Day of the Dead was always an interesting time for the arcanist Faronne Price. On prior years, she'd always found herself slumped over the makeshift grave of her long-dead husband, half-empty bottle of whiskey in one hand, and smoldering cigarette in the other. She'd stay there as a crumpled, sobbing mess until the cemetery's guards would order her to leave.
This year was different. This year, Faronne Price was smiling for Day of the Dead.
"N-No, s-stop, let me go, you're hurting me!"
The smile quickly faded.
"Oh, hush," she spat, and took a swig from her flask. The whiskey burned her throat as she swallowed, and her tiny body shuddered.
"You'll never get away with this! You… you vile witch, you monster!"
The man strapped to the large slab of stone in the middle of the workshop frantically struggled against his bonds. He'd been strapped down tightly. This man wouldn't be leaving the workshop in one piece.
"You're right-- Daniel-- that was your name? Forgive me, the mind tends to fog with age," Faronne shrugged, and took another swig of whiskey, "You are most certainly right that I will never get away with this! I will be judged, Daniel, by a being, by a force that is much, much higher than the silly laws and taboos of humanity. Be it the Light--" she pauses to scoff at the notion, "--or something more sinister. All things come to an end."
Daniel stared at Faronne, and his eyes were as wide as saucers. He'd stopped struggling, and his horrified eyes took in the sights of the quaint little workshop in the wastes of Shadowmoon Valley. Cutlery on the walls, and racks of vials and reagents rattled with each impact of the infernal rains, and an eerie green glow filtered in through the one window. The lantern in the center of the ceiling swung wildly.
"Evil witch!" Daniel yelled, and spat. Faronne's bony hand collided with his cheek, and her rings sliced the young man's cheek. He yelped, and Faronne just sighed as she tucked stray locks of hair behind his ear.
"Shhhh, darling," she whispered in his ear, and then lapped at the tiniest bit of blood, "Do not despair. Today is Day of the Dead. To some, it is a celebration, Daniel. Rest assured that you will be mourned. Someone will miss you, and they will call upon your spirit but one day out of the year."
Daniel held his breath and forced his eyes shut. He could feel Faronne's breath tickling his ear, and the alcohol and cigarettes on her breath made him want to vomit.
"You will have to be a patient lad and wait until next year, though," the tiny woman said with a creepily jovial smile, and patted his chest. On the last pat, Daniel felt his breath catch in his throat and a supernatural chill permeate his body.
A soft glow of purple formed underneath Faronne's palm, and she slowly drew her skeletal hand back. Little wisps of purple, with what looked like tiny faces, began to swirl up from Daniel's chest and into Faronne's palm. They coalesced into a jagged purple gem, which grew in size with each merging essence.
Daniel's skin was pallid, and his eyes were frozen open with terror, and the onset of death. She could feel his consciousness, and the very essence of his soul waning. Her other hand brushed through his hair, and then retrieved the dagger from her side.
"Someone will mourn you," she whispered again, and then closed her fist around the soul shard. At that very moment, Daniel's body convulsed, and she plunged the dagger into his chest with all of her might. Daniel stopped moving, stopped breathing, stopped everything. She left the dagger in his chest, and held the soul shard up to the swinging light above.
"Mmm. Getting better…" she smirked, and then sank down to sit on the floor. Her back leaned up against the stone slab, and she pocketed the shard. The flask was at her lips again, and she took a greedy drink.
Friday, November 4, 2011
Monday, October 10, 2011
Crux
Duskwood. The mist had been particularly thick that night, settling in a blanket over the dead foliage of Raven Hill. The smoke from a small camp fire rose in a winding stream to mix with the fog. It was in the center of a pentacle, crudely drawn with a stick in the dirt. At each of the star's points was a small candle, their flickering barely noticeable in the misty dark.
A hooded figure limped around the drawn circle that enclosed the pentacle. The figure was female, shrouded in fine, embroidered black and silver robes. After one complete circle around the fire, the woman snapped her cape back with flourish. The fabric billowed behind her in the slight breeze, and the candles and bonfire flickered. Light reflected off of her monocle, and illuminated the raised areas of her face while shadowing the gaunt hollows even more.
"Here you are, Lady Price… wicked witch, fallen from grace, left only to your schemes and little games. You have no country, you have no companion, you have no love," the woman spoke to herself in a voice hardly above a whisper, "Only hate. Only schemes."
