Location: Dalaran
Lunar Phase: Waning Gibbous
My dream takes place in Andorhal, this time, before the war. The house Urien and I shared is intact, and I am in the study taking notes. He is sitting on the opposite end of the room, mending his tabard. My form in the dream is how my body used to be; strong, in shape, with flesh on the bones to go along with my skin. My hair is long, dark, full again, and my back does not ache from the sting of my own self mutilation.
I don't notice that my form is not on the physical plane until I get over to Urien. He doesn't notice me until a few minutes later. I hold out my hand to him, and it goes through his arm. Despite my spectral form, we dance, my hands hovering over his shoulder, and his over my waist. Our outstretched hands are inches apart as we twirl about the room in a slow waltz.
We looked like the dancing couple in a music box, going round and round. I can't recall when our music box's song ended.
I don't remember the end of this dream.
Analysis & Notes:
Last night was the first night I'd slept in a long while. Mister Alito put me to bed, and must've stayed with me until after I had fallen asleep. I had to rely upon a shot of whiskey and several medicinal herbs to do the trick, but I feel refreshed. I was avoiding sleep, as all of my recent dreams have been horrific nightmares. This is the first that has not startled me into wakefulness an hour or two after I've closed my eyes.
I believe that the content of this dream reflects much of what happened last evening. I had long ago become adept at astral projection, or rather, projecting my consciousness through the nether itself and then another step further to manifest spell effects onto the physical plane. I did it in front of Mister Alito last evening, and my consciousness took the form of myself, perhaps fifteen years ago. Mister Alito and I danced, and my leg did not ache.
I wish to practice more, but I am afraid to leave my body unattended while I do so. When my consciousness returned to me, I felt as if I was just about ready to drown, and couldn't breathe enough air to sate my lungs. I will contact Mister Alito to attempt this again, although I believe I need to devise some sort of failsafe to pull me out of the slumber, so to speak, should anything happen.
--F.P.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Monday, February 21, 2011
OOC: Character Soundtrack
I have been meaning to post one of these for awhile now so, here you go.
1. "Criminal" -Fiona Apple
2. "I Can't Decide" -Scissor Sisters
3. "Angry Johnny" -Poe
4. "Brand New Lover" -The Servant
5. "#1 Crush" -Garbage
6. "Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk" -Rufus Wainwright
7. "Destroying Angel" -Sneaker Pimps
8. "Winter in My Heart" -VAST
9. "Please" -Nine Inch Nails (note: video also relevant to Faro's character. NSFW.)
10. "Ironspy" -Splashdown
11. "Let the Poison Spill From Your Throat" -The Faint
1. "Criminal" -Fiona Apple
2. "I Can't Decide" -Scissor Sisters
3. "Angry Johnny" -Poe
4. "Brand New Lover" -The Servant
5. "#1 Crush" -Garbage
6. "Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk" -Rufus Wainwright
7. "Destroying Angel" -Sneaker Pimps
8. "Winter in My Heart" -VAST
9. "Please" -Nine Inch Nails (note: video also relevant to Faro's character. NSFW.)
10. "Ironspy" -Splashdown
11. "Let the Poison Spill From Your Throat" -The Faint
Weddings & Salvation
Location: Dalaran
Lunar Phase: Unknown; blizzard approaching.
Journal,
I can't quite recall all of what happened last night. I have bits and pieces of it… and these gaps in my memory are becoming more and more frequent, and inconvenient all the same. But I am sure what transpired last night was of my own doing.
I was invited to a wedding. Or rather, the renewal of vows by one Grixxis Dominus and his wife, Jossilyn. I find weddings uncomfortable and upsetting. I drank. I drank a great deal, perhaps too much. I only vaguely remember finding my way to Old Town and finding Mister Alito. There was some redheaded girl he was talking with. I chased her away.
I took Mister Alito back to Dalaran. My intention of this, in the beginning, was not sex as it had been in the past. I knew how drunk I was. I knew how upset I was. I didn't want to be left alone, I knew I would hurt myself. I needed someone I trusted present to make sure that I did not beat myself into unconsciousness, and then death.
I beat myself anyway, apparently. When I awoke with Mister Alito, naked, my bed, myself, and he were smeared with blood. I can only assume that it came from the three long marks on my back. I will not have the wounds healed, I want to continue to feel like this. To suffer as the terrible wretch I am. The kiss of the whip, the sting of my flesh and shedding of my blood will be my salvation…
He's gone now, though. Left not long ago to be with that twit girl he is marrying. Miss Dray is completely undeserving of everything that Mister Alito gives her. She is not innately great. She will be only great because Mister Alito spoon feeds it to her and keeps her coin purse full. Everything I have achieved I have done through my own power, skill and determination.
