posted by DarkAngel View Post
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
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  #22  
Old 03-19-2011, 01:39 PM
Slywyn Slywyn is offline

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"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.
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  #23  
Old 03-19-2011, 07:23 PM
DarkAngel DarkAngel is offline

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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. 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.
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  #24  
Old 03-19-2011, 07:38 PM
Slywyn Slywyn is offline

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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.
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Old 03-24-2011, 04:26 PM
Slywyn Slywyn is offline

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((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..."
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