The Ranger-General had bought them time - but it wasn't enough.
Kharisa Silverdawn stood in formation with her brothers and sisters, waiting for death's inevitable march. Their arrogance faltered with every line of defenses the Scourge marched through - and now they knew, for certain, that none of them would live through this.
They were here to give the civilians time to evacuate.
This was the first Khary had ever seen of war - sure, there were skirmishes with the Amani, but she'd lived within the relative safety of Quel'thalas all of her life.
She'd expected some kind of glorious battle, and a part of her expected to somehow survive it. She still believed in her own immortality.
What she found was a slaughter.
Creatures - because they weren't people anymore - swarmed the gates. She watched as her comrades were slaughtered brutally, viciously - and yet the attackers did their best to leave the bodies intact. Khary couldn't understand why, at first. She didn't want to understand why.
She fought with every ounce of strength in her body, taking as many shambling corpses as she could with her. And yet they didn't kill her.
Oh no.
They took her, the stench of rotting flesh filling her nostrils as three ghouls held her still. A geist worked to free her from the confines of her plate armor, as a tall man - a human - stood before her. Blue runes glowed on his long, thin, sword, as he pressed the tip just under her breastbone.
She lost consciousness, then, as he pierced her heart, as she died.
But that was only the beginning for her.
Showing posts with label World of Warcraft. Show all posts
Showing posts with label World of Warcraft. Show all posts
Tuesday, November 17, 2015
Monday, November 16, 2015
Battle for Eastcliff
As she'd predicted, the enemy struck hard and fast.
It would take time for the Nerubians to arrive - she was counting on that fact. By the time they came to take the Keep, the living would be gone.
Still.
One thing at a time.
Arrows, geists, and gargoyles rained from the sky - the scrawny, lithe geists had chosen to scale the walls, to no appreciable success, while the gargoyles scouted from above, seeking any living targets and trying to drag her archers from their perches.
They didn't find much success in that plan.
Khary's arcanite-reinforced, ghost iron armored skeletons decimated the weaker undead that stormed the gates, while her ghouls worked together to dispatch any abominations she herself did not take care of. More than once, she was grateful for her own thick plate armor.
Sure, it wasn't saronite - she'd sworn never to use the foul metal again - but ghost iron, that enigmatic material that flooded the market during the war for Pandaria, was just as durable, and had already managed to save her life without ruining her sanity.
She began, slowly but surely, to lose forces. It began with a massive flesh golem. This thing didn't much care as it became a pincushion. It crushed her ghouls into a fine red paste, and ripped two of her armored skeletons limb from limb, before her 'people' managed to destroy it. Three gargoyles worked together to harry her archers, knocking them from the walls to crack apart on the ground so far below.
It would take more time and concentration than she had to raise the broken bodies to fight once more.
It was a little more than an hour into the heavy fighting. Though Khary herself hadn't taken any severe wounds, her armor was banged up pretty badly, and her forces were down to a single one-armed skeleton and her own self.
The ground rumbled beneath her.
The Nerubians had arrived, tunneling under the walls of the keep. There was nothing she could do about that - it was an eventuality.
The comms reported that the mages were going through their own portals now, unravelling the magic behind them.
The garrison was lost - but this day, the battle was won.
It would take time for the Nerubians to arrive - she was counting on that fact. By the time they came to take the Keep, the living would be gone.
Still.
One thing at a time.
Arrows, geists, and gargoyles rained from the sky - the scrawny, lithe geists had chosen to scale the walls, to no appreciable success, while the gargoyles scouted from above, seeking any living targets and trying to drag her archers from their perches.
They didn't find much success in that plan.
Khary's arcanite-reinforced, ghost iron armored skeletons decimated the weaker undead that stormed the gates, while her ghouls worked together to dispatch any abominations she herself did not take care of. More than once, she was grateful for her own thick plate armor.
Sure, it wasn't saronite - she'd sworn never to use the foul metal again - but ghost iron, that enigmatic material that flooded the market during the war for Pandaria, was just as durable, and had already managed to save her life without ruining her sanity.
She began, slowly but surely, to lose forces. It began with a massive flesh golem. This thing didn't much care as it became a pincushion. It crushed her ghouls into a fine red paste, and ripped two of her armored skeletons limb from limb, before her 'people' managed to destroy it. Three gargoyles worked together to harry her archers, knocking them from the walls to crack apart on the ground so far below.
It would take more time and concentration than she had to raise the broken bodies to fight once more.
It was a little more than an hour into the heavy fighting. Though Khary herself hadn't taken any severe wounds, her armor was banged up pretty badly, and her forces were down to a single one-armed skeleton and her own self.
The ground rumbled beneath her.
The Nerubians had arrived, tunneling under the walls of the keep. There was nothing she could do about that - it was an eventuality.
The comms reported that the mages were going through their own portals now, unravelling the magic behind them.
The garrison was lost - but this day, the battle was won.
Before Eastcliff
Kharisa Silverdawn stood outside of Eastcliff Garrison.
The undead were coming. The scouts had reported an army arrayed against them, and her mind briefly flashed back to the gates of Silvermoon.
She would not, could not fail again.
"Get everyone out," she'd ordered, and the soldiers had rushed to obey.
She would hold the line.
Arrayed behind her stood her army. Five fleshy ghouls knelt beside her, waiting and hungry. Ten skeletons stood behind her, each wearing heavy armor, and twenty skeletons readied themselves on the walls - these were archers. The skeletons were specially modified, their bones reinforced with metal. They weren't agile, precisely - no - but they were incredibly durable, and the archers carried magical quivers that drew directly from the armory.
It wouldn't have worked, if the elves and humans she'd chosen in life had not agreed, if she hadn't bound their souls already. No, these soldiers had died in the defense of their home, and had signed a contract before that - literally binding - to serve in death.
She wasn't a great necromancer, to raise so many at the spur of a moment's need - but it didn't take the gift of foresight to know this day would come. She'd set this up with Eridan over the last few months, in preparation.
Inside, the living scurried about. Mages set up portals, and people filed through in orderly fashion.
Above, the first gargoyle screamed, an arrow piercing its throat. It splattered on the ground next to her.
The siege was upon them ....
The undead were coming. The scouts had reported an army arrayed against them, and her mind briefly flashed back to the gates of Silvermoon.
She would not, could not fail again.
"Get everyone out," she'd ordered, and the soldiers had rushed to obey.
She would hold the line.
Arrayed behind her stood her army. Five fleshy ghouls knelt beside her, waiting and hungry. Ten skeletons stood behind her, each wearing heavy armor, and twenty skeletons readied themselves on the walls - these were archers. The skeletons were specially modified, their bones reinforced with metal. They weren't agile, precisely - no - but they were incredibly durable, and the archers carried magical quivers that drew directly from the armory.
It wouldn't have worked, if the elves and humans she'd chosen in life had not agreed, if she hadn't bound their souls already. No, these soldiers had died in the defense of their home, and had signed a contract before that - literally binding - to serve in death.
She wasn't a great necromancer, to raise so many at the spur of a moment's need - but it didn't take the gift of foresight to know this day would come. She'd set this up with Eridan over the last few months, in preparation.
Inside, the living scurried about. Mages set up portals, and people filed through in orderly fashion.
Above, the first gargoyle screamed, an arrow piercing its throat. It splattered on the ground next to her.
The siege was upon them ....
Monday, October 19, 2015
On Honor
Honor.
By definition, this is honesty, fairness, and integrity in one's beliefs and actions.
What does that mean?
One of the cornerstones of honor is esteem and respect for every living creature, If one does not respect someone, one has little reason other than one's own personal beliefs to treat a person with fairness or integrity.
One must also bear respect for oneself. If one does not respect oneself, then one has no reason to keep oneself to an honorable standard.
Breaking this down even further, then, one must explain what it is to act with integrity.
Integrity is a standard to which one holds all of their actions. This standard must be adhered to at all times, and as a result consistency is achieved, such that one's treatment of all creatures, within reasonable bounds, is equivalent.
Fairness is very much related to integrity; when one is consistent in the way which all creatures must be treated, one can say that they act fairly toward all creatures.
However, that is not the entirety of fairness. Fairness can also contradict with the goal of consistency, however, as fairness is not precisely the act of treating all creatures the same. Instead, fairness takes into consideration all aspects of the situation and applies appropriate judgement. To be fair to one person, one may need to take into consideration a number of factors which are not present for another, yielding an entirely different action and result.
