Mosur

[amargedom]

Never make someone a priority when all you are to them is an option.

Maya Angelou (via amargedom)

[mosur]

Forging

Mosur swung the hammer again, a loud clang sound echoed throughout the Tian Monastery and metal gave way to the force of the blow. He breathed deep as he pulled the hammer back and exhaled as he swung again further shaping the metal. Shaping was easy and not nearly as time consuming as decorating, but it was the most important. The ground was cold against his cheek when Mosur awoke and pushed himself up. Saashenka laid on the ground not far away, the sight caused him to get to his hooves quickly and over to her side. A twinge of pain struck him at the sight of her broken horn. She was breathing, but it was shallow, she had exerted herself too much. Another loud clang distracted him from his thoughts followed by cursing. He’d hit the metal too hard and flattened it too much in that area. He looked the cooling ring over and shoved it back into the forge. He exhaled and sat back on the log he was using as a stool, letting the coals do their work heating the metal so he could shape it again. He’d gotten her out of her dirty clothes and into her bed then he’d taken a sponge and damp wash cloth to her face and horn. It had been cauterized by the blow it seemed and had bled very little. The edges were sharp and broken bits still clung refusing to fall on their own. Portions of her long beautiful hair eaten away by the fire. He pulled the metal free with a set of tongs and grabbed a smaller hammer content to begin working on the finer details of shaping. He pounded out the section he’d hammered too flat and twisted it over judging the large ring’s shape and thickness. With a nod to himself he slipped the ring of metal onto a v-shaped rod and hammered an indentation in the ring’s form. He cleaned Saashenka’s horn at the break and made sure it was properly healed over at the center so infection wouldn’t have a place to set in. All of this was done in silence as she rested and he fretted. He retrieved a few tools from the bathroom and his jeweler’s kit and set about seeing to the horn’s damage. Mosur removed the broken pieces that would not heal properly and filed the sharp edges down for personal comfort. He worked gently and slowly to keep from disturbing her fitful rest, millennias as a healer told him this needed to be done. The heavy work was done now and the fine details and exact shaping would take place at the house on the kitchen table. He’d yet to dream up a design for this misshapen bracelet but it was a project he wanted to take on, it would keep his hands busy after all.

[mosur]

Rubbing It In

The guildstone clicked to life in Mosur's hand. He stared down at it in his left hand and glanced to his left, the book laid on his bedside table. The book he'd been looking for, the one Zaanthe had said would just be trouble. It was old, gold leaf flaked off the stiff leather cover. "Zaanthe?" Mosur called, his voice held more than a smile as he looked forward to this conversation. He'd found the book the previous evening and had swept Saaska up and taken her out for a celebratory dinner. Today he'd finally dig into what the book actually had to say within it. Out in the crisp air of Azuremyst, Mosur's voice interrupted a statement from the vindicator to a younger man in armor causing him to come to a halt in his sentence. It happened on occasion, and Zaanthe made a habit to keep his guildstone upon his person and audible at all times in case of emergencies. Cupping the stone in his hand and raising it closer to his face, Zaanthe spoke. "Yes, Mosur?", his tone was short and sharp, partially due to their previous 'disagreement', but also largely due to his current sparring and training of some of the Hand. Keeping an ear out for the conversation, the vindicator beckoned the younger man before him to strike again, to carry on. "I found it." Mosur spoke, taking a cue from Zaanthe own short tone. He paused a moment but decided not to leave it up to the Vindicator to ask anything further. "The whole book is written in Draenei," he followed up succinctly. His heart pounded and a smile crept to the corners of his mouth, who better to write on the glories of how to use the Light than his own people. In fact being written in Draenei caused him to put further trust in the words this tome would ultimately hold. Zaanthe grunted in acknowledgement of the first three words, though he didn't raise the guildstone to speak into it. As Mosur's voice continued to rattle out of the device, though, he brought it to his mouth. What followed was an almighty crack, a grunt, and a thud. Probably not what anyone would expect after such news. The guildstone buzzed and hissed, and Zaanthe's voice came through, barking at the member of the Hand he was training. It was just enough to make out he was dismissing the younger man, rather angrily so. The shocking nature of Mosur's statement had left Zaanthe bewildered enough that he hadn't seen the warrior-in-training's swing of his mace, even though the Vindicator had ordered it. It had struck him clear in the head, and sent him reeling to the floor. Spitting a mix of saliva and blue blood onto the floor below, Zaanthe spoke once more. "...In Draenei? Surely... This is a joke." Mosur raised a brow as he listened to the clattering and yelling of his fellow draenei. At first he'd thought the Vindicator might have thrown the guild stone down or dropped it. After a moment it was clear he had interrupted something Zaanthe was doing, though this information didn't particularly bother the shaman. He waited patiently for Zaanthe's response. He could hear the Vindicator spit and the scraping of metal against stone. "I wouldn't interrupt you before breakfast over a joke about something like that." Zaanthe pushed himself to his hooves again, and brushed his palm over his face, blinking and bringing himself back into the here and now. "You found the book, and it's written in Draenei?", he shook his head, as though he was certain he had misunderstood. It couldn't be written in their language, surely. The statement began to sink in, all of the things that the vindicator had said in anger began to weigh upon him... was it all for nothing? Did he make nothing but an immense fool of himself? "...Have you read it?", was about the only question Zaanthe could bring himself to ask in his shock. "No, I found it yesterday, and flipped through it reading no more than a few sentences. Some of it was the same verses you'd find in the prayer books of the Anchorites, easily recognized. Perhaps you'll find much to your pleasure I have tempered myself on the time I searched for it every day," no more than an hour a day but perhaps if he had spent longer it wouldn't have taken this long to find it, "and rather than diving right in to reading it I took Saashenka out for a meal rather than letting her cook last night." "... I'll be damned.", Zaanthe spoke over the guildstone, though unintentionally. He took a deep breath, and steadied himself. "Our own language...", he raised a hand and brushed it through his hair in a gesture of utter bewilderment. "A meal well deserved for the both of you, then.", he paused for a while, thinking on apologies and what might be appropriate to say, and wasn't sure if it was stubbornness or shame that caused him to keep it to himself. Perhaps the silence itself said enough. "I just thought I'd let you know. I'll let you get back to your training now." Mosur bit his tongue, the familiar word 'Brother' still hung in the air unspoken. He set the guildstone down on the bedside table expecting to hear nothing more from the Vindicator.

