Damn all the luck, I was spotted by Ludovick's new woman. Complete happenstance, I am sure, but I'm quite surprised that I was spotted so easily in full armor and a mask.
In any case, I met a young lady named Agnes Yardley who may or may not be right in the head, but will fulfill a purpose in my new venture.
I sent her a few dresses-- the girl looks absolutely dreadful in gray.
--F.P.
Friday, September 30, 2011
Saturday, September 10, 2011
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Ravens
Nallaen Ravenstone.
As per his own words, we are two peas in a terrible pod. He knows of the Covenant, and our circle seems to be surprisingly small. I find it amazing that we've been able to skirt around each others' presence for so long.
I've yet to determine why he hates Vosmus so much, but he has a more than healthy distaste for Nessun. I am delighted to hear more about what he did to Nessun so long ago-- the limp I gave that lost paladin seems somewhat cheapened, now.
His hands are like maps. Scars and rune circles dance over his skin, he speaks of nethermancy and soul magics. Fascinating, beautiful.
It will be a pity if I have to kill him. Even moreso if Urien, in his crazed state, is the one to do the deed.
As per his own words, we are two peas in a terrible pod. He knows of the Covenant, and our circle seems to be surprisingly small. I find it amazing that we've been able to skirt around each others' presence for so long.
I've yet to determine why he hates Vosmus so much, but he has a more than healthy distaste for Nessun. I am delighted to hear more about what he did to Nessun so long ago-- the limp I gave that lost paladin seems somewhat cheapened, now.
His hands are like maps. Scars and rune circles dance over his skin, he speaks of nethermancy and soul magics. Fascinating, beautiful.
It will be a pity if I have to kill him. Even moreso if Urien, in his crazed state, is the one to do the deed.
prayed like a martyr dusk to dawn
begged like a hooker all night long
tempted the devil with my song
and got what i wanted all along
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
Notes
Nallaen Ravenstone. Tall, gray hair, impeccably dressed if not for his ridiculous red gloves. Ravenstone, Nallaen. He seems familiar. Why can I not place him? On the very tip of my memory, but just beyond...
It seems he recognized something on me, as well. His long stare. I cannot think of what is so bold in my attire to catch his attention, other than my gem. But a gem is a gem is a gem, right? It appears as just a mana emerald.
Peculiar.
It seems he recognized something on me, as well. His long stare. I cannot think of what is so bold in my attire to catch his attention, other than my gem. But a gem is a gem is a gem, right? It appears as just a mana emerald.
Peculiar.
Sunday, September 4, 2011
Dream Log, Entry X
Location: Stormwind City
Lunar Phase: Waxing Crescent
The sun shone down upon the large field. The grasses were yellow and the trees gold and red and brown with autumn sweeping across Lordaeron. A small group was gathered-- a priest in his finest robes, a man in the most ceremonial of dress armor and another man at the end of the aisle.
The two sides had no more than ten people each, all either dressed as military or magi. Music started, played by a lone violinist. A woman with pale skin, almost as white as her dress and long, loose, black hair began to walk the aisle. Autumn leaves crunched under her feet.
When she got to the end, the man at the end offered his hand. She reached out to take it, and suddenly, the mood went dark. In a flash, the autumn colors were gone and the guests were sinister creatures with the flesh rotting from their reanimated bones.
Urien's icy grip both froze and burned Faronne's bare arm, and he yanked her close, hissing in her ear.
"She told me how to absolve you of your sins. My sins. Our sins. We can't be here anymore… we're going to go home. We will be together forever. What I am going to do will bind you to me forever, my love."
She didn't even have the chance to scream before Urien's frozen, bleeding runeblade stabbed into her stomach, and sliced upward. He pressed his forehead to hers, and her tears froze on her face.
"There there. We don't have to worry about anything anymore. You are mine. The criminal and the corpse."
Faronne's body dropped to the ground. Her wounds poured blood onto the ground, which the undead audience looked at eagerly. It soaked into the parched soil, which in turned hissed and bubbled and seemed to turn to rust.
Urien loomed over her, and traced his runeblade over her corpse, "It has been a long time since my blade has fed…"
Analysis:
he tried to kill me
tried to kill me
nearly took my head off
listened to her, talked to her, saw her, after all she did, she took it from us
silverpine and andorhal and southshore and brill and all of Lordaeron
he LISTENED TO HER nearly TOOK MY HEAD OFF
He doesn't wear his amulet. Possessed? I don't know. He nearly killed me, my Urien...