There is also the matter of honesty. Acting with fairness and integrity, the honorable person should of course be honest to all. Honesty therefore, must be defined, as it is one of the key tenets of honor.
Honesty is more than simply electing not to lie. One can tell the complete truth in all things, and still lead a person to an inaccurate conclusion. Therefore, honesty is instead the intention to not mislead any being into wrong thinking. This can be conveyed through actions or words.
How does honor apply in combat?
To review, honor is a matter of treating all people, even enemies, with respect and esteem. In many ways, therefore, it can be said that to act less than honestly is still honorable; for example, a feint in combat would lead an opponent into wrongful thinking, but to abstain from using a specific technique because it is dishonest does not show respect to your opponent's abilities.
Therefore, honor in combat may not be entirely synonymous with honesty, as treating an enemy with appropriate respect includes the important point that you must never underestimate an opponent. To underestimate any person is to be disrespectful.
That is not to say that honor is simply the drive to win at all costs; however, and using techniques which do not fall in line with one's own morality would conflict with honor directly.
However, if one were to act in a way that was dishonest in combat, one may still be honorable, as this displays respect for the opponent's skill and strength.
Next we must address that honor is not only actions, but beliefs. To treat a person with respect, one must not only act in a respectful fashion, but to believe that they are worthy of respect. This comes back to the basis of honor, both in combat and out.
To elaborate, this means that one must not underestimate one's allies, and must instead respect what they are capable of. One should also respect others' beliefs and actions, whether or not those beliefs or actions conflict with those one may hold, themselves.
In closing, honor is based upon respect for all creatures. To be honorable is not only to act respectful, but also to hold others in approprie esteem. To act respectful, one should be honest in both actions and words, seeking not to mislead others into wrongful thought. To maintain one's own honor, one should act with integrity, which is to say that one's behaviour should be consistent as possible. Fairness dictates that one may not treat every creature in the exact same fashion, as circumstances may vary dramatically, but to treat each creature in equivalent fashion based upon the circumstances.
- Achaena Embershield
By definition, this is honesty, fairness, and integrity in one's beliefs and actions.
What does that mean?
One of the cornerstones of honor is esteem and respect for every living creature, If one does not respect someone, one has little reason other than one's own personal beliefs to treat a person with fairness or integrity.
One must also bear respect for oneself. If one does not respect oneself, then one has no reason to keep oneself to an honorable standard.
Breaking this down even further, then, one must explain what it is to act with integrity.
Integrity is a standard to which one holds all of their actions. This standard must be adhered to at all times, and as a result consistency is achieved, such that one's treatment of all creatures, within reasonable bounds, is equivalent.
Fairness is very much related to integrity; when one is consistent in the way which all creatures must be treated, one can say that they act fairly toward all creatures.
However, that is not the entirety of fairness. Fairness can also contradict with the goal of consistency, however, as fairness is not precisely the act of treating all creatures the same. Instead, fairness takes into consideration all aspects of the situation and applies appropriate judgement. To be fair to one person, one may need to take into consideration a number of factors which are not present for another, yielding an entirely different action and result.
There is also the matter of honesty. Acting with fairness and integrity, the honorable person should of course be honest to all. Honesty therefore, must be defined, as it is one of the key tenets of honor.
Honesty is more than simply electing not to lie. One can tell the complete truth in all things, and still lead a person to an inaccurate conclusion. Therefore, honesty is instead the intention to not mislead any being into wrong thinking. This can be conveyed through actions or words.
How does honor apply in combat?
To review, honor is a matter of treating all people, even enemies, with respect and esteem. In many ways, therefore, it can be said that to act less than honestly is still honorable; for example, a feint in combat would lead an opponent into wrongful thinking, but to abstain from using a specific technique because it is dishonest does not show respect to your opponent's abilities.
Therefore, honor in combat may not be entirely synonymous with honesty, as treating an enemy with appropriate respect includes the important point that you must never underestimate an opponent. To underestimate any person is to be disrespectful.
That is not to say that honor is simply the drive to win at all costs; however, and using techniques which do not fall in line with one's own morality would conflict with honor directly.
However, if one were to act in a way that was dishonest in combat, one may still be honorable, as this displays respect for the opponent's skill and strength.
Next we must address that honor is not only actions, but beliefs. To treat a person with respect, one must not only act in a respectful fashion, but to believe that they are worthy of respect. This comes back to the basis of honor, both in combat and out.
To elaborate, this means that one must not underestimate one's allies, and must instead respect what they are capable of. One should also respect others' beliefs and actions, whether or not those beliefs or actions conflict with those one may hold, themselves.
In closing, honor is based upon respect for all creatures. To be honorable is not only to act respectful, but also to hold others in approprie esteem. To act respectful, one should be honest in both actions and words, seeking not to mislead others into wrongful thought. To maintain one's own honor, one should act with integrity, which is to say that one's behaviour should be consistent as possible. Fairness dictates that one may not treat every creature in the exact same fashion, as circumstances may vary dramatically, but to treat each creature in equivalent fashion based upon the circumstances.
- Achaena Embershield
Tuesday, July 28, 2015
Reset: Achaena
Achaena looked up from her work, mixing a healing potion, and staring into the mirror that sat behind her workstation.
The woman who stared back was not her own face.
She'd seen the specter around the manor a few times now - a high elf, if she was any judge.
The others didn't see the woman. She only appeared to Akkie.
"Why me?"
She asked it quietly - she didn't need her training master to hear. He'd think she'd snapped, and she knew she hadn't. She would know if she'd gone insane.
The specter reached out, her pale fingertips touching the glass. Her other hand came to her lips, pressing a single finger to them, and silencing her.
What do you want?
She didn't know if the spirit could hear her thoughts, but the ghost didn't want her to speak aloud, that much was obvious.
And ... who are you?
The mirror's surface blurred for a moment, and she once again saw herself. The spirit was there, too, however - her arms wrapped around Akkie's shoulders gently.
"They're coming."
Akkie could read the woman's lips, though no sound issued forth.
Who? Who's coming?
The spirit gestured, pointing toward the window.
It was late, the sky was dark. Akkie hadn't been able to sleep, these last few nights.
She moved, silently, to the window, looking out. The spirit's reflection pointed, and Akkie looked down. There. Movement in the courtyard. Armored men? At this hour?
Those were guards. Stormwind Guards.
Her blood froze in her veins. No, that couldn't be right. The masters were always so careful.
She heard the distant thump of a fist, pounding on the door.
No. No.
She turned toward the door, opening her mouth to scream the warning - and the spirit slid into her body, freezing her voice in her throat.
"No," the spirit whispered gently, in her own voice. "No."
Her body turned toward the window, opening it quietly. She slipped outside, onto the roof, tumbled soundlessly to the ground - and ran. No one saw her move through the streets, up the trellis, and onto a different rooftop. Her body used its training, moving without her consent.
The screaming began when the manor caught fire.
She turned briefly, her eyes fixed on her home, the only place she'd ever known.
"Run," the spirit urged, and her body obeyed, taking her outside the city walls by way of another rooftop, a tall tree, and a controlled dive. She was going to feel that one in the morning - but nothing was broken; she'd rolled just so, at exactly the right moment.
Her feet took her to a clearing in Elwynn, a small, empty space with a tiny pond in the center.
Finally, finally, the spirit let go of her.
"Why?!" She cried it softly into the wind, fists balled up with rage. "They need me!"
The spirit sat across from her, now, resting on a tree stump. "You would have died." She said it softly, her voice sad. "I couldn't bear it," she admits. "My only daughter ...."
"My mother abandoned me!" She said, denying it. "I was left at the orphanage before I could even talk!" That - was what the masters had told her, anyway.
The masters wouldn't lie to her, would they?
"Not by choice," the spirit whispered. "They lied."
The dead had no reason to tell falsehoods. She looked the spirit over, really inspected her. Her long, flowing hair was lighter than Akkie's, though Akkie couldn't say if that was because she was dead, and that had sucked the color from her, or if there was some other reason.
A line of dark blood slit her throat from ear to ear, the blood running down her front. "You were murdered," she said softly.
"In my own home," she said softly. "While my dear, beautiful daughter lay only a foot away in her cradle." No. No, the masters ...