I hate her.
I hate the fact that he is marrying her. And I get to be the mistress with the walking icicle of an undead husband, and womanizing, cowardly fool of an ex.
I have half of a bottle of whiskey. Dwarven, from the Highlands. It is still morning. Do I drink now, or save it until later…?
--F.P.
Lunar Phase: Unknown; blizzard approaching.
Journal,
I can't quite recall all of what happened last night. I have bits and pieces of it… and these gaps in my memory are becoming more and more frequent, and inconvenient all the same. But I am sure what transpired last night was of my own doing.
I was invited to a wedding. Or rather, the renewal of vows by one Grixxis Dominus and his wife, Jossilyn. I find weddings uncomfortable and upsetting. I drank. I drank a great deal, perhaps too much. I only vaguely remember finding my way to Old Town and finding Mister Alito. There was some redheaded girl he was talking with. I chased her away.
I took Mister Alito back to Dalaran. My intention of this, in the beginning, was not sex as it had been in the past. I knew how drunk I was. I knew how upset I was. I didn't want to be left alone, I knew I would hurt myself. I needed someone I trusted present to make sure that I did not beat myself into unconsciousness, and then death.
I beat myself anyway, apparently. When I awoke with Mister Alito, naked, my bed, myself, and he were smeared with blood. I can only assume that it came from the three long marks on my back. I will not have the wounds healed, I want to continue to feel like this. To suffer as the terrible wretch I am. The kiss of the whip, the sting of my flesh and shedding of my blood will be my salvation…
He's gone now, though. Left not long ago to be with that twit girl he is marrying. Miss Dray is completely undeserving of everything that Mister Alito gives her. She is not innately great. She will be only great because Mister Alito spoon feeds it to her and keeps her coin purse full. Everything I have achieved I have done through my own power, skill and determination.
I hate her.
I hate the fact that he is marrying her. And I get to be the mistress with the walking icicle of an undead husband, and womanizing, cowardly fool of an ex.
I have half of a bottle of whiskey. Dwarven, from the Highlands. It is still morning. Do I drink now, or save it until later…?
--F.P.
My soul went dark.
((The handwriting is slanted and shaky. Some words are smeared, and there are splotches of ink where the quill has rested on the paper a second too long.))
Location: Stormwind City
Lunar Phase: Waxing Crescent [small sketch]
My soul went dark with the coming of the new moon. I've never felt so much pain in all of my life. Considering all that's happened, this is noteworthy. Physical pain can be dulled with the alcohol, the drugs... pain of the soul is the most piercing thing I have ever felt. I was convinced that through the ordeal, a very piece of myself was being both ripped away and incinerated at the same time.
Such is the experience of the rite of exorcism. I've seen this ritual performed numerous times, by paladins stinging the vestiges of an undead soul and burning their bodies. By priests forcing a demonic presence out of a mortal's body. I had never expected it to happen to me.
I saw things within my mind's eye. I saw my husband. Urien, bless his soul, continues to care for me despite his condition, despite the terrible things I've done and said. I feel that dying may have been the best thing that had happened to him. Being removed of will and memory for these challenging ten years since Lordaeron... he is innocent, in a way. He observes everything with a fresh gaze, a different perspective. He doesn't rely on smoke or drink to make it through the day.
He was always my moral compass. He still tries to be. Despite the Light leaving him, despite it now being harmful to him, he still believes in it.
[The following paragraph is written frantically, some parts smeared.]
My thoughts become manic. Out of control. I want to kill, I want to seek revenge for the hurt that I feel. Cut Ludovick's back up with my dagger, whip the remaining flesh, feel the blood spattering on my face. Watch him scream in horror as his Light leaves him and while I harvest his new whore's soul and feed it to him so that I would be the only woman in his life again. The other... left outside to the fleshbeasts and infernal rains of the valley. We would make love on the stone slab in my laboratory, just us again-- [The rest of this sentence is completely scribbled out].
Urien would frown upon this. What am I thinking?
--F.P.
Location: Stormwind City
Lunar Phase: Waxing Crescent [small sketch]
My soul went dark with the coming of the new moon. I've never felt so much pain in all of my life. Considering all that's happened, this is noteworthy. Physical pain can be dulled with the alcohol, the drugs... pain of the soul is the most piercing thing I have ever felt. I was convinced that through the ordeal, a very piece of myself was being both ripped away and incinerated at the same time.