[mosur]

Tome of Old

"What is born of the light of knowledge I release by the light of knowledge." Once. "What is born of the light of knowledge I release by the light of knowledge." Twice. "What is born of the light of knowledge I release by the light of knowledge." Three times. A book, the book, materialized on the stonework podium before the draenei. Mosur gasped in awe, he couldn't believe it worked. The time, the preparation, the effort had all paid off in the end. Mosur reached out, not without caution and flipped the book open to one of the pages near the front, the warning of caution from Zaanthe, though cruel in its delivery, had not gone unheeded. He raised his hand to his mouth at a loss for words as he scanned the books pages. The book, the words...it was written in draenei. "A tome of the Light," he barely gasped excitement rising inside of him and any concern or caution now thrown to the wind. He grabbed the book and stuffed it away hurrying back to the house excited to share his find with his companion and rub it in Zaanthe's face. "Saashenka!" he cried as he burst in the house. He radiated excitement as he searched through the house for her finding her in the kitchen mulling over something. "Saashenka!" He cried once more. He hurried over and lifted her spinning her around, "I found it," he laughed again and pressed a long kiss to her before continuing his excitement. "I found it, finally, It's real, and it's in Draenei! It's a tome of old!" He hugged her tight to him and then set her down hurrying upstairs to change. "Put on something nice, you're not cooking tonight!" He called from the second floor. His excitement was worth celebrating, soon enough he would have the morrow to pour over the book, but tonight he was going to celebrate, both finding the book and proving Zaanthe wrong.

[mosur]

So Close

Mosur wandered the broken jade columns of the forest. Somewhere out here the mage Eibon had buried or sealed away a tome of Light. At least that's what the journal he fingered in his pocket said. He’d forced himself to search no longer than an hour and perhaps some change a day, though Saashenka mentioned she could see the pent up energy in him each time he returned empty handed. He had narrowed it down his search to this area, if this tome existed it was around here. He pulled the journal out of his pocket and read over the section again, he already knew it by memory he'd read it so many times, but he never failed to double check. "...stone circle...pendant of jade carved in the image of the dragon...moss covered..." It was around here somewhere. He started kicking the cut of his hoof into the ground as he walked searching the area. As unlikely as it seemed even to him his search bore fruit as his hoof clinked against what he assumed would be another root. He bent down once more and flipped away a chunk of the moss disturbed by his hoof. A worn grey stone  surface was beneath the creeping moss.

