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A Home for a Hobby
#1
Spoiler:
I'll be posting in this thread for all my characters as they come up.

[attachment=1902][attachment=1900][attachment=1901][attachment=1915]
The true test of his choice lies forward.
— The story of the Silithian.


See life through shades of silver.
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#2
A sheet of fine colored parchment is laid out on a small table. A single candle illuminates the dank corner of wooden walls and floor. Nothing can be heard but a symphony of mumbling and nuances of the Author. A brush glides over to the ink well and swirls around the ink. It is raised just enough to let some extra ink drip off the tip. It hangs there for a moment as the Author contemplates how to start. With a sudden jerk the brush lands on the parchment and begins to form the first paragraph. Steady and rhythmic it quickly finished. The wooden handle is pressed against the Author's thumb as the proof-reading commences. Snap. The Author throws the broken utensil across the room to little effect. Another brush is retrieved and the letter is finished. A moment passes before any movement is registered. The brush is thoughtfully pressed into the inkwell and withdrawn. It glides over the first paragraph and marks out a word. A phrase. The editing continues, alternating between strike-outs and additions. The brush is suddenly discarded to the side and the letter folded up. It is placed into a plain envelope and carried outside.

It is a cloudy night in Ratchet. The unending sounds of a nearby ocean washing against wooden docks echo in the still night. A slight squeak can be heard as the Author approaches the letter's destination. The sign above it slightly swaying in the early morning breeze. A simple orange glow emanates from the sign, perhaps from a candle in a nearby window. The letter is quickly deposited within a mailbox, and none are the wiser.
The true test of his choice lies forward.
— The story of the Silithian.


See life through shades of silver.
Reply
#3
[attachment=1910][attachment=1911][attachment=1912][attachment=1913][attachment=1914]

The true test of his choice lies forward.
— The story of the Silithian.


See life through shades of silver.
Reply
#4
Sylvanas How is she different than Arthas? Arthas enslaved. Sylvanas is a savior toher people. How are Forsaken different than me?I know how other Dwarves feel about me. I know I am not one of them any longer. Rejected by my family and Dwarven heroes. Do Forsaken truly know what this is like? They are their own race. They know not the division that plagues my mind. They mentioned the Argent Dawn. It’s been so many years. Would they take me? As they do with other Death Knights. Would they understand me? I fear they would turn on us Knights after the Scourge is annihilated. We are still undead. The Black Harvest talk of trickery and false alliances. Do I betray them? Do I alert the Dawn to their plots? No. There is an inner urge within me that is screaming no. It is telling me that betrayal is not me. Not Brohn. Brohn Stonehart. That’s who I am. The Harvest is putting ideas in my head that is making me think deeper than I have since my freedom. That alone is reason enough to stay. For now.

I wonder the fate of my letter. Was it thrown out with the other trash? A random note to be discarded aside? Such optimism, they surely would of read it by now. Perhaps they don’t know how to respond. Would I, in my life? It probably terrified them. I will always be a monster. Is there someone out there like me? Surely I am not the only one feeling like this. I dare not trust the Forsaken. They are chaotic and would turn my weakness against me. I need a loyal friend to talk to. Someone who cares about the Dwarf beneath the monster. That letter is my only hope. Hope. Light’s Hope Chapel. I need to remind myself often of the freedom I now have. I am allowed to pursue my dreams. How can a monster have dreams? Perhaps there is more to me than that monster I see myself as. I just need to take this one day at a time. Should I seek out an employee of the Exchange? No. Too dangerous. For both of us. That letter is my only hope.
The true test of his choice lies forward.
— The story of the Silithian.


See life through shades of silver.
Reply
#5
Spoiler:
Posted with the collaboration of Lancelet.

