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Fragments of memories
Allright..so actually I'm doing this in Psycho's form, because long stories tend to be hard for me, and it's easier to spellcheck smaller ones ;)

Drena Firebeard

The dwarf looks by the window in her fortified house, deep in the bowels of Ironforge. She's a petite one, but big-boned enough and definitely very agile. She overlooks the busy underground street, and smiles. Another dwarf is strolling quietly. She's wearing a bright red robe, and a beautiful jacket completes the outfit. Drena makes mental notes, still smiling. She almost sheds a tear, her grin still in place, and clenches the fists as the girl vanishes in the crowd of dwarves.

She then glances to her right. An opened scroll, lit by the flickering candle, matches her sight; in big capital gothic letters, the word Deed, and underwards, Lord Annar Firebeard, written in Ironforge by Thane Lendru Thunderhammer. It's a deed, and on the old parchment, there is no list. But a mere sentence, in the middle. Drena reads it, mumbles it, seems to loose control for a second. Is it fear, is it frustration, or rather sheer happiness? Only for her to know. She suddenly moves, turning away from the window, leaving the deed on spot, before climbing down the stairs leading to the first story of her homely hideout.

She walks towards the wrought iron entry door, garbed in her tight leather winter outfit. She grabs the handle to her Nesinwary gun, straps it on her back, and then throws a half-filled leather bag onto her shoulder. She walks outside, locks the door, and ventures silently towards the train station.

The Fortune's Pursuit waits in Theramore
Sail her far and away, be rich forevermore


[Image: awesome-mario-gif.gif]

Have you hugged a dwarf today?
Emma Dustwallow

Emma walks out of the bright store, featuring quite a huge display area, lit by wide high windows filtering the Dalaran light. The woman, wearing quite an impressive purple, gold-trimmed gown, with a cutesy braided collar and innumberable folds, goes down the street with a female and graceful demeanor, one that you would find in the refined upper class ladies of Stormwind - as Dalaranese women tend to walk more stiffly, while being much more casual in their behavior and clothing. Emma's dress is far too complicated, and it's noticed. A few people glance at her as she passes past them. A few streets later, and she is on the inner ring road, the true heart of the city-state. Dalaran shines at this time of the day, as the dusking sun vanishes to the other side of the world and the shadows of the spires stretch westwards. Emma sits by a table, at a tavern. A waiter, properly dressed, comes take her order. He goes as she whispers sweet words in his ear, her face beaming with happiness and an assured elegance. And so is her classy voice. Is she not refined. He comes back a few minutes later with her drink, a long crystal glass of moonberry juice.

She waits. She sips quietly into her glass, both legs bent to a side,well hidden under the long gown. She peers at the numerous passersby, may they be Sin'dorei, Quel'dorei, humans from all nations, gnomes, orcs or even a Tauren. She does not quite enjoy seeing all these strangers, and she does not bear the orcs and elves very fondly in her heart - but she does smile back at a Sin'dorei's flattering glance. The wind that breezees through the city is cold, but it is strangely enough not so cold, at least not as cold as expected for some place stuck amidst the wastes of Northrend. She grins. It reminds her of another time, at another place; the Dalaran of old, so decadent and astray, but also so cosmopolitan and respleniscent. To her ears come a song of old, from a group of bards, in the tavern, playing an old tune with flutes and mandolins, in a language even she does not fully understand, an ancestor of High Common, now found only in dusty mage books and other historial archives. She gets caught in her dreamy errings, transported to the Stormwind of old, or to Silvermoon. Perhaps to Southshore or Stratholme? Oh, dear STratholme...so much wailings and death, so much desacrating... She remembers Amberstone Lodge, an inn in her hometown where she spent her days playing, while not so far, drama unfolded, nations closed to the world, and an unspoken doom slowly rose. The world of old...

A woman comes interrupting Emma's wanderings. Dressed in a long, pink dress, and a red jacket, her brown boots spotless and of the best leather. Her brown hair flows into the wind. She arbors a greeting and welcomking smile, and with a sweet voice, almost a whimper, she asks kindly. "Miss Dustwallow, I presume?" Emma turns to the girl and smiles. "Ah, Aerith. Good to see you." The discussion flows, and unfolds, like a river of words, giggles, but mainly of business matters. Both use emotions and reason like a river would twist, pass islands, or be slowed down by dams or waterfalls. One would make an offer, and the river suddenly turns, twists, rushes in canyons, passing through valleys and plains. Is this a new town in the distance? One woman has put a rather hefty bet on an item, and the flow threatens to flood, but is slowly smoothed and passes, greeted by the villagers, slow and calmly. It gushes at the promise of gold and rumbles when the promise proves too low, or bubbles when the deal its worth its price. It hugs the soft beaches of emotive persuation and erodes the shores of disreasonned tinkering. Fishes thrive in the waters of sweet fair business, but die at the sight of dishonesty and unforeseen shipping taxes. And finally it reaches the sea, engulfing into the salty waters as both partners shake hands and the agreement is concluded...-