His time out far exceeded the hour he normally fave himself as he uncovered a latent stone circle. It was shattered broken in many places just as the journal described. But this here this was the spot. Mosur pulled the journal free once more and flipped it open to re-read the wizards incantation. He didn't know what would have to be done but a shin ran through him as he only hope for something as simple as an opposite incantation to work. 'What is born of the light of knowledge I now seal by the light of knowledge.' Repeated three times. "What is born of the light of knowledge I release by the light of knowledge." Once. "What is born of the light of knowledge I release by the light of knowledge." Twice. "What is born of the light of knowledge I release by the light of knowledge." Three times. Nothing happened. He signed and stood taking up the journal, he would have to do more of course. The journal read that the mage had poured magic energy into the circular stone for three days and had used a pendant in the likeness of the jade dragon as a focus. He would have to recreate this more than likely. He stood and dusted himself off a few streaks of dirt soiled his robe at the knees, but it was worth it in the end he thought. He was so very close to his goal. He turned to head home he’d have to prepare.

[mosur]

Nagging Thoughts

Mosur struck out with his fist again connecting with one of the thick trees not far from Westguard. He had lost count after about fifty punches, Koryander had told him to do a hundred a day. Mosur had gone outside the walls of Westguard not wanting anyone to see what he felt was a silly exercise. He had asked her to help him be a more formidable fighter. He had started idly punched the air thinking on what had drove him to this, his fight with Zaanthe. The more he thought about it the angrier he became. He had moved over to one of the nearby trees to give him something solid to vent his frustrations on. Zaanthe’s words still chided him, angered him as he read into the Vindicator’s cruel words. What happened the last time you and a priestess got into trouble? She died, she died and there was nothing you could do about it. It was all your fault. He hit the tree again and clenched his jaw tight. You're the reason she died, the reason you don't have Amia anymore. The same thing is going to happen to Saashenka. You're just going to get her killed too. Another blow. Who are you fooling, you're no protector, no guardian. You're weak. The Light left you for a reason, you weren't worthy. Kro'kul. Flakes of bark fluttered to the ground as another punch connected against the solid trunk. Look at you, you're pitiful, just a broken one wearing a draenei's form. You fail in everything you do, this will be no different. Another. Promises of power only lead you down one path. Another hit. Archimonde. His knuckles already bleed from the force he was punching the tree with. Kil'Jaeden. Another punch. Demon. Another. You’re no better. Mosur roared in anger as he punched the tree a final time. Fire caught licking at the tree, nibbling its bark where the shaman’s fist had landed. He turned away from the tree, the fire dying out, his hands still trembled in and anger and a feeling of betrayal. The rush held back the pain, but his hands were bloodied , his knuckles cracked and split against the tree. Dark blue blood smeared the back of both hands and his desire to prove the Vindicator wrong swelled again. That would shut him up. Him and the nagging voices he had left the shaman.

[mosur]