"Your masters lied to you." the spirit repeated. "And now they are dead." A grim smile that didn't meet her eyes. "It brings me no joy," she admitted. "But it puts my soul at ease, to know that I managed this one thing. My daughter is safe - and my murderers have met justice."
The spirit began to fade from view.
"Mother - no - " Achaena reached for the ghost, her fingers brushing through the air where her mother had been, and as the ghost disappeared entirely, she knew then that she was alone. Tears tracked their way down her cheeks, unbidden.
What was she supposed to do now?
The woman who stared back was not her own face.
She'd seen the specter around the manor a few times now - a high elf, if she was any judge.
The others didn't see the woman. She only appeared to Akkie.
"Why me?"
She asked it quietly - she didn't need her training master to hear. He'd think she'd snapped, and she knew she hadn't. She would know if she'd gone insane.
The specter reached out, her pale fingertips touching the glass. Her other hand came to her lips, pressing a single finger to them, and silencing her.
What do you want?
She didn't know if the spirit could hear her thoughts, but the ghost didn't want her to speak aloud, that much was obvious.
And ... who are you?
The mirror's surface blurred for a moment, and she once again saw herself. The spirit was there, too, however - her arms wrapped around Akkie's shoulders gently.
"They're coming."
Akkie could read the woman's lips, though no sound issued forth.
Who? Who's coming?
The spirit gestured, pointing toward the window.
It was late, the sky was dark. Akkie hadn't been able to sleep, these last few nights.
She moved, silently, to the window, looking out. The spirit's reflection pointed, and Akkie looked down. There. Movement in the courtyard. Armored men? At this hour?
Those were guards. Stormwind Guards.
Her blood froze in her veins. No, that couldn't be right. The masters were always so careful.
She heard the distant thump of a fist, pounding on the door.
No. No.
She turned toward the door, opening her mouth to scream the warning - and the spirit slid into her body, freezing her voice in her throat.
"No," the spirit whispered gently, in her own voice. "No."
Her body turned toward the window, opening it quietly. She slipped outside, onto the roof, tumbled soundlessly to the ground - and ran. No one saw her move through the streets, up the trellis, and onto a different rooftop. Her body used its training, moving without her consent.
The screaming began when the manor caught fire.
She turned briefly, her eyes fixed on her home, the only place she'd ever known.
"Run," the spirit urged, and her body obeyed, taking her outside the city walls by way of another rooftop, a tall tree, and a controlled dive. She was going to feel that one in the morning - but nothing was broken; she'd rolled just so, at exactly the right moment.
Her feet took her to a clearing in Elwynn, a small, empty space with a tiny pond in the center.
Finally, finally, the spirit let go of her.
"Why?!" She cried it softly into the wind, fists balled up with rage. "They need me!"
The spirit sat across from her, now, resting on a tree stump. "You would have died." She said it softly, her voice sad. "I couldn't bear it," she admits. "My only daughter ...."
"My mother abandoned me!" She said, denying it. "I was left at the orphanage before I could even talk!" That - was what the masters had told her, anyway.
The masters wouldn't lie to her, would they?
"Not by choice," the spirit whispered. "They lied."
The dead had no reason to tell falsehoods. She looked the spirit over, really inspected her. Her long, flowing hair was lighter than Akkie's, though Akkie couldn't say if that was because she was dead, and that had sucked the color from her, or if there was some other reason.
A line of dark blood slit her throat from ear to ear, the blood running down her front. "You were murdered," she said softly.
"In my own home," she said softly. "While my dear, beautiful daughter lay only a foot away in her cradle." No. No, the masters ...
"Your masters lied to you." the spirit repeated. "And now they are dead." A grim smile that didn't meet her eyes. "It brings me no joy," she admitted. "But it puts my soul at ease, to know that I managed this one thing. My daughter is safe - and my murderers have met justice."
The spirit began to fade from view.
"Mother - no - " Achaena reached for the ghost, her fingers brushing through the air where her mother had been, and as the ghost disappeared entirely, she knew then that she was alone. Tears tracked their way down her cheeks, unbidden.
What was she supposed to do now?
Monday, December 22, 2014
Premonition
It was a miserably hot day, just like every other day on the Hellfire Peninsula. She had never liked the place, but today it had her entirely on edge. Something bad was coming, she just didn't know what.
Despite her concern, their patrol was more or less uneventful ... until her brother directed her to land. Every last instinct she had said to get out, get away. Obediently, she set down on the ground, and he slid off her back. She couldn't keep still; she was looking in all directions, fidgety. There were fewer demons now, but Outland was still full of threats.
Her brother's cry of pain drew her attention back to him. She keened her denial as he fell to his knees, clutching an arrow that had sprouted from his throat.
The orcs closed in around her, their riding wolves snapping at her legs. She thrust herself into the air, breathing death on them until an arrow pierced her side.
She screamed defiance, demanding nothing less than vengeance. Her brother had spent his entire life in service to the Light - he deserved that much.
It was to her great surprise when pillars of white-hot flame answered her cry, flowering into existence where the orcs had been. The storm left nothing but ash in its wake, though her brother was untouched.
Ignoring her own pain, she collected his body in her talons and began to carry him to Shattrath.
She had to believe this could be fixed.
Despite her concern, their patrol was more or less uneventful ... until her brother directed her to land. Every last instinct she had said to get out, get away. Obediently, she set down on the ground, and he slid off her back. She couldn't keep still; she was looking in all directions, fidgety. There were fewer demons now, but Outland was still full of threats.
Her brother's cry of pain drew her attention back to him. She keened her denial as he fell to his knees, clutching an arrow that had sprouted from his throat.
The orcs closed in around her, their riding wolves snapping at her legs. She thrust herself into the air, breathing death on them until an arrow pierced her side.
She screamed defiance, demanding nothing less than vengeance. Her brother had spent his entire life in service to the Light - he deserved that much.
It was to her great surprise when pillars of white-hot flame answered her cry, flowering into existence where the orcs had been. The storm left nothing but ash in its wake, though her brother was untouched.
Ignoring her own pain, she collected his body in her talons and began to carry him to Shattrath.
She had to believe this could be fixed.
50 Word Thoughts - IX
Oblivion
She stared into that abyss in a kind of awed horror. She did not, could not understand it, that yawning void. It was lightless infinity condensed into an almost humanoid form. It had no eyes, but she could feel it looking at her, through her. Worse, she felt its hunger.
Solar
The bird people were fascinating, yet vicious. She watched as the burning light descended on the small village, obliterating it. To harness the full destructive power of the sun ... of course it would be unfortunate for the victims. But imagine such weapons turned against the Iron Horde: victory, assured.
Accord
The Lifebinder was beauty incarnate. She wore a mortal shell, but the queen of all dragons remained regal. The other dragons present were all powerful and unique in their fashions, and Chirp felt insignificant beside them. A small, gnomish hand tugged on her own. "You could catch flies like that."
Ingredient
She wasn't sure if it was the frostweed, the fish oil, or the simple combination. She tested the mix thoroughly, adjusting the recipe. The transformation would be complete, and permanent. It would change everything about her - physically anyway. She couldn't afford to be recognized by her old friends.
She stared into that abyss in a kind of awed horror. She did not, could not understand it, that yawning void. It was lightless infinity condensed into an almost humanoid form. It had no eyes, but she could feel it looking at her, through her. Worse, she felt its hunger.
Solar
The bird people were fascinating, yet vicious. She watched as the burning light descended on the small village, obliterating it. To harness the full destructive power of the sun ... of course it would be unfortunate for the victims. But imagine such weapons turned against the Iron Horde: victory, assured.
Accord
The Lifebinder was beauty incarnate. She wore a mortal shell, but the queen of all dragons remained regal. The other dragons present were all powerful and unique in their fashions, and Chirp felt insignificant beside them. A small, gnomish hand tugged on her own. "You could catch flies like that."
Ingredient
She wasn't sure if it was the frostweed, the fish oil, or the simple combination. She tested the mix thoroughly, adjusting the recipe. The transformation would be complete, and permanent. It would change everything about her - physically anyway. She couldn't afford to be recognized by her old friends.
Monday, November 24, 2014
50 Word Thoughts - VIII
Panic
"Do you think I'm pretty?"
What.
"Yes?"
She smiled. "I'm glad."
"I'm sorry?" What?
