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[penbershield]

Egypt mesmerized me, truly.

From the markets that thrived with both locals and foreigners, from all over the world. It was a hub that attracted everyone, and the culture was so rich and strong, showing no signs of waning to appease visitors. I drank it all in, eagerly. New experiences and sensations were easily one of the best parts of my travels. Still, I could only tarry for a short while before I was forced to continue towards my destination.

Following my instructions to the letter, I found myself in the narrow alleyway that led towards the hidden entrance of the magical bazaar, squeezing through two worn pillars to pass through the wall there. Immediately the sounds of a bustling square greeted me, and I couldn't help but to be charmed. My fellow wizards, of all nationalities, were crowded around stalls, trying to procure rare ingredients and vanity cauldrons of all kinds.

I, however, had arrived for the explicit reason of finding a Month Seif, a breeder of sphinxes that worked from his very bazaar. He had been kind enough to receive my letter and invite me to visit, excited at his sphinxes being featured in my field guide-- tentatively named A Fantastic Bestiary. Unfortunately, the bazaar was quite large, I was forced to ask for directions. All too naturally I was drawn to an elderly witch selling Fwoopers, admiring the vivid birds with a fond smile.

She must have noticed that, because before she would answer my question for guidance, she insisted that I purchase a Fwooper. They were properly Silenced via a charm, she assured me, and they were lovely companions. I did my very best to resist, but I ultimately decided to purchase one. A vivid pinkish-purple, the Fwooper was a good investment. I ended up naming her Cecilia.

After my purchase, she was much more helpful, pointing me in the proper direction and thanking me. I returned the gratitude before I headed off (after putting Cecilia into my case, where she happily perched herself rather quickly, happy for her newfound space and freedom).

In no time at all I found myself at the plain stone building that Mr. Seif operated out of, and before I could even step inside, the man himself came out to greet me. I instantly noticed how the man exuded confidence as he smiled widely at me. The distance between us was quickly closed as he embraced me in an overly friendly manner. While I surmise it was in an effort to make me feel comfortable, my social ineptitude did not allow it to. My uncomfortableness was easily ignored though, completely overridden by my excitement to see his Sphinxes. Seeing a Sphinx at all outside of a wizards treasure room was rare, much less seeing a young one.

"Master Scamander!" Montu greeted me cheerily, and I once again took stock of him: tall, tanned, muscular, and radiating confidence. Objectively attractive, but more importantly his physique showed that he was most likely hands-on in the breeding and care of his Sphinxes. I will admit, I was quite charmed.

"Master Seif," I responded, smiling politely as I bowed my head, "Please, call me Newt." It is still very often that I defer to an informal addressing. I find that Mister doesn't suit me, and Master even less. Formalities always remind me far too much of the three years spent working behind a desk for the Ministry of Magic as well.

"Fair enough, Newt. I insist that you call me Montu then." Boldly, he wrapped an arm about my shoulders, as if we were age old friends. He used that hold to guide me inside, the building, of course, much larger than it appeared outside. My excitement had only grown now that we were inside.

My excitement was replaced by confusion and concern though as a loud screech sounded, reverberating off of the stone walls for a few moments. In no way was the sound one a Sphinx would make, and before I had realized, I was speaking up.

"Forgive me, but I don't believe that was a Sphinx, Montu." I felt anxious-- I had no idea how the breeder would react. I was braced for defensiveness, and to be confronted. It evaporated though as Montu smiled, wide and proud, showing all of his straight white teeth. Evidently, he was pleased with my question, though I couldn't fathom why.

"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, Newt. A self-proclaimed Magizoologist would naturally be interested in my more rare treasure." That arm around my shoulders squeezed, and I was confused. It sounded like a creature, not a treasure. Unfortunately I would come to understand what he meant. "I normally keep him away from customers.. but since you are here as a seeker of knowledge, you must let me show you this rare beauty." And once again, I was guided by my shoulders, curious as to what the sound had come from. We entered a large, high-vaulted room, and at it's center was a sight I will always remember, as heavy as it makes my heart.

There, on that dirty floor, was a magnificent, tragically beautiful Thunderbird, chains keeping its wing from moving and keeping its feet from moving too much as well. The creature barely stirred as we entered the room, and immediately that worried me. This level of lethargy could have meant so many things.

"How on Earth did he get all the way here?" I asked, consumed with worry. Thunderbirds were not migratory-- indeed, it was rare they would even fly a mile outside of the rocky stretches of Arizona deserts for anything, much less find itself all the way in Siwa, Egypt. I could think of no reason for the creature to be here-- but Montu crushed my naivety rather quickly.

"I bought him from an American contact of mine." He seemed quite proud, and my perception of this man changed instantly. "I had thought to have it create thunderstorms and charge for the chance to see it, since they are so elusive. Unfortunately it will barely lift its head without fighting me, much less fly. It will come around."

It was with great effort that I maintained my composure, because my heart ached for the creature. The Thunderbird, so naturally beautiful and free, had no reason to be stolen from its home and chained up on an egomaniacs whim. The creature would not be "coming around" as Montu seemed to believe-- I had already decided to rescue him.

However, for now Montu led him away, and I paid very close attention to the layout of his building from then on.

I could scarcely pay attention as I met the Sphinxes (beautiful and strikingly intelligent as they were), though I did jot down notes as their proud breeder attempted to educate me on the beasts. Naturally he told me very little I did not already know, "self-proclaimed" as I was, I certainly was knowledgeable in my field at least. At last, he released my shoulders to allow me to engage with the creatures myself, and I slipped into easy conversation with them (easily preferring them to their owner), taking down notes of their intellect and wit. As informative as the interactions were, I absorbed little, eager for my chance to steal away and return for the Thunderbird.

Time seemed to pass slower to find me, until at last, we were making our way back towards the entrance of the building. It had been laborious to stay polite, and I was very much looking to drop the facade. Still, I spoke up quickly before Montu could:

"Would it be alright if I were to return tomorrow? They are such fascinating creatures, and I feel it would be wise to get the most of my time here before I return to Britain."

More than anything, I needed an alibi, and if I were to return tomorrow and focus on his Sphinxes (well after his Thunderbird went missing), it would only make me look as if I had no part in it. As loathe as I was to give the man more of my time, I did not want him coming after me to retrieve the creature. Montu didn't seem suspicious or bothered by the question, likely funneling my apparent interest in his creatures straight to his ego. Fortunate for me, at least.

"Naturally, my friend! In fact, I insist you return tomorrow. I may not be available but someone will certainly escort you to my pride and joy. It is good to have met someone that shares my passion."

I smiled as best I could, and thanked him before I made a hasty retreat. Despite the overwhelming need to shower, I instead slipped away to a nearby alley. It was risky, but I did not have the luxury of time, and I set down my suit case, quickly lowering inside.

I got immediately to work, flying through my routine and tending to my creatures-- afterall, there was no telling how long this would take, rescuing a Thunderbird. With that done, I set about making a habitat for the poor thing. I'll spare the details, as it is a complicated and sometimes dull process, but suffice it to say I am quite proud of my Arizona wilds, confident they would be enough.

I moved towards the exit of my case, picking up an invisibility cloak-- relatively new, so I wasn't worried about it losing effectiveness in the middle of this endeavour. I ate a pickled Murtlap growth and climbed out of my suitcase. To my relief, it was undisturbed, exactly where I left it. A few hours had passed despite my haste, and the heat or the sun was replaced by a chill. I barely paid mind to it though, closing my case and plucking it up from the ground (after this, I did have a slight cold-- remember to bundle up accordingly). I saw hardly anyone was I weaved through the empty bazaar, avoiding dirt paths to keep from leaving too many footprints, just in case.

It was not long at all before I found that plain stone building once more, and from the safety of my invisibility cloak, I cast a quick Detection Charm. I was much surprised when I found no protective charms or wards. Could a man's ego truly be so powerful that he thought himself impervious? If so, I was extremely fortunate.

I wasted no time in slipping inside, only finding a few wizards cleaning up after the sleeping Sphinxes, and made my way carefully. A benefit of my very lean form is that I rarely brush against anything I don't want to, and this was only a boon to me now. Soon, I had returned to that high-vaulted room.

Once inside, I slipped my invisibility cloak off slowly and carefully. Despite that, the Thunderbird roused, eyeing me all too warily. In my softest voice, I shushed the creature, setting my case down at my side before I lifted my hands. Palms up, I made sure to let the frightened creature see they were completely empty. Thunderbirds are rather mysterious creatures, so I was a bit unsure how best to approach. They are known for their ability to sense danger, and I had no ill intent. It showed that the Thunderbird knew this as he silently let me step forward, slow and careful. Those golden eyes were so intense, and my eyes couldn't look away. Truly, this creature was absolutely magnificent-- I was completely in awe of it.