F.P.
Lunar Phase: Waxing Crescent
The sun shone down upon the large field. The grasses were yellow and the trees gold and red and brown with autumn sweeping across Lordaeron. A small group was gathered-- a priest in his finest robes, a man in the most ceremonial of dress armor and another man at the end of the aisle.
The two sides had no more than ten people each, all either dressed as military or magi. Music started, played by a lone violinist. A woman with pale skin, almost as white as her dress and long, loose, black hair began to walk the aisle. Autumn leaves crunched under her feet.
When she got to the end, the man at the end offered his hand. She reached out to take it, and suddenly, the mood went dark. In a flash, the autumn colors were gone and the guests were sinister creatures with the flesh rotting from their reanimated bones.
Urien's icy grip both froze and burned Faronne's bare arm, and he yanked her close, hissing in her ear.
"She told me how to absolve you of your sins. My sins. Our sins. We can't be here anymore… we're going to go home. We will be together forever. What I am going to do will bind you to me forever, my love."
She didn't even have the chance to scream before Urien's frozen, bleeding runeblade stabbed into her stomach, and sliced upward. He pressed his forehead to hers, and her tears froze on her face.
"There there. We don't have to worry about anything anymore. You are mine. The criminal and the corpse."
Faronne's body dropped to the ground. Her wounds poured blood onto the ground, which the undead audience looked at eagerly. It soaked into the parched soil, which in turned hissed and bubbled and seemed to turn to rust.
Urien loomed over her, and traced his runeblade over her corpse, "It has been a long time since my blade has fed…"
Analysis:
he tried to kill me
tried to kill me
nearly took my head off
listened to her, talked to her, saw her, after all she did, she took it from us
silverpine and andorhal and southshore and brill and all of Lordaeron
he LISTENED TO HER nearly TOOK MY HEAD OFF
He doesn't wear his amulet. Possessed? I don't know. He nearly killed me, my Urien...
F.P.
Letter: J.V.
V.,
It is quite all right, friend. I know that you are a busy man and that your work takes you to the far-flung corners of Azeroth on a regular basis. Speaking of the far reaches of our world, I recently spent a fair amount of time in the north. I saw with my own eyes the remnants of Southshore. It was once a home… now it is nothing. There are rumors among the survivors in the Highlands that the people of Southsore themselves became part of the sentient ooze that slithers through the rubble. Do you know if there is any truth to that claim?
But onto happier topics: my strength is, in fact, returning to me. Aside from traveling from one place to the next, I am making a point to lay low, so to speak. My wound is healing nicely and my ribs are beginning to disappear. I smoke less. Perhaps this little sojourn is what I needed.
With my health returning, I find that I may not need to make further use of your contacts. Though I am, as always, ever grateful for all of your help.
I foresee my return to the south happening in a short while.
Regards,
P.
It is quite all right, friend. I know that you are a busy man and that your work takes you to the far-flung corners of Azeroth on a regular basis. Speaking of the far reaches of our world, I recently spent a fair amount of time in the north. I saw with my own eyes the remnants of Southshore. It was once a home… now it is nothing. There are rumors among the survivors in the Highlands that the people of Southsore themselves became part of the sentient ooze that slithers through the rubble. Do you know if there is any truth to that claim?
But onto happier topics: my strength is, in fact, returning to me. Aside from traveling from one place to the next, I am making a point to lay low, so to speak. My wound is healing nicely and my ribs are beginning to disappear. I smoke less. Perhaps this little sojourn is what I needed.
With my health returning, I find that I may not need to make further use of your contacts. Though I am, as always, ever grateful for all of your help.
I foresee my return to the south happening in a short while.
Regards,
P.
Thursday, September 1, 2011
Memories and Other Drugs
Blue and silver tapestries hung from the vaulted ceilings, and the warm glow of candles flickered throughout the room. Metal armor clanged and high heels clicked as the crowd of nobles, military and their dates danced about the stonework floors. The gala was in full swing.
"Price! Get your nose out of that scroll, grab a gentleman and dance. We don't come to the capital often, you might as well enjoy it, right?" a deep, bellowing voice cut through the music. It belonged to a tall, well-built man in ceremonial armor.
"Captain, honestly," the young, dark-haired woman sighed, "I need to read these briefings. I've never been that far into the Highlands, I want to be sure of the terrain before we leave tomorrow, and--"
The man snatched the scroll out of her hand, rolled it up and tucked it under his breastplate, "Go. Have fun. That is an order, Price," he smirked, then strolled off with one lady on each arm.
