luin-fon-falliere

[luin-fon-falliere]

The New Beginning

Emile lay in bed, trailing a finger across his left ear. It was an eventful, even frightening day - spent among the Horde.

He was brought into an abbey by Mithos, shrouded by a heavy black blanket so nobody would see him and freak out. He could hear talking until Mithos took off the shroud, and then he saw a pretty female elf, her attractive face suddenly ruined by a glare, and she cupped her mouth to avoid a loud scream.

She forced Emile and Mithos into her office, locking the door behind her. Frightened, Emile just stood shivering as the two elves argued… until he heard a door swing open, another attractive elf entering and staring at Emile in surprise. The new elf, Ace, spoke to Rowaena (the other female) before walking over to Emile.

She towered over Emile, causing the boy to squirm nervously before Ace bent to Emile’s eye level and speaking softly to him in Common, Emile’s native language. Emile introduced himself and his story, which Ace translated to Rowaena. Though still frustrated, she called in yet another pretty female, Rayneylynn.

Rayney walked to Emile, obviously trying hard not to scare him, asking him to twirl for her… something about geometric-whatever. After spinning slowly for her, she applied an illusion of sorts to make Emile appear to be an elf, solving the present problem of his appearance. Afterward, Emile was dragged back home by Mithos.

Emile closes his eyes and smiles, his flashback to the evening finished. The elves obviously weren’t malevolent. Mistress Ace was friendly, and even decided to help him learn Orcish. Rayne, too, seemed caring, and despite Rowaena’s stern ways, Emile knew she cared - even if only somewhat - too.

Emile lets out a squeaky yawn. Maybe this was a good thing. Maybe this is a new beginning to his life. He closes his eyes to sleep, resolved to do his best tomorrow.

[luin-fon-falliere]

Or a twerk team~

When Bron is not leading Ravenwood. He is leading a break dance team.

[luin-fon-falliere]

Emile grunts in pain as his blood elven friend, Mithos, bandages a wound. While Mithos had his eyes narrowed on the large, though already stitched, wound, Emile tried his best not to look at it, an occasional whimper leaving his lips - a pitiful sound, especially when combined with the small, almost childlike form of the young blonde human. Mithos smiled as he tightened, then cut off the cloth away from the one already wrapped around the wound. "There you go," Mithos cooed, "Now be careful around those rocks, silly! Your cries were loud - one of the Ravens might've seen you!" Mithos wags a finger. One might think the elf was acting mockingly, but Emile knew better. It was just Mithos being his own playful self. Emile had gone to live with the elf on an island-villa off the coast of Sholazar Basin in Northrend. He needed a safer place to stay, although the isle was only slightly that. The Ravenwood Coalition whom owned the villa was a Horde organization, consisting of sin'dorei, trolls, orcs, and even one particularly large Pandaren. If Emile was ever caught, Mithos would surely get in trouble. Still, Mithos felt obligated to help the human as if Emile was his little brother, ever since they met in Westfall. Emile nods. "I-I know. Th-Thank you, M-Mithi." The stutter, one of Emile's defining characteristics, was the result of a terrible childhood inflicted upon him by his own father, a former Stonemason and a high-ranking man of the Defias Brotherhood. His mother was beaten to death by this terrible man, blamed for giving birth to such a weak little whelp - Emile was alarmingly small as a newborn, and it was a miracle he survived in the first place. But now, here he was, age seventeen in a dangerous world where only the strong prospered... and Emile was not strong. Mithos nods with a smile and heads downstairs to the kitchen. "I'll make you your favorite dish - bunny-shaped ricecakes! Mmm-mmm!" He calls out. Emile suppresses a giggle.

[luin-fon-falliere]

Baz is in the mountainsss

Picture of the Mountains in NC