Croatius searched frantically for the flints in his father’s blue eyes, the pieces of madness that would spark and burn at the slightest provocation.
“Croatius. Don’t Argue. Just go.”
“I made it for you, Father. For the holiday.”
Croatius cautiously pushed the little card onto his father’s desk. The quel’dorei stared at the boy from across the polished, black surface, his icy blue eyes full of impatience. Did Croatius see a little stir in there of something else? Not of fondness, or he dared not to hope it. Almost… recognition.
“Thank you for coming so swiftly, Magister Runefire. The master understands how little you like being disrupted from your work–“
“Be quiet,” Croatius said sourly. “I want to see him now.”
The squire bowed and led Croatius deeper into the Blood Knight Enclave. They passed through several gauzy curtains, and Croatius felt by the shiver that passed over his skin that they were enchanted against intrusion. As they fell behind him, he knew that, while he could see out through the thin fabric, back towards the public quarters, no one could see in.
The squire’s pace quickened as they went down some stairs and turned a sharp corner. Containment cells lined this hall, many now occupied. Croatius didn’t even jump as one of the Wretched bounced off the invisible wall separating it from its visitors. Croatius couldn’t even tell its sex, its state of magical decay was so advanced. He scowled at the mindless monster, his own thoughts wandering…
“This cell, sir,” said the squire.
Croatius shook himself irritably and came to stand next to the squire, peering through the distortion of the ward. Evelos was inside, his wrists held tight together by a silver chain that dampened his magic and kept him tranquil. Still, the quel’dorei’s eyes opened as Croatius drew nearer, and the two once-friends stared at each other. Continue reading “Son of Silvermoon, Part Four”
He returned to Kharanos with the trolls dead and the meat and shimmerweed in tow. The dwarves gave him a feast in thanks, and Seryth went to bed with a bellyache and a sore head. He dropped off quickly into sleep, reflecting that he could always tell his father that the harvest had taken longer than usual to sell, hence his being away for a few days instead of the couple he had promised… Continue reading “Conversion: Chapter 5, Part 4”
This was a continuation of the scene started in Part 2, so I just had to complete the thought.
One thing I will have to watch in the future is how I describe rukh-shami. These ones at first act like moving boulders, but then Sirith notes they feel smooth and malleable like mud. Earlier in Chapter 1 he noted they bled sand. So which is it? Are these different sub-races? Or does it have to do with how these ones were burned to death instead of stuck with swords? Does normal fire even work on them? My world-building has a lot of unanswered questions…
It was nearing sundown when Sirith approached the hills where the rukh-shami were supposedly encamped. He expected to see smoke rising in the air from campfires, but it was dark and silent all around. He pulled his ram to a stop and hesitantly dismounted, leading the riding goat into a brake of shrubs that he hoped would conceal it from sight.
Though the ympe clung impatiently to his shoulder, Sirith chose to approach the camps quietly, in a roundabout route up the shoulder of the hill rather than straight-on. He had an eerie feeling as he climbed Continue reading “Conversion: Chapter 5, Part 3”
The rebels were headed by several men who had been distrusting of Seryth from the beginning, though violence hadn’t erupted until proof of demonic experiments had been stumbled upon in a cave outside of the town, in the form of several sick transient children who had been sheltering there.
The once-farmers told Ezran the story, how they had gathered at the town center to make their voices heard about the tragedy. The gathering had begun to turn restless as noon turned to dusk turned to night without any of the town’s leaders coming to speak to them, when suddenly the mayor opened his doors. Unwitting, many of the townsfolk had filed in, thinking they would finally get the chance to speak, but instead, they were ambushed in the halls by demons. Continue reading “The Search for Seryth, Chapters 14-17”
I’d like to say I took so long getting this done because re-formatting 5,000 words with pictures every paragraph can take a really long time, let alone drawing the pictures themselves. I’d also like to say this has been waiting as a finished draft, ready for me to press publish, for the year since I was given the text.
The reality is, I’m just lazy, and after getting the two portraits finished, I let this sit for over a year with nothing being done on it.
No longer, however!
This was taken from a roleplay scene in World of Warcraft, shortly after Thorin was detained by the < Stormwind Union > for starting a brawl with another character. Evelos shows that the healing he’s trained in is not just patching someone up physically, but also mentally.
Some word choice has been changed, as the original writing was done in present tense. I also had to remove some artifacts left over due to this being created by two people typing at each other in real time, rather than a single stream of story. Enjoy.
Thorin sat on the cold, damp floor of the Stormwind Stockades, back propped up against the wall. His head resting against the rough stone, he stared sullenly out between the bars of the cell. The cell block hallway echoed with the soft sounds of dripping water and the quiet early morning rustlings of the other inmates. Across the hall, the man from last night’s brawl slept sprawled on his cot, snoring softly.
Thorin watched him with a small degree of jealousy. How anyone could sleep in a place like this was beyond him. For fel’s sake, he couldn’t even escape the nightmares in his own bed at home. Here, it would be next to impossible. Continue reading “Counsels and Confessions”