I can help you get back your guard.
I can help give you back your orc.
She nearly dropped the cube, but instead managed to set it inside the box and close the lid. She stared at her hands, her palms, looking for the stain of madness there. She shouldn’t have picked it up. Shouldn’t have touched the metal with her bare hands. Saronite could get into the blood, could lodge its damned whispers between bones…. She stood and stumbled down the hall to the bath house, washed her hands over and over in near-boiling water until they were pink and raw.
Maybe that would be enough.
But that night the whispers came again, and she woke alone in bed, a cold indentation beside her where Mosur should have been. She rose and padded barefoot to the window, peered through the glass. There was a pale form standing at the forest’s edge: long white hair, a white robe. “Mosur.” It was no more than a whisper.
She turned away from the window and stumbled out of the inn, into the cold night. By the time she reaches the forest’s edge Mosur was gone.
Let me help.
Let me…just a little exchange: your broken priest for your knight—restored and whole.
The whispers seemed to come from the trees, from the feathered souls nestled in the branches. But she knew that was a lie. The whispers came from her hands, from the taint sliding through her blood. They would fade in time. All things fall into silence.
I can help you. Just give me the priest and I will help you.
“He isn’t mine to give.” She could no longer see the lights of the inn, she was tangled in the forest now, in shadows and cold and darkness. It reminded her of home. She remembered something else, something Grolmok had told her: Steel does not negotiate.
It had been a while since he dreamed, since nightmares had played across his mind causing him unrest. Even now the flickers of images meant to terrify him remained at bay. That wasn’t why he was awake now. Muddled sounds, partial words, broken sentences. They crept through the walls, through the floorboards, and lighted on his ears. He couldn’t make out their meaning or if they were even words at all.
Were they whispers again? Wasn’t the cube locked away in its box? It hadn’t spoken to him, he’d not heard it but the once, and that he wasn’t even sure about. Was it the same tactics over again. It wasn’t the muted whispers that gripped him, but the past terrors they brought to the forefront of his mind. The possibilities that could be.
He slipped out of bed, out of the inn and into the edge of the thick grown forest. It was dead silent here, eerily so. Where were they, where were the sounds, the whispers. He stood still and waited for them, they did not come. There was no sound of birds or beasts through the forest, no wind, nothing. It was surreal. Tentatively at first he took a step forward, then another, and another, confidence growing with each step. He had to stop the sound before it could get to him.
He nearly stumbled over a thick rock placed awkwardly in the path, draenic curses fell from his lips, the only sound in the forest aside from his hooves rustling the leaves, then he saw it, moving, a dark black with streaks of green in the moonlight moving through the forest quiet as the wind itself. Broken whispers met his ears now at the appearance of the moving form.
Let me help. Let me- restored and whole. I can help you. Just- priest- I will help you.
No. No, no! Not this time. His mouth ruffled as he started toward the creature, his steps were quick and this time he wasn’t afraid, he was going to confront it, and if need be, kill it. Stop the whispers.
When Patch 6.0.2 hit, I was traveling. This created an awkward in-character moment when my paladin’s absence from the battlefield couldn’t quite be explained. So I got to brainstorming a reason why the battle-hardened Arialynn was curiously absent when the Templars — an order she’s bled and would die for — abruptly went to war.
There are fleetingly few reasons why she wouldn’t drop everything and immediately respond, especially to something like orcs pouring from the Dark Portal. Thinking deeply about it and tapping into Warcraft history and her psyche, I think I found them.