Her skeletal fingers reached under the collar of her robe, and pulled out a long golden chain with a locket at the end. With one sharp tug, she broke the chain and held the locket out in the palm of her thin hand.
The tiny fingers opened the oval locket, revealing a small painted portrait of a man and woman, both tall with dark hair. They were in grand uniforms of silver and gold, smiling, holding each other. Carefully, she slipped the portrait out from the locket and held it up.
"You are lost to me now, my love. We cannot be together. Criminal and corpse does not make a suitable marriage. Your mind is weak, you have fallen prey to powers beyond either of our control. My husband, Urien Fuoco, died in Andorhal. Should I come across the maddening, murderous corpse that once belong to him…"
With a simple flick, she tossed the portrait into the fire.
"I will burn it to nothing but ash. Your soul will see no torment; only rest. I loved you," she kissed the locket, and threw it into the fire along with the portrait, "No longer will your body be my weakness."
Faronne Price stretched her hand out, fingers extended, and turned her wrist to face her palm to the sky. A small ember danced there, flickering and moving about in tandem with the bonfire. Squinting to focus, she uttered a small incantation under her breath.
In a brilliant display of fire, red with fury, tempered with the blue of arcane frost, both the bonfire and flame in her palm grew. The bonfire raged, fueled by only the will of the arcanist. She could see the metal locket become orange with the heat, then begin to bubble and ooze into liquid droplets.
The fire burned through the fabric of her glove, and Faronne only hissed, relishing the pain. A moment later, she closed her fist around the flame. Simultaneously, the bonfire and flames at the pentacle's points all went out.
"And so the Covenant is reborn," she said lowly, smelling both burnt cloth and flesh. Her fist released, extending each finger one by one. Smoke streamed up from it, barely visible in the moonlight.
Abruptly, she teleported from that spot outside of Raven Hill. A swirling vortex of mana was left in her wake, knocking the candles over and covering the pentacle with dirt. The wind settled and mana dissipated, leaving only the destroyed ritual site.
A hooded figure limped around the drawn circle that enclosed the pentacle. The figure was female, shrouded in fine, embroidered black and silver robes. After one complete circle around the fire, the woman snapped her cape back with flourish. The fabric billowed behind her in the slight breeze, and the candles and bonfire flickered. Light reflected off of her monocle, and illuminated the raised areas of her face while shadowing the gaunt hollows even more.
"Here you are, Lady Price… wicked witch, fallen from grace, left only to your schemes and little games. You have no country, you have no companion, you have no love," the woman spoke to herself in a voice hardly above a whisper, "Only hate. Only schemes."
Her skeletal fingers reached under the collar of her robe, and pulled out a long golden chain with a locket at the end. With one sharp tug, she broke the chain and held the locket out in the palm of her thin hand.
The tiny fingers opened the oval locket, revealing a small painted portrait of a man and woman, both tall with dark hair. They were in grand uniforms of silver and gold, smiling, holding each other. Carefully, she slipped the portrait out from the locket and held it up.
"You are lost to me now, my love. We cannot be together. Criminal and corpse does not make a suitable marriage. Your mind is weak, you have fallen prey to powers beyond either of our control. My husband, Urien Fuoco, died in Andorhal. Should I come across the maddening, murderous corpse that once belong to him…"
With a simple flick, she tossed the portrait into the fire.
"I will burn it to nothing but ash. Your soul will see no torment; only rest. I loved you," she kissed the locket, and threw it into the fire along with the portrait, "No longer will your body be my weakness."
Faronne Price stretched her hand out, fingers extended, and turned her wrist to face her palm to the sky. A small ember danced there, flickering and moving about in tandem with the bonfire. Squinting to focus, she uttered a small incantation under her breath.
In a brilliant display of fire, red with fury, tempered with the blue of arcane frost, both the bonfire and flame in her palm grew. The bonfire raged, fueled by only the will of the arcanist. She could see the metal locket become orange with the heat, then begin to bubble and ooze into liquid droplets.
The fire burned through the fabric of her glove, and Faronne only hissed, relishing the pain. A moment later, she closed her fist around the flame. Simultaneously, the bonfire and flames at the pentacle's points all went out.
"And so the Covenant is reborn," she said lowly, smelling both burnt cloth and flesh. Her fist released, extending each finger one by one. Smoke streamed up from it, barely visible in the moonlight.