Willard wakes to find himself in the Argent medical facilities deep within the city of Hearthglen. The human is in a chair, probably the same he passed out in. He looks down at his left arm, now contained in a hard cast. The urge of healing himself wracks through his mind alongside the pain. He looks around the room and sees a Sin’doreri, Solus, unconscious on a bed. Near him, a human Paladin. On his other side and much closer another Sin’dorei, Domaris. Her white robes stained red hang from the footrest of her hospital bed. She lies there unconscious as well, tucked neatly under a heavy blanket. The thought of selfishly healing himself passes when he contemplates the others around him in greater need.

He looks at Domaris and smiles a bit warily. He speaks in a whisper but is it still echoes in the chambers, “The White Elf has red hair.” He stops and sighs a little as pain throbs throughout the left side of his body. “I’d probably turn away from a mission to hunt down a necromancer if it wasn’t for you.” Willard huffs as he amuses himself, “Heh, things were sure easier training in the safety of a classroom.” His mind continues to wander as footsteps begin echoing closer to the infirmary.

A nurse enters in and notices Willard stirring. She offers a smile and quietly speaks, “Oh good, you’re awake.”

Willard returns the smile but it quickly fades amidst the pains. The nurse walks up to him and pulls out a needle. She pricks his hand as he looks on. “You and your companions are lucky to be alive… Did you feel that?”

Willard looks at his hand, “No. That was odd.”

The nurse shakes her head. “It is a common symptom of shadow poisoning. The nerves in your extremities are damaged. You’ll be numb for about a week. Other symptoms include, fatigue, loss of appetite and reoccurring nightmares. It should pass in time.”

Willard frowns and looks down. “And my arm?”

“It is a straight break and will heal within a month with healing treatments. But, your arm is the least of your worries. You have suffered from intense spell-casting fatigue. Doctor’s orders; No casting for two weeks.”

Willard glances to Domaris before setting his head back against the chair. “Nurse?” he asks. The lady finishes her notes and looks over her notepad at the man.

“Is there something else I can do for you?”

Willard offers a smile, “A piece of paper, and a messenger please.”

The nurse exits the room and a young human lad enters a few minutes later with a parchment and pencil. “Here ya go mister.”
Willard digs in his coin pouch and pulls out thirty silver coins, then five more. “Please, run to the mage tower and purchase ten Dreamfoil. Keep the change. Return to me and this letter will be ready.”

The lad takes the coins and nods to Willard, “Oi, sure thing!” The young man takes off out of the sanctuary. Willard uses his good hand to try to write, but the paper squirms as he presses into the paper. With much effort he manages to pin the paper down with his wrist and scrawls on the paper.

Willard Wrote:Kerana Axestorm,

I am recovering from severe injuries in Hearthglen. I am unable to meet you in Ironforge at this time.

Light bless, Willard.

A few minutes pass and the young man comes back in with the Dreamfoil. Willard looks up from the letter and smiles. “Can you put them in that vase there?”

The boy looks at the pile of leaves he holds, then the vase, “Like sum sort of flowers? But these are ugly leaves!”

Willard uses his good hand to hush him, “I know, just arrange them with the tips upward.”

After a few moments the boy finishes arranging the leafs into the vase. Willard hands him the letter and says, “Please mail this to Ironforge, and you can be on your way.” The young man tips his hat and scurries off.

The nurse reenters and looms over Domaris. She spends a moment checking her vitals and scrawling more notes down. Willard speaks up, “How is she doing?”

The nurse would hesitate. "You're a friend of hers?"

Willard offers a warm smile, “Yes we share the same faith and spend time together.”

The nurse kneels in front of Willard and lowers her voice. "Please don't tell others. I'm sure she will let them know if she wishes."

Willard’s face tenses up and he looks intently at her. She pauses to place a hand on his knee and draws a deep breath. "She..." the nurse fails to find words easily, "Without revealing to much...she miscarried shortly after sustaining her injuries. It seems Miss Firebrand was unaware of the pregnancy when she took herself to the fight."