Such is the experience of the rite of exorcism. I've seen this ritual performed numerous times, by paladins stinging the vestiges of an undead soul and burning their bodies. By priests forcing a demonic presence out of a mortal's body. I had never expected it to happen to me.
I saw things within my mind's eye. I saw my husband. Urien, bless his soul, continues to care for me despite his condition, despite the terrible things I've done and said. I feel that dying may have been the best thing that had happened to him. Being removed of will and memory for these challenging ten years since Lordaeron... he is innocent, in a way. He observes everything with a fresh gaze, a different perspective. He doesn't rely on smoke or drink to make it through the day.
He was always my moral compass. He still tries to be. Despite the Light leaving him, despite it now being harmful to him, he still believes in it.
[The following paragraph is written frantically, some parts smeared.]
My thoughts become manic. Out of control. I want to kill, I want to seek revenge for the hurt that I feel. Cut Ludovick's back up with my dagger, whip the remaining flesh, feel the blood spattering on my face. Watch him scream in horror as his Light leaves him and while I harvest his new whore's soul and feed it to him so that I would be the only woman in his life again. The other... left outside to the fleshbeasts and infernal rains of the valley. We would make love on the stone slab in my laboratory, just us again-- [The rest of this sentence is completely scribbled out].
Urien would frown upon this. What am I thinking?
--F.P.
Exorcism, Pt. 2
Location: Mage Quarter, Stormwind City
Lunar Phase: Waning Crescent [small illustration of the sliver of light on the moon]
Journal,
It seems that my problem is worse than I had initially thought. I can hardly stand, and I've noticed that I've lost more weight lately. I must be truly a horror to look at. I continue to cough up dead blood, and I'm not sure how much I have left in my body. The rune flickers on my chest with each cough.
Urien has informed me that it is not necromantic in nature, but rather, demonic. I am tainted by fel magics, and he cannot fix it. It seems my only options are a purging with the Light, or seek the aid of one Radok Nighteye. I know the name, but I'm not particularly inclined to trust it.
I've sent a letter to the Fairdale boy. Chadley. He is gifted, and the only paladin I trust to perform the rite.
I hope I do not frighten him with any whimpers or screams. Perhaps I should ask someone to hold me down.
[The following is scribbled out...] Ludovick would perform this gleefully. But I don't want to give him the satisfaction of bringing another wretched soul to his Light's so-called grace.
Lunar Phase: Waning Crescent [small illustration of the sliver of light on the moon]
Journal,
It seems that my problem is worse than I had initially thought. I can hardly stand, and I've noticed that I've lost more weight lately. I must be truly a horror to look at. I continue to cough up dead blood, and I'm not sure how much I have left in my body. The rune flickers on my chest with each cough.
Urien has informed me that it is not necromantic in nature, but rather, demonic. I am tainted by fel magics, and he cannot fix it. It seems my only options are a purging with the Light, or seek the aid of one Radok Nighteye. I know the name, but I'm not particularly inclined to trust it.
I've sent a letter to the Fairdale boy. Chadley. He is gifted, and the only paladin I trust to perform the rite.
I hope I do not frighten him with any whimpers or screams. Perhaps I should ask someone to hold me down.
[The following is scribbled out...] Ludovick would perform this gleefully. But I don't want to give him the satisfaction of bringing another wretched soul to his Light's so-called grace.
Exorcism
Location: Ledgermain Lounge, Dalaran
Lunar Phase: Waning Crescent
Journal, journal.
Strange things have happened since I have last written. I had made the decision to go through with the dissolution of my marriage to Ludovick von Diehl. I simply cannot bear to have the last name of a traitorous coward.
I'd decided this one evening while I was at the Cathedral. I've taken to my vices a great deal more than previously, and one Ghodfrey Valorsworn had caught me having a smoke in the back. I'd thought I'd been reasonably concealed behind the stonework, but I suppose the sweet smell of cloves travels far. He was a dear and helped me to my apartment in Dalaran.
It was after that evening that I had decided to go to confession (Ludovick would love that, I'm sure). An older member of the clergy took me in, and I told him everything. About Lordaeron, about Zeal, about Miss Dray… and the most curious thing happened! He offered his hand to me in marriage, to ensure that I do not continue down this "dark path."
I laughed at him. Laughed right in his face, he sounded so much like Ludovick there, I could just ring his little high-collared neck.
Here is where things get particularly interesting, journal. Many of the events thereafter are fuzzy. I know that it was one day later, I was riding my horse from the Dwarven District when another man came to me with a letter. He dropped a small glass orb onto the ground and I vaguely remember following.