Abruptly, she teleported from that spot outside of Raven Hill. A swirling vortex of mana was left in her wake, knocking the candles over and covering the pentacle with dirt. The wind settled and mana dissipated, leaving only the destroyed ritual site.
"The Conception" -Shoji Meguro
Friday, October 7, 2011
Information for Gold
((Hastily-written notes. All information acquired ICly.))
Met with contact, information reported.
-Subject seeking mentoring from another priest-- 'Mooney'
-Gone to Molten Front with paladin 'Aurric' -- (name is familiar, but where?) Talk of romance between the two.
-Seeking alchemy lessons from draenei-- 'Caade'
-Allergies: Darnassian maple pollen, shellfish, skethyl berries.
-Prone to sunburns
-Blood Type: O
-Worgen Curse
-Assisted in torture and dissection of Twilight's Hammer cultist
-Physical skills: limited.
Interesting.
Met with contact, information reported.
-Subject seeking mentoring from another priest-- 'Mooney'
-Gone to Molten Front with paladin 'Aurric' -- (name is familiar, but where?) Talk of romance between the two.
-Seeking alchemy lessons from draenei-- 'Caade'
-Allergies: Darnassian maple pollen, shellfish, skethyl berries.
-Prone to sunburns
-Blood Type: O
-Worgen Curse
-Assisted in torture and dissection of Twilight's Hammer cultist
-Physical skills: limited.
Interesting.
And crying out to the sky cause he was lonely and scared
But only the devil responded, cause god wasn't there
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
A Moth to Flame
((Song for this entry is "Ripe (With Decay)" - Nine Inch Nails.))
Journal, journal.
It's been such a long time since I have terrified someone so wholly through only words.
Miss Agnes Yardley… a young girl of Gilnean heritage. Her accent gave it away at first, but I was quick to discern much of the rest of her life. She is an orphan, a survivor of civil war and witness to the most terrible of deeds, one of which likely being the murder of her family. She reminds me so much of myself, after the invasion of Andorhal. Young, completely alone in the world. Terrified and enraged at the same time, under the veneer of a proper lady. Nothing to lose, everything to prove.
I can see that she is drawn to me. Terrified, first, but after the first wave of terror comes interest. Almost like a moth to flame, now that I think of it. If she truly had no want to be near me, to listen to my words or listen to what I have to offer her, she would have run away the instant she laid eyes upon me. She would have not come to meet me at the altar today, just as I had asked of her.
There is something underneath the surface of the lady that wants no more than to help others. Something wicked, separate from her curse. Drive. Desire. A thirst to be recognized, to be the one using others instead of the one being used.
She will come back, and I will offer her greatness.
I am, however, quite pleased with this kitten I had adopted from her. The little female provides such good company for Mittens, who has been lonely since Ludovick and Emmercy's departures. I will name her Amelia.
--F.P.
Journal, journal.
It's been such a long time since I have terrified someone so wholly through only words.
Miss Agnes Yardley… a young girl of Gilnean heritage. Her accent gave it away at first, but I was quick to discern much of the rest of her life. She is an orphan, a survivor of civil war and witness to the most terrible of deeds, one of which likely being the murder of her family. She reminds me so much of myself, after the invasion of Andorhal. Young, completely alone in the world. Terrified and enraged at the same time, under the veneer of a proper lady. Nothing to lose, everything to prove.
I can see that she is drawn to me. Terrified, first, but after the first wave of terror comes interest. Almost like a moth to flame, now that I think of it. If she truly had no want to be near me, to listen to my words or listen to what I have to offer her, she would have run away the instant she laid eyes upon me. She would have not come to meet me at the altar today, just as I had asked of her.
There is something underneath the surface of the lady that wants no more than to help others. Something wicked, separate from her curse. Drive. Desire. A thirst to be recognized, to be the one using others instead of the one being used.
She will come back, and I will offer her greatness.
I am, however, quite pleased with this kitten I had adopted from her. The little female provides such good company for Mittens, who has been lonely since Ludovick and Emmercy's departures. I will name her Amelia.
--F.P.
Monday, October 3, 2011
OOC: Music Post, Updated
I have been meaning to post one of these for awhile now so, here you go.
1. "Criminal" -Fiona Apple ("What would an angel say? The devil wants to know…)
2. "I Can't Decide" -Scissor Sisters
3. "#1 Crush" -Garbage
4. "Winter in My Heart" -VAST
5. "Please" -Nine Inch Nails (note: video also relevant to Faro's character. NSFW.)