As Willard’s gaze drifts from focus she stands once again. The nurse places a hand on Willard's shoulder. "She will recover physically soon enough, being young and healthy. But the psychological effects of this event will take far longer to heal. Please be patient with her during this time." The nurse reads Willard’s face for a moment, then turns and quietly makes her exit.

Willard places his hand over his face, now wet with tears. With a wavering whisper of a prayer, he whimpers alone in that room. “Oh all-enveloping Holy Light, have compassion on your faithful servant. Domaris Firebrand has served faithfully, and courageously, without regards to her own safety. She has made me a better servant also. She has changed the world in her own special way. Help her. Give her the tenacity to continue to spread the holy message throughout this land, despite this tragedy. Let not her compassion for others fade from this tragedy. Help her recover to a more vibrant person, so all can see the power of the Light. Aid me in being the person I need to be in this difficult time. Help me to respect her as a woman, and not judge her actions. Grant me the tenacity to never leave no matter how difficult this becomes. Give me compassionate ears, a compassionate heart to carry her through this. Amen.”
The true test of his choice lies forward.
— The story of the Silithian.


See life through shades of silver.
Reply
#6
It was the warmth of the sun which drew her leisurely to half-waking, even as a gentle hand brushed a cool cloth across her face. Domaris lay with closed eyes, basking in a timeless feeling of peace.

“Loth'amel,” she murmured, leaning into the hand.

The hand stilled. “Miss?”

With that one word from an unfamiliar voice, peace swiftly departed, and her memory began to return in a sickening rush. She remembered joining the fight to put down a necromancer despite the nagging feeling it had been a bad idea; battling alongside Willard, working together with him to destroy the shadow crystals protecting the necromancer from harm. And then...

A sharp pain seized her and she cried out, eyes flying open as she sat bolt upright.

“Easy, easy there.” A woman with a quiet voice tried to soothe Domaris as soft but firm hands guided her back to lie on the bed. “You're safe now. It's all right.”

But it wasn't all right. Through the pounding in her head and body Domaris recalled that something else had happened that ended her participation in the fight, but the memory would not come. She concentrated, trying to revive it; but instead an image of a face swam before her eyes: a crooked, gaunt visage that belonged to a man who had been surprisingly gentle as he examined Domaris and told her she had miscarried a child during the battle.

A child she had not even known existed, though the signs and symptoms should have been so very obvious...

“I killed you,” Domaris whispered hoarsely, trying again to sit up. The world spun and tilted nauseatingly, and she flailed against the blackness creeping into her vision. “I killed you.”

“Hold her down, quickly.”

Another pair of hands, rough and strong, pressed her shoulders to the bed. Domaris never even felt the needle's sting in her agitated state.

“I'm so sorry,” she sobbed as darkness engulfed her.
[Image: large.png?1309884332]
When home is far behind and ever the long roads wind,
I keep your memory in my mind; one day I'll repay in kind.
For so long as I've gone and so far I've wandered,
The evening star to me you are.


Lancelet Ardanos - Treading the never-ending road
Domaris Dawnstriker (Firebrand) - Conflicted Quel'dorei-at-heart
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#7
Willard slides his hand down the hallway towards the room where Domaris is recovering. Each step is carefully plotted. The only light is a glimmer of light through the keyhole. He reaches his hand out to twist the door knob and push the door open. A vast expanse of a room takes up his whole vision. It is completely dark as well, the only source of light seemingly coming from the bed in the center. He cautiously approaches with out-stretched arms trying to feel out anything. As he nears the center of the room, the light is actually a portal. It slowly spins in the darkness emitting an eerie glow. Willard pauses for a moment and looks around. Dark purple lights line the room illuminating common furniture. A loud howl fills the room and Willard snaps his attention to the portal. It’s form changes slightly and begins to suck in the room. Willard is gripped with fear as first the purple flames are sucked in, then the chairs. The large tables and wardrobes begin swirling all about the room as he begins to feel the tug on his clothes. Willard turns around and tries to make a break for the door. He uses both his arms to steady himself as he pushes towards the door. Both hands clasp onto the knob, but it’s locked! The portal continues to suck in everything in the room as he struggles with the door. Willard’s feet are swept off the floor and he is left hanging on the knob for dear life. His hands slip off the knob and he flies like a ragdoll into the portal.