Rift Between Brothers

Smiling Jim pub nights often make for interesting events, whether it be through Alekxandar's patented JUSTICE or dare, Harple's trickery of drunken rogues, or any other of a wealth of events. This day, however, seemed to be on the opposite end of the spectrum. Captain Kelaani stood not far from a table where vindicator Zaanthe and brother Mosur sat, forming a trio of blue-hued, wind-worn travelers. A younger woman, Arianys stood nearby the fire, alongside Koryander, who had apparently taken an impossibly large barrel of alcohol hostage. The two men sat and muttered, as they usually did, bringing up the day's woes and their (often haughty) opinions of their companions and peers. The evening was quiet; a good number of the Templars were out on the field, perhaps seeing to pack up the camp at Durotar, or taking well deserved breaks from their busy lives. Arianys and Koryander chatted by the fire and as things began to wind down the two men at the table started to converse "I'll tell you, Zaanthe,” Mosur begun in Draenei, musing out loud to the plate-clad form that was stuffed into a corner on a wooden seat, “the forest is not the only thing I am looking forward to.” Before Mosur could elaborate, Zaanthe had already interrupted, “There you go again. It's like travelling with a Talbuk with blinders on.” “...What do you mean by that?” Came a steady voice from under Mosur's white hood. Zaanthe groaned, and placed his hands on the wooden table, “Precisely what I said! Whenever we talk, it's always that damned journal and the books.” “Can you not just be happy for me? Can I not just have this one thing?” Zaanthe's hand brushed over his face and he looked to the group at the fireplace. Kelaani had apparently set off and Koryander and Arianys were... doing whatever it was humans did in their down time. Koryander spoke some Draenei apparently and had started to turn her attention towards the two, even before their voices started to escalate. “It is not about me being happy for you, you damned fool! Who knows what might happen in pursuing this. What happened last time that you and a little priestess stepped into danger?” Mosur's fist connected solidly with the wooden table in a slam that reverberated through the tavern. He stood and set his jaw firmly. “I don't think I understand what you mean,” his tone was flat, serious. “I meant precisely what I said,” Zaanthe offered in rebuttal, not taking his gaze from the robed figure. In truth, the vindicator got a rise from his reaction. Perhaps it was his nature, or just the wearing of the extensive travels of the three Draenei over a particularly troublesome time in Azeroth. “Who are you to speak on any of these matters!” Mosur fired off at Zaanthe who had now thrown himself up and onto his hooves, leaning toward him. Arianys was seemingly the only creature left in the tavern and upon hearing the men begin to raise their voices she turned yelling at the both of them, “If you're going to fight, take it outside! You're ruining my drinking!” The two Draenei men stopped, glanced at each other, nodded once, and left the tavern. They barely made it onto the grass before their argument flared up once more. Mosur threw himself at Zaanthe in a burst of anger but was caught pretty quickly in a headlock. The stockier, taller Draenei starting to laugh to himself. A few calls came over the guildstones, stemming from Arianys' warning that the two seemed to be in discord. Zaanthe goaded over the device, unable to help but chortle at the sounds of a few voices warning him not to hurt Mosur. “Since when did you get such an abundant little fanclub, brother?” he asked, just as a few familiar faces turned up. Before Zaanthe could shout at them to mind their own business, the ground underneath him shifted and shuddered. The vindicator fell his iron grip taking Mosur with him to the ground where they still swung at each other and rolled about. Nyres had turned up and dragged Zaanthe away with a handful of others as Arianys pried Mosur away. The two eventually stood again, eyes locked at each other as various parties stopped them from clashing once more. “What is -wrong- with you two?!” the high elf cried out in something akin to disbelief. Zaanthe still shouting at the crowd to mind their own business, that it was a dispute between two men and it should be settled as such. Eventually, a single calm voice cut through the rabble of Common and Zaanthe recognized it as Mosur's. “Calm down. Let them think we're fine. Then we'll go over there..” Mosur nodded off into the distance, “...when they're not paying attention, and we can finish this.” Zaanthe nodded, and forced a smile, still speaking in Common. “...Ah. Yes. It is simply a misunderstanding between two good-natured creatures.” The two soon made their way back into the tavern, snipping at each other over time in Draenei as Robin, who had shown up amidst the brawl, drank and talked with Nyres and Arianys. “If you could just get your thick-skull around what I mean...” Zaanthe started. “Let's not start remarking on each others heads, tiny-crest,” Mosur rebuked. “Rather that than be born with short, shriveled tendrils.” “At least I have all of mine, you disfigured old haggard.” “Happier to have lost them in battle than be born with those!” “Maybe it's time you lost the other one!” “Maybe I'll give you a scar to match that pretty one on your cheek!” It continued on for a while, Mosur pulling out the journal that started the argument, not even to read it, but to spur Zaanthe's anger