Ivory Sail Acquisitions

[isa-field-journal]

Entry #005

Logged by Captain Vinarei Brooks, August 3 - Evening

I have much to jot down, but I should start with where I last left off.

As we ventured further into the temple, there were traps riddling the stones that made up the walkway and the steps. We managed to set off only one, however. Thankfully, I’d come across these same traps in old ruins when exploring Pandaria.

But it wasn’t the traps that was exciting. The temple was actually a sort of catacomb, though some of the tombs had been opened prior to our arrival. Others remained shut, and we didn’t bother to explore what might be hiding within each. Foolish on our part, perhaps, but we had more pressing matters.

The hozen were continuing to try to get in, but Ralphaldo had barred the door. It would only last for so long. There was a pillar along the far side of the catacomb with an odd light shining down from above, though the source was unseen. The runic pattern on the pillar seemed to change shape as I neared it, the glyphs becoming recognizable.

‘Blood’ was the answer to the riddle, and I swiftly cut my palm and smeared the life essence onto the glyphs.

The stones seemed to absorb the blood, and the moment it was all but erased, a massive skeletal mogu came crashing through one of the tombs.

Thankfully, with the blood offering, a stairway began to reveal itself just behind the pillar, and we managed to escape. It led into a hallway that was lined with gold, gems, murals on the wall of a map of lands that we know now to be the Eastern Kingdoms and Kalimdor, but were once far from that. The room itself was so bright, that it hurt the eyes to linger for long, and as we exited, we came to a throne room.

We have to come back with a larger party. The walls were lined with scrolls and text and tomes, but in a dialect of Pandaren I’m unfamiliar with. I can make out some of the root words, but it’s merely guessing at this stage. Atticus and I will be taking what we can with us, and will turn them into the right people. There is too much history here, clearly lost, to simply ignore. 

One thing I’ll not be handing over, however, is this coin I found next to the massive throne itself. It’s roughly an inch in diameter, with eight runic symbols along the outer edge. They’re too small for me to make out, but it calls to me. I find it constantly in my hand, unable to stop touching it.

We’d been searching through the room for hours, but it grows late, and finally that feeling of being watched has temporarily lifted. We’re sleeping here for the night, and hopefully will make our exit in the morning.

(Relevant: @atticus-angus-andrews @consider-things-done @vinarei)

[isa-field-journal]

Entry #004

Logged by Captain Vinarei Brooks - August 3, Evening

It’s been non-stop all afternoon. It’s as if the entire island is trying to kill us. Though the morning went without issue as we ventured further into the depths of this jungle, the afternoon did not go as smoothly.

We came to the river that fed into the lake from the prior day. Not wanting to disturb the creature we’d seen previously, we attempted to cross at the most shallow point. We’d almost made it across when the fauna hidden in the water latched onto all three of us and dragged us into the water. It was like growing seaweed, vines of some kind. I didn’t get a good look, as it was wrapped around my throat and we were all struggling. But the moment Ralphaldo sliced the vine free, this purple liquid spewed from the plant and filled the area around me. It felt like acid against my skin, and it ate into some of my leather armor. As much as I’d love for Atticus to bring some back with us for research purposes, we don’t have the time, nor do we have the ability to do as much without further injuring ourselves.

My suspicions about still being along the coast of Pandaria are correct, however. The moment we were free from the river, we were attacked by nearly a dozen Hozen. We were able to dispatch a few of them, but we were no match and fled towards the temple we’ve found ourselves in now.

We’re going to allow for a small break before we venture further inside, and only hope that the hozen get bored waiting for us to exit. Doubtful, but I’m hoping for anything at this point.

(Relevant: @atticus-angus-andrews @consider-things-done @vinarei)

[isa-field-journal]

Entry #003

Logged by Captain Vinarei Brooks - August 3, Morning

A successful night, if one could call it that. We’re living, so there’s that.  We made camp late last night, taking setting up a shelter beneath one of the ridiculously large roots of one of several trees that make up the landscape. I’ve never seen trees this big. If there is one thing I can say about this island, it’s that it’s beautiful.

Upon arrival, the fog seemed to thin out along the shore, allowing us to see with relative ease as we made our way inland. Along what I assume to be the South side of the island was a large temple, and I feel our earlier suspicions were correct. Judging by the architecture of the temple, we’re somewhere along the coast of Pandaria, but not the main continent itself. We couldn’t enter the structure, but without question it was either built by, or used by the Mogu. 

Weapons were scattered about out front, and judging by the massive doors, it was clear someone (or several someones) were trying to enter. Aside from the weapons, there’s no sign of other humanoids here, Pandaren or human alike. We’ve both seen and heard animals, but nothing out of the ordinary. And while we know they are watching, there’s still that feeling of something more… sinister lurking about within the shadows.

Our plan had been to stick to the treeline and walk along the outside of the lake that we came across, but Atticus and I were both taken by the gorgeous waterlilies that were present. They were a hue of orange I’d never seen before, and so bright that they all but lit up the darkened area around them.

They were deadly as much as they were beautiful. Though I’m sure Atticus will go into further detail with his findings, I will note that they are used to attract prey for the hideous, disgusting -thing- that lurks in the center of the lake. If it weren’t for Ralphaldo, Atticus and I would have been dinner.

