#‣illegible scribblings {museing/samples}

[stagwalker-blog]

lord-stormrage // stagwalker

@lord-stormrage // @stagwalker

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Fate had an interesting way of turning around and fading its participants into but a shrouded memory. Even the grandest of her heroes fell from memory into the endless abyss of her brother, death. Such was the case with everyone who lived, and who breathed. The Illidari were no exception. It had been a decade or two since their hero sacrificed himself a final time, just long enough for most of the men and women who had fought in that great battle to be meeting their own end, just long enough for them to go back to remnants of a distant past fighting a war they couldn't win.

Numbers were down, far more than usual, when meetings of the Illidari were called there were no longer winged masses on the spires of the courtyard. The hoards had dwindled to crowds. Many from the eleven races did join.. Sometimes. But even fewer made it through the ritual than before. The rain on this hold was not the acidic burning of Shadowing valley, there was no light here, save for the occasional illuminated whisp of a spirit that had fallen to another of fate's cruel tricks many, many ages ago. More and more halted their neutrality, but none healed it more than the General.

Rumor had it she ran back to the Illidari after her family was murdered shortly after the War of Thorns. No matter the circumstance she was loyal to no one but the Illidari. To the Lady of the Outlands. One could push to say she was the right hand to the grieving mistress who's pain had only rooted deeper and deeper in the years following her loves sacrifice. The General couldn't blame her. He never bothered to say goodbye to any of them, but he left the safety of Azeroth on the shoulders of a dying priestess and his lover.

The sulking rain lashed down in the lands of Val'sharah, soaking the bastardize forms of elves in cool water. The General herself watching the men and woman train those who too had lost everything, and chose this eternal path as their suicide. There was a group of trainees who were supposed to go through the ritual in the next week or so, fathers, sons, mothers and daughters who had chosen this afterlife. But there were less in this already small class, and that seemed to be a tradition. A significant portion of them ran off in the middle of the night with no trace of their presence. Most of these disappearances were men, Kal'dorei men to be exact, but it was never explained why, and with each group the number seemed to grow.

Blackrook Hold had become their new temple. And its proximity to the Vault of the Wardens made occurrences like a warden showing up more common than not. Which is why it wasn't surprising when the slapping of flesh against wet stone charged towards the woman on her patrol over the courtyards.

"General Casithes! A Warden needs to speak to you, it's urgent." The young man reported sliding to a halt in front of the grizzled and clearly old woman. She had said nothing, offering a nod off dismissal to the man who proceeded to continue his stance. She passed him by, walking the bridge across onto the ground surrounding the courtyards. There sat a hippogryph, its blue and green feathers clearly ruffling at the sight of such a creature. The warden wasn't alone. Two others stood by her but they all seemed docile enough. Their postures tall, their chests proudly and rather uncomfortably pushed forward in a proud demeanor. But Fel gifted eyes saw through this illusion.

They were scared.

The middle most Warden took a step forward and offered a salute to the graying general who returned the gesture. "What brings you here, Warden?" She asked, which was clearly the wrong question. The eyes behind the womans helmet narrowed.

"You don't know?" The voice hissed behind the metal. This sudden hostility took her by surprise and in response the demon readied to grab her glaive. "It seems I don't." She answered, her voice having an echo of the voices of souls she had consumed to fuel her body and power. "Kal'dorei all over the Eastern Kingdoms have disappeared. The only clue we have is traces of fel energy near their homes or where they were last scene." The voice growled, flooded with hostility. But this clearly took the Illidari woman by surprise.

"Thank you for coming here. I'll bring this news to the lady immediately." Casithes spoke back, turning heel and thanking them once again before rushing on her own, leaping the bridge to slide to the entrance of the abandoned Black Rook hold, a yelled echo of "get this solved immediately!" From the wardens who were now long behind her. Casithes pushed through the grand doors, escaping the rain that had increased into a waterfall. There were many stairs but it took little effort for her to triumph them into a second of doors guarded by two bags who willfully let this trusted woman into the Lady's quarters.