on more so. It worked fantastically. He rose again, starting to yell. “Put that Light-damned thing away before I--”, he started, but looked over his shoulder. Robin, Arianys and Nyres simply glared at him. He slowly lowered to his seat. “... Before I have to ask you twice,” he murmured, making nice once more. The night continued on, things quiet enough for the two to slip outside the front mostly unnoticed. That was, of course, until Saashenka awoke. Her gaze fixed on the two, even as they stood beside one another, Zaanthe's trunk of an arm hanging over Mosur's shoulders, the men making nice. “You are right, brother,” Mosur started, “we shall sleep on it all in Dalaran, and discuss things in the morning when we are of sound minds.” Zaanthe could just barely see the perk in Saashenka's brow as she made her way towards them, following. The two men had made it mostly out of view when Zaanthe looked about. “Here,” he said, with a swing of an open palm to the back of Mosur's head, “this is far enough.” He turned to face him again, seeing Saashenka approach out of the corner of his eye, “And no more of your little tricks with the earth, Kro'kul.” Those last words were almost hissed silently from behind his teeth. Zaanthe didn't only know how to strike a foe, but also how to wound a brother. Mosur yelled, and swung at the vindicator. “SHUT! UP!” The blow wasn't expected, and Zaanthe neither flinched nor blocked. He took the knuckles square to the chin, his head jarring backwards. His gauntleted grip tugged at Mosur's robes, and the two fell to the ground once more, each trying to get a hold of the other. Intervention seemed to rush from all sides, Nyres attempting to grip Mosur from range, and Arianys rushing towards Zaanthe to grab at him. The vindicator's attention turned almost immediately and a great swing struck at her jawline. With her size, though, came an advantage with speed, and she was soon latched on his back, flailing at his head as Zaanthe tried to strike at anyone in range. Zaanthe let himself roll onto his back, simply trying to pin and crush the woman beneath him, but both Draenei soon felt a sharp crack on their skulls, both dazed briefly as a shrill, desperate voice caught their combined attentions. “Stop!” Saashenka was standing, her pale hands glowing with a golden hue, leaning against her staff as her chest heaved. She was catching her breath, looking more exhausted than those just involved with the brawl. Apparently she had been shouting at the two to stop the entire time they brawled and they were too wrapped up in battle to hear. The two eventually pulled themselves to their hooves, wiping their faces and still staring each other down. Zaanthe's attention was taken briefly to stare down the woman who had climbed onto his back, her continued presence annoyed him and he sought to send her scurrying by bending toward her and essentially roaring in her face with his nose against hers. “Enough! I'm tired of being kept in the darkness!” the younger girl's voice rang out. It was the first sentence of hers that truly registered to Zaanthe's ears. He soon chimed in. “Yes, tell her, Mosur. Tell her -precisely- what your plan is, and what happened to the last priestess.” It was a stretch, but it was still an easy blow for the Vindicator. His eyes wandered once more, making out another familiar face just to his left. Arialynn stood with a stony expression and look that was most likely reserved for these sorts of situations. Zaanthe swallowed hard, and Mosur was still silent. “Let whatever emotion it is that split you two apart become one that can forge you back together,” the Justicar spoke simply. There was nothing offered in reply as the crowd dispersed and Saashenka was the last one standing to berate the two fully-grown children. The two kept mostly silent in their explanations to Saashenka. It seemed that she was about the only one capable of pulling sense from them, what little there was to be had. It was when Zaanthe was agreeing that he had no excuse for violence when Mosur started to gesture. It took the vindicator a moment, but he picked up on what he recognized as sign language they had both learned years ago to deal with an irritating third party. 'This isn't over yet,' was the gist of the message and Zaanthe gave a rebuttal. The anger in the two swelled, Saashenka was blind to their physical motions but easily picking up on their emotional states. 'I'll make sure it isn't over until I knock you on your tail.' 'I'd like to watch you try, elf-fucker'. Saashenka called out again, “I am blind, not stupid! Stop whatever it is you're doing!”, she seemed to be increasingly close to tears of desperation and disappointment. Zaanthe soldiered on, as Mosur explained the nature of the journals, the three books, and the power he thought they held. 'Promises of power and gifts of your deepest desires always end well. Ask Kil'jaeden, or Archimonde.' Mosur, infuriated, replied in a string of niceties. 'Tiny-crested tendril-deformed haggard over-grown potion-popping dog-loving meat-shield' “Mosur!” the younger girl cried out yet again. “Head back to the inn. I'll meet you there.” She turned to Zaanthe, and the two spoke for a brief moment. Her pleas for even-handedness and a level head fell on ears that refused to co-operate in that moment of time, the vindicator simply harumphed and nodded sternly. “Are you not brothers?” was the sole question that struck a chord within Zaanthe's mind. He gave hardly a backward glance as Saashenka went to see to Mosur.