I only caught a glimpse of the creature, but it looked similar to a massive sized tunnel worm, with a thorned, tooth-filled maw. I could see row after row before we sprinted towards the treeline. Thankfully, it couldn’t leave the water. 

Still, Atticus was able to grab a sample of the lily before the creature arrived, and will be taking it home with us to study.

Our plan today is to move further inland, seeking assistance in some fashion, though I’m not counting on it. It’s too… quiet. 

((Relevant: @atticus-angus-andrews @consider-things-done @vinarei))

[isa-field-journal]

Entry #002

Logged by Captain Vinarei Brooks - August 2

We’d been sailing for roughly four hours, the fog just as thick as when it rolled through the first time. Ralphaldo caught sight of what appears to be an island, however. We’ve been able to make out a tree-line, and we’ve slowed dramatically in speed. We believe we are somewhere along the coast of Pandaria, though it’s anyone’s guess to whether that information is accurate or not.

The crew was spoken to, and it’s been decided that a few of us will head to shore on one of the boats. We may be able to find aid there, but there’s this eerie feeling that has come over each of us. It’s clear that continuing to sail is not the best of ideas, and so we’re headed to shore to find what assistance we can.

The fog itself…. it doesn’t feel natural. I’m not sure how to quite word it. There’s this sensation that we’re being watched, and everyone on board can feel it, too. There’s really only one route to take, and Belghast has been left in charge, though that’s nothing new.

Ralphaldo and Atticus packed our supplies for the trip, and we’re planning on camping there for the night once we reach the shore. So long as it’s safe enough.

I have my reservations; we all do.

But… when has that ever stopped us before?

(Relevant: @atticus-angus-andrews @consider-things-done @vinarei)

[isa-field-journal]

Entry #001

Logged by Captain Vinarei Brooks - August 2

The interception of the weapons shipment for the Horde went smoothly enough and was a success. However, as we sailed further South towards Pandaria, we were overcome by a thick veil of fog. The needles of the compasses began to spin in all directions, and the massive waves sent us in an unknown direction. The cloud coverage was too thick, and coupled with the fog we were at a loss as to what direction we are headed.

For the moment, neither the Draconis comms, nor the rune-powered ring used for ISA are working. We’ve tested with Atticus and myself and standing beside one another, our messages do not transfer. Oddly enough, the runes continue to pulse with color. There’s an interference of some kind that I’ve never come across.

As it currently stands, we’re only down three crewmen from the interception, but they’re being well taken care of below deck. All others are accounted for and able to take orders.The Lady Malevolent is in excellent condition, taking little to no damage during the interception. 

Belghast is keeping us on track in a single direction, and Ralphaldo is attempting to do what he can to keep us on this new course.

Surely the fog will lift soon enough and we’ll know where we are and how to get home.

(Relevant: @atticus-angus-andrews @consider-things-done @vinarei )

[saile212]

Recruitment!

House Draconis is recruiting! 

<House Draconis> is a rising noble community located on Wyrmrest Accord-A. Despite being labeled ‘dark’ due to the nature of our themes and our lawful evil alignment, we aim to incorporate every aspect of roleplay that the spectrum has to offer.

Through heavy and organic roleplay, we place a focus on character development and progression beneath a unifying banner that fosters connections, friendships, and a plethora of opportunity (both IC, and OOC!). We take pride in what we do, too; whether it be delivering the most eloquent, awe-inspiring scene, running old content together, or even just relaxing and having a hangout session through Discord, we’re as much a guild as we are a growing family and we welcome people from all walks of life to join us on our journey.

We have to offer (at the moment) four divisions a new member may fall into: 

A Dragon Knight is an individual who has underwent the training required to enter into the House’s rising military. There are three smaller units within this division: Frontline Unit, Ranged & Magical Unit, Medical Unit. 

The Lady’s Hand are cultivators of intelligence and purveyors of secrets who deal in the orchestration of special operations. Subtlety, political intrigue, and covert affairs are unequivocally their forte.

The Dragon’s Fleet is a division responsible not only for the daily operations of Duskscale Harbor, but also for the nautical defense (warfare) of lands held by the House. Their sailors deal in a variety of things from acquisitions to naval warfare and, when not docked, the majority of their time is spent out at sea.

Sordasa Academy houses the division of scholars that exist within House Draconis. Researchers and conductors of experimentation, they assist in supplying the House with necessary information and often train people for the magical aspect of the Ranged & Magical Unit.

If you find yourself interested in joining us, please click on the link provided below to fill out an application. The information given in this application will help us determine if your character would be a good fit for the House, and also (with your permission) be used to help kick-start RP for your character in the future. 

Overall, House Draconis is a dark, criminal RP guild with an 18+ restriction in effect due to the themes visited. If you’re looking for a fun group both OOC and IC with -fantastic- writers, then look no further!

Apply to House Draconis!

[geraldcreed]

The large poster was plastered near the wall of the Pig and Whistle tavern in Old Town. He peered at it, reading it over a few times. Was he honestly thinking about doing this? The son of a well-to-do banker, a survivor, he brought worgen of all backgrounds together to survive and thrive, getting them accustomed to city life for years. He always held himself to a higher standard, hadn’t he? His uncle worked hard to make them a noble house, though it nearly led to their deaths. In the end, Gerald wiped that title from his family for good. 