What happened thereafter is really only bits and pieces. The stonework of my memories looks perhaps dwarves. Very dark, covered in ages of soot. The experience was strangely both sensual and terrifying. I remember a knife in my neck, and blood pouring from my body. Despite the warm room we were in, I felt very cold.
Journal, I'm pretty sure that I died. I don't know how else to explain what little I remember, and then the scars… there is a Y-shaped scar on my chest that is commonly used with autopsies. I woke in the Burning Steppes, and managed to muster enough energy to teleport.
Mister Garhelm found me-- he's a nice man, possibly the second Risen I could ever like-- and speculated that the flickering rune on my chest is necromantic in nature. It makes a reasonable amount of sense, considering my death theory, and how much Light magic hurts, rather than helps.
I think I'm afflicted with some sort of curse that mimics the undead? Necromancy is not my forte. I truly have little to go on.
But I think I need an exorcist, and someone to sift through my jumbled memories. The only mind readers I know of are that elven buffoon Marius, Ludovick and Senkha. At this point, the girl is the least of such three evils…
I need a drink, and I'm almost out of scotch. Light damn it all.
--F.P.
Lunar Phase: Waning Crescent
Journal, journal.
Strange things have happened since I have last written. I had made the decision to go through with the dissolution of my marriage to Ludovick von Diehl. I simply cannot bear to have the last name of a traitorous coward.
I'd decided this one evening while I was at the Cathedral. I've taken to my vices a great deal more than previously, and one Ghodfrey Valorsworn had caught me having a smoke in the back. I'd thought I'd been reasonably concealed behind the stonework, but I suppose the sweet smell of cloves travels far. He was a dear and helped me to my apartment in Dalaran.
It was after that evening that I had decided to go to confession (Ludovick would love that, I'm sure). An older member of the clergy took me in, and I told him everything. About Lordaeron, about Zeal, about Miss Dray… and the most curious thing happened! He offered his hand to me in marriage, to ensure that I do not continue down this "dark path."
I laughed at him. Laughed right in his face, he sounded so much like Ludovick there, I could just ring his little high-collared neck.
Here is where things get particularly interesting, journal. Many of the events thereafter are fuzzy. I know that it was one day later, I was riding my horse from the Dwarven District when another man came to me with a letter. He dropped a small glass orb onto the ground and I vaguely remember following.
What happened thereafter is really only bits and pieces. The stonework of my memories looks perhaps dwarves. Very dark, covered in ages of soot. The experience was strangely both sensual and terrifying. I remember a knife in my neck, and blood pouring from my body. Despite the warm room we were in, I felt very cold.
Journal, I'm pretty sure that I died. I don't know how else to explain what little I remember, and then the scars… there is a Y-shaped scar on my chest that is commonly used with autopsies. I woke in the Burning Steppes, and managed to muster enough energy to teleport.
Mister Garhelm found me-- he's a nice man, possibly the second Risen I could ever like-- and speculated that the flickering rune on my chest is necromantic in nature. It makes a reasonable amount of sense, considering my death theory, and how much Light magic hurts, rather than helps.
I think I'm afflicted with some sort of curse that mimics the undead? Necromancy is not my forte. I truly have little to go on.
But I think I need an exorcist, and someone to sift through my jumbled memories. The only mind readers I know of are that elven buffoon Marius, Ludovick and Senkha. At this point, the girl is the least of such three evils…
I need a drink, and I'm almost out of scotch. Light damn it all.
--F.P.
January 28: Catching Up
Journal, journal… it's been far too long since I've last written. Pages have not been filled since the day Deathwing came, and much has happened since that point. Where do I even begin?
Ludovick and I got married the evening before; it was small, just us, and pledged ourselves to one another. Little did I know that his heart was not as truly in it as mine. While I admit wrongdoing the eve after the Shattering-- I thought him dead, was completely distraught-- I worked hard to win him back.
And then he insists on going to Lordaeron to find the walking corse of his daughter, aged perhaps… maybe seven, if she lived? I think he held hope of finding that Amelia whore, as well. I accompanied him, and we enlisted our services within the Argent Crusade. Unfortunately, I was relegated to menial enchantment and alchemy tasks. My leg still troubles me, as it always does.
I left Lordaeron and he stayed. Little did I know that his quest to journey through Lordaeron was accompanied by some harlot I had forbid him to talk to. Some younger, blonde paladin fully functioning limbs. I suppose he got tired of me. I got letters, at first. Then they became fewer, and fewer. I scryed upon him using our rings-- and found him with her.