The story is below the fold.
|mewkeere said: "You were safer when you were trapped in Naxxramas." A 'lulz quote' based on normal discussion. What would Hadeon's reaction be if he heard Taeriix saying this to Shame after being in a spot of danger. Would he read into it further than necessary?|
Oof. You do have to give me a hard one. How much he reads into it would depend on circumstance, but I think we’ve seen that Hadeon does have a tendency to over-think things and leap to fantastic - and sometimes wrong - conclusions. It also depends on whether or not he and Taeriix manage to find some time to talk to one another and clear up the misunderstandings between them or not. On paper, these two should get along great, and yet in interaction…
On a surface level, Hadeon would object strongly to Tae’s definition of ‘safe’ and point out his inability to understand that living people deserve a better ‘normal’ than Tae thinks is adequate.
|kirahti said: How did Mosur meet Shame?|
This happened during why Earthen Ring called “The Dragonblight Campaign,” it was the servers final attack/push on Deathwing we had lined up multiple RP LFR runs to all happen at the same time, Alliance and Horde participated. Before the LFR night took place there was an RP event a ‘Last Party’ for those that might not make it. Drinking, revelry, the company of one another.
Shame, who was staying with her Orc Death knight wanted to come hear people speaking Common one more time. Mosur was leaving the inn at Wintergarde and ran into her and a priest, Calithos, arguing. He was familiar with the priest but not the small woman and basically told him to leave her alone. He walked with her after that and they went to sit atop one of the guard towers and watch the snow fall. They still didn’t know one another, Mosur had grown tired of the large group of people in the inn and come to sit alone. Shame (if I recall, please correct me) Didn’t want to go to the party anymore with Calithos there. They sat and chatted for a little but, I don’t think they even exchanged names. He prayed she be well, and she gave him a small lavender crystal as a trinket to ‘keep him safe’. The trinket, real or not in its magic such a kind gesture in his eyes, an unrequested gift from a complete stranger. It was warming as he wasn’t used to such treatment and something he needed at the time so it seemed like a much bigger deal to him than it might have otherwise.
She left soon after than, having come to Wintergarde to hear Common spoke and the only real person she spoke to was Mosur (ain’t that some shit?). I do not recall how they met again, somewhere in Stormwind I believe by happenstance.
|khanaa-runestrider said: Does Mosur have a favorite method of travel? Least favorite?|
In general his favorite mode of travel is by hoof. Perhaps favorite isn’t the word, until recently he’d just been sort of wandering Azeroth at a slow and steady pace staying somewhere for a while and moving on again. He has a strange fascination with things and places that had hurt him in the past, so he walks, its slow and lets him see a lot of the countryside, or whatever he’s traveling through. He has a talbuk, Onkuru, but he normally walks with the creature letting it carry his bags and travel at a comfortable speed.
Least favorite? While he does have a strange fascination with it I’d say Death gate is his least favorite mode of travel, he’s not traveled through one more than a handful of times. While mage portals leave him dizzy and uneasy there is just something about the deathgate, feels like its trying to pull or strip something from him, it’s not a method of travel the living should use, even if its touch is mildly addicting.
BUT at the moment his currently favorite mode of travel is by boat :3
His crest bumped against the shower walls to the right of the shower head. Hot water sprayed against his shoulder and ran down his body. Grizzly Hills, safe again, right? That thing, that box was it even real, was he just mistaken? It had spoke it had convinced him not to leave it there, lucky that it hadn’t fallen too far that it landed ‘safely’. He could feel his thoughts becoming jumbled and erratic, no that was just nerves, anxiety. It hadn’t spoken to him since it was just a figment of his imagination, he should go back and toss it away again. This wasn’t real, he just needed to rest, to relax.
The box, back in its titansteel container had been thrust into his bag, hopefully hidden from sight and mind.
Why, how, why now? Souls really? His eyes closed and his breathing grew labored, the hot water and the steamy air made it difficult to catch his breath. There had to be a way, some way, how had he handled this last time? Don’t work puzzles, find- Shrewsbury. Pain pulled across his face and he lifted his head to knock it against the wall once, twice, three times before he sagged against it.
The water started to grow cold and he quickly fiddled with the knobs until he turned it off, how long had he been in here? Had Shame woken up yet, hopefully Taeriix hadn’t let her know he was gone, even if he’d failed his little mission. This one he wouldn’t though, he had to get his things back from Shrewsbury, the librarian, the knight, his long dead friend. So much unknown.