He shifted his weight, just standing there staring at the poster, having an internal struggle. He didn’t know what happened to Ivory Sail, he just knew there were no contracts flowing in. He hadn’t heard from Ginny, Atticus, or Kota since their New Years Celebration on the ship. He wasn’t sure what they were up to or where they had gone, but he did finally talk to his boss and cousin, Vinarei sometime last week. She said she and Kota were out and about, but there was a single contract she was looking for more information on. 

Fact of the matter was, he had no income! What he he supposed to do, find contracts himself? Go reagent hunting and sell them where he could? Prostitute himself? No, Light, no. He had to do something before his funds ran out, but could he go into mercenary work? His Uncle is practically a pirate, and Light knows that every other member of his family would do it without second thought. 

‘What is Ivory Sail, if not an artifact hunting mercenary guild?’ He thought to himself, “I always thought of it as a research based organization, but people would come to us to get artifacts. That’s mercenary work.’

He sighed, remembering how he looked down on mercenaries as those without honor, but being among the crowd, the people he knew had more honor than most nobles he had known. The man read the poster again.

Gerald turned to the street of Old Town. A grey colored dreanei sauntered by. Gerald wasn’t surprised, he didn’t think they would leave the Army of the Light on Argus. He was more surprised with the wandering beings known as ‘Void Elves.’ He was very interested in what they were exactly, having never heard of them before. They seem to follow the Windrunner sister that came back from Argus. He shrugged lightly and walked into the Pig and Whistle. 

He would be visiting the Old Town district often now, looking for Miss Stromborne.

Mentions: @ivory-sail-acquisitions @lionsragereavers @vinarei @ginnyseng @atticus-angus-andrews @the-rogue-kota

[geraldcreed]

Returns and Endings.

He stabled his horse on the outskirts of Stormwind, having just returned from his Uncle’s farm in the plaugelands. He took a breath of the musty city air, finding the air out in the plaugelands to be a tad bit better, at least ever since the scourge was pushed back. 

Striding into the city he noticed a slightly larger murmur among the populace.  Something happened, something big. He overheard that King Wrynn was going to be making a speech at Lion’s Rest. Putting off seeing his coworkers he made his way to Lions rest in long strides.

The crowd moved and writhed like an amoeba, whispering questions to one another, trying to figure out what the King might announce at such a trying time. People looked into the sky to find that Argus was nowhere to be seen, like it has been for so many months. There, among the throng of people was Gerald, slowly being boxed in on all sides by inquisitive people. Suddenly, like a wave, everyone went silent as the King approached the podium.

Gerald could barely hear him, practically standing on the fountain. He saw Greymane watching with pride on the sidelines. A gasp went up in the crowd, but Gerry couldn’t tell why. Before long the King’s speech was through, and he stepped down to be quickly intercepted by the head of SI:7, Matthias Shaw. Gerald stayed where he was until the park was nearly empty. On a nearby bench, a dreanei couple hugged each other wordlessly.

“I beg your pardon,” Gerald said as he approached, “What was the speech all about?”

The two looked up at him with tears in their eyes and a smile on their lips. “The King has a soft voice for such a large crowd,” The male said, chuckling, “The war is over. The Burning Legion has ended their crusade.” 

He stood there in stunned silence, unsure of what he had just heard, “What? That’s….that’s amazing news but how?”

The female dreanei shrugged lightly, “The siege of Antorus was a success, and I don’t know much of the other details, but I’ve heard that the Titans imprisoned Sargeras themselves.”

Gerald’s face got hot. “The Titans?” He said breathlessly. He was infatuated with the beings known as Titans, but as far as he knew, they were all deceased. 

They both nodded, “It is not all good news though. Over in Kalimdor, Silithus has been obliterated by a large object. You can see it from halfway across the continent.”

At this, Gerald has to take a seat next to the couple, this was a ton of new and pertinent information that affected his research, and Azeroth, of course. He composed himself and stood up, facing the couple, “Thank you both, I think I might go try to see this ‘large object’ for myself.”

With farewells out of the way and hurried through the city, ready to learn more about the days to come.

[saile212]

Agatha Dhaemers

Children so young shouldn’t have such heavy bags beneath their eyes.

That was Vinarei’s first thought as she peered at the girl who was only seven years of age, sitting in one of two chairs on the opposite side of the desk. Her black curly hair was a mess that tumbled to her waist, and the way she clutched that doll to her chest made it seem as if she wouldn’t dare let it go.

Vinarei gave a small smile to the girl as her father continued to speak, to explain what was happening that had brought them to the office this day. She and Samuel had a history, albeit brief and nothing more than contract work they’d done in the past together.  As the story unfolded, her eyes traveled towards the doll in question, which was really nothing more than a cornbaby; one of the harvest dolls made of corn husks with painted black hair, and similar coloring to the girl that held her. Same hair, eyes, and dress.

“And no matter what you do, it always appears in her bed in the morning?” Her gaze swung back to Samuel as she made her inquiry, a slight frown causing a perfect crease across her brow.