She backed Archer against the wall, invading his personal space. She leaned in, putting her hands on his shoulders. Confusion mixed with an unfamiliar emotion. He shoved the woman away, violently, and ran.
Tonedeaf
She hummed while she painted, content. Applying pigment to canvas was a soothing activity, one she was growing to enjoy. It was not music in a human sense, the grinding and shifting of stone, the song of her homeland. The discordant noise would be unsettling, but she was alone.
Symmetry
The beauty of circuitry was often overlooked. She loved making the insides of her machines as beautiful as they were functional, even though no one else would ever see them. Sometimes - most of the time - it was a challenge to manipulate the machinery. For example, symmetry often required some redundancy.
Security
There was a fighting force at hand; someone was always on duty. But there were no gryphonriders, no alarm spells. There were improvements to be made to the fort's safety everywhere she turned. She would suggest them, but even with her disguise, she was still only just a green recruit.
Invasion
It was a hobby of hers, getting into places she was not supposed to be. She started with various buildings around the garrison, before getting adventurous. The orc threat posed a particularly juicy target. Getting in was a breeze - she climbed the crude, wooden wall. Delicious secrets lay just inside.
Factoid
She enjoyed learning for its own sake, though some information was irrelevant or commonly known. Her beloved was knowledgeable and maintained a large private library, where she could look up anything she was curious about. One day, she read about murloc life cycles. The next, she might research star patterns.
Aplomb
She tried to be everything a leader should - confident and competent. No job was so menial that she would not do it herself, though she obviously could not do everything! That was what the magical word "delegation" was about. Still, she patrolled the grounds and cleaned latrines with a smile.
Conundrum
She wanted to be a good person, she'd decided that. The problem was, how could you define such a thing? Was it a matter of being good at being a person? Or was there some deeper meaning? Neither ethics nor philosophy were especially clear - and neither gave detailed instructions!
"Do you think I'm pretty?"
What.
"Yes?"
She smiled. "I'm glad."
"I'm sorry?" What?
She backed Archer against the wall, invading his personal space. She leaned in, putting her hands on his shoulders. Confusion mixed with an unfamiliar emotion. He shoved the woman away, violently, and ran.
Tonedeaf
She hummed while she painted, content. Applying pigment to canvas was a soothing activity, one she was growing to enjoy. It was not music in a human sense, the grinding and shifting of stone, the song of her homeland. The discordant noise would be unsettling, but she was alone.
Symmetry
The beauty of circuitry was often overlooked. She loved making the insides of her machines as beautiful as they were functional, even though no one else would ever see them. Sometimes - most of the time - it was a challenge to manipulate the machinery. For example, symmetry often required some redundancy.
Security
There was a fighting force at hand; someone was always on duty. But there were no gryphonriders, no alarm spells. There were improvements to be made to the fort's safety everywhere she turned. She would suggest them, but even with her disguise, she was still only just a green recruit.
Invasion
It was a hobby of hers, getting into places she was not supposed to be. She started with various buildings around the garrison, before getting adventurous. The orc threat posed a particularly juicy target. Getting in was a breeze - she climbed the crude, wooden wall. Delicious secrets lay just inside.
Factoid
She enjoyed learning for its own sake, though some information was irrelevant or commonly known. Her beloved was knowledgeable and maintained a large private library, where she could look up anything she was curious about. One day, she read about murloc life cycles. The next, she might research star patterns.
Aplomb
She tried to be everything a leader should - confident and competent. No job was so menial that she would not do it herself, though she obviously could not do everything! That was what the magical word "delegation" was about. Still, she patrolled the grounds and cleaned latrines with a smile.
Conundrum
She wanted to be a good person, she'd decided that. The problem was, how could you define such a thing? Was it a matter of being good at being a person? Or was there some deeper meaning? Neither ethics nor philosophy were especially clear - and neither gave detailed instructions!
Sunday, November 23, 2014
The Aftermath
She woke, groggy, feeling like every part of her body had been beaten with hammers. She didn't want to move, but she had to. Fighting a crippling weakness, she managed to pull herself up to hands and knees. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner of the previous day came up all at once, her stomach protesting what she'd done to herself.
When she was done throwing up, she wiped her mouth and looked around. Ugh. She was still on the cliff overlooking the orcish encampment. It looked very much like a tornado had torn up the area, tents and orcs strewn about like an angry child's toys.
At the center of the camp, a shadow stood, the inky black of the void reaching out and spearing nearby orcish corpses. She watched as a ghost was ripped free of its body. It struggled, trying to escape the thing's reach, but to no avail. The void consumed the spirit like so much candy.
She shuddered. The mission was apparently a success: dead orcs could not normally get up to march, much less to attack a village.
But what had she done?
A better question was, what forces had the orc been tampering with, that his death had loosed this monstrosity.
What would happen when it ran out of orcs?
Vladik! She realized it in a panic - where was her wolf?
She breathed a weak sigh of relief to find him standing nearby, all of his fur up on end. He was growling, his attention fixed on the disaster below.
"Let's get out of here," she whispered.
The wolf nodded, an entirely too human gesture, and trotted off.
When it became obvious that she would not be able to follow at any speed, he circled back to help. She rested almost all of her weight on him, grateful that he chose to be solid for h er.
However, when they got within sighting distance of the garrison, he disappeared like so much smoke.
They both knew that if he was spotted, it would be all too easy to identify her.
Still, she only managed to crawl a few more feet, collapsing in a heap without his support.
When she was done throwing up, she wiped her mouth and looked around. Ugh. She was still on the cliff overlooking the orcish encampment. It looked very much like a tornado had torn up the area, tents and orcs strewn about like an angry child's toys.
At the center of the camp, a shadow stood, the inky black of the void reaching out and spearing nearby orcish corpses. She watched as a ghost was ripped free of its body. It struggled, trying to escape the thing's reach, but to no avail. The void consumed the spirit like so much candy.
She shuddered. The mission was apparently a success: dead orcs could not normally get up to march, much less to attack a village.
But what had she done?
A better question was, what forces had the orc been tampering with, that his death had loosed this monstrosity.
What would happen when it ran out of orcs?
Vladik! She realized it in a panic - where was her wolf?
She breathed a weak sigh of relief to find him standing nearby, all of his fur up on end. He was growling, his attention fixed on the disaster below.
"Let's get out of here," she whispered.
The wolf nodded, an entirely too human gesture, and trotted off.
When it became obvious that she would not be able to follow at any speed, he circled back to help. She rested almost all of her weight on him, grateful that he chose to be solid for h er.
However, when they got within sighting distance of the garrison, he disappeared like so much smoke.
They both knew that if he was spotted, it would be all too easy to identify her.
Still, she only managed to crawl a few more feet, collapsing in a heap without his support.
Tuesday, November 18, 2014
50 Word Thoughts - VII
Swarm
The silly little flower men had sharp teeth. She discovered just how sharp when one of them latched on to her arm. She did not scream - she had endured worse. Instead, she bashed its skull in, green goo flying. She shook the dead thing off, before resuming her vicious slaughter.
Snowbound
Northrend was notoriously cold, with biting winds and harsh snows. She had not fully anticipated staying the night in a tent that was completely buried. She dug a small vent up to let air in and what little smoke her heater gave off out. It was a long, grueling night.
Colorful
She smiled as she worked. To a human, the splash of color on canvas was meaningless. The idea that she could craft her own art was an incredible thought. She did not try to capture the image of something that existed - why would she? Instead, she painted pleasing patterns.
Jaded
She sighed. She wanted to believe in the good of the world, and then this happened. It was two of the woodworkers - she did not know their names. "You know this is not tolerated," she said evenly. Rage gave her punch strength. No one deserved to be hurt like that.
Knight
"Commander!" The man snapped to attention. She had been recognized for her efforts in the previous wars, but honestly, she had no idea how to lead. She had run mostly solo campaigns, because of her "gifts." The idea of running a fortress was terrifying. What if she failed her people?
Translate
With how many years the Alliance and Horde had been fighting, she would have thought that a translator would be superfluous by now. Still, she served as well as she could, for basic confrontations. The others around the garrison got together, cornering her to demand lessons. Of course, she obliged.
Chosen
Once again, she found herself traveling to strange lands a t the beginning of a new war. She was not chosen as part of this mission, but her employer was. She was not one to abandon a job because it got dangerous, and so she demanded a position in their company.