[The writing at this point devolves into violent threats and scribbles and ink blots. This happens for the better part of a paragraph.]
He's chosen his path. I have chosen mine. It saddens me that they are no longer entertwined, but so be it. I've removed all of my things from his apartment; the kitten is mine, as well.
I did leave him a few things. His whelp has been left caged, and will likely starve and be dead upon his arrival. On his desk I have placed a pistol with two rounds. In his stash of alcohol and other sundries, a single vial of Zeal. I do hope that his new woman gets to see him stark-raving mad as he copes with his addiction.
[The writing at this point turns into more frantic scribbles. Parts of it are barely able to be made out.]
He will come back to me.
He will need me
again.
And when he comes to
me again, he will know the
bitter taste of not getting what he wants.
Until then, I've become more involved in the education of a young sorceress within the Covenant. Emmercy Dray is her name-- and I am sure I've heard it before-- perhaps in Lordaeron? Either way, her situation is very interesting. Her chosen path of magic deals with souls of the dead… and her significant other is a paladin. It reminds me of Ludovick and myself; I wonder which one will crack first.
I took the girl out to a shack in Duskwood, and taught her how to kill. I thought she was going to lose herself not to the insanity that burns quietly beneath, but to the sickness of seeing a corpse for the first time. I imagine she's gotten over it.
I think in time, I will instruct her on how to make Zeal. The majority of my testing has been completed. It is time to seriously put it to market, now. There are plenty of miserable fools that want to escape this world, but are too cowardly to take their own lives. They will pay a pretty penny for a few hours of release… and come crawling back for more when they cannot tolerate reality itself.
I will be a very rich woman.
--F.P.
Ludovick and I got married the evening before; it was small, just us, and pledged ourselves to one another. Little did I know that his heart was not as truly in it as mine. While I admit wrongdoing the eve after the Shattering-- I thought him dead, was completely distraught-- I worked hard to win him back.
And then he insists on going to Lordaeron to find the walking corse of his daughter, aged perhaps… maybe seven, if she lived? I think he held hope of finding that Amelia whore, as well. I accompanied him, and we enlisted our services within the Argent Crusade. Unfortunately, I was relegated to menial enchantment and alchemy tasks. My leg still troubles me, as it always does.
I left Lordaeron and he stayed. Little did I know that his quest to journey through Lordaeron was accompanied by some harlot I had forbid him to talk to. Some younger, blonde paladin fully functioning limbs. I suppose he got tired of me. I got letters, at first. Then they became fewer, and fewer. I scryed upon him using our rings-- and found him with her.
[The writing at this point devolves into violent threats and scribbles and ink blots. This happens for the better part of a paragraph.]
He's chosen his path. I have chosen mine. It saddens me that they are no longer entertwined, but so be it. I've removed all of my things from his apartment; the kitten is mine, as well.
I did leave him a few things. His whelp has been left caged, and will likely starve and be dead upon his arrival. On his desk I have placed a pistol with two rounds. In his stash of alcohol and other sundries, a single vial of Zeal. I do hope that his new woman gets to see him stark-raving mad as he copes with his addiction.
[The writing at this point turns into more frantic scribbles. Parts of it are barely able to be made out.]
He will come back to me.
He will need me
again.
And when he comes to
me again, he will know the
bitter taste of not getting what he wants.
Until then, I've become more involved in the education of a young sorceress within the Covenant. Emmercy Dray is her name-- and I am sure I've heard it before-- perhaps in Lordaeron? Either way, her situation is very interesting. Her chosen path of magic deals with souls of the dead… and her significant other is a paladin. It reminds me of Ludovick and myself; I wonder which one will crack first.
I took the girl out to a shack in Duskwood, and taught her how to kill. I thought she was going to lose herself not to the insanity that burns quietly beneath, but to the sickness of seeing a corpse for the first time. I imagine she's gotten over it.
I think in time, I will instruct her on how to make Zeal. The majority of my testing has been completed. It is time to seriously put it to market, now. There are plenty of miserable fools that want to escape this world, but are too cowardly to take their own lives. They will pay a pretty penny for a few hours of release… and come crawling back for more when they cannot tolerate reality itself.
I will be a very rich woman.
--F.P.
OOC: Many blogs. HANDLE IT.
This is going to be a temporary place to post Faronne's blogs as they have appeared on Covenant's private forums. Folks not in the guild have been asking to read them so. I will be posting a few of them. Have fun, welcome to the crazy.
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