"I would like very much to take you away from here," I spoke softly, not wanting to frighten the creature. While it was certainly debatable whether most creatures could understand our words, my experience taught me most could understand our intentions. "I would like to return you to your home. You are much too lovely to remain here."

I kept moving forward, until at last I was directly before the beast. So easily it dwarfed me, but I felt no fear. Had the creature wanted to strike me down, it could have before now. I was, frankly, stunned at the details of it-- beautiful gold, it's feathers were flecked with silver as well, and the colors seemed to slowly pulse and shift. Without thinking I reached my hand for it, fully braced to be bitten as a warning-- but it never came. Instead, the Thunderbird lowered its head to my hand, and I felt the silk of its feathers.

Despite how many times I have felt those feathers since there, I can scarcely explain the feeling. It was.. incredible, to be given such trust by an animal so abused. The gold and silver pulsed beneath my touch, fanning outwards as if water rippling. My curious mind wondered if it was a sign of content, or happiness-- I couldn't give in and experiment though, unfortunately. My hand found it's beak, tracing over a prominent crack, likely caused by malnutrition. My heart ached, and at the same time I was angry. Now, it's very rare that I get angry, but it was absolutely warranted this time. I had no idea how long these conditions had persisted, but I couldn't help but to imagine the worst case-- that he had been taken as a newborn and raised here. I really hoped not.

I forced myself to pull my hand away, softly shushing the beast. I retrieved my wand, and a soft, anxious sound left him. I had to shush him, but I understood. Wands were likely most familiar to him as a form of punishment after all, never seen as something that was good. A quick turn of my wrist and a murmured Aloramora and the shackles were freed of the creature. Quickly I examined where they had been, seeing the exposed, raw skin below. Anger rolled through me again, as well as sorrow. If I am candid, I cried then, so consumed by it. There was, and still is, nothing that I can fathom to justify this treatment of any being, creature or human. I cast a quick Episkey to soothe the pain and begin the healing for now, before I stepped back. I laid my case flat on the ground and opened it, gesturing towards it.

"In you go." The Thunderbird tilted its head at me as it stretched out its wings. Despite my sense of urgency I smiled-- it was good. It needed to stretch and fly and live, and it would, I promised myself. "Come on. I promise there is a lot more room for you inside anyway. Go on."

This time the creature roused, looking at the case, which I gestured to once more. It must have gotten the message across, because, at last, the Thunderbird flew up into the air, just slightly, before diving into the case. The ordeal made a great deal more noise than I would have liked, and I shut and locked my case hastily, slipping the invisibility cloak over myself as those half asleep wizards came rushing to check for the source. I waited until they had run to the empty chains before slipping out behind them. I wasted no time in slipping out of the building and apparating back to the inn room I had rented for my stay.

Once there I tossed off my invisibility cloak and stepped into the case once more, as quick as I could. The Thunderbird would already be in it's habitat, and I was eager to see if it took well to it. My worries were unfounded, thankfully, as a thunderstorm and the smell of rain greeted me. Moreover, I was rewarded with the gorgeous sight of the Thunderbird flying, fully able to do so. It relieved me immensely, because I was braced for the worst, but to see that already he was capable of flight (and seemed quite elated to do so) eased my worries. I approached and he began his descent, much to my glee, and I couldn't have stopped smiling if I tried.

I ended up naming him Frank, and am currently securing passage to North America, so I can return him home to Arizona. I hope that this helps wizards understand the importance of preserving and protecting our fellow creatures, and that Frank will soon be home where he belongs. My work with Magical Creatures means little if I am the only one doing it. I hope that curiosity and care for the creatures we share this world with blossoms in some of my readers from my account.

-Newt Scamander

[penbershield]

Shag me || Kyle and Riley

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Value Me || Kyle and Lance

“Lance– I-” As the blond Bounty Hunter turned to face him, Kyle froze up, unsure of what to say. As usual, Lance was irritated with him, not that he could blame him really.. But now what? Lance had heard it all before, from Kyle, when he was younger. When he was a stupid teenager- when he was a naive little kid..

It didn’t matter, he grabbed at Lance’s collar, tugging the taller male close. Red eyes looked intensely up at him, his shades tossed away. There was no need to hide his eyes from Lance– the man who knew him inside and out- completely- more than anyone else in the world ever had or would. 

“I love you.” He told him, having said the words before. Lance opened his mouth to retort, but Kyle didn’t let him speak, pressing their lips together hotly. “I love you. I love you I love you…” His voice was breaking, though he didn’t seem aware of it, or the tears that welled in his eyes. They weren’t bitter tears though. No. Kyle was just so happy, happy to be close to Lance again. It had been years since they’d seen each other, and he had every intention to let the other know how important he was to him.

“The whole time you were gone, I was incomplete. I was alone, even when surrounded by friends– I–.” His voice gave in, and he pressed his face into the others  chest. He knew Lance wasn’t angry anymore. He knew that Lance loved him back, but shit was always so complicated between them. He could have said a million words, he could have said no words, Lance would have understood either way.

Instead, the smaller Bounty Hunter resigned to wrapping his arms around him, staying silent as he rested his head against him.

“… I missed you Lance…”

[penbershield]

A day at work.

Shaking hands, arms tense. A typical day at work, right? 

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[penbershield]

For Love Lost

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Requiem

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[penbershield]

Date || Dorian/Kyle

Dorian looked wonderful, his hair slicked back– just the way Kyle liked it. He even wore a suit for the Mercenary, earning a flush from his face when he opened the door. Kyle had not been expecting a visit from Dorian– and was flattered, at a loss for words. 

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Scars

Once again, there they were. Kyle was seated, his back to Riley as the violinist scowled him, tending to multiple wounds on his back. There were scrapes, bruises, a bullet wound and what looked like a few stab wounds? Whatever they were, whenever his fingers graced them, the muscles on the Mercenary’s back tensed. 

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[penbershield]

Breathe

The sniper was already set up on it’s tripod, aimed towards the crumbling building just across the poor excuse for a river. Red eyes were listless behind sunglasses, smoking a quiet cigarette to calm his nerves. This was always the worst part– this was why Kyle hated sniping. It was a skill that his father had taught him at a young age, and it had stuck. True enough that it was useful, especially in the line of work he one day aspired to be good at.  

One day.

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[penbershield]

It felt like he was in an interrogation room.

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[penbershield]

It was silent except for the sounds of waves for most of the trip. A throng of ships moved as a group, nervousness and tension heavy in the salty air. Soldiers of the Horde sat and stood stoically, expectant eyes looking towards the bow of the ship. Kael'than, however, glanced over the group of Blood Knights he was with, old and young. Some were steeled with silent resolve, jaws clenched and hands flexed as they turned to look towards the distant booms just now reaching them from their destination. Others looked fearful or nervous, hands wringing and lumps in their throats. A few even leaned over the ships railing and threw up.

There was one that the Knight-Champion looked at with more focus than all the rest-- his apprentice, Tythanion. Still wet behind the ears and sent with them because they needed numbers. Could they ever have enough numbers, Kael’than wondered. Tythanion prayed silently, head bowed and his hands folded, before one of the same booms roused him. Those eyes were slightly wide with reasonable fear when he lifted his head.

 They could've brought the entirety of Quel'Thalas and their numbers would never match the Legion’s.

 Someone shouted when the distant shore came into few, and a ball of green fel fire launched at the small fleet. They could hear its flaming roar through the air as it soared. The decks of the ships burst into chaos, soldiers moving to grab their weapons and ready their spells. Kael'than found his broadsword, primal fear and panic momentarily spiked as the looming figures of Abyssals could be made out. He quashed them as best he could and walked to Tythanion, grabbing him by the shoulder and hauling him up.

 "Don't stray too far from me, and stay towards the backline. You won't be much use as a healer if you're dead." His voice was harder than usual to combat the fear he felt, and it showed in the boy’s face. Tythanion looked ready to protest, but after a moment he instead nodded. He must have realized that having Kael'than try to look after him the entire battle would likely end badly. Good.

 Another volley of fel fire launched, and screams could be heard as ships went down. Their ship sailed past one of the flaming wrecks, the Horde soldiers that hadn’t died yet were jumping ship into the water, though the smell of burning wood and flesh reached Kael’than regardless. The temptation to pray came and went, and the ships that made it landed. Moments later, soldiers began to flood from hastily placed ramps.

 "BRAH, BRAH, BRAH, OI, OI! GOR'WATHA!" The cry caught his ears, almost pulling a smile from him. Goblins scurried to throw the pieces of wood to the shore they would use as their exits, people jumping ship onto the shore making the opportunity slim for them. Kael'than and other several Blood Knights jumped as well, swords blazing with holy energy as they cried out, rushing forward.