"Miss Dustwallow?? Are you here??" Emma snaps her eyes open, as if woken from a really enthralling dream. This will be fourty-two silver coins and thirty coppers for this batch of Manabloom, and the vial of Lifestream Liquor. Remember to keep in dry conditions, okay? Emma looks baffled at Aerith, her hand going to her pouch, a purple leather sack with about two gold coins inside. with blurry eyes she hands the money for the plants. As she tucks the plants in the folds of her robes, she shakes Aerith's hand awkwardsly. She watches her depart and smirks widely. "This really was one dream of its own..."

Halani Stonehoof

The Tauren shimmers at the thought of what shall face her. Halani, already middle-aged, a respected shaman living with a splinter of the Bloodhoof tribe in her own very small village, in the far reaches of Mulgore. It began as a dream. The drean of a coaster toznm and the nightmare of a fel-ridden plague decimating its inhabitants one after another. He cried for her that night, and she wept for him. And then he visited her, for a few hours, or a few days. No one knows. His name is Awren, long-fallen chief of a tribe that in time, joined the Bloodhoof trie and merged as one. He joined with her mind and body, effectively becoming her. Halani stops existing, and Awren takes over. Tonight Awren came with grave news. A small gathering of Tauren around the fireplace looks at him, as he advances and his hand stretches towards the fire. He blows some powder into it, and draws sticks of coated cinnamon to slowly consume into the flames. In Halani's voice, he speaks of a place in Tanaris. a quiet harbor, resisting the commercial onslaught of the goblins and the horrors normally brought about by the raiders and pirates, and perhaps the Horde versus Alliance skirmish, to trading and to the good flow of good rum.

And so the wailings of the spirits, of the Earthmother are heard, as he speaks his words of doom to the people of Halani. A fate balefully uncomprehensible, and certainly unimaginable, though dwarved in scale by the Scourge.. When she regains consciousness, she hastily prepares to go, packing a few herbs, leather pieces, reagants of any kinds and apparently sharing no common properties, cinnamon, flsh orbs, leaves, empty vials, and even a jar of dirt. She then grabs her huge, spiked staff, normally resting on the back side of her tent, and rests it on her arm. In a blink she's gone, walking towards Tanaris, the sunlight in her back, timbering slowly towards what has all the potential to become a local global distaster.

[Image: awesome-mario-gif.gif]

Have you hugged a dwarf today?
Alanthe Mistleseed/ Melina Felo'thori

The 'plague' had been going on for days, weeks even. Two villages decimated already. There is indeed something going wrong in the misty forests of Ashenvale, southern holdings of the Kaldorei empire. The Night Elf walks on the path. It is night, and the moon barely sheds her light through the thick canopy of the ancient oaks. The birds sing their nightly songs and the wildlife teems with life, but she creeps through a stench of death and desolation.

Haven't you fought enough already? You are no more a Sentinel. Everyone you loved is no more.
The Kaldorei was often pondering, and she usually did not pick up fights. But she stood for her values. And right now there is something going wrong. Though mists and shadows, she jumps and leaps, running on now uneven terrain. She knows it - she has tracked down the area, and she knows where the great beast who terrorizes the county is. And she is ready to subdue it. Her dark mithril armor, flexible but still sturdy, and her shiny and sharpened longsword prove so. A simple trip back home... Her footsteps make almost no sound as she speeds up. Over there, there's a clearing, and all signs point to it. She bitterly fought for centuries, and even during the battle in which her nation, and her kin, lost so much.

"All we ever know and want is indecision in this fleeting world... Your time has gone and so has your mate. Why carry on the fight?"