“We’ve burned it, Vin. Threw it in the sea, left it miles away in another town. Shredded it. Nothing works.” The words were spoken with an air of desperation, his hand running through ragged hair in exasperation. When he looked towards Vin, his eyes were glassy, and it was clear the man fought to keep some sort of control, voice dropping to a whisper. “She hasn’t slept through the night, Vinny. She screams out this name, and no matter what we give her, she thrashes and screams and cries.”

This wasn’t what Ivory Sail Acquisitions was for, as far as company goals went. They retrieved relics, artifacts, magical weapons. But how could she say no? The child across from her would tug at anyone’s heart strings, and though they weren’t exactly specialized in such things, she would make an exception and knew anyone under her employ would be more than willing to assist.

An empty file was pulled from the bottom desk drawer that she sat behind, several sheets ready to be filled with various bits of information. Her gaze on Samuel, she gave a nod. “Alright, let’s start with the name she screams every night.”

Those relevant: @coldlongpromises @the-rogue-kota @atticus-angus-andrews @geraldcreed @ginnyseng @ivory-sail-acquisitions

[atticus-angus-andrews]

An Unforeseen Gift

(In response to https://vinarei.tumblr.com/post/169176289577/a-late-gift )

“Would you teach me?”

The question was spoken and quickly concluded as the young man already knew the answer before it was even offered up. Of course, she would teach him. She was the one that offered up the option – that opportunity to do more. Since the dismissal of his ability over the dark arts, Atticus Angus Andrews had spent his time doing…nothing. Of course, he would read, take to tea in the morning, speak with his aunt and manage small affairs that he was capable of doing in his sleep, even with his eyes closed, if need be. Nonetheless, Atticus seemed to be simply existing, these days, enjoying time spent with his family during the holiday. Smiling softly, then knowing that she would speak it and it would be so, the young man sent his eyes cascading along the hand-made bow. The way in which the twisted and warped wood pressed itself together caused an unsteady want to well up within the young man. And truthfully, he wanted to touch it, to feel the weight of the sinew string to rock backwards, to feel the reverberating thrum it would produce when it was released. The blades that were pressed along the curvature of the bow were something he did not account for, but instantly knew their usage. With brilliant green eyes traveling, they finally met a point in which they would rest, only for the slightest of moments. The arrows that accompanied the crafted weapon were designed in a similar fashion, one not extraordinarily ornate, but not plain as well. Silver-tipped arrows, blackened wood and with raven feathers for fletching. Yet even then, there were more runes inscribed upon the faces of each side of the arrowheads. It would seem that his mother’s natural gift towards magic was shared with her siblings as well as him. But, were these latent runes, awaiting to be infused with the Arcane or were these simply designed to be ornamental? Atticus did not know for certain, by first glancing at the tools of his aunt’s possible new trade, but did know that he would like to find out. Pausing then, he gave a slight hum as he brought his eyes about those of his aunt, a lady that reminded him of his mother and her beauty each and every passing day. He was looking forward to that opportunity to learn a new craft, to learn to embrace his unadulterated, unharnessed humanity, to actually become strong and not depend upon magic. This was a step in the right direction, that is certainly true.

@vinarei @the-rogue-kota @ivory-sail-acquisitions

[ginnyseng]

{New Year}

Ginya hopped up onto the wall above the Canals right outside of Ivory Sail’s shop.  She looked into the water, but not at her reflection.  She slipped her boots off and opened a box at her side.  She removed a thick string with a hook weighted at the one end.  The monk took out a small box filled with dirt and wiggling Nightcrawlers.  Baiting the hook, she tied the other end of the string to her big toe.  

Ginny wiped her hands on her pants then took a candy cane from the satchel at her side.   She popped one end into her mouth as she leaned back against an outcropping over the canals.  One leg was bent up, while the other leg crossed over it, allowing the hooked end of her line to dangle in the water.  

“I’ll catch a Mutant Fish Frog eventually.”  She thought to herself as she folded her arms beneath her head.  She closed her eyes and listened to the ambiance of the City.  The coaches rattling on the cobblestones, the chatter among student mages and whispers among the guards.  Everyone seemed to be in high spirits today.  A new year would be dawning on then soon as the night of the last year was starting to fall.  

After a while, Ginya opened her eyes, stars were beginning to glow over her head.  What a year it had been for her.  The new friends she had made, the new connections.  She fiddled with an uncut Citrine crystal that was hanging at her throat and smiled softly.  

Suddenly a squeal was heard as it streaked across the sky.  One by one the same sound caught Ginny’s ears.  Her eyes searched frantically before she saw them.  Beautiful, colorful blooms of light and sound.  Fireworks, like flowers, burst across the starry sky.  Ginny sat up…

… and was almost dragged into the Canals as a fish took her bait.  

She pulled her leg back and dragged her line back in.  A Brilliant Smallfish looked back up at her with one glowing eye.  She took the animal gently in her hand, removing the hook as she let the fish go back into the canals.  

Her eyes moved back up to the Fireworks, blazing brightly across the velvet dark.  She touched the pendant again and thought with a smile.

“Happy New Year.”

[geraldcreed]

A Winter’s Veil Tradition

 GIlneas was quiet as Gerald snuck into the region. The undead seemed to have abandoned Gilneas, though he was sure that they were lurking somewhere. The Northern headlands were bare to his right, leading to the cliffs and the old lighthouse, and off to his left lay the thick woods that he was all too familiar with. 