 Fel clashed with steel, Arcane and Light clashed immediately, screams and the ringing of steel coming from everywhere already. The forces of the Horde-- and the Alliance-- fought valiantly, pushing hard against the endless demons. They had to gain some purchase, this wasn't a fight they could afford to lose. An army of Doomguards and Felhunters rushed to greet them, demonic cries piercing the air. Kael’than and his brothers met their challenge, Holy strength guiding their blades. He had to trust Tythanion was towards the back with the other healers, and that the shield bearing Blood Knights between them would keep him and the other healers alive.

 Kael’than roared as he clashed with a Doomguard, the winged creature easily towering over him. His blade moved almost of its own volition, biting into a muscular thigh, just above the large hoof of the beast. The creature bellowed, spittle and blood flying before it swung a giant hand at him.  The Blood Knight tugged his weapon free, warm blood flowing from his chest. The fel that caused the demon’s claws to glow green had cut through his plate armor with ease. The pain didn’t register though, adrenaline high as Kael’than quickly retaliated with a shout, slamming his blade through the demon’s chest. A heavy thud shook him as the creature fell before he pulled his weapon free once more, lifting his eyes to the new demon that quickly replaced that last. There was no hesitation as he once again lunged forward, cutting down as many of the Legion as he possibly could.

It felt like an eternity but it couldn't have been more than maybe ten minutes, and the call to retreat sounded over the chaos of battle.

 Kael'than had barely heard it, covered in blood, both his own red and the green of demons. Another just-as-battered Knight grabbed him and tugged him back, rousing him from the trance he'd fallen into while fighting. He only had a moment to look around as he ran back towards the shore. Had they really only pushed forward that much? More than half of their force had fallen, the familiar faces of his brothers and sisters either face down or staring lifelessly at the twisted sky.

 Another Knight pulled him onto the ship, and he staggered onto the deck, expression listless with exhaustion. Moments later, they'd taken back to the sea, and back to Orgrimmar-- people were swearing that Vol'jin was dead. Kael'than could hear the ringing of battle in his ears still as he busied himself trying to confirm who had died, but with so many being held in the hold, it was impossible. Instead he tended to his wounds as best he could, before heading down to aid in healing those in worse condition.

 Was there any way that this could be worth it?

[penbershield]

Plunge into Darkness

It took me forever to finish this, but here it is! A story about Loricelle finding some closure for herself, though it’s not the most uplifting story. Feedback is appreciated! I took my time with this one and I think I like the end result. Hope you guys enjoy. :)

The city of Kul’tiras was pelted with rain—hardly an unusual sight in the naval stronghold. The streets silent except for the steady sound of raindrops hitting various materials. No one was walking outside, though the moon high in the sky was bright enough to give the city an eerie look in the merciless downpour. Better in their warm beds than out in the cold, one could suppose. The imposing figure of the Death Knight, Loricelle Madeline stood impassively in the harsh pelting of rain. She had returned to the place she had once called home, only to feel the same seething contempt she always felt. There was nothing here for her anymore, and the great horned plate helm she wore held an eternal sneer, mirroring that of its wearer.

Skeletal hands curled into fists, plate armor grinding quietly as the Knight began to march forward. The thought of being caught didn’t frighten her, the heavy armor she wore left nothing exposed to any examining eyes. She was more than capable of fighting if it came to that, likely even relishing the chance to feed the whispering Saronite at her back. Silently, the Death Knight walked through the still familiar streets, the ghosts of a long-dead life following along her path. Not even the once fond memories could quell the anger that she perpetually felt. It was likely that she had been considered dead to her parents before she had even perished. That bitch, Lasette Tidemourne, had decided she had to die, and her son, Drakalys Tidemourne was the one meant to carry it out.

The way he had looked at her as he drew his dagger on the ship—as if it were an everyday thing. It may well have been for him. Still, it was all too gratifying that he had died with her on that ship, rather than over her with that dagger. That would have to be enough as far as Drakalys was concerned, at least for the time being. Oh, but she had relished it, watching that hateful bitch that birthed him die. Billmund's death had been an easy price to pay in exchange, she thought. The look on the decrepit woman's face as she realized she was going to die was worth the sacrifice easily. Even better as her own son carved her open to quench Vokrt'xil-- his then newly tempered saronite blade-- deep within her body. She had screamed, and writhed, and died an agonizing, painful death. The thought of it still brought something close to joy within Madeline.

As she reflected on the fond memory, ironically, the gate of the Tidemourne estate came into view. As a child, there were always rumors of the Tidemourne family. That if you listened on stormy nights, you could hear screaming from their manor. Parents would jokingly tell such tales to their children, likely to keep them from scaling the imposing gate around the manor. Loricelle had assumed as a child that it was to keep from angering one of the wealthy families, the same as everyone else. Unfortunately, Loricelle came to know the truth of the rumors, by chance of wandering into the cellar while her father tended to the Tidemourne's gardens. Even now, she could remember the panic she'd felt when the sound of footsteps, slow and deliberate floated down to her. She'd hidden, fortunate that even then, Lasette was ancient and didn't take notice. Less fortunate to see the secret door opened, and stupid to sneak a look through that door. What she'd seen had shaken the girl she once was, but now she felt nothing. Loricelle found it difficult to even feel bitter at her death anymore, now that she was risen by the Lich King and freed, taken to service with the Banshee Queen, Sylvanas. Compared to her life as a human, what she had now made it pale in comparison.

Through her helmet, she looked past the gate. The gardens were still tended, but she doubted it was by her father anymore. The manor was silent as well, this late at night. Without much effort, Madeline twisted open the bars of the gate, unholy strength given to her by the Lich King making it little more than a twist of her hands.

Soundlessly, plate greaves trod over the damp stone leading to the estate. Now that she was closer, dim lights offered by stationary candles could be seen. There was no one left of the Tidemourne family to claim inheritance. It begged the question of who could be inside, the Lord or Lady commanding the servants. Loricelle glanced at the double doors that would lead to the foyer of the manor, before she turned to walk along the small path leading to the east side of the place instead. Soon she was at a small, less ostentatious door. She tried the servant’s entrance, unsurprised as it opened effortlessly.

 The Forsaken stepped inside and out of the rain. A sweep of her gaze showed that nothing much had changed, which caused a furrow of her brow. Lasette was dead, and she couldn't imagine the servants staying and tending to the estate of their own desire. A quick closing of the door behind her greeted the room with the muffled sounds of the storm she left outside.

A single old man sat in a chair by a candle, slouched against the wall as he snored. The knight registered he was there before she trod past him, and towards the stairs. As she walked, she looked for differences, but found few. A few moments later and she arrived at the stairs, looking up and at the stairs that split into two ways up. One to the east and one to the west. 

 Loricelle stared at the dark center of the stairway before she grabbed a nearby candle, carrying it up the stairway. She felt less surprised than she imagined she would at the sight. Before Madeline, there was a large portrait of Lasette and Drakalys Tidemourne, both with stoic expressions on their faces. Lasette was seated, her hands folded on her lap as Drakalys stood next to her, his hands tucked behind his back. It was irritating, because she could recall seeing him stand that way even after his death, drawing himself up to speak on Knightly matters. She gave the portrait a small sneer before she turned to the eastern rise of the stairway, immediately noticing the frightened young woman staring at her. She was plain, and looked to be maybe sixteen, not entirely different than Loricelle when she had been alive. It seemed the girl was mocking her with the similarities, causing skeletal hands to clench within their gauntlets once more. She looked about to scream and Loricelle silenced her with a choking grasp of Unholy energy, pulling the trembling girl closer with another tug of the same. Mercifully, the great broadsword of Saronite was plunged through the girl’s body, almost instantly killing her. The body only had a moment to go limp before Loricelle filled it with tainted magic, effectively asserting her control over it.

 Xerick'Vyn practically sang as it was pulled out of the corpse, pulsing its dark energy into its user as it was placed back on her back. The reanimated teenager hunched and placed herself at the Death Knight's heels as she moved forward. Only the faint sound of blood dripping from the new ghoul was audible as Loricelle made her way to the upper hallway, which was free of doors. The grand entrance-- the red carpet of the manor, one might think. Another curl of her fists as she stopped before the large double doors at that halls end. Without giving the moment the drama of suspense, she thrust the doors open, uncaring of the loud bang that sounded as they hit either side of the walls within the room. 

In the dark of the room, she could see the figure of the woman in the bed sitting up, looking around with bleary eyes.