6. "Let the Poison Spill From Your Throat" -The Faint
7. "Until it Sleeps" -Metallica (bonus Apocalyptica cover!)
8. "Sober" -Tool
9. "Falling Again" -Lacuna Coil
10. "Destroy Everything You Touch" -Ladytron
11. "Dirty Little Thing" -Velvet Revolver
12. "Post Blue" -Placebo
13. "Macabre" -Dir en grey (English lyrics)
1. "Criminal" -Fiona Apple ("What would an angel say? The devil wants to know…)
2. "I Can't Decide" -Scissor Sisters
3. "#1 Crush" -Garbage
4. "Winter in My Heart" -VAST
5. "Please" -Nine Inch Nails (note: video also relevant to Faro's character. NSFW.)
6. "Let the Poison Spill From Your Throat" -The Faint
7. "Until it Sleeps" -Metallica (bonus Apocalyptica cover!)
8. "Sober" -Tool
9. "Falling Again" -Lacuna Coil
10. "Destroy Everything You Touch" -Ladytron
11. "Dirty Little Thing" -Velvet Revolver
12. "Post Blue" -Placebo
13. "Macabre" -Dir en grey (English lyrics)
Friday, September 30, 2011
Duskwood
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.
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.
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.
Monday, August 22, 2011
My Mentor
It has been close to twenty years since I had last seen my mentor, John Vechna. The rumors were true-- he is undead. I am not certain if this is better or worse than him being gone forever. He doesn't particularly seem to mind it. I'd always heard stories about the undead, how they feel no emotions, that they only remember what things felt like when they were alive. Does he truly care for me as he did when I was his student, or is he merely feigning it for his own amusement? Does Urien do that with me?
He covers himself entirely, and wears a ghastly skull-shaped plate over his face. He won't let me look at him, he won't let me touch him. (He has two right hands!)
The journey north has left me weary. I must rest.
--F.P.
He covers himself entirely, and wears a ghastly skull-shaped plate over his face. He won't let me look at him, he won't let me touch him. (He has two right hands!)
The journey north has left me weary. I must rest.
--F.P.
Saturday, August 20, 2011
Letter: to Urien
((Left at the Stormwind Cathedral, addressed to Urien Fuoco, wax sealed (with a rune embossing, rather than family crest). It is bewitched to bleed ink and be rendered illegible if not opened by Urien-- it will react to the enchantment on his envelope.))
My husband,
We've been separated again, and it is entirely my fault. With the quarantine for that awful disease being held in Dalaran, I panicked. I fled, for a variety of reasons. I did not want to contract it myself, I did not want to happen upon those either of us would consider enemies.
Nevertheless, I am safe, in a manner of speaking. I have taken it upon myself to keep my head down, and am recovering from grievous wounds. You'll never believe this, but I lost a duel. I am more than thankful that my old friend was there to witness it, as he saved my life. Now more than ever, I am realizing my condition. How I don't take care of myself. How I keep pushing myself when there is quite simply nothing left. I assure you, I am resting as much as I can without going completely stir-crazy.
I would love for nothing more than to be reunited with you once again. We can be away from the city-- away from that silly boat of murderous do-gooders, away from the fractured remains of the coven, away from all of it. I know that I have done terrible things, that I have been distant, that I have been the worst wife.
For that I am sorry. Truly so.
[There are a few started sentences, but they are all scribbled out after the first few words.]
Have you been to the Western Province recently? Parts near Andorhal are green again. It is breathtaking. Perhaps I can see you there in person, soon.
With love,
Faronne
My husband,
We've been separated again, and it is entirely my fault. With the quarantine for that awful disease being held in Dalaran, I panicked. I fled, for a variety of reasons. I did not want to contract it myself, I did not want to happen upon those either of us would consider enemies.
Nevertheless, I am safe, in a manner of speaking. I have taken it upon myself to keep my head down, and am recovering from grievous wounds. You'll never believe this, but I lost a duel. I am more than thankful that my old friend was there to witness it, as he saved my life. Now more than ever, I am realizing my condition. How I don't take care of myself. How I keep pushing myself when there is quite simply nothing left. I assure you, I am resting as much as I can without going completely stir-crazy.
I would love for nothing more than to be reunited with you once again. We can be away from the city-- away from that silly boat of murderous do-gooders, away from the fractured remains of the coven, away from all of it. I know that I have done terrible things, that I have been distant, that I have been the worst wife.