"Anfalyessa, I'm sorry for barging in. Especially in short notice." Casithes apologize, slowing to a brisk walk on the carpet that lead to her grand throne before she dropped to one knee, barely allowing the High borne to speak. "Three Wardens had arrived just outside the hold. They came with reports of Kal'dorei disappearing all over the Eastern Kingdoms. Allegedly there's only been traces of Fel, and we're the suspects." Casithes filled her in. Though she didn't initially show it she feared already that this could be an act to stir conflict with the Alliance. Conflict they couldn't afford

[cocothinkingalonewithfeels]

Writing Sample

Emotion A piano virtuoso suddenly understands her manic composer.

And just then, I realized. The simple, scribbled titles of his musical prose - they weren’t any reflection of his lack of coherence, nor was he forced into submission by the school board to title his pieces with this mass of illegible tangled rebellion. No, these musings reach beyond the spectrum of complicated human language. And in my fit of rage, as I had pounded these notes into the keyboard at my fullest strength, one of these words jotted muddily at the top of the page – fury – reached out to me. And I felt it. I felt something. I realized, this was never a matter of notoriety or perfection for him. This was something far deeper.

“Well, the notes aren’t written on my fucking face!” He screamed. “Keep fucking playing!”

Him A young girl with a lesbian crush learns why it's called a crush.

“You… you like him..?” “I-I didn’t say that!!!”

I swallowed. I could feel my palms dampen as I tried desperately to keep them at my sides. What was I thinking. Of course she likes him. He’s strong. And handsome. And his eyes speak of such devote perseverance. All of those things that I’m not.

“I mean, that’s not what I meant!! Ugh, why do girls always–” Ah, yes. And of course, there’s that…

“… Look, he's… he’s super important to me, okay?” I met her eyes, and I believe I may have shocked her a little, for she froze before turning away to finish her thought.

“O-Of course I like him! He’s our friend, and our leader, and he’s a really good person, and I… I…” I unconsciously reached for my heart, as I heard her squeeze out, “... I wanna be like him some day.”

“M-Me too..!” She whipped her head to look at me, with those large ruby eyes, and immediately I knew the wrong thing had come out of my mouth. “I-I mean, he always tries really hard to do what’s best for everyone. And I want to be strong enough to help everyone too…” God, I'm an idiot! Why couldn’t I have told her she already was a good person?!

“Right!? He’s way cool, isn’t he!?” I offered her a sheepish smile, but I couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness and regret at the sight of her brighter one. I knew – perhaps better than she did – that she liked him. She liked him more than anything. She’s going to grow up and realize and confess her feelings like the brave warrior she is, and more importantly, I knew I would never stand a chance.

“I understand.” She nodded, and after a beat of silence, she said, “Thanks, Dori.” And with that she sent my poor hopeless heart away on wings.

Control Sexually attracted to a man she hates, a woman lets her hands take control anyways. (Suggestive, but sfw)

He threw himself against me, and as I felt my back against the wall, he stared at me with his sad, cold eyes. Blue as ever. The pathetic creature. I could practically see the tears well up in his poor, tortured soul.

And yet, again, I found my fingers on his chest. His broad shoulders. Damn it. I may have finally given in to the fact that my body magnetizes to his without need or reason, but the last thing I want on earth is for him to know that. “Tell you what, little boy blue.” I drag my fingertips across his rich fabrics and silk tie, as I attempt to gather myself. “Be a good boy and maybe I’ll hold back a little.”

“Don’t.” My fingers slither between the buttons of his shirt in reaction to the deep reverberations of his chest. My eyes stare into his. “Give it everything you have.” And before my lips even have the chance to speak, yet again, my hands seem to have taken hold of his chest, his back, his neck. It makes me sick, their eager uncontrolled behavior. But yet.

“You’re disgusting, Lucius.” “As if I care.” His own thick hands seem to have gotten to work on my dress without my noticing. He leans into my breast. “Just be here, Hiromi.”

[stagwalker-blog]

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