 It took a moment for the elderly woman's scarred face to stop in her direction, likely just registering the two, bright blue burning eyes that were eyeing her critically. This was not Lasette Tidemourne, but with the heavy scarring on her face and visible hands made it up to debate. The woman straightened and reached for the dresser near her bed. A wave of Loricelle's hand sent her fresh ghoul at the woman, who began to scream before her throat closed with choking energy once more. It didn't take long before her struggling stopped-- it seemed this woman was just as ancient as the one that had slept in the bed before her. The ghoul nibbled at the unconscious woman’s finger before stopping, returning to the place behind Loricelle. Beneath her helm, one of her brows arched, her hand turning the scarred face this way and that way. "An impersonator, hm?" It was amusing how quickly the living scurried to take from each other, whether the victim was dead or not. She doubted highly that this woman knew exactly whom she was impersonating, or the depths of the depravity of the manor she had taken. 

 Loricelle would show her.

 Without so much as glancing at her ghoul, she effortlessly tossed the unconscious woman over her shoulder after making sure not to impale her on the sharp spikes of her pauldrons. Just as quietly as she'd ascended the manor, she descended, all the way down into the cellar. The air was slate, and thick dust was visible. It seemed no one came down here anymore, likely because there was little stored in the first place. The casks of wine that she had hidden behind were still there, seemingly untouched. It didn't matter. The woman on her shoulder began to stir now that she had been breathing regularly for a while, blinking her eyes and looking around. She mumbled something that sounded like a question, but Loricelle ignored her as she tugged on the hidden switch that would open to allow access to the hidden room. The place Loricelle had seen the sick ritual the Tidemourne family performed.

 With an unceremonious drop, Loricelle dumped the withered woman onto the ground, scanning the room with a sweeping glance. Almost immediately she noticed a writhing mass in the center of the room-- perhaps a final rite of Lasette's, but it was still alive. Likely it was sustained by the sacrament that had been performed in creating it. It was impossible to see it for the human she had dropped, but she could hear the gutteral growling it emitted. The mass of flesh could hardly move, and it seemed to be letting out weak screams of pain between harsh, snarled intakes of air. Whatever it was, it seemed alerted by their intrusion. The Death Knight glanced down at the now trembling woman, who begged meekly for her life. Without bothering to answer, she hefted the woman up by her hair, feeling no sort of mercy. This imposter did not have the will Lasette did, nor the dignity that she faced the prospect of death with. Of course, Lasette also believed she could be risen into Forsaken form afterwards. There was no one here to offer this woman false comfort as Loricelle held her above the creature. The many grasping hands of the creature wrapped around her ankles and tugged down against Loricelle's hold. The gauntleted hands released the woman, who let out a surprisingly powerful scream as the creature wrapped itself around her and began to bite into her with its gaping mouth. The hands claws at her flesh and held her in place, offering her no mercy as the Death Knight leered at the woman through her helm.

 Loricelle took a small step back to watch the spectacle. An impressive struggle was given by the already dying woman, but it proved useless. The crunch of bone sounded through the air, and once again she found she felt nothing at the sight. A small sigh left her, a bit disappointed. Perhaps she had been expecting to feel some sort of revenge in killing Lasette's imposter. It hardly compared to the real deal. She watched the creature rip the woman's lower half away from the rest of her body, before it began to gnaw at the innards hanging from her now still upper region. After she stopped moving completely, Loricelle glanced at the creature, still wheezing out soft sounds of pain. Xerick'Vyn was once again taken into her hands before it was plunged through the creature’s body. It let out one lower screech before the blade was twisted, effectively cutting whatever kept the creature alive apart.

 The silence stretched after the creature’s final throes, and Loricelle found herself staring at the torn apart woman with apathy. The sting of disappointment slowly began to creep on her again, before she shook her head and looked about the room. Blood stains and cloudy jars were visible on a nearby table, but what was more curious than that were the heavy looking sacks in the corner of the room. The Death Knight moved toward them, half expecting to find body parts or some other terrible regent for the Tidemourne's ritual room. Without much care, she tugged one of the bags open, peering down into its contents. What she found instead was not so much surprising as it was amusing. Within these heavily weaved sacks, was gold; Drakalys' inheritance, it seemed. The leader of the Blighted Knights had only been slightly irate that he had not been able to ascertain his birth promised riches to aid the cause of the Knights. It seemed odd that he hadn't come here before her, but it didn't matter. With relative ease, she funneled the gold into one of the larger bags before hefting it over her shoulder. There was likely more to be found, but Tidemourne could make the trip himself if he wanted it.

 Before she began to make her way back up from the cellar, she let the ghoul she'd made fall limp, completing the grotesque scene she had left. She left the hidden door wide open, so that the depravity of the Tidemournes and herself would be known to Kul'tiras. She was back out into the rain in no time, though she once again slowed to a stop a short distance from the door. From where she stood, the small gardeners shack was visible, just at the edge of the carefully trimmed flowerbeds. Without much more than curiosity compelling her, she made for the dripping little cottage. 

 First setting her prize down, she opened the door.

 Only the weak illumination of a single candle offered any light, but the Death Knights necromantic powered eyes saw every detail of the room regardless. The room was small, as one could tell from a glance outside, and the roof leaked into a few half-filled buckets set to catch the invading raid. A small cot was visible, the form of a sleeping human visibly huddled beneath the wool blanket held over them. Loricelle found herself staring silently at the sleeping body, before she reached over and peeled the blanket back. Immediately she reeled back, her eyes widening beneath her helm. The last shred of her humanity slept peacefully in the form of her father, his age now visible where it was unseen before. He looked tired, the brown of his hair speckled with a generous amount of grey. A sudden loud crack was sounded as lightning flashed beneath the open edges of the door. The sleeping man jumped slightly at the sound and began to stir. Loricelle felt detached from herself as she watched him sit up, rubbing his eyes with rough hands that worked for a living. She did not move, but he still noticed her, fearfully retreating against the wall too close to his back.

 Always the religious man, he put his hands together and began to pray, still staring at her with the alertness fear granted him. She could recall even now, times he had prompted her to pray before going to bed. The memory feed the underlying anger she felt, coaxing it to the surface. With purpose, she lifted the helm off of her head to show him the monster she had become. She was no longer even remnant of the daughter he had raised-- even her face was no longer hers, bright blue eyes burning with anger and dangerous hatred. There was not even a hint of familiarity as a yell escaped the man that had once been her father, only sheer terror at her face. While the face itself was beautiful, the stitches that held it in place were not. The way her shoulders sloped with the mismatch of parts was more apparently without the large helm aiding her pauldrons in hiding it. She was grotesque, and she felt no shame or ugliness for it, only empowered. She had been risen and made strong, where she had been weak. Beauty mattered so little in comparison to the purpose she had taken in the name of the Banshee Queen. Loricelle Madeline was a Knight of the Dark Lady, the powerful and merciless leader of the Forsaken! The simple life she had led prior was a joke, but necessary to become what she was now. In death, she had become truly powerful and granted the vision to see things that her living self would have been blind to.

 With purpose, Loricelle closed the gap between the cowering gardener and herself. With her own hands rather than the dark energy she commanded, she grasped the elderly man's neck, her jaw clenched as she hissed at him. It was empowering now, that he did not recognize her. That the weak human she had once been was so thoroughly crushed and discarded, that not even the man who had raised that child could see a glimpse of her! Her hand tightened about his neck as elation rose in the Forsaken. So high on the experience she was, that when his nails scraped uselessly against the crafted saronite of her gauntlets, she did not hear it. Pleas for his life reached her ears though, through the roaring of her own victory, and she dropped him. He did not have time to look relieved before she drew the dagger that rested at her belt, and his hands immediately flew up in defense and in prayer. Loricelle bore down on him mercilessly, stabbing wildly at the fearful man. Blood and screams tainted the air, but Loricelle did not relent, eyes wide with the bloodlust that had overtaken her. She would utterly and brutally destroy this last reminder of her past life. She would make it so there was not even the slightest chance of her own redemption. With the frantic murder of the man she had once called father, Loricelle was plunging completely into darkness, and she reveled in it.

 Finally her dagger stopped, and she gazed down at the dying man beneath her, the beginnings of a smile tugging at her lips. It never came to full fruition though, and she knelt down to better see as the human resigned himself to his fate, his struggling dying down to little more than a water wheeze as his punctured lungs began to fill with blood. It was glorious, the sight before her. Open wounds bleed from all over his body, and she found herself dipping her hands into the blood pooling rapidly over the floor of the shack. With a careful hand, she lifted it and began to stain the walls with markings. The symbol of the Forsaken and reverent worship of the Banshee Queen graced the shabby walls. It was a small offering, but it would do for now. Her hands dragged over the taut skin of her face, staining it as she gazed at what she had done. Once she was done, she looked down at the now still gardener. He had died, an agonizing death, all while bearing witness to what it was for. He was fortunate in that way, Loricelle knew, to see the fruits of his blood. It was a privilege to see offer one’s life and blood to the Banshee Queen. There was little time for her high to begin its descent before Loricelle knelt down and tore at the human’s weak flesh, biting into it as if she still felt hunger, and eating it as if to satisfy it. As she ate at the flesh, her high began to decline, and slowly she pulled away from the now mangled corpse.