The pale rays of the morning’s sun was rising over the horizon as he trudged into the woods. He passed pine after pine, his surroundings never changing, seeming to duplicate as he continued deeper into the wood. He knew where he was though, he knew this forest like the back of his hand. This is where he lived, this is where his story really began. 

After long minutes contemplating his past he arrived at a clearing. He took a deep breath, collecting himself. He’s come here every Winter’s Veil morning since the wall fell, to this clearing. He sat in the middle of it, looking to the eastern edge. “I’m back again. I’ve missed you Mom. I’ve missed you Dad.” 

It was in this clearing, Winter’s Veil morning, that his father and he went hunting when he was only eight. His father thought it would be old enough to take him on a trip and show him what a ‘real man does.’ Cyrus Devoux happened upon them, his father’s old partner at the bank. Cyrus threw Rosemary Creed’s head to Balthazar, then killed him in front of his son, Gerald. Gerald ran then, and was salvaged by his would-be mentor, Lucian Kingsley.

He came every year to remember them. He never knew what Cyrus did with their bodies, doubtful they had graves other than a shallow one somewhere in the woods. “This year was a big one for me, I’m sure you already know. There have been terrible lows, but the ups, as usual, have vastly outweighed them. I’ve found family, I’ve found new people. I’m actually happy.” He smiled upwards.

“I can’t thank you two enough for what you did for me. I know it was hard, with Val being kidnapped, with your jobs. Uncle Hydrahlinus always pushing to seem confident in public to ‘keep our noble image’ even though you two were devastated for years. You gave me a foundation that I have built further. Because of you I’ve helped so many. I’ve saved so many. Yet, I’ve also hurt people, and disappointed you. For that, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’ll be better this year. Maybe I’ll find someone to love this year, someone to help honor you, give you grandchildren.” He chuckled, a tear running down his cheek.

“I wish you were still here. I wish I could come to you with my problems. I wish you could hold Val’s child, Faith. She’s a beautiful young lady.” He nods, sniffling. “You see her though, I know. You’re always looking over her, over me. I hope Uncle Hydrah is watching too. I’ve striven to make him proud, and I hope he is. I hope he sees me as the leader he wanted me to be. Uncle Caspian is doing a great job supporting me when I need it.” 

“Mom,” He started, smiling. “I found your niece. Her name is Vinarei. She’s my boss actually. She looks like you, in a way. I can see you in her. Her mother has passed, I’m sure you two hare having a good time connecting again, drinking some tea.” He chuckled.

He stood, smiling to himself. “I got to go, folks. I’m having dinner with Caspian, and have to get a few things done first.”

He walked to the edge of the clearing, but looked back. He thought he saw a bit of fog gathering in the clearing, but it vanished as soon as it appeared. 

“Love you all. I’ll visit again next year.”

Mentions: @vinarei

[atticus-angus-andrews]

A Return Part 4

Suddenly, Atticus awoke with a sudden intake of air flowing into his lungs and within an instant, his heart began to throb and beat against the bare hand of Vinarei as those brilliant green eyes of his widened and peered out to the two people that he began to know even better than what he initially would have thought. His lips curled weakly into a smile then as the chapped mounds of flesh parted and in a husky, raspy voice, he spoke to her. “I am glad to be back in the land of the living, Auntie Vinarei.” His smile turned into a smirk then as he began to chuckle softly, then laugh a bit more as he felt the essence of his life, his pure, unadulterated, unsullied joy radiate through him.

Today was but the beginning of the rest of his life and he was going to enjoy every bit of it, from this day forward. But first, he would need to recover, to at least attempt to become normal. It wasn’t like he just escaped the clutches of Death. Besides, it wasn’t his time anyway.

(Part 4 out of 4! Wow, what a pleasure to write this little blurb up. I’ve ended one chapter and now, I get to start another! @vinarei @the-rogue-kota for references and appearances! Not often do I write for someone else’s character, but of course, I did so with their consent! )

[atticus-angus-andrews]

A Return Part 3

Blinking again, the youth pressed the picture down onto the mantle in which he retrieved it and turned to see a figure cloaked in black, with his hands pressed into his pockets and his unseen, hidden gaze pressed outwards, staring out at the young ashen blonde young man. The figure was bound in thick plates pressed against his form, but it seemed that this was no mere knight, but a figure much like himself that was cloaked in a long flowing black, silver-filigreed tunic, trousers and pointed, plated greaves. Shadows clung about the figure’s form as the hood shifted, revealing that his attention pointed towards the picture that Atticus just touched, then back towards the youth. With a low rasp that came forth softly at first, but grew louder, a dark chuckle formed as the plated figure took a step towards the youth and made a movement along his waist. In the figure’s armored gauntlet, a wicked looking sword was drawn and materialized into a blade of pure hardened darkness that was pointed outwards into Atticus’ direction and then lowered into a guard. Atticus blinked as he creased his brows together and then hissed a slight curse to himself as he looked down upon his figure and turned. Upon the wall, rested an heirloom of a forgone era, a blade that belonged to his father and his father’s father. Glancing then, the youth darted out towards the honed sword, pulled it from its sheath and raised it into a guard that matched that of the cloaked shadow figure. Immediately, the room around him began to shriek and creak as the world twisted and writhed in a way that made the walls tremble and begin to crack. The pictures that adorned the walls and the mantles began to fall of and hit the floor with the sound of his mother’s fine china splattering against the flood. Even the chimney looked as if it were about to split and split it did as it erupted into an awful geyser of vicious green fel flame splattering about the household. Immediately, the world around him caught afire and with an instant, the youth pressed off his back foot and lunged forward where he met the blade of the shadow headlong, causing a loud pop and fizzle to radiate throughout the house. Grunting then, the youthful figure twisted and spun about his hips as his feet moved in tandem with his movement. Parrying the blade of the cloaked figure was something that Atticus naturally did, without thinking about it, as if his movements were instinctual and solid. Grunting in retort, the figure advanced and slashed outwards, catching the edge of the youth’s shoulder and causing a splash of blood to splatter against the previously unstained walls. Yelling then, Atticus’ voice boomed with power, “I am the master of my destiny! You are nothing. You are but a shadow of a creeping doubt that lingers in my mind. You are nothing. You are nothing!” Hissing then, the youth pressed outwards as his blade clashed that against the figure’s, causing the plated knight to take a step backwards, leading towards the stairs that led to the second level of the house.