A last leap, and she rolls under a great giant root, burrowing under only to emerge in a purple, moonlit clearing. She rises and takes a look about, her sword making no sound as it is being drawn from its sheath. Now stealthing, melding her best with the surroundings, she turns over a single rock, a side reflecting all the strength of godly Elune's light. She walks on towards, securing her surroundings. Nothing is moving. But she notices a sword, snatched inside the rock. A bit like in this fairytale about a young boy retrieving a sword from inside a legendary ground and becoming king. Only this sword has an unholy taint, and runes are glowing on it. One at first, then a second, third, and soon six runes glow blue in the moonlight. The Kaldorei is not one to fear, far too battle-worn to be intimidated by a mere sword. But suddenly, it begins to wiggle free from the rock! She backs off and snarls at it. Violently, it cracks the top of the boulder open and goes swirling in circles, unexpectedly, right in front of her head! She leaps off and falls on her back. She looks in the direction of the sword. The low moon behind her, a masked, slender female silhouette, with blue eyes. She wears a very dark plated armor, embracing her shape, and a black cowl. Her cape, black as the most tainted of bloods, flows in the wind, contrasting unto the moon's bright opalescence.

"Look who gives us a nice little visit...Alanthe." The elvish figure approaches the Kaldorei. She stands up and points her slender curved sword at the dark figure's throat. "A fighter..That's how I like them." she chuckles, drawing the runeblade. She is certainly no Quel'dorei, no alive one to the very least. She walks in slow circles around Alanthe. The Kaldorei does not speak. On her heels, she does not let herself get intimidated. And eventually frowns and states, "So you are the sick person bringing about all this chaos...You unworthy Sin'dorei..."

The dark woman chuckles, reveling in her sinister behavior. She lowers her hood, and cowl, revealing flowing ginger hair. "Oh..but they are...incidental. Circumstantial victims.. no, I was not seeking to kill them, they did drive me out..." She keeps lurking around Alanthe, calmly; the Kaldorei sure gets more tense! "I was searching for -you-, Alanthe. I knew you would come, and I was certain your Sentinel instincts would drive you to me..right as planned."

Alanthe swings her sword once, about the other elf's face. "DO not get closer! What are your motives? Trying to kill me? Enslave me? I am not intimidated! You are but a lowly elf...I have taken much more down."

The Sin'dorei, mow surely a Death Knight, smiles faintly. "But I do not seek to hurt you, my pretty." It does unease Alanthe, who holds her sword motionless, staring in the nastily smiling other face. "Lowly elf? Oh.. But I have just evolved again..You are but our ancestors, and common folk at that.. We are diverging. I just have a message for you. A simple message. A while ago, I would have killed you. But I think that being hostile on sight is not... the best approach. Rather...the second best? I however admit I do not like your kin at all, and would rather see you all perish. I try to be more friendly...like before. The memories are coming back. Am I just not huggable?"

Alanthe backs off. The elf sure has a way to call friendly, killing villagers, despising her kin! "You have been far too bold to venture here! You are not allowed in our lands! You will respond for your crimes!" Before she can charge, however, unholy energies coming right from her body begin to swarm around her in a purple haze. She is like suspended. She can hardly speak, or move, as she is slowly drawn towards this woman and her lifted hand.

"Do not force me to enslave you. I only come to deliver one sentence. Be sure to hear it; it will change your life, and bring me a good sum. Everyone will be glad this exchange was...accomplished? Here is the sentence." She pauses, as Alanthe struggles to get free from the Knight's grasp. "Fear not the barren marrow, mourn not the fallen dreamer. Somewhere he seeks for you..this is everything."

She drops Alanthe on the ground, the Kaldorei rises up swiftly though. She goes to catch the sword that fell, but the Sin'dorei grabs her by the collar, her stern eyes gazing into her prey's face. The Kaldorei, despite all her strength, is beyond all help as she kicks her legs to get free. She is yanked beneath her, falling onto the ground, and soon enough the Sin'dorei sits atop her, holding both wrists. "Do not disappoint the long-dead dreamer, Alanthe. He yearns for your return." Weakly, the Kaldorei strikes back. "You are mad..you killed everyone just for..that? You should be dead..who sends you? " A smile cracks up in the Sin'dorei's face.

"Someone who wants you alive, healthy, and seeking to make up for..the lost time. And you will not do the mistake of striking me. I could out-do you so easily... No one beats Melina, darling." The Kaldorei gives up struggling, breathing hardly as the woman's weight crushes her down. Melina stands up, nudging at the laying Kaldorei's sign with her plated boot. The smile only getting wider, she quietly goes, her cape floating in the pale moonlight, leaving behind a crestfallen Alanthe, glaring at the sky.

Every word she's saying must be a lie...

[Image: awesome-mario-gif.gif]

Have you hugged a dwarf today?

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