 Loricelle stood and pulled her helm back on over her face, feeling invigorated by the fruitful evening she'd had. She was back out in the rain once more in no time, once again picking up the large sack of gold. Back through the sleeping city she went, but she could feel the collective stir that was beginning, and could tarry no longer. The skeletal dragon had stayed in the wooded area outside of the city's view, waiting patiently for its master. There were no affectionate pats or greetings as Loricelle found the creature. It lowered its neck for her to mount it. No, Loricelle was back to her normal state of self, though still feeling empowered by the nights' events. The Forsaken secured the sack onto the thick bones of the dragon before she willed it to fly, the heavy flapping of its wings the only sound heard as they took off and away from Kul'tiras, and back North to Lordaeron.

[penbershield]

Darkwater Calling

Written by Drakalys and myself on Piratepad. Mostly Will, tbh. I can’t write as well as he can, but it was fun to write with him! Hope to do more in the future. LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT TO COLLAB A STORY!!

Kael'than Embershield drew his cloak close to his body. The merciless wind carried the distinct scent of death downwind towards him. His eyes watered and his tongue felt acidic. He had come at last to Venomspite. The knight and servant of Sylvanas, Drakalys Tidemourne waited as if an inanimate object against an abandoned alchemist's shed. "Victory for Sylvanas," the undead knight saluted Embershield in the Forsaken manner. Embershield gave the Forsaken a small nod, keeping his expression neutral as usual. The Blood Knight was already wary, the cold did little to improve his outlook on the trip. "Tidemourne," the Sin'dorei glanced down at Drakalys, "I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long." "Urgency is the furthest thing from my thoughts right now, Sir Embershield." Drakalys looked down the steep path and stepped out. Embershield stepped astride the knight. "Your last meditation took you to an uncomfortable place, Embershield. You realize you must go there again." Kael'than kept the cloak tight around himself as he followed, his brow furrowing. Uncomfortable seemed a weak word for the last "meditation" he had. An absent grunt was his initial reply, still with a slight scowl on his face. "If uncomfortable is what we're trying for, the cold is an excellent way to get off on that path. Where is it we're going, exactly? Would it be quicker to go by horseback?" Drakalys casted a long gaze southward towards the suffocating mist. "Again, no need for urgency." As if walking through another room they passed into the fog, a suspicious haven from the cutting wind. The smell of salt and low tide would invade the senses. The sharp smell of salt caused the Blood Knight to come to a sudden halt, the color draining from his face. The stench in the air promised a shoreline, which in turn guaranteed the ocean. All too vividly, the dark, cold depths of Northrend's sea were around him, blocking out the Light above. He felt the oppressive lack of air just before a sharp gasp was pulled from him. A faint tremor ran through Kael'than. He found he couldn't will himself to move forward, looking at Drakalys' form with growing shame. Silhouettes and shapes of the memories of mankind passed through the thick vapor, haunting the shoreline. They seamlessly blended in with the mist as if the mist itself sought to imitate life. A Dwarf wielding a rifle passed by the two and then faded before them. The death knight began in a tone neither judgemental nor coddling. "The last time I guided you through meditation, Embershield," he paused for a moment, making sure the paladin's attention could be caught, "you stood over the graves of your brethren. Tonight you see the cemetary of ships and soldiers on a forgotten shoreline. What is troubling you, knight?" Briefly, he followed the shifting form of the Dwarf. The distraction gave him a moment to regain some of his sense, though fear was still tight in his chest as he looked back to the Death Knight. The chill in the air was stifled by the choking mists, yet he kept the cloak tightly about him as if they stood in the snow still. There was no way he could iterate to Drakalys the primal sort of fear that the thought of the ocean stirred in him. More than that, there was no way he would want to tell him anyway. The weakness was glaring, and he was angry when presented with it. There was a reason he kept busy in Draenor and in Silvermoon, away from the shorelines. When he glanced around the shrouded shoreline at Drakalys' prompting, it was warily. "It's.. not something that can be explained easily," his voice kept steady, "I don't know that I'm in the right state of mind to meditate." "Nonsense," Drakalys' voice leaked out. "You are here to overcome your weakness. You meditate to make your mind stronger. Do not become the vassal of cowardice." Drakalys placed a hard hand on Embershield's pauldron and slowly led him down towards the water. Naturally, Kael'than resisted the motion, his body was far from weak as he kept himself rooted in place. Tidemourne's words rang true though, in a way, even if he didn't want to admit it. He had come here to listen to the Knight's advice, and to try his hand at the meditation again. The thought of this irrational fear caused him to falter at a critical time. Like when he had fought Ilrethar. Fear caused him to freeze, wavering in his attacks and letting Nynaevve and Evi get hurt. Guilt tugged at him, before he begrudgingly began to move forward, his pace slow and hesitant. Kael'than would do this for the Concurrence, he had to. He just prayed that he could. Kael'Than Embershield, however, had come to that dark place where praying was not enough. This exercise offered by Tidemourne exposed him to that which haunted him. As Tidemourne had offered, that may have been the best way to confront his weakness. "Embershield, I would remind you of my service in the Kul Tiras navy," the death knight said, looking out into shipwreck after shipwreck. "The deaths made here were sacrificed for an incomprehensible ideal. The vessels themselves were made victims. A true ship can be said to have a spirit." Sir Tidemourne crossed his arms behind his back, holding his posture impeccably for one amongst the Forsaken. He continued on in an elegaic voice that complemented the atmosphere, rather than disturb the haunting, "Ships represent the strength of a society. It takes a tremendous outpouring of effort in a civilization to draw a sturdy, unique vessel together. With it, its crews will trade, explore, and even conquer in times of war." The death knight pointed out towards a large vessel, its topmast extended beyond the lazy waves. "A vessel like that could be commanded to lay siege to a fortified city. It would have housed a brave crew who put their trust in its timbers as much as they would in the bravest of captains. With this thought in mind, it is not so hard to imagine that this a graveyard not just of sailors and soldiers, but one of the symbols of civilization, of Lordaeron, cast against the rocks of fate." Embershield shivered. It could have been the frosty mist cutting through his thick cloak. Yes, that would be easy enough to explain. It could also have been the hopeless spectacle before him, bearing testament of the atrocities that men must face. It could have been the words of the tragic knight beside him. It could have been any of these things, but still a deep trembling shook Embershield down to his bones. "Embershield, the meditation must begin. Let me guide you through the places of your spirit that the Light has failed to illuminate over and over again." The paladin knelt to the ground as if in prayer. The cold sand hissed beneath his weight. "I don't think I'm ready to go back to that place," Embershield confessed spontaneously, as his eyes stared at the ground. "No," Drakalys Tidemourne began, "this is where you come to terms. This is the place from which we shall conquer your weakness. You fear this because it has power over you. Draw your fears to respect you." Kael'than found himself listening to Tidemourne and wanting to find truth in his words. It didn't matter that the Knight beside him didn't know what had happened, he spoke with that same tone he always did. As if there was no way to doubt what he was saying, as if it were fact. It was cowardice, that he couldn't face water deeper than his waist without hearing Ilrethar. There was no way he could stay as he was. Kael was the leader of the Bladeborn Concurrence, and that would mean leading his people without faltering, even if they had to sail, or find something beneath water. They'd had plenty of jobs surrounding the ocean already, and there was no doubt there would be more in the future. Another small shudder went through the Blood Knight at the thought. As he forced himself to look at the peaceful waves of the eerie shoreline, the panic that rose in him was humiliating. It's going to happen again, his body and mind screamed at him, You're going to drown and drown and drown for hours on end again if you don't get away from here. Run! But Kael'than didn't run, still with a faint trembling. "I don't know that I can do this." This time his eyes were staring at the water before them. It was beyond him to be worried about Drakalys seeing him fearful. He was already terrified openly, and he couldn't have stopped himself if he had known in advance they were coming here. "I can't focus." The Blood Knight barely managed a whisper. "Knight!" Drakalys sounded in the air, his voice striking through the haunting calm of the air so as to command all things, "Stare into the waters and let your mind take you back to thoughts of where man and elvenkind alike wash into the almighty depths." Embershield held his eyes firmly to the chilled ocean. Hard rocks, dark sand, and the lingering presence of lost spirits lingered below the shallows. The water seemed to beckon him into its body. It hungered for him. Its vision consumed his mind's eye as Drakalys began to lead him further down to the contemplation of the damned. "Let that single shadow fall over you, Sir Embershield. Let it wash you away beyond the threshold where wailing ends." Suddenly, long shadows were cast from the ancient rocks behind them, enveloping the horizon. Embershield suddenly felt his mind plunge into the umbral waters. He looked up and there was no light. He gasped for breath and felt water surge into his lungs. The salt burned his eyes and his ears rang with the song of certain hopelessness. Then, from the depths, a voice could be heard. Tidemourne's voice was a whisper, "The brighter the light, the deeper the shadows. You journey where the Sun dare not gaze." Embershield hollered for his life, but his voice went unheard. The silence devoured it. "Compel your spirit to move through the murky waters. Death is not the end. There is power within death, if you can respect it." The sound of the water muffling his movements brought his crushing fear full force. The shadows of the ocean seemed to converge on him, and he could feel a sharp, keen pain in his head. There was no hope of focus, or of self control. The same tightness in his chest he'd felt before began to form, and he clawed uselessly at the plate there. There was no familiar warmth of the Light he always carried here, only bitingly cold darkness. A yell tore from him, though it was silenced by a show of bubbles, which floated up and away from him. He thought he felt the weight of an iron about his ankle again, and looked up frantically. It was too dark to see anything, but he imagined Ilrethar standing above him, looking at the water's surface with a smirk. Kael'than would be forced to drown until he broke, until