Bird
She swung the 'copter around, firing at the massive skeleton below. There were still a number of free roaming undead after the fall of the Lich King, though not nearly so many as during his reign. She did not mind clean up: it gave her time to think.
The silly little flower men had sharp teeth. She discovered just how sharp when one of them latched on to her arm. She did not scream - she had endured worse. Instead, she bashed its skull in, green goo flying. She shook the dead thing off, before resuming her vicious slaughter.
Snowbound
Northrend was notoriously cold, with biting winds and harsh snows. She had not fully anticipated staying the night in a tent that was completely buried. She dug a small vent up to let air in and what little smoke her heater gave off out. It was a long, grueling night.
Colorful
She smiled as she worked. To a human, the splash of color on canvas was meaningless. The idea that she could craft her own art was an incredible thought. She did not try to capture the image of something that existed - why would she? Instead, she painted pleasing patterns.
Jaded
She sighed. She wanted to believe in the good of the world, and then this happened. It was two of the woodworkers - she did not know their names. "You know this is not tolerated," she said evenly. Rage gave her punch strength. No one deserved to be hurt like that.
Knight
"Commander!" The man snapped to attention. She had been recognized for her efforts in the previous wars, but honestly, she had no idea how to lead. She had run mostly solo campaigns, because of her "gifts." The idea of running a fortress was terrifying. What if she failed her people?
Translate
With how many years the Alliance and Horde had been fighting, she would have thought that a translator would be superfluous by now. Still, she served as well as she could, for basic confrontations. The others around the garrison got together, cornering her to demand lessons. Of course, she obliged.
Chosen
Once again, she found herself traveling to strange lands a t the beginning of a new war. She was not chosen as part of this mission, but her employer was. She was not one to abandon a job because it got dangerous, and so she demanded a position in their company.
Bird
She swung the 'copter around, firing at the massive skeleton below. There were still a number of free roaming undead after the fall of the Lich King, though not nearly so many as during his reign. She did not mind clean up: it gave her time to think.
Sunday, November 16, 2014
50 Word Thoughts - VI
Happy
She was dreaming. She knew that, but it was a good dream. She was enveloped in a sense of pure light and warmth. There was a soft chiming noise that filled her mind. "You are not alone," it said. She woke, groggy. On the contrary, she occupied a solitary cage.
Adequate
"That is not good enough, maggot!" She appreciated that the instructor treated her no differently than the adults he worked with. She wanted - needed - to prove to herself, to everyone, that she could keep up, that she was as good as any adult - if not better.
Transpire
It came to pass that she found herself working at a military base. As far as her peers were concerned, she was a young enlisted man. That was the story, anyway. They let her participate in their games, gambling being their favorite. She lost, so now she cleaned the latrines.
Employer
She snorted softly. The man - the dwarf - who ran this organization was a petulant child, going into an infantile rage because things were not as he wanted them to be. His wife was more respectable, in her eyes. Besides - it was his wife who had invited her here, not him.
She was dreaming. She knew that, but it was a good dream. She was enveloped in a sense of pure light and warmth. There was a soft chiming noise that filled her mind. "You are not alone," it said. She woke, groggy. On the contrary, she occupied a solitary cage.
Adequate
"That is not good enough, maggot!" She appreciated that the instructor treated her no differently than the adults he worked with. She wanted - needed - to prove to herself, to everyone, that she could keep up, that she was as good as any adult - if not better.
Transpire
It came to pass that she found herself working at a military base. As far as her peers were concerned, she was a young enlisted man. That was the story, anyway. They let her participate in their games, gambling being their favorite. She lost, so now she cleaned the latrines.
Employer
She snorted softly. The man - the dwarf - who ran this organization was a petulant child, going into an infantile rage because things were not as he wanted them to be. His wife was more respectable, in her eyes. Besides - it was his wife who had invited her here, not him.
Friday, November 14, 2014
50 Word Thoughts - V
Notifier
She swore. The man cringed - she could feel his fear. He expected her to lash out. A small, quiet part of her said she should. It was the legacy of the runeblades: a persistent, bloody madness, one she fought every day. It was a struggle not to kill the messenger.
Sparkling
There was something hiding among the rocks, something that glittered. It was nothing so plain as simple metal. She recognized the feel of it - a beautiful, purple rock. She did not have the right word for this - gem - but she promised herself she would learn. She needed that knowledge.
Rock
She opened a single eye, just a crack. For a moment, that was all that distinguished her dark gray form from the stone around her. Then the hill that formed her body trembled. Her wings spread; she shifted to arrange her legs under her. She stretched, creakinjg, and then roared.
Grizzly
The massive, shaggy-furred beast foamed at the mouth. It had already killed three strong men. Their corpses lay at the monster's feet. No one dared approach the bear, fearing that they, too, would die. Maybe it was the confidence of the young that spurred her on. She charged in.
Adept
She twisted the currents of magic in the air. Flames twisted around her arm: blue, green, yellow. She refused to be anything less than perfect, at every skill she chose to learn. She spent all of her time practicing her talents, such that she had never learned what childhood was.
She swore. The man cringed - she could feel his fear. He expected her to lash out. A small, quiet part of her said she should. It was the legacy of the runeblades: a persistent, bloody madness, one she fought every day. It was a struggle not to kill the messenger.
Sparkling
There was something hiding among the rocks, something that glittered. It was nothing so plain as simple metal. She recognized the feel of it - a beautiful, purple rock. She did not have the right word for this - gem - but she promised herself she would learn. She needed that knowledge.
Rock
She opened a single eye, just a crack. For a moment, that was all that distinguished her dark gray form from the stone around her. Then the hill that formed her body trembled. Her wings spread; she shifted to arrange her legs under her. She stretched, creakinjg, and then roared.
Grizzly
The massive, shaggy-furred beast foamed at the mouth. It had already killed three strong men. Their corpses lay at the monster's feet. No one dared approach the bear, fearing that they, too, would die. Maybe it was the confidence of the young that spurred her on. She charged in.
Adept
She twisted the currents of magic in the air. Flames twisted around her arm: blue, green, yellow. She refused to be anything less than perfect, at every skill she chose to learn. She spent all of her time practicing her talents, such that she had never learned what childhood was.
50 Word Thoughts - IV
Festival
She wrinkled her nose. While she enjoyed the sweet foods known as candy, she did not enjoy other aspects of this holiday. She had all-but avoided Stormwind for most of the month, for this reason: the low-flying Horde pelted the city with stink bombs. She could not breathe!
Parroting
She did not understand the noises these strange, soft, two-legged creatures made. They opened their mouths and sounds came out. She tried to make the same noises, but she did not know what the noises were for.
"Chirp?" She asked.
"Yes, Chirp!"
She pointed at the squishy woman. "Hoo-min."
Jousting
The hawkstrider ruffled his feathers. She could sense his excitement, as plain as any elf's. Without words, she guided the bird around, bringing the lance up in a salute to her opponent. She faced a large orc. He wore heavy armor, she did not. She still sent him flying.
Jester
"Do you think yourself funny?" The heat of his anger was palpable. Maybe she should be nicer, but she found it hilarious. His thick, plated pants lay unlatched on the ground, his sword danced just out of his formidable reach. He had picked on the wrong little girl today.
Conquer
She swallowed heavily, looking out over the expanse - a shallow pool, really. She had learned to deal with some of her fears, but this one still haunted her. She dipped her toes into the water. It was cold and clear. Slowly, she edged into the pool. So far, so good.
She wrinkled her nose. While she enjoyed the sweet foods known as candy, she did not enjoy other aspects of this holiday. She had all-but avoided Stormwind for most of the month, for this reason: the low-flying Horde pelted the city with stink bombs. She could not breathe!
Parroting
She did not understand the noises these strange, soft, two-legged creatures made. They opened their mouths and sounds came out. She tried to make the same noises, but she did not know what the noises were for.
"Chirp?" She asked.
"Yes, Chirp!"
She pointed at the squishy woman. "Hoo-min."
Jousting
The hawkstrider ruffled his feathers. She could sense his excitement, as plain as any elf's. Without words, she guided the bird around, bringing the lance up in a salute to her opponent. She faced a large orc. He wore heavy armor, she did not. She still sent him flying.