Willard opens his eyes and stirs to his hands and knees. He looks around and finds himself in a ruined necropolis. A sense of familiarity overtakes him, he’s been here before. He crawls to the edge of the overlook, it is the same Necromancer and his minion surrounded by dark purple crystals. Willard looks around as he continues to pant. He is alone.

The Necromancer begins with a howling cackle before shouting, “Willard the Weak! I have destroyed all you care about, and now it’s your turn. I will enjoy watching you beg for your life just like Miss Firebrand!”

Shadow tentacles leap at Willard and seize him. They lift him up and begin to squeeze his body. The man lets out a gurgle as the shadows thoroughly wrack his body. Willard forces his eyes open to glare at the Necromancer before the end. A sudden gasp fills his lungs as the tentacles rip Willard towards the ground with amazing speed.

THUD

Next to a chair, the body of Willard lies crumpled on the floor. He stirs to the sound of his own heartbeat echoing in his ears. He looks around in a haze and stumbles to the door. His left arm jerks for the knob, but it is held back by the cast. Willard then claws at the knob with his right hand. It opens and he escapes down the stairs.

A dwarf looks from his conversation with the Innkeeper to the sound of a man stumbling down the stairs with a death grip on the banister. His eyes follow the man as he makes his way around the room. The dwarf watches the man use the wall for a guide before slamming his shoulder into the front door. The Innkeeper then looks to the dwarf who also meets her eyes. Nothing needs to be said.

An Argent Guard posted outside goes to stop the fumbling man but is halted by a plated hand on the shoulder. “I’ll take care of ‘im.”


Willard looks nervously around him. Lamposts and torches create large shadowy figures in the dark night. He weaves in and out of them towards the training grounds. It might have been dangerous during the day time, but at night it is vacant. He goes to push past a training dummy, but it resists the movement. Willard recoils back and turns around. An ominous figure looms in the distance. The shadow golem raises both his hands and echoes into the night, “Easy thar lad I jest want’a help ye…”

Willard lashes out with a shout, “Get away!” He thrusts his right hand out at the dark golem and incants a spell.

The dwarf reaches up and holds the sides of his helmet as the Mana Burn spell takes hold. With a low growl the dwarf reaches for his hammer. “Now tha’s enough o’tha.” He closes in on the scampering human while maintaining a particular aura. Willard shouts at the dwarf in an unknown tongue and forces out a Shadow Word: Death. The feedback from the failed spell grips Willard and he writhes in pain. A swift blow with the flat of the dwarf’s hammer ends this encounter. The paladin scoops up the human and hefts him onto his shoulder. He passes the guard from earlier and meets his suspicious gaze. “I’mma take care o’this lad. Name’s Ural fer the record. Ural Highstone.”

The dwarf carries the man back into the inn and explains to the Innkeeper. He pays off his tab and purchases a room for a week. He carries the unconscious man up to a room and lies him on the bed. Ural undresses the man and inspects him with a low hum. Shadowy burns have left a telltale discoloration on his chest and below his eyes. “Ye bit off more than ye could chew aye? Reckless humans…” Ural holds a hand to the man’s chest and forehead. Holy light fills the room as the Dwarf lays his hands on the human. “Tha’ll do ye fer now… Now git sum sleep already.”

Ural makes his way down the stairs and approaches the Innkeeper again. “Poor lad had some sort of shadow wound, but I took care o’tha. If he causes more trouble, call tha guards first, then a priest.” He pauses for a moment and offers ten more silver to the innkeeper. “Fer yer trouble.” With a curious glance towards the stairs, the dwarf makes his way out of the inn.

The true test of his choice lies forward.
— The story of the Silithian.