he gave into the Eredar's will. Faintly he could recall the Death Knight's words, desperate to find a meaning in them. Power within death? Perhaps for a Forsaken, but for those still living? It seemed the last chord of a song, the final bow before the curtain. New players could take the stage, but the end was just that, wasn't it? He'd seen it with his friends and his family, with all the fallen of Quel'thalas. There was nothing he could find in the words given to him. "You do not conquer the weight of the grave with life. No light can reach the depths you are chained to." Tidemourne's voice crept in somehow through Embershield's mounting panic. Drakalys continued, his voice being the only anchor of clarity in the throes of chaotic meditation. "Villains of the world hide in small, dark places. They think themselves safe from my Queen in the shadow of the night. They are wrong, for the darkness is the domain of her Majesty. She rules." Embershield took in a deep breath and the wintry water flooded into his lungs. He opened his eyes and the murky, dark waters opened up into an endless umbral expanse. The death knight's voice suddenly became clear. The waters echoed his voice, "there is no price too great for overcoming weakness, Embershield. Explore where your mind takes you. Come to terms with the weight of the grave. Understand the power you hold; the power to overcome. It is your fear that must submit!" Embershield waved his arms, and the water offered no resistance. He willed himself deeper through the waters, charging towards the darkest darkness. "Explore everything that lies before you. Mix ever with the elements of this consecrated sepulcher, this tomb where despair is laid to rest," Drakalys said. Embershield stopped at the dark water's floor. The surface was smooth, slippery. He brushed his hand against its facet. An image appeared before him, just beyond clarity. The paladin opened his mind's eye further, seeking further understanding from the embraced meditation. The surface of the ocean was an endless mirror. The image Embershield saw was none other than his own reflection. In his eyes, there was no trace of it. He was completely devoid of the Light. He held his gaze on himself. He briefly felt himself looking from the other side of the reflection. Terror gripped Embershield once more. The pressure of the waters pressed at his skull. The water in his chest felt caustic. The darkness enveloped him completely as he clawed his way desperately for the surface once more. Drakalys shook Embershield violently, breaking the trance of the meditation. Embershield gasped for breath, sucking in the misty air. He clawed his hands into the air, clinging to Tidemourne's arms. The Blood Knight stayed silent at first, taking a few long moments to register where he was. He was on land, and he was breathing in air— still the sharp contrast between what was real and what he had just felt was jarring. When he fixed his gaze back on Tidemourne, his gaze was still haggard. "I vision he'd seen feel more real. Drakalys managed to show Embershield a small glance at what his 'solution' to his fear may have been, and Kael'than immediately rejected it. He was a vessel of the can't.. I can't do this again." His voice trembled, but he didn't even have the presence of mind to be ashamed. The vision itself was horrifying, but something felt amiss beyond that. He pulled away from Drakalys shook his head. While in his trance, he'd managed to work up a cold sweat, which only made the Light, and he would not forsake it. The Paladin took a moment to steady himself, before looking back over the rolling waves of the haunted shore. Despite the lingering terror he felt, in comparison to what he had experienced a moment ago, the ocean was almost calming on the surface. Still, it would be a long time before he would willingly plunge into it. "This path is not mine, Tidemourne," Embershield turned his head towards the Knight beside him once more. "Though.. I suppose I can't deny that it's given some insight." A hand waved vaguely, because he wasn't quite sure what he meant, but hoped the other did. "Thank you, Tidemourne." He offered awkwardly. "Your mind slips into the place of the grave with ease," Tidemourne said shrewdly. "Imagine where this could take you if you really learned to control it, Embershield. I feel you could benefit so much more from this." He offered his arm again to Embershield and helped him up to his feet. "You must tell me what you experienced in detail." Drakalys traced his eyes rapidly across Embershield's face. "You must." Gratefully, Kael'than pulled himself to stand with the others assistance. He listened to the Forsaken and found himself uneasy at the intense look he was given. It was easy to figure out why Tidemourne wanted to know, but just recalling the vision gave him a slight shiver. "It was.. nothing much, honestly.." He began. "This is not the time for lies and untruths, Embershield," Drakalys interrupted. "That was no ordinary meditation. You had a vision... Perhaps a prophecy." Embershield's brow furrowed. He was not unfamiliar with Tidemourne's fanatic speech, but it was still offputting, especially now. "I.. was pulled under the water.." He started again, glancing away from the Forsaken and back into the gently rolling waves, "I was drowning, but I didn't die." All too vividly, he could see himself sinking again. A deep shudder rolled through him as he heard the faint echo of the Eredar's laughter. "Then you spoke to me, telling me to explore what was before me. After that, the water was suddenly clear, and I somehow managed to reach the bottom. At first I couldn't make out what was there, reflected back at me, but after a bit of looking.." He trailed off, no longer looking scared, but instead troubled. "What did you see?" Drakalys pressed, still looking intensely at the Paladin. "I saw myself," Embershield offered, as if he were thinking as he spoke, "There was no Light within me, this twisted version staring up at me." The words were heavy, and his expression was grim. Though it had only been a vision, it had been enough to harden his resolve. He could never become that dark version of himself, ever. "If anything this might be a warning. What I saw and what I am are different, and they will remain that way." "What you saw may very well be your fate," Drakalys said. "Through the depths and darkness of your spirit, you came face to face with your fears. You were at the threshold to overcome and yet, you still succumbed to your baser fears." "There is more than one way to overcome this, Tidemourne." "That may be," Drakalys said, a tone of foreboding creeping in, "but now that you have entered the crypt of your mind, you will return. Embershield, you will return whether you want to or not." Embershield flashed desperate eyes, then tried to mask the expression. "Your fears will take you there. Your dreams will take you there. Your enemies will exploit this and your allies will fail to understand it. The grave will return to you once more, knight." Drakalys pulled at the straps on his gloves, tightening them. "When you return to that uncomfortable place where resolution awaits, you will be consumed without my guidance. Your ocean will turn violent. The currents will tear you along. Your mortality will lay bear its tender neck." Embershield felt a thin talon scratching at the back of his mind. Tidemourne may be right. His fears would haunt him once more. "As one devoted to the Light, I feel I would be betraying myself to continue this. Once I cross that threshold, there is less doubt as to what I could become." Embershield's lips tensed into a flat line. "That transformation would make me weak." Drakalys clenched his jaw listening to Embershield. "After the Light fails to breach thin walls, after the arcane offers only further mysteries, after the shaman chant and burn and bleed away, you must return to me. Maybe then we will be able to salvage what is left of your mind, Knight." Embershield fixed the Death Knight with a stern look, more to keep himself from looking weak than to express actual anger with the other. Drakalys likely truly meant to aid him, but Kael'than was uneasy nonetheless. This path was not one that he could take, he knew that... but still, it was too tempting to dip into this path offered. More than he would like to admit, the assistance was the draw. The darkness that consumed his mind lately was overwhelming, and it shook the Knight to the bone most nights in the form of nightmares. He looked back over at Tidemourne, wiping at his face with a small frown. "I'll think on your words, Tidemourne." That much was true, even if he didn't want to. It was a very real possibility that this would be his last resort. "I'm heading to the Fjord. I need to clear my mind a bit." And to get away from the ocean, he thought. "I trust you'll keep safe, Tidemourne?" "My motivation is not the chariot hauled by such self interest," Drakalys replied. "Serve another day, Knight." Drakalys pulled his body together firmly in the traditional Forsaken salute. The clamor of his armor rang out like a ghostly bell across the ocean and the high rocks. "Victory for Sylvanas." "Glory to the Sin'dorei," Embershield returned with his own salute and gestures of respect. He turned around, and put the misty shore behind him. Drakalys stayed behind and meditated for exactly one hour. He lit a lantern that wailed out an unholy green light. Its illumination cut through the mist. Long shadows from the shipwreck and jutting rocks danced and were repulsed from the center of his lamp. One shadow stood still and did not waver. "Autumnwing," Drakalys called out to it. "Tidemourne," the shadow drew itself together in the form of Trystiel Autumnwing, the Mindflayer. "Your reputation was not exaggerated," Drakalys said. "Reputation?" he laughed, "What reputation? I would never use my powers against my own kind. Not since the Sunstrider days, anyway." Drakalys narrowed his eyes. "You can speak frankly with me." Trystiel let his smile fall a little, then his arms shook and he burst into frantic revelry,"Oh, to deconstruct his mind with his defenses so low. The doors wide open! To peel back the layers and draw upon fresh fears." "You are absolutely certain that he does not suspect your hand in this?" Drakalys responded. "We played a brilliant duet, Tidemourne. I daresay you helped him even enjoy the trance. For a moment, at any rate. He was but clay in my hands. I could have convinced him that he was Taran Zhu." Trystiel puffed up his cheeks and puffed out his belly, pointing his finger around critically. Drakalys cast a cruel expression at Trystiel. "We break him down only to build him up stronger, Autumnwing." Trystiel blinked rapidly, disarmed by the sudden severity of Tidemourne's tone. "Tidemourne, Tidemourne," he said, plucking off one of his gloves. He brandished a long scar across his palm, his eyes became dark and knowing. "We have sworn an oath upon our blood, Tidemourne. Neither of us will act in defiance of those words. I am no oathbreaker." Drakalys undid his glove, revealing his own scar. It was still encrusted with the dark ichor that oozed under his skin. "His nightmares must continue. Make him seek me once more. Let mine be the hand that guides him to the shrine where true justice reigns." A few seconds of silence ached along when Trystiel at last responded, "He dreams of demons deep in the ocean." Drakalys put his glove back on, adjusting the straps carefully. Trystiel showed his teeth in a slow curious smile. "Well, he'll be exhausted after tonight's endeavors. I have road to put behind me." Trystiel looked at the knight's lamp and its flame whimpered out. The darkness fell over all and Trystiel joined once again with the shadows. The knight fell to his knee and descended into contemplation.