Unbridled emotion fueled the fire that burned within the youth’s breast as he attacked the figure, the figure that was responsible for his family’s butchering and their deaths. Strike upon strike was exchanged as both the shadowy figure and the youth respectfully became torn to bloodied ribbons of black and red. Finally, they reached the second floor of the house and with a final strike taken by both, the ceiling collapsed into itself, then exploded in a tremendous plume of green that sent ash, wood, rock and shingle flying everywhere in a brilliant cascading motion. Standing then and there, the sky was ripped apart, revealing the house to be floating upon a singular island on a sea of untapped, unmolested energy in the cosmos, a planar existence that separated itself somewhere from the waking, materialized world of Azeroth and then the Shadowlands in the distance. Neither combatant was close to winning and were in a stalemate, a torrential exchange of blow-by-blow, dodge after dodge, parry after parry. One was to win, one had to win. Atticus, had to win. He had to win not for the others or anyone else, but for himself. He had to survive this. And so he did. Clashing outwards, Atticus brought his shortsword into one hand and with the other, reached out to jerk at the cloak that bound the figure’s facade from him. His fingers felt the material flow between his fingers and then finally, he grasped it and with a sudden motion, he tore off the guise to reveal the features of a figure. With his other hand gripping the hilt of his blade, Atticus went through the figures left armpit, pressed the blade up and into the soft spot and pressed it to the crossguard of the blade. Practically hissing then and grinning as blood streamed down his face, the youthful blonde snarled down at the figure that had then slumped over. There, it sat, undeniably human in appearance and definitely breathing its last breath. Yet, it looked familiar too. Atticus, grunting then, blinked as he pulled the blade from the wound in the figure’s body and then pressed the very tip of the sword onto the knight’s chin and lifted his head to reveal a smiling, slowly-breathing, dying man that looked up at him with ethereal purple eyes that burned like the falling remnants of a dying star with pock-marked skin that split and scattered with brilliant flows of purple energy violently writhing and flowing forth from his wounds. The figure smirked then and bared its teeth to Atticus as the duo looked at each other eye to eye. Suddenly, a loud laugh echoed forth from the creature’s ichor-bound lips and spit out a curse to the young man. Atticus, with a narrowing of his eyes, suddenly moved with great haste and plunged the tip of the blade into the figure’s esophagus, pressed forward and with the brace of his left hand pressing against the jeweled pommel, put his entire weight into his attack and sent the blade going through the throat and then finally, the spine of the knight. Atticus, now the victor, watched as the sickly purple ethereal, neon purple light left his foe’s eyes and the body slumped to the side of the exposed roof and then rolled off into the unending chasm of the Twisting Nether where it fell and fell and finally, it disappeared. Sighing a bit softly then, the youth tossed his eyes over the blade that he held within his hand and smiled a bit as he rushed down the stairs, pulled the scabbard off the wall and pressed the weapon into its sheath where he held it together in his hand. Glancing about then, the youth pressed his eyes towards the door of the house, where he turned, looked at the room surrounding him and then stepped off and into nothingness, only for each of his footfalls to be met with a single stone that left him as soon as it came to him. Each one formed a base to a spiraling stair case that led finally to a tear within this reality that looked like a rift to the real world, where Vinarei Brooks and Kota Seville sat, holding onto his body for dear life. Pausing, the youth went to step through to the hole to reach his reality, but before doing so, something caught the corner of his eye. It was but a simple red tome that sat lonely against a tree. Glancing then and again, Atticus stepped over towards the book, reached for it, ran his palm across the face of it and revealed its true nature to be a book bound in the hide of a demon, with pages made from the skin of those that have used and been used by the tome. At his touch, the book flipped open to a page in which Atticus’ name was inscribed in a dark crimson ink. Blood bound the book to him and blood released him. Atticus looked at the book one final time before he smirked, withdrew the shortsword from its sheath and then pressed the edge of the sword tipping down into the cover, where the book seemed to writhe, twist about and finally begin to appear as if it began to tear itself apart, piece by piece and page by page until nothing but a swirl of pieces floated out into the Twisting Nether and into the direction of the Shadowlands. “Be free now,” whispered Atticus as he pressed the blade back into its sheath, turned and stepped through the portal.