See life through shades of silver.
Reply
#8
Reserved.
The true test of his choice lies forward.
— The story of the Silithian.


See life through shades of silver.
Reply
#9
A young man around the age of eighteen approaches a man in a blue and white robe. Willard turns his gaze from a sheet of wrapping paper and accepts a rolled up parchment. The mail boy leaves the Priest shortly after receiving a few coppers as a tip. Willard leans back in his chair and unfurls the scroll.

Spoiler:
Domaris Wrote:Dearest Willard,

I feel I have failed in my duties of Compassion. So much has happened very recently that I have been quite wrapped up in my own troubles and unable to attend to the struggles of those whom I care about.

Forgive my sudden departure. You may or may not have heard from those who were present at the time, but I received a letter informing me that my husband's body was found in Northrend. I have returned to Silvermoon City to plan a funeral for him and my child.

I sent this letter at the first opportunity, hoping it would reach you swiftly and not fall by the wayside. I hope it finds you well.

Please also forgive my deception created by hiding part of my identity from you. I am indeed a sin'dorei, though I feel it is a hollow distinction at best. I am serving my people as I believe the Light wills...but my true heart and home will always be far from this place.

I hope to see you again someday soon. Please give my best wishes to Katrana.

Your comrade and sister in the Light,

Domaris Dawnstriker

His fingertips grazes across a spot of discoloration in the parchment. He takes a moment to re-read it again before rolling it up again and slipping it into an interior pocket of his robe. The Priest continues his work, wrapping up a small box with blue wrapping paper. He stirs for a moment looking at the finished project. Willard slides it to the side and fetches a light parchment and mechanical ink pen. His response begins to take shape…

Spoiler:
Willard Wrote:Ms. Dawnstriker,

Tenacity comes before Compassion in the Three Virtues.

Do not forget the compassion you have already shown me. I will pray for you in this difficult time. I know this news of your late husband came at an equally difficult time, but you must realize you can finally have closure. After the funeral try to find a time of respite and reflection. Complete the grieving process so you can continue your service to the Light. Remember one can become fatigued by serving others.

I’ve known you are a Sin’dorei for a while, but I thought it best not to point out or dwell on our differences. You’ve always shown me great respect and you still have mine. I await your return or reply.

Until then,

Willard Kimble

The man folds up the parchment carefully and seals it with a bit of wax from a nearby candle. Plucking it off the table he rises and exits the inn. Willard heads for the local bank to deposit the letter he received. With it secure, he then walks back outside and mails the letter to Silvermoon. The Priest looks up and takes in the morning view. After a moment he remembers the gift, “Now where is that woman…”
The true test of his choice lies forward.
— The story of the Silithian.


See life through shades of silver.
Reply
#10
Tikar opens his eyes to find himself in a Kaldorei inn. He sits up and looks down at his body. His hand runs down to small tear in his chestguard. Tikar’s finger slips into the hole and feels healthy skin underneath. A single word fills his mind, Furbolgs. The Druid swings his feet over the edge of the bed and stretches his hands towards the floor. He begins to make his way down the ramp. The only thing that slows the elf down is the grogginess of a much needed rest. The cool night breeze reveals other holes in his armor. A long tear in between his shoulder blades and two identical holes. Was I run through?, he wonders as he compares the holes.

The lake had a soothing fog hovering above the lake as Tikar neared. He knelt down and began to untie the bear fur lashing from his ankles, and then his wrists. Next he stood and peeled the tight leather cheastguard up and over his head, ending in a tall stretch. With a groan of relief the druid tosses it to the wayside. Feels good to go bare again. Bare. Bear., he snickers to himself. Tikar slips out of his leggings and flings them towards his other armor with the help of his foot. A few springy bounds and the blue haired Kaldorei dives into the cold morning water. He resurfaces and shakes his mane of hair around. He uses his hands to wipe the strands out of his face. A sting causes his cheek to flinch. The familiar feeling of a claw to the face causes him to pause for a moment. Oh yeah this was from Corchel… Tikar begins to swim along the edge of the lake. First it was simply moving through the water, then he began to ramp up the exercise. Launching himself through the waters in a full breaststroke, his mind began to drift. Wonder if I made a good first impression? She sounded ancient, like mother. A good fighter, strong, like Ursoc. Though I think I’m a bit father in my physical prowess. Those Furbols didn’t stand a chance, though I probably didn’t have to take them all on at once. I can't believe what got into me, I know better than rush foolishly headfirst into a fight.