"Fun. Fun? This is stupid," the young Faronne Price grumbled as she rubbed at her temple. Social events, galas and the like, were never really her cup of tea. The clothes were stuffy, the company terrible, and she couldn't dance. Sighing, she tossed the long braid over her shoulder and rose. Out of habit, she smoothed the wrinkles out from the front of her dress, adjusted her collar and rested her hand on her rapier. Her lined eyes scanned the crowd.
Noblemen making lewd gestures at groups of women. Couples dancing, lamenting over their short time together. A group of knights staring at her. The band playing Wait-- a group of knights staring at her.
Faronne scowled at them and crossed her arms, to which they waved her over. Resigning herself to be made fun of, she crossed the room over to them, boots clicking on the floor all the way.
"Capital city knights, I see. What do you want?"
"You. You're in that traveling fringe unit, yeah? The one fighting trolls?" one of the soldiers asked over his mug of ale.
"Yeah--" she cleared her throat, "Yes, I am. Faronne Price," she introduced herself, and rested her hands at her side. One of them was caught in a metal gauntlet, and a gentle kiss placed upon it. She tensed at the touch, and did her best to smile through it, "And you are?"
"Urien Fuoco," the one who caught her hand immediately piped up, and offered a smile. His pale skin contrasted his dark hair, which hung in loose braids over his shoulder. She could almost see herself in his armor, it was so well-kept, "Dance with me?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"I don't dance."
"You don't know how."
"Y-Yes!"
His only reply was a mockingly stern look, and his lips curled into a grin.
"You're bitchy and defensive, the rumors are true," Urien remarked quietly.
Stunned by this, Faronne was silent for a few moments before sending a blast of arcane force at him, effectively knocking him out of his chair. The clatter of plate mail on the stone floor was loud, and the collective gasp of Urien's peers was louder. The music stopped. Partygoers looked over.
Faronne's features turned bright red and she immediately reached out a hand to help him up, "Er. Uh. Everything is fine! Just a little too much wine-- I mean-- ale. Too much ale!"
"We're dancing," Urien said softly once he got to his feet, and led the reluctant Faronne to the floor. He placed her left hand on his shoulder, his right hand on her hip, and their other hands linked in the air, "Just follow my lead. Waltzes are pretty hard to screw up."
Having run out of protests, Faronne only sighed and danced in the small circle he led her into. Out of the corner of her eye, Faronne could see Urien's cohorts passing gold coins amongst each other.
"What's THAT all about?"
"Oh, the guys… it was a bet. A stupid one, at that. I was going to ask you to dance, anyway."
"Why me?"
"Because you're pretty, and you were sitting there by yourself."
"Oh, well… thank you, I guess. Sorry for knocking you out of your chair."
Urien smiled at this, and dipped Faronne back, "I deserved it."
They danced together for the remainder of the song, at which point they retreated to the edge of the dance floor. Faronne's captain patted her shoulder, "Ah, Price! I see you met Fuoco, here. Good thing, too, he's coming with us to the Highlands. Little extra muscle for the things that you CAN'T burn to a crisp," the Captain laughed.
"Oh.. really, now. And why didn't you inform me of this earlier, Captain?"
"Slipped my mind. I'm enjoying the evening, unlike you, Price."
Faronne scowled and Urien just smiled, "In any case, it was a good dance, Mistress Price, and I look forward to traveling with you," he said, and gave her a low, sweeping bow as he kissed her hand. She responded with a curtsey.
"Err… yes. Thank you for the warning- I mean, the dance lesson. It was lovely," she paused just a little as she noticed Urien was still holding her hand, "We leave an hour before dawn. Meet us in the courtyard."
"Yes, ma'am."
They both saluted at each other and Faronne quickly turned on her heel to leave, while Urien stayed facing her. He caught her gaze when she looked over her shoulder back at him, and both their faces broke into smiles.
"You like him," the other spellcaster at Faronne's table remarked,
"What? No!" she said a little too quickly, and then just sighed, "Maybe, just a little. We will see how this mission goes."
---
Faronne snapped out of her reverie, and back down at her work. Six purple crystals were all in a row, perfectly aligned despite their somewhat irregular shapes. Her skeletal fingers traced over the larger of the six crystals, and she closed her eyes and began focusing.