[penbershield]

Fair Winds

“Fair Winds, Kael.”

Lurlei bid him goodnight as she usually did before she walked away to sleep. Normally she got herself a portal home, likely preferring its comforts to the rugged accommodations they had in Frostfire.

Kael waited for her to be gone before he turned to face the table, reflecting on the meeting of the night. Hsu-han had told him he didn’t trust Lurlei, and that he felt betrayed by her. The reaction was a reasonable one– He himself had claimed Lurlei was irredeemable when he had first discovered what she had done. He’d even attacked her and subdued her, taking her away from Netherus and locking her up. He had been harsh with her, the betrayal digging deep. Everything had come to the surface then. The way he hated her for killing Magisters at sea, and the way she lived dishonestly and even took advantage of him for so long.

A deep sigh left the Knight, remembering a conversation they’d had long ago, before Lurlei had founded Merchant Bay Trade. The former pirate had told him how her former captain had made the crew kill a ship of prostitutes. She had sounded genuinely shaken up, and Kael'than listened. Lurlei said that stealing from other ships was one thing, but killing in cold blood was another.

That’s why when he’d been shown evidence of her killing Magisters in the same way, he didn’t want to believe it. Given such evidence about anyone else, and he would have ended their life. But this was Lurlei, surely there was an explanation? That’s what he’d told himself. Then the Trade, and Lurlei, vanished into thin air. Despite everything though, it felt like losing the Bloodwing Brotherhood all over again. One of the only people he had come to know and befriend had left, and he was forced to press forward. Eyes ahead.

Now she was back, recently free from Orge slavery and confiding in him to save her. She had needed a job, and Kael'than had readily accepted her, despite the disapproval he received for it. Lurlei had been with them as the Concurrence gained it’s reputation. As Horde came to know them as blades aimed at their enemies and shields over their allies, and as the Alliance came to know them as fierce fighters that wouldn’t shy from them– outnumbered or not. Lurlei had been there, not hidden from view, not told to censor herself or to act differently in public. Kael'than had accepted her, but warned that he would not condone her criminal behavior beneath the Bladeborn standard.

She didn’t trust him, and it led to the betrayal that had forced the Concurrence a brutal struggle. Eagerly, Lurlei had drank the blood, and just as eagerly she coerced others to drink as well. It was still fresh, remembering how exhausted he was– fighting nightly to fix her mistake. He’d been so weak, at times he felt he couldn’t stand. So exhausted that he’d been defeated, and taken away, locked in a cell beneath the earth and surrounded by demons. Tortured and made broken, even now.

Lurlei had accepted her defeat, and after a few days locked up, she became sorry. She had to see the result of her selfishness, Solathius and Nynaevve locked up within her sight. The former captain had to listen to the priestess cry and sob every night, and to Solathius struggling and shuddering. The demon blood surged through them, calling on their weaknesses and promising power to compensate for them. It was harsh, and since then she’d fought alongside the Concurrence instead for herself.

The road to redemption was a hard one, and he could see the struggle she had with it everyday. Hsu-han, on the other hand, only knew of her as “Admiral”, not just as Lurlei. The Pandaren was adamant that she didn’t go, so Kael'than offered Solathius in place of him. It was very unlikely that Solathius would go anywhere without him though. They were brothers, and they did things together.

A small smile crossed his face as he glanced at the roasted boar meat and goat cheese Lurlei left out, along with some sweets. She was trying, everyday for the Concurrence and for herself. Kael'than wouldn’t abandon her, because it seemed to him that she had been abandoned a lot. He would fight to help her as long as she kept to the road to a better life. Outside opinions be damned.

For once, Kael'than felt self assured as he left the Main Hall, the snow doing little to lessen his mood. He could do this. They would do this. The entire Concurrence understood, and they supported his decision. They didn’t doubt him, even when he doubted himself. It was amazing and humbling that he had somehow managed to inspire such loyalty. The Concurrence would crush their enemies and overcome and obstacles in their path. And they would do it on their own if they had to. The Blood Knight felt his spirit soar despite the tense conversations with Hsu-han. The Pandaren and his orb were a mere phase, and would come to pass.

The path ahead was dark, and full of pitfalls. The Bladeborn Concurrence would overcome them all.

[penbershield]

A Moment’s Respite

A write up after the RP tonight. Loved the arc and can’t wait to do more stuff with atrickyzergblog!

The small apartment Kael'than lived in had never looked so glamorous in the years he’d lived there. He had taken Solathius’ advice, heading straight home instead of stopping at the Hall of Blood. It was a good thing he did, because his exhaustion had increased on the walk home, somehow. After the victory, he felt drained.

It was humiliating, that he’d taken so many hits because of the fear the Eredar inspired in him. He had faltered during the fight many times, remembering the still too recent torture he’d endured. A small shudder ran through him as he walked to his room.

Kael'than felt his mood instantly brighten, his expression softening as he looked at the sleeping woman in his bed.

Vaxiel.

She was beautiful, splayed out on the bed, half covered by the red sheets. Vaxiel’s presence was enough to chase away his demons, the new fears and traumas he hadn’t processed yet. Her aura was soothing enough, the Light moving easily through her, and about her. If there was reason to fight, to live, he knew for him, it would be her. It was strange how that worked, falling in love again after he’d abandoned the idea. Neither of them could have stopped it, that was undeniable.

The first content he had felt in recent weeks was with her. There was no way he could ever thank her enough for that.

Kael'than quietly eased out of his armor, noting the many dents and flaws in the crafted trillium. All recent, all reminders of the weeks struggles. He shoved the thought away, setting the armor aside and tugging his under shirt off. The Blood Knight paused to eye himself in the small mirror over his dresser, frowning at the wounds on his face. Three claw marks curved from his lower right jaw to just beneath his eye, deep and still aching. That was from Valerian. The other was a deep gash that marred his forehead, diagonally through his eyebrow– smaller, but still unpleasant. That was from Netherus.

Why was his face a prime target?

A small frown was given to the wounds before he turned away from the mirror. Vaxiel had shifted slightly, her eyes half opened and looking at him sleepily. Kael'than felt his chest swell with warmth.

“I didn’t mean to wake you.” His voice was soft, the tone he could only muster with her.

A sleepy smile rose to her face. “It’s fine. Are you getting in bed or not?”