The druid climbs out of the water after a few laps still heaving for air. He goes to sit near his armor and simply collapses next to it instead. He lies on his back, looking up to the starry night above. A swim usually satisfies me, what is bothering me? His muscled chest beating up and down with every breath. He closes his eyes and listens to himself slowly return to a normal heartbeat. I know. I need to confront the fact I don't have a mate yet. A sense of tranquility envelops his mind. All around the Druid a silvery hue rises up from the dewy grass. Restoration magic soothes his weary muscles and recent battle wounds. He rests a hand on his stomach as he begins to doze off again. Elune guide me... The restless druid pulls up a few strands of grass and lets the breeze sweep them across his face. I can’t just keep living like I’m still immortal.
The true test of his choice lies forward.
— The story of the Silithian.


See life through shades of silver.
Reply
#11
"Meditation is key to learning this spell."
Tikar points over yonder, "That's where you'll arrive. It's best to have a mental picture before attempting."
Corchel tilts her head slightly. "Okay." She studies the area, her amber eyes looking about alertly.
Tikar stands on a small stone. "Close your eyes, and take in all the sound. It might take a moment to register everything."
Corchel nods, closing her eyes and slumping her shoulders as her pointed ears twitch lightly.
Tikar's voice goes into a soft, mellow tone. "Let your mind wander to each sound. Visualize in your mind. Let all your cares and emotions fade into neutral shades."
Corchel listens intently, both to Tikar's words and the sounds of the Moonglade.
"Pull that feeling of peace, and tranquility, towards the vision in your mind. Focus on each detail, filling them with the same vibrant color and natural sound that you recall."
Corchel nods her head slightly, trying to recreate the image in her mind as vividly as she can.
Tikar 's hands would begin to emit a subtle glow. "Let yourself enter that picture. Just... drop yourself into it."
Corchel furrows her brows in concentration as she does as he says, her body glowing lightly as she disappears.. and reappears about a foot away.
Tikar opens his eyes, "And here you are."
Corchel opens her eyes, seemingly at least a little dizzy. "I did it..?" She glances about a bit, head swooning noticeably.
"Yes, disorientation is normal. Only practice it here for a while."
Tikar kneels in front of his Thero'shan, "You did really good for your first time." He puts his arm around her shoulder for support.
Corchel chuckles softly as she leans on Tikar's collarbone, "It feels like I was trapped in a whirlpool."
"It is a foreign experience for us, but in time it will come easier. The key is to maintain a neutral mind frame. Your emotions can distort the image and lead to that queasy feeling."
The true test of his choice lies forward.
— The story of the Silithian.


See life through shades of silver.
Reply
#12
A hooded courier approaches a women garbed in red and white leathers. Her lifeless gaze peers at the man for a mere moment before relieving him of the letter he carries. The woman methodically opens the letter.

Willard Kimble Wrote:Papa,

I tried giving her the list, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. It’s just so… legalistic. I hope you’ll understand when I come to explain everything. I know she’s the one Papa, you’ll just have to hear me out. I’m planning to visit in the next couple weeks. I think it’ll just be myself. I just need to have a man-to-man talk with you. You know, father-son talk.

Give Momma and the girls my regards. I’ll see you all soon.

-Son

The masked woman slips the letter back into the envelope and hands it back to the courier. “Send it.” The cloaked man departs leaving the woman to her thoughts. This gives me time…

Soon…

The true test of his choice lies forward.
— The story of the Silithian.