The crystal's energy was exhilarating, giving her temporary reprieve from the pain in her chest and leg. Her recovery was slow going, and at the expense of the lives of others, but this accomplished magus, and studying warlock, cared little.
High from the energy of the stored soul fragment, she closed her eyes and allowed her thoughts to drift.
---
"What about you, what got you into the military?" Urien asked Faronne, and nudged gently at her side.
"It's what I always wanted to do. My father was a war mage, my grandfather was, and his father… all the way back to the troll wars, when the high elves taught humans how to use magic," Faronne replied with a light smile as she combed her long black hair.
"That's got to be nice, coming from such a lineage and carrying it on. My folks are mages-- Kirin Tor-- but I'm no good with spells," he sheepishly replied, and then poked at the campfire with a long stick.
"Everyone's always good at something. From what I saw today, you're damn good with a sword. That's not a talent that everyone possesses."
"You're pretty good with one, yourself. I've never seen a war mage up close, it's a bit odd seeing someone cast a spell and cut down an enemy at such close range. That being said, I'm surprised we worked so well together out there, it was like…"
"…we'd been working together for years, right? I know. It's not often I find a paladin I don't have to keep talking to to keep our attacks coordinated."
"…and it's not often I find someone who finishes my sentences."
The two fell silent as they looked each other over in the flickering light of the campfire. She had scooted closer to him, and his arm had snaked around her waist.
"What now?" Urien asked.
"Shut up," Faronne muttered, and pressed her lips to his.
Her daydream was interrupted by the sharp pain in her leg, and another ache in her chest when she sucked in a deep breath. Coming down was always the hardest part.
"D-damn it…" she hissed, and struggled to her feet. While doing this, she managed to knock her cane over and lose grip on the edge of the table. Her emaciated frame hit the ground with an unceremonious thud, and she howled in pain.
A soul shard had landed in front of her face, and Faronne weakly reached out to take it in her hand, "Need to find you, Vosmus… damn things… aren't potent enough," she growled, and threw the crystal across the room.
"Price! Get your nose out of that scroll, grab a gentleman and dance. We don't come to the capital often, you might as well enjoy it, right?" a deep, bellowing voice cut through the music. It belonged to a tall, well-built man in ceremonial armor.
"Captain, honestly," the young, dark-haired woman sighed, "I need to read these briefings. I've never been that far into the Highlands, I want to be sure of the terrain before we leave tomorrow, and--"
The man snatched the scroll out of her hand, rolled it up and tucked it under his breastplate, "Go. Have fun. That is an order, Price," he smirked, then strolled off with one lady on each arm.
"Fun. Fun? This is stupid," the young Faronne Price grumbled as she rubbed at her temple. Social events, galas and the like, were never really her cup of tea. The clothes were stuffy, the company terrible, and she couldn't dance. Sighing, she tossed the long braid over her shoulder and rose. Out of habit, she smoothed the wrinkles out from the front of her dress, adjusted her collar and rested her hand on her rapier. Her lined eyes scanned the crowd.
Noblemen making lewd gestures at groups of women. Couples dancing, lamenting over their short time together. A group of knights staring at her. The band playing Wait-- a group of knights staring at her.
Faronne scowled at them and crossed her arms, to which they waved her over. Resigning herself to be made fun of, she crossed the room over to them, boots clicking on the floor all the way.
"Capital city knights, I see. What do you want?"
"You. You're in that traveling fringe unit, yeah? The one fighting trolls?" one of the soldiers asked over his mug of ale.
"Yeah--" she cleared her throat, "Yes, I am. Faronne Price," she introduced herself, and rested her hands at her side. One of them was caught in a metal gauntlet, and a gentle kiss placed upon it. She tensed at the touch, and did her best to smile through it, "And you are?"
"Urien Fuoco," the one who caught her hand immediately piped up, and offered a smile. His pale skin contrasted his dark hair, which hung in loose braids over his shoulder. She could almost see herself in his armor, it was so well-kept, "Dance with me?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"I don't dance."
"You don't know how."
"Y-Yes!"
His only reply was a mockingly stern look, and his lips curled into a grin.
"You're bitchy and defensive, the rumors are true," Urien remarked quietly.
Stunned by this, Faronne was silent for a few moments before sending a blast of arcane force at him, effectively knocking him out of his chair. The clatter of plate mail on the stone floor was loud, and the collective gasp of Urien's peers was louder. The music stopped. Partygoers looked over.