Jester
"Do you think yourself funny?" The heat of his anger was palpable. Maybe she should be nicer, but she found it hilarious. His thick, plated pants lay unlatched on the ground, his sword danced just out of his formidable reach. He had picked on the wrong little girl today.
Conquer
She swallowed heavily, looking out over the expanse - a shallow pool, really. She had learned to deal with some of her fears, but this one still haunted her. She dipped her toes into the water. It was cold and clear. Slowly, she edged into the pool. So far, so good.
Through the Dark Portal
The feel of her axe slashing through flesh, slamming into bone, was intensely satisfying. This was what she was meant for. This was what she had trained for.
She ripped her axe free of the dead orc's skull, lashing out and tearing through another orc's throat.
She wasn't alone out here, by any means - Alliance and Horde alike fought the crushing might of the Iron Horde. But it wasn't like she could hide behind the others, not that she'd want to. She had come to fight, and it was glorious.
A new wave of orcs stormed through the portal. Somehow, she found her efforts had brought her to the front lines, a position that she hadn't intended to occupy. Still, as the strongest warriors of every Azerothian race poured forth to meet this threat, she felt - confident. That was the word.
The orcs largely didn't focus on her, either, at least not at the start. She was small, and she had a trained talent for blending in. She slipped through their ranks unnoticed, ducking a wild mace, and began to wreak havoc.
Her knives had been displayed prominently, not for intimidation, but for easy access. They glowed blue-green as her power freed them from their sheathes. The blades began to dance around her, almost as though they had minds of their own. Blood spattered as sharp points found soft flesh. Her knives fanned out around her, while she herself laid waste to every orc that came before her. Limbs fell, heads rolled, and the orcs suddenly viewed the small half-elf as a threat. This fact, she realized too late.
She drew her blades in close to her body as one particularly large orc turned to face her. He grinned as he smashed his own axe down against her block. Another bone-jarring attack, another - this one was followed with a kick that knocked the wind out of her and sent her flying.
She felt the magic swirl around her as she rolled through the portal.
---
A heavy kick to her side woke her up. She attempted to lash out, tried to fight whatever - whoever - had thought to capture her. Her hands were bound behind her back, so she thrashed, wielding her magic like a club and blasting outward with raw power. She was stunned as her own magic was reflected back at her.
The big orc grinned down at her as she groaned, looking up. She noted absently that her armor had been replaced with rags that barely covered her modesty. One more thing to take out of the orc's flesh, when she was able.
Her orcish was rusty, but she understood him well enough. "You like to fight, little girl? Then you will fight." He threw two crude-looking axes down next to her. "You will fight in the arena," he said, "Until you die."
This was not exactly what she had wanted when she decided to put her skills to use.
---
She killed, and killed again, for the orcs' amusement.
She made a point of not getting to know the other prisoners: she didn't know when she would be forced to fight against them - or worse, when the orcs would just kill them all outright.
The first time they had tried to bleed her, she bit, kicked, clawed, and punched, thrashing until they knocked her out with a swift blow to the back of her skull. The second time, she fought only until they knocked her out with a sweet-smelling herb.
Before they could attempt a third time, something amazingly fortuitous happened: fire broke out, burning the huts around them, and the cage door swung open.
Somehow, she doubted the two events were unrelated.
She ripped her axe free of the dead orc's skull, lashing out and tearing through another orc's throat.
She wasn't alone out here, by any means - Alliance and Horde alike fought the crushing might of the Iron Horde. But it wasn't like she could hide behind the others, not that she'd want to. She had come to fight, and it was glorious.
A new wave of orcs stormed through the portal. Somehow, she found her efforts had brought her to the front lines, a position that she hadn't intended to occupy. Still, as the strongest warriors of every Azerothian race poured forth to meet this threat, she felt - confident. That was the word.
The orcs largely didn't focus on her, either, at least not at the start. She was small, and she had a trained talent for blending in. She slipped through their ranks unnoticed, ducking a wild mace, and began to wreak havoc.
Her knives had been displayed prominently, not for intimidation, but for easy access. They glowed blue-green as her power freed them from their sheathes. The blades began to dance around her, almost as though they had minds of their own. Blood spattered as sharp points found soft flesh. Her knives fanned out around her, while she herself laid waste to every orc that came before her. Limbs fell, heads rolled, and the orcs suddenly viewed the small half-elf as a threat. This fact, she realized too late.
She drew her blades in close to her body as one particularly large orc turned to face her. He grinned as he smashed his own axe down against her block. Another bone-jarring attack, another - this one was followed with a kick that knocked the wind out of her and sent her flying.
She felt the magic swirl around her as she rolled through the portal.
---
A heavy kick to her side woke her up. She attempted to lash out, tried to fight whatever - whoever - had thought to capture her. Her hands were bound behind her back, so she thrashed, wielding her magic like a club and blasting outward with raw power. She was stunned as her own magic was reflected back at her.
The big orc grinned down at her as she groaned, looking up. She noted absently that her armor had been replaced with rags that barely covered her modesty. One more thing to take out of the orc's flesh, when she was able.
Her orcish was rusty, but she understood him well enough. "You like to fight, little girl? Then you will fight." He threw two crude-looking axes down next to her. "You will fight in the arena," he said, "Until you die."
This was not exactly what she had wanted when she decided to put her skills to use.
---
She killed, and killed again, for the orcs' amusement.
She made a point of not getting to know the other prisoners: she didn't know when she would be forced to fight against them - or worse, when the orcs would just kill them all outright.
The first time they had tried to bleed her, she bit, kicked, clawed, and punched, thrashing until they knocked her out with a swift blow to the back of her skull. The second time, she fought only until they knocked her out with a sweet-smelling herb.
Before they could attempt a third time, something amazingly fortuitous happened: fire broke out, burning the huts around them, and the cage door swung open.
Somehow, she doubted the two events were unrelated.
Monday, November 10, 2014
Achaena's Diary, Page Four
I don't want to talk about it. But I suppose that's when I need to most.
Everything I know has been set upside-down.
My family - my Master - lied to me. They told me that my mother had abandoned me. That she hadn't wanted me, hadn't loved me.
But that was a lie.
I spoke with her ghost yesterday. She told me what they had done. They had killed her. My guess is that the house, where I'd lived all my life - was also the house where my mother lived, and died. Otherwise, how would her spirit have been there in death? So they killed my mother, took her house, and made me into a murderer like them.
And how was I to know? I was young and stupid. I accepted everything the Masters told me as absolute truth. They were all the family I had known - what else could I have done?
An example though - the farce known as "pain training." There was a woman who could get into your head. She did a kind of magic, and inflicted terrible, unimaginable pain, all without leaving a visible wound. Undeniably, it worked, at least for me. I can withstand all but the worst pain indefinitely.
But was it necessary to torture children? Really? I suppose in their eyes, it was; we could hardly be effective if we broke down crying over every little scrape like - like children!
And why children in the first place? Is it because no one would suspect a child in a poisoning? Or a knife in the dark? No - I suspect it is the complete obedience, the absolute loyalty. None of us knew any other life, any other family. We were slaves, worse than slaves, because we loved our Masters. We would have died for them. Looking back, I doubt they would reciprocate our devotion.
As much as it hurts now, though, this betrayal was in the past. There isn't any point in dwelling on it: it belongs in the past.
I spoke with the worgen, Raphael, to try and sort everything out. He's wise, maybe even as much as Kelgrim, and more importantly, I was able to locate him last night. I'm glad, honestly: he just seems more ... real, somehow. It's easier to accept the idea that there might be a few good people in the world when he says it, because - well - because I know that he knows the ugly side of the world. He has that kind of a person inside him, just like I do.
He asked me about what my mother's ghost said.
She wasn't happy with the life that I've led, the kind of person I was raised to become.
So he pointed out that I can be whatever I want, do whatever I want.
I don't know what I want, ultimately, but I know that for now at least, I want to be useful. I've been bored, even practicing every day. My mind and body are sharp as ever - why shouldn't I help in the fighting?
I'll contact Foranth tonight. It shouldn't be hard to pretend to be a few years older. I don't even know that a dwarf could tell the difference.
Everything I know has been set upside-down.
My family - my Master - lied to me. They told me that my mother had abandoned me. That she hadn't wanted me, hadn't loved me.
But that was a lie.