See life through shades of silver.
Reply
#13
The roar of a waterfall echoes into the Nightsong Woods. Two Druids sit in quiet meditation at the base. The rushing water falling cascades on their shoulders. Tikar lets the roar of the waterfall washout all random thoughts. His mind drifts about his mate next to him, but in time that too fades into the sound of crashing water. Deep in his consciousness a black depth begins to reveal a brown treant. Tikar sees himself approach the treant, seemingly the only thing in the vast area. Its form begins to shift into someone easily recognized. Father…

The ancient Druid nods slowly, You come for advice my son.

Tikar embraces his father in a loving hug. The elder Druid smiles softly at his son. Tell me what is on your mind.

You know of the corruption. How can I help?

You have already helped. There is a deeper question you’re asking.

Dad, you know the path I walk, but I’m not sure if Ursoc’s strength is what I need right now.

Ursoc and Ursol teaches us balance. Physical Strength and Potent Spells. You push Ursol’s aspect on your younger brother. You must realize that the balance must take place in yourself. That is why they are the Twin Bears. One in the same. Indivisible.

But won’t I let them down if I neglect my physical training?

Your devotion goes deeper than your physical appearance, my son.

I know, but Dad…

Hercynian idles for a moment, You have another devotion.

Tikar sees his face turn a little darker, Corchel…

It is appropriate that you have a mate. Do not worry, she will strengthen you. You must be able to rely on others. Even as they do you.

What should I do then?

You know the path you need to take to protect our people. It will be difficult, but use the Twin Bears’ determination to drive yourself.

Tikar goes to hug his father before commenting, Thanks dad, I really needed this.

Hercynian’s form shifts back into a treant. His voice takes on a creaky-oak accent, I am always here when you need me.

Tikar views himself and the treant slowly falling off into the vast darkness of his consciousness once again. The roar of the waterfall overtakes his mind as a wandering hand lingers onto his thigh.
The true test of his choice lies forward.
— The story of the Silithian.


See life through shades of silver.
Reply
#14
A hooded courier approaches a women leaning against the hallowed walls of Acherus. The woman is intent on supervising an Ebon Blade skeletal smith work repairs into a set of dread Saronite plate armor. Her Scourge-laced vision catches the man as he approaches. The same deathly blue emanates from behind the hood as he hands her a letter.

Maurice Kimble Wrote:Will,

You must return home immediately! Put the girl to the wayside, there is urgent family business we need to discuss.

-Mr. Kimble

The masked woman dismisses the courier and stands there as the smith focuses on his work. My brother... you were always oblivious... blind... innocent? to world events. The woman walks over to the runic flames of a Rune Forge, and flicks the letter into oblivion. This need not concern you.
The true test of his choice lies forward.
— The story of the Silithian.


See life through shades of silver.
Reply
#15
A simple looking man approaches a job board located near the entrance to the Dwarven District. He looks over what's posted and mumbles to himself as his finger follows each posting.

"Le'see, smith? No."
"Bartender? No..."
"Rat-catcher... ew gross."
"Ooo relic hunting? In... Northrend?" He laughs out loud, "Yeah right."
"Mining... also in Northrend."
"Brewmaster's apprentice?" He laughs again, "I should really stop drinking all that wine now that I think of it."
"Theif-catcher. Huh I wonder what Katrana would say about that."

Willard plants his hands on either hip and huffs, "There really is nothing suitable. It's all too dangerous, or would pay pittance to what I'm looking for. Maybe I'll ask Katrana for some contacts? No. I can't let her get too involved, or she'll start asking what I need money for. She'd probably try to give me a handout, but I can't let her do that. It wouldn't be the same as if I earned the means to purchase it myself."

He sighs with discontent and wanders off again.
The true test of his choice lies forward.
— The story of the Silithian.


See life through shades of silver.
Reply


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