A low chuckle left Kael before he finished undressing. He’d become comfortable in his nudity with her- a feat that still surprised him when he thought on it. He slipped into the bed with her, eyes soft as she moved to his side. It was often the way they slept, holding each other lazily. Strong arms wrapped around her as she adjusted against him, a content hum leaving him.

There truly was no where else he would want to be.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Vaxiel mumbled, “But I knew you would be.”

“It’s not as if I could die while you’re here waiting for me, aye?”

A sleepy sound that might have been a laugh left her, and she nodded.

“I love you, Vax.” The words came easy to him now, even moreso after the past week. He turned his head to place a kiss at her temple.

Without opening her eyes, Vaxiel sleepily reciprocated the words, before dozing off again.

For a long few moments, Kael'than was content to watch her. Peaceful is how she looked while asleep, her hair a little messy and the blanket only partially covering her. Her chest rose and fell gently with her breathing. There was no sound he favored more– well, perhaps just one. He was too tired to think about that now though.

He felt his eyes begin to droop, his smile fading as he started to doze. The image of Vaxiel sleeping slowly faded with the closing of his eyes, though he could still feel her next to him, hear her soft breathing. Compared to this, the Wrath of the Legion seemed a minor thing.

Kael'than was invincible with Vaxiel at his side.

[penbershield]

The Price of Freedom

Short write up after tonight’s roleplay! Unedited aside from bolding and such.

The Eredar’s words were drowned out as Kael’than looked at the water he was held above, the freshly conjured Fel Iron ball dangling threateningly beneath him. He’d stayed defiant, spitting at the demon’s feet and refusing the offer to drink of his blood once more. Even now, the throbbing of fresh wounds reminded him of the constant nights of fighting. Struggling, doing everything he could to save the Concurrence from the clutches of this demon. The feeling of weightlessness occurred briefly as the Eredar released him, leaving the Blood Knight to sink into the water—Kael’than had failed. He broke the water’s surface with a muted splash, his ears instantly being filled by the warm water about him. Instinct kicked in, and he held his breath.

“Why boss?” Evi had asked, standing defiantly at his side. It was a question he shared. There was nothing overly special about him. He wasn’t gifted with more power than the average person—his strength, physical and magical, was hard earned. He was a simple man with simple aspirations, hardly anything that would be worthy of the Legions’ attention. So he thought anyway. No, Ilrethar had told him he would be his greatest Champion, and that he needed to willingly take of his Blood. He wished to see Kael’than reach his full potential, apparently. Kael hoped to show him his full potential when he sent the Bastard screaming on his way back to the Twisting Nether. A swell rose in his chest, the familiar need to surface and breathe. It was a shame that the ball chained to his leg was keeping that possibility away. Kael’than knew he wouldn’t die, Ilrethar had told him as much. The enchantment would keep him alive, no matter how much it hurt.

So why was he afraid?

The swelling suddenly compressed into a tightness, glowing eyes narrowing in the dim light the water held. His eyes were a constant reminder to him, of what Fel had done to his people. He’d be damned before he willingly took more of the Fel taint. It was beginning to hurt. A small, sharp breath was taken in, his body desperate for the air that wasn’t there. It burned—horribly, his throat and lungs as he couldn’t help the involuntary gulps for air. Somewhere in his head he KNEW that he wouldn’t die, but the edges of his vision darkening didn’t reinforce that thought in his subconscious. He managed to expell the last breath of air he had in him, the escaping bubbles of air taunting him as they surfaced and dispersed. At least the water muffled him as primal fear caused him to scream. 

In a much undignified way, Kael'than began to struggle, despite how exhausted he was– how exhasuted he’d BEEN. He was so weary, giving up fleetingly ran through his head. He shut his eyes to block out the encroaching darkness, already in agony from the short time spent underwater– surely he couldn’t have held his breath before inhaling for more than a few minutes? He was dizzy, panicked, and almost delirious if not for the sharp reminder of the increasing throbbing of his wounds. Kael'than wouldn’t die, but he almost wished he did.

“FIGH’ IT!” His mind told him, in an oddly Trollish accent, “Ya betta figh’ dis Kael! Ya family waitin’ fa’ ya! Don’ let dis red mudda fucka see ya squirmin’!”

He must have been hallucinating, though it was comforting to know his mind didn’t immediately betray him. Even in his throes, he thought of the others. Had they gotten away okay? He prayed Lurlei and Evi were alright. They’d been dropped from dangerous heights, another of his failures. Solathius and Arcadius must have been furious, since he’d kept both of them away. Good, his mind told him, When they come for Ilrethar, it will be with their full fury. There was no way that the demon stood a chance.

              Maybe you’re too weak, and this Concurrence will be crushed because of your weakness.

Kael’than began to sink, the involuntary gasping causing him to breathe in more water.

              You got this bud! It’ll take more than a shitty demon to take us down!

A faint glow began to build around him, barely visible even in the darkness of the water.

                 Let me fight with you Kael—that’s why I’m here.

Arcadius. Solathius. Vaxiel. They were people he couldn’t let down.

               The fel green of his eyes was replaced briefly in flashes by a faint golden glow, the Light even now flowing through him, trying to fight back the pain he was left to. Succumbing wasn’t an option. FAILURE was not an option. He would will his way through this, no matter how it hurt, no matter that he was still screaming in agony. Erratic flashes of Light shone through the water, barely bright enough to be seen, but without faltering. He would fight this, and he knew the Concurrence wouldn’t leave him here. He would fight as hard as they would, and be ready to join them in defeating the Eredar.

               “WE ARE LEGION!” Netherus had yelled reverently as he burst into flames, sounding as if winning was inevitable with such a mighty force behind him.

               Kael’than clenched his fist, opening his eyes against the illusions his mind had conjured in his panic. Exhaustion made the simple gesture a trial. He knew he had nothing to fear, and that this was only temporary, he would endure this, as his people endured anything. The Legion had made a terrible mistake, and he would be sure that they knew it.

               We are Bladeborn!

[penbershield]

Aftermath (repost)

( I felt inspired after I read Solathius’ story. Wrote this in bed last night on my phone. Unedited as heck. ))

Exhaustion had only been a word with a vague meaning until recently. Kael'than was so tired, all the time, and it came with a headache that wouldn’t leave him. Faintly glowing eyes looked over the papers before him. Evidence, thoughts, everything about recent events. There was so much to take into consideration, it was overwhelming.

“Get some rest,” his friends told him, “You need the sleep.” He would always reply with his best smile and a nod, but sleep didn’t come easily to him anymore. Stress and hanging thoughts of failure kept him awake, and the added pressure of a time limit– courtesy of Tarenor Swiftdawn– only sharpened his need to be constantly working. When he’d spoken with Taz'jin about the situation, the Troll became angry. He cursed Netherus ans promised to aid Kael'than in anyway he could. Taz'jin wouldn’t allow the anything to happen, he said.

The sentiment was touching in itself, but the Troll did more, helping the Blood Knight realize Solathius was needed at his side– not in a cell.

Even amidst the chaos, the relief of hearing Solathius call him “bud” once more was so powerful he might have cried. Things would be right, he swore it. Not just to Nynaevve, who had been manipulated into drinking the Blood, who was trembling in a cell. Not just to Feylectra, whose stress was beginning to break her seemingly unbreakable confidence in herself, or her sister Lurlei who shared Nynaevve’s fate behind bars. He swore to Solathius, and Taz'jin, and to himself– he also swore to Tydrin, the long dead Death Knight who had been a friend and mentor. The sting of his dead felt fresh all over again. Tydrin would know what to do when he did not, and wouldn’t have let this happen.

A long sigh left Kael’than as he let his head fall onto the desk.

You’ve really let things fall apart this time. His self doubt was relentless, encouraged by the haze of sleep that was encroaching. You failed Tydrin, and now you even failed Solathius-- your “brother”. How lucky that you were an only child.

Kael’than was too tired to be angry, instead he felt defeated. He had let Solathius down, then he’s locked him up. Was that so you didn’t have to look your failure in the eye? He knew it wasn’t, but guilt wrenched in his stomach. “If I could just sleep..” He mumbled, a weak attempt at a plea with whatever kept him up at night. The Blood Knight let his weary head fall onto his desk, his eyes sliding shut.

Immediately the sight of Solathius glaring at him, Demon Blood dripping down the Warrior’s face jolted Kael’than awake again. With the reminder, he felt guilty for even wanting to rest. A quick glance outside would tell him Solathius was working on his motorcycle just outside, but he was restless for it nonetheless. The quicker this was behind them the quicker Solathius and Nynaevve, and possibly Lurlei could return to normal. He would think about his failure later. It didn’t matter anymore, because failure was no longer an option.

Kael’than Embershield would free the members of his Concurrence or die trying.