[atticus-angus-andrews]

A Return Part 2

Slowly, those eyes of his shifted back behind the raven-haired, hazel-eyed young woman to a figure that stood there, with his hands pressed into the shoulders of the woman that held him. He too, knew this figure and the features in which he held. That handsome man that Atticus had wished he could maybe be like one day. Rugged, gruff and a bit too snarky for some, the man held a swaggering step to his gait that only one as suave as a spy could have. Oddly enough, he too was paired with the life of owning a ship, the very ship in which Atticus now rested in. Kota Seville hated magic and Atticus did the unthinkable and started a ritual within the darkened and dank confines of his ship’s cargo hold, without asking. The youth, whether he wanted to admit it or not, got a kick out of it and knew that if he survived what he was doing, he was going to catch hell for this. Smiling to them just a bit, the youth finally let the heavy shades to the portals of his soul flutter shut and with a long and final gasp, his last breath left his lungs, traveled through his throat, tickled humorously at his tongue and brushed against his lips. The dim darkness left him and within an instant, his eyes flickered open and he awakened, rolled over and stepped off the bare ground of the bloodstained floorboards, the ritual circle and the purple wax that bound him into this state. Pausing then, the youth tossed his eyes around to see that all five of the black-wick, black wax candles had their neon flames put out and with them, came a strand of smoke flowing from each of them that stood straight and blew upwards, as if something held the strand of their smoke in an ever-present, unchanging channel. Stepping forth then, the youth found himself in a plain set of clothes, similar to that in which he bound himself in so that he may conduct his grisly ritual. Upon his hip, there was no satchel, no belt or pouch that he always had upon his figure. There was no ancient elven warblade sheathed into its pressed, ornate and rune-engraved scabbard. He had nothing, save for his own figure that was as bare as possible. Stepping apart then, the youth pressed his flattened, uncovered feet upon the cold floorboards of the ship that he ascended carefully and thoughtfully. Stepping each time and time again, he felt as if the stairwell grew increasing long, as if he were walking upon an unending step that had neither beginning nor end. Upon his left, was a series of windows that were unlocked but unopened. On his right, another wall that led to the continuation of the untold, limitless loop that he had taken that had to him, at the time, seemed to have taken hours, nay, days to reach. But the windows, they were different. There was something odd about the set in which he just saw and in this set, he paused and looked at his figure, only for his hand to curl into a ball that was sent forcefully slamming into the glass. Immediately shattering, the shards of stained glass grew from a translucent stained pane to small slivers of a milky red that floated about in midair much like one would see something floating in water or in the channels of the Twisting Nether. Gradually, the opening that he tore open seemed to widen in such a way that he could pull himself through and upon doing so, he entered into another room, a room that he knew was familiar to him. Pausing then, he sent his brilliant green eyes through the room and onto the roaring fire that sat at the far end of the house that warmed the household in its entirety. With a step forward, Atticus found himself glancing about and then blinked not only once, but twice at the coming of a revelation. This, this was the living room of his childhood home, the same home that burned down to the ground after the slaughtering of his family at the hands of a warlock coven that was aligned with the Legion, the very people that sent him onto this dark journey of his. This was when his life began and now, he faced it, once more. Everything was perfect, the handwoven tapestry upon the wall gifted to his mother from her own mother when she was married to his father and even, the small portraits his mother painted of her children and…her family? Stopping then, Atticus moved as he pressed the digits of his untarnished fingers into the picture of a girl, a girl with long, raven hair that stood alongside his mother, her mother, her father and another girl. Atticus paused then as he gasped and felt a lump rise into his throat as he turned to peer at the girl closely. He knew her face. He knew all of their faces. This was his mother’s family which included her two sisters, her mother and father on the deck of a ship, surrounded by a crew of men on a sunny day.

[atticus-angus-andrews]

A Return Part 1

A pop, crack and fizzle was heard, then a sudden wracking, bloodcurdling cry of pain that shattered the foreboding silence that overtook the lower decks of the Veil Jumper. Its source was the convulsing figure of a young blonde man not yet reaching his twenties writhing against the floor around in a salted series of congruent circles that were bound together by a thick band of purple wax melted against the wooden floorboards of the final layer of the ship that separated the relatively livable quarters of the ship to that of the overall skeleton of the craft. Mere inches now from the darkened sea that threatened to swallow the youth and the two skittering figures that surrounded him, the figure bound in a simple pair of linen trousers and a loose tunic languished and grew feeble as the very restraints of his body began to decline and weaken, leaving nothing but a former false shadow of its former glory. With skin that was blackened and beaten, the figure’s once pure looking clothing grew a permanent stain of red as the wounds pressed along each of his wrists were slashed and then brought upwards along each of the arteries that ran through his arms and bound themselves together were slit deeply in such a way that all of the blood in his body ran out at an exponentially quickened rate. Incapable of even breathing out a simple moment of breath, the body that once burned with an unnatural heat froze with such a deathly chill that the boy’s flesh looked as thin as paper and as pale gray as a stormy day’s sky. Mere reflections of such a truth, the body sat still in silence as all of the life source of his body flowed and fell into the cracks of the floor where each plank of wood met each other. The ever-present dripping of blood fell as the now seemingly lifeless figure was drained dry. Swiftly, a soft rasping breath left the tattered gray lips of the youth as the lungs within his chests grew only minimally in size before they once more collapsed into themselves from the sudden weight and strain that which they were exposed to. It seemed that even then, upon the very precipice of his great demise, the ashen blonde, ghastly figure was breathing his last breaths, finally feeling the chill that would go about overtaking him. Yet this one was not yet meant to perish, to feel the crushing grasp of his reality coming to an unfortunate and unsettling end. No, no. He would not be ushered forth into the Shadowlands to wander the endless halls and chasms that would eventually take him. Even now, the gloaming murkiness of his last few breaths were challenged and greedily taken up by the hungering insatiable need that gnawed at all life, every presence and essence in which the man took upon for that darkness that welled itself down within the very core of his seemingly soiled, darkened and damned soul. Like an unfathomably deep gorge, the man appeared as a vessel for some unforeseen stain that tarnished and besmirched the boy from the inside out, to sow the seeds of chaos and release the reins, so that it may once more herald the world in peril, discord and strife.