I spoke with her ghost yesterday. She told me what they had done. They had killed her. My guess is that the house, where I'd lived all my life - was also the house where my mother lived, and died. Otherwise, how would her spirit have been there in death? So they killed my mother, took her house, and made me into a murderer like them.
And how was I to know? I was young and stupid. I accepted everything the Masters told me as absolute truth. They were all the family I had known - what else could I have done?
An example though - the farce known as "pain training." There was a woman who could get into your head. She did a kind of magic, and inflicted terrible, unimaginable pain, all without leaving a visible wound. Undeniably, it worked, at least for me. I can withstand all but the worst pain indefinitely.
But was it necessary to torture children? Really? I suppose in their eyes, it was; we could hardly be effective if we broke down crying over every little scrape like - like children!
And why children in the first place? Is it because no one would suspect a child in a poisoning? Or a knife in the dark? No - I suspect it is the complete obedience, the absolute loyalty. None of us knew any other life, any other family. We were slaves, worse than slaves, because we loved our Masters. We would have died for them. Looking back, I doubt they would reciprocate our devotion.
As much as it hurts now, though, this betrayal was in the past. There isn't any point in dwelling on it: it belongs in the past.
I spoke with the worgen, Raphael, to try and sort everything out. He's wise, maybe even as much as Kelgrim, and more importantly, I was able to locate him last night. I'm glad, honestly: he just seems more ... real, somehow. It's easier to accept the idea that there might be a few good people in the world when he says it, because - well - because I know that he knows the ugly side of the world. He has that kind of a person inside him, just like I do.
He asked me about what my mother's ghost said.
She wasn't happy with the life that I've led, the kind of person I was raised to become.
So he pointed out that I can be whatever I want, do whatever I want.
I don't know what I want, ultimately, but I know that for now at least, I want to be useful. I've been bored, even practicing every day. My mind and body are sharp as ever - why shouldn't I help in the fighting?
I'll contact Foranth tonight. It shouldn't be hard to pretend to be a few years older. I don't even know that a dwarf could tell the difference.
Achaena's Diary, Page Three
So I was right to check on the dwarf - to alert her father. She was no match for the titanic system she was trying to tamper with: she found herself caught by the machine. Fortunately, Kelgrim was able to circumvent the defense systems and save her.
I guess that means I did the right thing.
Elle is safe, so that's good.
The other thing I wanted to mention though - I got accosted by a dwarf. She's apparently called Mistrel Weaving, though she didn't tell me that at first. See, I was minding my own business, transmuting some living steel. It was in the mystic ward of Ironforge - that area with all that power. She took a minute to tell me how good my work was - for someone my age.
Then, she got suspicious. She pieced together what I was, not that it's exactly a well-kept secret. If the SI:7 knows and follows me around, I think it might as well be a matter of public record. I'm just not that important, especially given recent events.
But this dwarf was paranoid.
She seemed to think I was an assassin sent to kill her, for her efforts in the Siege of Orgrimmar or some such thing. I managed to set her straight - I had no idea who she was or what her organization was about. I guess being dragged around is better than having someone try to eat me.
I even got a job offer out of it. She suggested that I might be able to offer my services to the "Anvil March."
Kelgrim was less than happy about that idea. He says that they're gearing up to make an expedition through the Dark Portal, to fight the Iron Horde.
That does influence my decision.
It will be good to use my talents again.
I guess that means I did the right thing.
Elle is safe, so that's good.
The other thing I wanted to mention though - I got accosted by a dwarf. She's apparently called Mistrel Weaving, though she didn't tell me that at first. See, I was minding my own business, transmuting some living steel. It was in the mystic ward of Ironforge - that area with all that power. She took a minute to tell me how good my work was - for someone my age.
Then, she got suspicious. She pieced together what I was, not that it's exactly a well-kept secret. If the SI:7 knows and follows me around, I think it might as well be a matter of public record. I'm just not that important, especially given recent events.
But this dwarf was paranoid.
She seemed to think I was an assassin sent to kill her, for her efforts in the Siege of Orgrimmar or some such thing. I managed to set her straight - I had no idea who she was or what her organization was about. I guess being dragged around is better than having someone try to eat me.
I even got a job offer out of it. She suggested that I might be able to offer my services to the "Anvil March."
Kelgrim was less than happy about that idea. He says that they're gearing up to make an expedition through the Dark Portal, to fight the Iron Horde.
That does influence my decision.
It will be good to use my talents again.
Achaena's Diary, Page Two
Perhaps I am being too harsh. There have been good people in my life, haven't there? What about Rennfri? She adopted me after my family died. That has to count for something. That may not be a good example. Although she seems to care - she DOES care for me - the death and agony that follows her, that she deals out, that is done in her name - I cannot honestly call her 'good.'
What about the elf who had lived next door? She seemed .... innocent of the evils in the world. Maybe the healing woman - the one who became pregnant?
You might say that every nosy paladin who has tried to enforce a curfew on me might be considered good - at the very least, they largely say they are doing it for my safety. So they are nice enough.
And of course, there is the matter of the dwarf, Kelgrim Forgefighter. Undoubtedly, he has made his own mistakes. His relationship with his daughter suggests that she is at the center of one of his bigger ones. But - she has a relationship with her. He's trying to repair the damage done. "Good" is not synonymous with "infallible."
So maybe there is one good person.
I do hope he doesn't hate me, especially after I let his daughter walk blithely into danger. I did send him a letter, so if something is wrong, he can help to fix it.
I'm on a boat now, me and my golem, sailing across the sea to Kalimdor, so that I can fix my own error. I despise water - the only way that I can make the journey is in a windowless room where I cannot see my impending doom.
If we capsize, I will drown and die.
How pleasant.
What about the elf who had lived next door? She seemed .... innocent of the evils in the world. Maybe the healing woman - the one who became pregnant?
You might say that every nosy paladin who has tried to enforce a curfew on me might be considered good - at the very least, they largely say they are doing it for my safety. So they are nice enough.
And of course, there is the matter of the dwarf, Kelgrim Forgefighter. Undoubtedly, he has made his own mistakes. His relationship with his daughter suggests that she is at the center of one of his bigger ones. But - she has a relationship with her. He's trying to repair the damage done. "Good" is not synonymous with "infallible."
So maybe there is one good person.
I do hope he doesn't hate me, especially after I let his daughter walk blithely into danger. I did send him a letter, so if something is wrong, he can help to fix it.
I'm on a boat now, me and my golem, sailing across the sea to Kalimdor, so that I can fix my own error. I despise water - the only way that I can make the journey is in a windowless room where I cannot see my impending doom.
If we capsize, I will drown and die.
How pleasant.
Saturday, November 8, 2014
Of Ghosts
The elf wasn't anyone she recognized. She had known the others she had encountered, either personally or by their armor. This ghost was a civilian, though. She worse a simple, white nightgown, and a river of blood ran from her throat, which had been slit.
"They lied," the woman said, her voice wispery and almost inaudible. Achaena thought for a moment that she had imagined it. "They lied to you."
"Who lied?" She asked. "Who are you?" She wasn't particularly afraid - only the strongest ghosts could harm the living - and she didn't feel that this ghost meant to do her harm.
The woman floated forward, reaching out for her. She felt a chill as the ghost's hand cupped her cheek. "I would never abandon you ... my daughter."
She froze. Years of resentment, of hurt and anger, surfaced momentarily, before melting away. "Mother?" Her voice trembled. This had to be some kind of trick. She'd always been told ... but the dead weren't supposed to be able to lie. Not like the living could. And, when she was younger, hadn't she believed everything the Masters said?
The woman looked like her, tall and willowy, though her features were bleached in undeath. She enveloped Akkie in a cold, yet loving, embrace. "They killed me," the ghost whispered. "I could only watch as they twisted you, tortured you. Made you like them." Her voice held horror and pain. "That wasn't the life I wanted for you. It broke my heart."
"Mother, I - " The ghost pressed a finger to her lips.
"Shh." Her mother offered a sad smile. "This wasn't what I wanted for you, but it brings my soul a measure of peace to know that you are strong enough to survive the cruel world I brought you into. My only regret is that I could not - can not - be there for you."
Already, I can feel my rest calling.
Be strong, and brave.
My daughter."
Her spirit faded. There came a sense of profound peace.
She sank to her knees, silent tears streaking down her cheeks. Her world had been set upside down.