For that I am sorry. Truly so.
[There are a few started sentences, but they are all scribbled out after the first few words.]
Have you been to the Western Province recently? Parts near Andorhal are green again. It is breathtaking. Perhaps I can see you there in person, soon.
With love,
Faronne
Letter: The Mentor-Lich
((This will have found its way to Vechna through magical means. Maybe undead carrier pigeons, because why not?))
My mentor,
I heard a rumor that you're up and skulking about, though the term 'alive' was used very, very loosely. It has been some time since I have had contacted with you, or anyone from the old days. I miss you, I miss them, I miss all of it.
Recently, my research has taken some interesting turns. You've taught me much about battlemagics. I want to learn more. The rumors also said that you could teach me such.
I await our reunion. It is long overdue.
Signed,
Your brightest student
My mentor,
I heard a rumor that you're up and skulking about, though the term 'alive' was used very, very loosely. It has been some time since I have had contacted with you, or anyone from the old days. I miss you, I miss them, I miss all of it.
Recently, my research has taken some interesting turns. You've taught me much about battlemagics. I want to learn more. The rumors also said that you could teach me such.
I await our reunion. It is long overdue.
Signed,
Your brightest student
Letter: J.V.
((Delivered by carrier pigeon. Because they're cool. If they don't exist in WoW, they should.))
V.,
I apologize for leaving with little notice at all. I have managed to overexert myself, and wind up back on strict bed rest. Granted, it did not take much effort at all, but walking about unaccompanied in the open is rarely ever a good idea. As such, here I am. I will not tell you where, as a precaution in case this letter is intercepted.
My health is stable, thankfully. The elixir which you and your contacts have so graciously provided has been tremendously helpful, my little mishap aside. The process is taking somewhat longer than I thought it would, but I am noticing a definite upward trend. I no longer cough blood.
Despite my little 'sabbatical' as you could call it, I am still very interested in what you are up to. I hear rumors and received a letter regarding the Weave. I want to be a part of this. I want to be of help. Though I am far away, magic permeates everything. Elixirs and enchantments can be sent through rifts. I hardly want to sit idle while I wait for these wounds to heal.
Perhaps when I am well enough for visitors, we can speak of this in person.
Regards,
P.
V.,
I apologize for leaving with little notice at all. I have managed to overexert myself, and wind up back on strict bed rest. Granted, it did not take much effort at all, but walking about unaccompanied in the open is rarely ever a good idea. As such, here I am. I will not tell you where, as a precaution in case this letter is intercepted.
My health is stable, thankfully. The elixir which you and your contacts have so graciously provided has been tremendously helpful, my little mishap aside. The process is taking somewhat longer than I thought it would, but I am noticing a definite upward trend. I no longer cough blood.
Despite my little 'sabbatical' as you could call it, I am still very interested in what you are up to. I hear rumors and received a letter regarding the Weave. I want to be a part of this. I want to be of help. Though I am far away, magic permeates everything. Elixirs and enchantments can be sent through rifts. I hardly want to sit idle while I wait for these wounds to heal.
Perhaps when I am well enough for visitors, we can speak of this in person.
Regards,
P.
Monday, July 25, 2011
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Lonely Waltz
Location: Raven Hill, Duskwood
Lunar Phase: Waxing Gibbous
Note: Irregular sleep patterns, dwelling is unseasonably cold and worgen howling close to settlement
I was dancing, dancing again, just as I was able to do before the war. A slow waltz, turning slowly, gently stepping to the slow beat of the music. I was by myself, though, dancing alone as I have been for months. The floorboards creak and strain under my own meager weight, and the heels of my boots tap lightly with each step.
It's a lonely existence. There is nothing but a fine mist in the air, and the dust of ages on the floor. No sound save for what I make. I'm dancing alone.
Analysis: The coven is destroyed. What little there remained with Miss Saudeco has all but evaporated, and Vosmus's own plans with Miss Solase have failed spectacularly. Some strange magical disease had plagued society, and for some reason, the Ledgermain Lounge was used as a quarantine point-- given my flat is above the esablishment, I gathered what things that were important to me and stashed them in my workshop. I came to Vosmus thereafter. We're squatting in this abandoned house atop Raven Hill, two old souls with failing bodies and minds, researching and hardly sleeping. We might die here. We might go insane here. I can't tell. I hate it. I want Urien, but I've not heard from him in months. I fear he has succumbed to the disease, or that his spell has failed, or that he simply doesn't want me any longer...