Determined, even now, the youth sent his blurred, fading gaze towards the ceiling of the dimly lit cargo hold of the makeshift smuggling craft and sent those dwindling muted green specks to haphazardly and weakly focus about the female figure that had rushed to his side and pressed her hands around him, at least to keep him from slipping off into the swelling inky tendrils that attempted to claim him for all of his eternity. A diagonal scar ran across her face, from her left brow to her cheeks. The naturally beautiful, lightly sunkissed cheeks of the woman seemed puffy and reddened then, with streams of hot tears fitfully flowing forth from the wells of her eyes. She was upset. Upset that the youth started the initiation of his dismissal without first letting her know. Even then, he could see that she had her arms wrapped tightly around him, clutching his lithe and weakened form like someone would gingerly hold upon a cloud. At least, that is what he felt. Light as a cloud and as cold as ice. Vinarei Brooks was angry at him, but deep within those glossy hazel eyes he could see that in the depths of her irises that she knew what he was doing and what he wanted. Of course, it didn’t hurt any less, Atticus surmised as his lips fluttered about into something akin to a thin, lightly held smile that would have normally warmed over his cheeks. She was able to hold onto him and he could not hurt her, he did not have to consume small glimpses of her soul in order to heal himself or to feed that otherworldly entity that attached itself to him when he was but a mere toddler. It was what he wanted and in the end, he surely would finally get it.

[ginnyseng]

{Winter’s Veil}

There was always something magical about Winter’s Veil.  Ginya adored this time of year.  It was a time of good tidings and great joy.  Where she could show those she cared about her appreciation for them. 

She hummed softly one of the carols she had heard the Dwarves sing in Ironforge.  The Monk had given a small package of milk and cookies to the reenactor of Great Father Winter.  While she was there she had learned more about Winter’s Veil Patron.  How his cloak brought winter about so life could be born again, renewed.  Much like herself, Ginya had kept the story close to her heart.  

Ginny put one more golden ornament on the small, twinkling Evergreen she had put up in her home.  The lights reflected off of the glass bulbs and lit the main room of her house in a soft, warm glow.  

Packages, now wrapped in neat brown wrappers and ribbon, sat on the floor among scraps of paper and embellishments.  Gerald’s book, Harald’s Cigars and Mead, the finest wine and homemade cookies in Azeroth for Kota and Vin, Smokeywood Pastures gift sets for Darla and her dear husband; all safely tucked away in trappings and sitting near her backpack.  

The Mistweaver took a drink of the tea Mercy had left for her and felt it’s warmth course through her.  Yes, Winter’s Veil was her favorite time of year.  The songs, the fun, the fellowship; it was hard to believe that a mere three years ago that none of this matter to her.  She shook her head.  That was a thought for a different time.  Right now there were things to do.

Ginya got up off of the floor and walked toward the packages.  She picked up a red Winter’s Veil hat from a nearby table and placed it over her dark brown curls, straightening a bit so it didn’t look too haphazard.  Carefully, she placed her gifts inside her backpack.  She hefted her load of goodies over her shoulder and made her way toward Stormwind.

— 

Walking through Stormwind, late at night, much like Great Father Winter himself; Ginny crept stealthily through the stone catacombs and crevices.  Crossing the bridge from the Trade District to the Mage District on the Canalside.  The office would be locked up this time of night.  But that was alright.  

Winter’s veil lights were strung between buildings and doorways.  The stars and moonlight offering their own light show over the bedraggled and sleepy towers of the immense city.  Within another block or so, Ginya reached ISA’s main office.  It was dark and quiet much like she’d figured it would be.  The Monk knelt down and slid her bag off of her back.  She placed the gifts neatly by the door to be found in the morning by Darla.  The older woman would bring them into the safety of the building and pass them out.  Last, Ginya placed a jar filled with Candy canes and wrapped with Evergreen branches and ribbon next to each gift.  With a contented smile, Ginya got to her feet and surveyed her work.  Satisfied, the Monk made her way to the Tavern to rent a room for the night.

(( @ivory-sail-acquisitions, @geraldcreed, @vinarei, @the-rogue-kota, @atticus-angus-andrews))