"They lied," the woman said, her voice wispery and almost inaudible. Achaena thought for a moment that she had imagined it. "They lied to you."
"Who lied?" She asked. "Who are you?" She wasn't particularly afraid - only the strongest ghosts could harm the living - and she didn't feel that this ghost meant to do her harm.
The woman floated forward, reaching out for her. She felt a chill as the ghost's hand cupped her cheek. "I would never abandon you ... my daughter."
She froze. Years of resentment, of hurt and anger, surfaced momentarily, before melting away. "Mother?" Her voice trembled. This had to be some kind of trick. She'd always been told ... but the dead weren't supposed to be able to lie. Not like the living could. And, when she was younger, hadn't she believed everything the Masters said?
The woman looked like her, tall and willowy, though her features were bleached in undeath. She enveloped Akkie in a cold, yet loving, embrace. "They killed me," the ghost whispered. "I could only watch as they twisted you, tortured you. Made you like them." Her voice held horror and pain. "That wasn't the life I wanted for you. It broke my heart."
"Mother, I - " The ghost pressed a finger to her lips.
"Shh." Her mother offered a sad smile. "This wasn't what I wanted for you, but it brings my soul a measure of peace to know that you are strong enough to survive the cruel world I brought you into. My only regret is that I could not - can not - be there for you."
Already, I can feel my rest calling.
Be strong, and brave.
My daughter."
Her spirit faded. There came a sense of profound peace.
She sank to her knees, silent tears streaking down her cheeks. Her world had been set upside down.
Wednesday, November 5, 2014
Achaena's Diary, Page One
Hello.
That's how these things begin, right? A greeting, an introduction, and then I spill my darkest secrets.
But the healer says that this will help. So, let's do this properly.
My name is Achaena. I am a half-elf. I am twelve years old. And I am a monster.
Oh, not like the Worgen, or the San'layn. No curse has made me to be what I am. But I bear no illusions: I am a monster.
But I'm only twelve, the astute observer will remember. What could I have possibly done?
Let's begin at the beginning. An elven woman deposited her newborn baby on the front doorstep of the orphanage. I remember neither my mother, nor the orphanage. I was too young. But I know what happened next.
A group of assassins, my family, adopted me. They raised me, trained me. I learned to fight with all manner of weapons, including my own magical talent. I also learned to brew potions and poisons.
I made my first kill when I was only ten. I've never felt any guilt. Why should I? This is what I was raised for. I was proud; Master was proud of me. He presented me with a set of ten perfect knives, which I carry to this day. They're a part of me, and more importantly, they are my last reminder of him.
You see, it was less than a year later that their scheme was uncovered. I returned from a job to find the house - my home for my entire life - crawling with guards. Everyone I'd known and cared for was dead.
But time moves on. I escaped the guards' notice easily enough, kept out of their way. I pursued legitimate work, even looking after a hunter's pets for a time. That was interesting. One of them was dead - killed long before I met him. I made fast friends with the ghost wolf named Vladik. He is a supremely loyal companion; he rarely leaves my side. The hunter ultimately let me keep him. If there is one person I trust implicitly, it is him.
I've met a lot of people - some of them were even good, I imagine. But mostly ...
There was that warlock who tried to kill me in Dalaran, because I wouldn't kill someone for free. Stupid - no gold, no blood.
He didn't succeed, obviously. Neither did the dwarf who tore a chunk out of my leg.
I'm still alive, but that one was close. I still have scars from those encounters - the leg healed with the help of magic, but nothing can cleanse fel taint permanently.
Even my own friends are - many of them - awful, horribly cruel people.
I think the dwarf, Kelgrim, is probably the best person I've met, and all I do is anger him. Maybe I should try to listen to him - he's old, he's supposed to be wise. But the things he says are so unrealistic.
People are mostly bad. It takes work - hard work - to care for anyone other than yourself. Even those who claim to be altruistic are only doing it to feel better about themselves.
Now I'm feeling bitter.
Maybe I'll burn this page - that's supposed to make you feel better, too.
That's how these things begin, right? A greeting, an introduction, and then I spill my darkest secrets.
But the healer says that this will help. So, let's do this properly.
My name is Achaena. I am a half-elf. I am twelve years old. And I am a monster.
Oh, not like the Worgen, or the San'layn. No curse has made me to be what I am. But I bear no illusions: I am a monster.
But I'm only twelve, the astute observer will remember. What could I have possibly done?
Let's begin at the beginning. An elven woman deposited her newborn baby on the front doorstep of the orphanage. I remember neither my mother, nor the orphanage. I was too young. But I know what happened next.
A group of assassins, my family, adopted me. They raised me, trained me. I learned to fight with all manner of weapons, including my own magical talent. I also learned to brew potions and poisons.
I made my first kill when I was only ten. I've never felt any guilt. Why should I? This is what I was raised for. I was proud; Master was proud of me. He presented me with a set of ten perfect knives, which I carry to this day. They're a part of me, and more importantly, they are my last reminder of him.
You see, it was less than a year later that their scheme was uncovered. I returned from a job to find the house - my home for my entire life - crawling with guards. Everyone I'd known and cared for was dead.
But time moves on. I escaped the guards' notice easily enough, kept out of their way. I pursued legitimate work, even looking after a hunter's pets for a time. That was interesting. One of them was dead - killed long before I met him. I made fast friends with the ghost wolf named Vladik. He is a supremely loyal companion; he rarely leaves my side. The hunter ultimately let me keep him. If there is one person I trust implicitly, it is him.
I've met a lot of people - some of them were even good, I imagine. But mostly ...
There was that warlock who tried to kill me in Dalaran, because I wouldn't kill someone for free. Stupid - no gold, no blood.
He didn't succeed, obviously. Neither did the dwarf who tore a chunk out of my leg.
I'm still alive, but that one was close. I still have scars from those encounters - the leg healed with the help of magic, but nothing can cleanse fel taint permanently.
Even my own friends are - many of them - awful, horribly cruel people.
I think the dwarf, Kelgrim, is probably the best person I've met, and all I do is anger him. Maybe I should try to listen to him - he's old, he's supposed to be wise. But the things he says are so unrealistic.
People are mostly bad. It takes work - hard work - to care for anyone other than yourself. Even those who claim to be altruistic are only doing it to feel better about themselves.
Now I'm feeling bitter.
Maybe I'll burn this page - that's supposed to make you feel better, too.
Saturday, October 25, 2014
50 Word Thoughts
Banquet:
She knew it was a trap. She knew it, but she trusted herself. She could not, did not, anticipate how prepared he had been. The meat was delicious, even though she rarely ate it. The poison was so fast, she could not even cry for help. She was in trouble.
Frustration:
She was not doing it right. She knew it. She picked up the hammer and began to beat the training dummy in earnest. One strike, two, three - the dummy snapped in half. She did not let up. She continued until the wood was so many splintered pieces. Still so unsatisfying.
Merciful:
She stood over the orc, bloody axe in hand. He groaned, bleeding. It was not mercy that stayed her hand. The alliance needed answers. So she bound his limbs and began to drag his half-dead body back to the camp. Maybe she was wrong to hurt him back. Maybe.
Fast Food:
She settled into the dive, wings tucked in. The unfortunate cow would have no idea what happened. One moment, it was standing, peaceful, and the next, she had snapped its neck, her talons impaling its skull.
She ripped its flesh open, beginning to feast in earnest.
She had killed well.
She knew it was a trap. She knew it, but she trusted herself. She could not, did not, anticipate how prepared he had been. The meat was delicious, even though she rarely ate it. The poison was so fast, she could not even cry for help. She was in trouble.
Frustration:
She was not doing it right. She knew it. She picked up the hammer and began to beat the training dummy in earnest. One strike, two, three - the dummy snapped in half. She did not let up. She continued until the wood was so many splintered pieces. Still so unsatisfying.
Merciful:
She stood over the orc, bloody axe in hand. He groaned, bleeding. It was not mercy that stayed her hand. The alliance needed answers. So she bound his limbs and began to drag his half-dead body back to the camp. Maybe she was wrong to hurt him back. Maybe.
Fast Food:
She settled into the dive, wings tucked in. The unfortunate cow would have no idea what happened. One moment, it was standing, peaceful, and the next, she had snapped its neck, her talons impaling its skull.
She ripped its flesh open, beginning to feast in earnest.
She had killed well.
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