Written by Zaanthe

[mosur]

Headcanon; Mosur: 2-4

2: Do they have any daily rituals? Mosur wakes early each morning only a little after the sun and washes his face. Every other morning he goes over his cheeks with a razor to keep from getting scruffy and to refine the shape of his goatee. While living in Tian Monastery he started taking walks to the market and back on occasion stopping to collect a paper either for himself or his companion. Pandaren papers were for Saaska and Common or on the rare occasion Draenei were for them both. Come evening he patiently waits for his evening meal and shares company with his companion until he grows tired. Once weary he heads off to bed and reads his prayer book until he falls asleep.

3: Do they exercise, and if so, what do they do? How often? Mosur doesn't actively exercise. While he has a talkbuk mount, Onkuru, he normally walks anywhere he's traveling and at times now is also responsible for carrying a younger draenei on his shoulder...despite her insistence that she can manage just fine.

4: What would they do if they needed to make dinner but the kitchen was busy? First of all if Mosur needs to make dinner someone is very desperate. Really though If Mosur had to cook dinner, he would try if asked, but the kitchen was busy? He'd go out and buy food from a cafe or inn and bring it back to feed everyone. Everyone should be grateful the kitchen was busy...!

[mosur]

Soulmates p2

"Rook," the soft voice of his dove came to his ears and took his full attention all at once, "don't be so selfish. Go see the girl. I'll wait for you right here." Her smile was beautiful and she was everything he could never be, selfless and loving.

"But-"

"No buts. Go see the child, bring her back to Karabor, she means a lot to you, they can help her here."

He started to argue but another calling from Emberstone interrupted any argument that could have began.

"Where are you Emberstone?" he asked over the guild stone.

She told him where they were and with a promise to return swiftly he left. They were at an outpost in Talador and it only took minor convincing for him to get permission to take her to Karabor.

Mosur frown as he carried her on the back of his mount. She seemed to be exhibiting the same symptoms as Amia and the hope he'd shown that she could be cured waned as he left the camp the Templars were calling home for now.

He didn't take her to the healers first for fear that they might think this mysterious illness contagious as they had the disease of the Broken. Instead he took her to his room carrying her in his arms like a child. He pushed the door open with his shoulder and walked in carrying the small priestess to the bed.

“My dove, this is Saaska...Saaska, this is my Amia,” Mosur commented and lowered her onto the bed next to Amia. It was a large bed, Amia had always had fine things and a large bed to sprawl in was one of them.

“Hello Saashenka, Mosur has told me so much about you.”

Saashenka blushed furiously and at the same time her heart began to ache. She knew who this was and what the woman meant to Mosur, how could she ever hope to compare. “It’s nice to meet you as well. I’ve also heard a lot about you.”

“Oh really?” Amia questioned and turned her head to glance at the worrying male. “What has he said?” Her voice was soft from fatigue but it held a kindness that one might not expect as sick as she was.

The two women bantered and this some how set Mosur’s heart at ease as they spoke with one another, their voices filling his ears, not too unalike from one another. At some point their soft voices lulled him off to sleep, he’d been awake so long trying to attend to Amia every waking moment.

He stirred as he felt something on his shoulders. He reached to touch it opening his eyes. His knees ached against the hard floor and his hand grasped a soft blanket. He sat up and glanced in surprised to see Amia up and walking around. “Amia!” he said shocked and stood quickly, “Are you well? You should be in bed!” His ears were met with laughter from in front of and behind him. He turned to see Saaska standing there too smiling at him sheepishly.

“See what did I tell you?” Amia asked and laughed again smiling kindly at them both. Saaska nodded at her question.

“What is going on here?” Mosur was both concerned and relieved that they were up and about.

“We’re both feeling fine now my Rook, you fell asleep there.”

Do you believe in soulmates? They say when a person dies there are many things that can happen. One of those things, if you were truly happy and had no regrets is said to be reincarnation. The spirit cannot inhabit two bodies at once and if that same soul is shared with another on the same plane of existence the halves grow weak while apart...

[mosur]

Soulmates p1

Mosur knelt by the bed leaning until his crest rested against the sheets. He was so tired, and yet again it looked to him like his happiness was about to be stolen.

They had come through the Dark portal, with its mists stained a crimson red, into the past, back to Draenor before any of his nightmares were a reality. Karabor, his home, still stood uncorrupted and Amia.. his love living and breathing.

He had been consumed by it, the sheer experience of it all. When he saw Draenor as it once was and learned that it was true the ones he loved, his family, his friends were still alive and well, he cried. He forgot about his past obligations to Templars and friends, solely consumed here with his past life.