Faronne's features turned bright red and she immediately reached out a hand to help him up, "Er. Uh. Everything is fine! Just a little too much wine-- I mean-- ale. Too much ale!"
"We're dancing," Urien said softly once he got to his feet, and led the reluctant Faronne to the floor. He placed her left hand on his shoulder, his right hand on her hip, and their other hands linked in the air, "Just follow my lead. Waltzes are pretty hard to screw up."
Having run out of protests, Faronne only sighed and danced in the small circle he led her into. Out of the corner of her eye, Faronne could see Urien's cohorts passing gold coins amongst each other.
"What's THAT all about?"
"Oh, the guys… it was a bet. A stupid one, at that. I was going to ask you to dance, anyway."
"Why me?"
"Because you're pretty, and you were sitting there by yourself."
"Oh, well… thank you, I guess. Sorry for knocking you out of your chair."
Urien smiled at this, and dipped Faronne back, "I deserved it."
They danced together for the remainder of the song, at which point they retreated to the edge of the dance floor. Faronne's captain patted her shoulder, "Ah, Price! I see you met Fuoco, here. Good thing, too, he's coming with us to the Highlands. Little extra muscle for the things that you CAN'T burn to a crisp," the Captain laughed.
"Oh.. really, now. And why didn't you inform me of this earlier, Captain?"
"Slipped my mind. I'm enjoying the evening, unlike you, Price."
Faronne scowled and Urien just smiled, "In any case, it was a good dance, Mistress Price, and I look forward to traveling with you," he said, and gave her a low, sweeping bow as he kissed her hand. She responded with a curtsey.
"Err… yes. Thank you for the warning- I mean, the dance lesson. It was lovely," she paused just a little as she noticed Urien was still holding her hand, "We leave an hour before dawn. Meet us in the courtyard."
"Yes, ma'am."
They both saluted at each other and Faronne quickly turned on her heel to leave, while Urien stayed facing her. He caught her gaze when she looked over her shoulder back at him, and both their faces broke into smiles.
"You like him," the other spellcaster at Faronne's table remarked,
"What? No!" she said a little too quickly, and then just sighed, "Maybe, just a little. We will see how this mission goes."
---
Faronne snapped out of her reverie, and back down at her work. Six purple crystals were all in a row, perfectly aligned despite their somewhat irregular shapes. Her skeletal fingers traced over the larger of the six crystals, and she closed her eyes and began focusing.
The crystal's energy was exhilarating, giving her temporary reprieve from the pain in her chest and leg. Her recovery was slow going, and at the expense of the lives of others, but this accomplished magus, and studying warlock, cared little.
High from the energy of the stored soul fragment, she closed her eyes and allowed her thoughts to drift.
---
"What about you, what got you into the military?" Urien asked Faronne, and nudged gently at her side.
"It's what I always wanted to do. My father was a war mage, my grandfather was, and his father… all the way back to the troll wars, when the high elves taught humans how to use magic," Faronne replied with a light smile as she combed her long black hair.
"That's got to be nice, coming from such a lineage and carrying it on. My folks are mages-- Kirin Tor-- but I'm no good with spells," he sheepishly replied, and then poked at the campfire with a long stick.
"Everyone's always good at something. From what I saw today, you're damn good with a sword. That's not a talent that everyone possesses."
"You're pretty good with one, yourself. I've never seen a war mage up close, it's a bit odd seeing someone cast a spell and cut down an enemy at such close range. That being said, I'm surprised we worked so well together out there, it was like…"
"…we'd been working together for years, right? I know. It's not often I find a paladin I don't have to keep talking to to keep our attacks coordinated."
"…and it's not often I find someone who finishes my sentences."
The two fell silent as they looked each other over in the flickering light of the campfire. She had scooted closer to him, and his arm had snaked around her waist.
"What now?" Urien asked.
"Shut up," Faronne muttered, and pressed her lips to his.
Her daydream was interrupted by the sharp pain in her leg, and another ache in her chest when she sucked in a deep breath. Coming down was always the hardest part.
"D-damn it…" she hissed, and struggled to her feet. While doing this, she managed to knock her cane over and lose grip on the edge of the table. Her emaciated frame hit the ground with an unceremonious thud, and she howled in pain.
A soul shard had landed in front of her face, and Faronne weakly reached out to take it in her hand, "Need to find you, Vosmus… damn things… aren't potent enough," she growled, and threw the crystal across the room.
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