Lunar Phase: Waxing Gibbous
Note: Irregular sleep patterns, dwelling is unseasonably cold and worgen howling close to settlement
I was dancing, dancing again, just as I was able to do before the war. A slow waltz, turning slowly, gently stepping to the slow beat of the music. I was by myself, though, dancing alone as I have been for months. The floorboards creak and strain under my own meager weight, and the heels of my boots tap lightly with each step.
It's a lonely existence. There is nothing but a fine mist in the air, and the dust of ages on the floor. No sound save for what I make. I'm dancing alone.
Analysis: The coven is destroyed. What little there remained with Miss Saudeco has all but evaporated, and Vosmus's own plans with Miss Solase have failed spectacularly. Some strange magical disease had plagued society, and for some reason, the Ledgermain Lounge was used as a quarantine point-- given my flat is above the esablishment, I gathered what things that were important to me and stashed them in my workshop. I came to Vosmus thereafter. We're squatting in this abandoned house atop Raven Hill, two old souls with failing bodies and minds, researching and hardly sleeping. We might die here. We might go insane here. I can't tell. I hate it. I want Urien, but I've not heard from him in months. I fear he has succumbed to the disease, or that his spell has failed, or that he simply doesn't want me any longer...
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
A Letter
Urien,
I don't know where to find you reliably, so I am leaving this with the priests at the Cathedral in hopes that you receive this. Where are you?
I've not seen you since I gave you the amulet and I worry for you. I need to follow up with the amulet, and make sure it is working properly. If it's not, we maybe able to prevent further damage, if not reverse it.
I can't come to see you in Stormwind for the foreseeable future. It's not safe. Be careful.
--F.P.
I don't know where to find you reliably, so I am leaving this with the priests at the Cathedral in hopes that you receive this. Where are you?
I've not seen you since I gave you the amulet and I worry for you. I need to follow up with the amulet, and make sure it is working properly. If it's not, we maybe able to prevent further damage, if not reverse it.
I can't come to see you in Stormwind for the foreseeable future. It's not safe. Be careful.
--F.P.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Children
Location: Ledgermain Lounge, Dalaran
Lunar Phase: Waxing Crescent
Note: Spectacular aurora this evening.
The journey to Stromgarde, while it deviated significantly from the plan, was successful. I've compiled at least four scrolls for Nessun to go over, and I believe Miss Dray will be providing him with maps and speculations as to where the keep's hidden chambers are. I shall confirm via astral projection.
It has been interesting, these last few days. I have confirmed that Miss Dray is carrying Nessun's child, and the girl is terrified. It seems that her schemes to put Nessun in a corner have failed, and that she is the one who has been outwitted simply by the circumstances. She wishes to terminate the child, and I will do what I can to prevent her from doing such.
Nessun cried last night. His son's life was taken from him, and now his remains and soul is in the hands of the Forsaken. I understand his desire for vengeance, and I also understand his desire for another child. If I could give him one myself, I would, but I know that I am physically incapable of carrying a child to term. Emmercy is.
I have yet to find Urien. I'm beginning to suspect that the spell failed.
--F.P.
Note to self: Investigate 'Delahan Division' more closely. Wound-- no-- completely shatter the pride of one Alanden Damoux.
Lunar Phase: Waxing Crescent
Note: Spectacular aurora this evening.
The journey to Stromgarde, while it deviated significantly from the plan, was successful. I've compiled at least four scrolls for Nessun to go over, and I believe Miss Dray will be providing him with maps and speculations as to where the keep's hidden chambers are. I shall confirm via astral projection.
It has been interesting, these last few days. I have confirmed that Miss Dray is carrying Nessun's child, and the girl is terrified. It seems that her schemes to put Nessun in a corner have failed, and that she is the one who has been outwitted simply by the circumstances. She wishes to terminate the child, and I will do what I can to prevent her from doing such.
Nessun cried last night. His son's life was taken from him, and now his remains and soul is in the hands of the Forsaken. I understand his desire for vengeance, and I also understand his desire for another child. If I could give him one myself, I would, but I know that I am physically incapable of carrying a child to term. Emmercy is.
I have yet to find Urien. I'm beginning to suspect that the spell failed.
--F.P.
Note to self: Investigate 'Delahan Division' more closely. Wound-- no-- completely shatter the pride of one Alanden Damoux.
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