Sure enough he'd found her, his dove, his Amia, his love. It never crossed his mind to look for his former self, but he was a selfish thoughtless man, so it wasn't out of character for that to be the case. His past self was nowhere to be found, had he taken his place? These were not things the shaman wondered.

Now she was ill though, sick and fatigued for no reason it seemed. The illness had come upon her almost a week after he'd arrived. Even in the great Temple Karabor none could figure out what ailed her and so he stayed by her side. He talked about everything and nothing so she had something to listen to, he told her about Azeroth, told her about all the happy things he could think of, the people he had met, how they had helped him, how he'd grown his hair out. He left out of course his failures, if he needed to tell her, it would not be now, while she was sick.

"M-mosur?"

The voice came from his effects laid on the table by the bedside. He looked up and heard Amia stir as well.

"Who is it my love?" she spoke softly hardly above a whisper.

"It's Saashenka," he responded in kind and walked on his knees the distance between where he knelt and the bedside table. The white stone inlaid with the gold cross of the Templars. The voice on the other end right now was the only reason he still had this, and even that was complicated right now...he had almost forgotten, he'd just been so swept up. He looked at Amia and answered.

"Saaska?"

"Mosur!" The voice was excited but at the same time he could hear a labor in it that was not normally there.

"Mosur, are you there?" It was another voice, Koryander's, Emberstone as he'd begun calling her now.

"I am, what is it?" He asked now feeling slightly annoyed that he had been bothered if it was for Templars duties or beckoning.

Amia rolled onto her side in the bed and looked at him gently placing a hand on his upper arm as he spoke.

"Mosur, Saashenka is really sick.. I just wanted you to know, she wanted to see you, she's been asking about you."

His eyes closed and his teeth grit together, could anything else go wrong? The muscles in his arm tightened but he didn't respond. He didn't want to leave Amia he'd only just found her again after so long, no he hadn't found her she'd always been here.

"Mosur, are you there?" Emberstone's voice came over the stone again.

He didn't want to answer and gently shook his head not speaking.

p2 >

[mosur]

Headcanon; Mosur: 1 What does their bedroom look like?

Mosur doesn’t really have a static bedroom. For a long time he resided in one of the parish dormitories below the Cathedral in Stormwind. It was a simple room, a twin sized bed which was a little small for him but workable. At the foot of the bed there was a footlocker in which he kept some of his times and across from that with only standing space between them was a wardrobe in which he kept several robes. Across from the door  a simple desk with a single drawer  and a larger chair he’d requested. There was nothing beyond this in the room and he spent very little time here, it was mostly for sleeping in. He has since picked up a younger ward and in effort to take better care of her he has rented a house at the Tian Monastery. He hoped the the calm quiet of the area would help chase away his bad memories and personal demons. Here his room is a little darker, but in a lazy way. Thick heavy curtains hang over the window that peers into his room, even with them pulled open the shade the house sits in keeps out direct sunlight. A large comfortable bed with several heavy blankets, the tops ones of which has simplified cherry blossoms on a navy blue backdrop. The same footlocker from the parish dorm sits a little more disheveled cracked open with a sleeve of some clothing hanging out of the corner. A light littering of dirty clothes sit against one edge of the room, more more than one ot two items waiting for enough to cumulate to warrant doing laundry. A soft round rug lays in the middle of the floor with rings of colors. Likely it was already there when he rented the house, but he choose to leave it. Right now he’s staying temporarily at Northwatch Keep in the Southern Barrens. Its a far cry from the room he’d become accustom to in the Jade Forest and he looks forward to getting back or finding a similar place of residence.

[mosur]

Disturbed Grave

"We're going to go see an old friend of mine from the war on Dragonblight," Mosur responded to her question about where they were headed. He hefted her onto his shoulder, wrapping his arm around her legs to keep her steady. It was much warmer in Grizzly Hills and the pair had shed some of the heavy winter clothes they had worn in Dragonblight. There were very few individuals she ever heard him refer to as friend, but something warmed her a little to hear that he did have those he considered such. She noticed the more somber tone in his voice as he'd spoken but let it go as just being somber thoughts of the war. The trek didn't seem far at all when he'd stopped to let her down. "We're here," he said and lifted her setting her hooves on the pine straw coated floor. She looked around seeing no signs of life. No wisps of light or otherwise, her empty gaze turned to Mosur in question. Mosur looked down at Saaska, a swirl of sadness and guilt spiraled in his stomach. It was a few moments before he spoke to her, "We're visiting a grave Saaska." His words were quiet and subdued. Saaska inhaled, pressed her lips tight together at Mosur's words and dropped her wavering gaze. She suddenly felt bad, felt sorry for him, she felt like she should comfort him but he was so distant. Mosur knelt at the grave and began cleaning away the leaves and pine needles. Saaska shifted as he got down to clear the grave off, her hoof bumped into rock. "Gravestone," Mosur muttered. The makeshift gravestone still stood, draenei words carved into it. His gaze graced the stone once before continuing his task. Saashenka knelt beside the stone and let her fingers see it. It only took her a moment to recognize the symbols and words carved into the stone. No doubt the carvings were done by Mosur's skillful hands. It read: Merrik Shrewsbury, Friend & Savior. Her lips pursed again and she looked from the stone toward Mosur's essence again. The shaman’s brow furrowed as he finished cleaning the grave off, something was odd. There was no grass covering the whole grave, it had been nearly a year the ground almost looked as though it had been disturbed. He pressed against the earth above the grave, it gave a little his hand leaving an imprint in the dirt. Shifting he attempted this again beside the grave, but the earth held firm, packed. A sense of urgency gripped Mosur an explosion of worry and concern that shocked the young priestess. The sound of dirt falling came to her ears and she watched his form work. As this went on longer the sounds of grunting joined in. He was digging up the grave. “Mosur, what are you doing?” she asked surprised and knelt next to the gravestone. “Something’s not right here,” he commented and continued to dig. Already his linens were stained with dirt and mud but he continued to dig. His finger cut through the earth and mud beneath him with ease pushing and pulling the dirt out of the hole to pile beside the grave. He continued unwavering until his fingers raked across a wooden board, only then did he slow. By now the whole front of his cream colored robes were stained with reddish brown earth. It took him a while longer to clear the dirt from the surface of the makeshift coffin. He could suddenly feel his heart pounding against his chest and the blood rushing in his ears. Hesitation held him still in the silence of the mountains. Breaking free of his worry he reached forward and with effort lifted the lid of the man’s coffin. Nothing had changed, there was nothing disturbed. The man lay in the coffin as Mosur had placed him a year ago, he didn’t even look as though he had decomposed any. Strange, Mosur thought.  “Mosur..?” Saaska spoke drawing his attention to her. She still huddled by the gravestone and watched him dig up the grave, “Is everything okay?” Mosur looked from Saashenka back to the body of Shrewsbury and breathed out. He nodded then spoke realizing his silence, “Yes, it appears that everything is just fine.” A sparkle drew his eye to the death knight’s chest where a long stemmed pipe lay. Something told him to take it. He reached inside the coffin and retrieved out the pipe. He expected there to be the smell of death lingering about the instrument, but it only smelled of the earth and the cedarwood that comprised the coffin. Mosur closed the coffin back and filled in the grave. The pair traveled back to the inn, at least only one of them was tired and dirty.

[mosur]

by nothus

[mosur]

A younger Mosur

[mosur]

Journey To Northrend

Packed, Mosur and Saashenka left the small two bedroom house they shared in Tian Monastery. A note was left on the door for the any who may visit informing of the short vacation the pair were taking.

I didn’t think I would be using this journal ever again, honestly why I still own it is a mystery. So many of its pages I’ve ripped out and destroyed in one way or another. The trip to Northrend is long though, especially from Pandaria, and even little Saaska sleeps sometimes. The past week or two has been nothing but memories of the north and the battles that took place there a year...two years ago. Wars certainly rage a long time and in many different ways. But I'm glad for them to be finished, even if new and different ones rise on the horizon.

But meeting my Imp’s friend reminded me of others I had met during that time. Transgressions I caused and respects I still have to pay. Despite enjoying a simple new lifestyle unlike one I have known for a long time there are still duties I feel I have to those I once counted as friends.

[mosur]

Past Moments: Morning After

"Hello?" Mosur's voice called out through the small house and he hung on the silence that followed. He'd spoken in common in case and hoping that perhaps Shame was still there. He wondered if, perhaps, they had gone out, and he meandered into the kitchen for a glance around. The only things out of place were the items on the table. A pair of glass bottles, one on its side with little more than a sip left in it, and the other standing upright with a drink or two remaining. Both were still uncorked and he stared at them for the longest time as a memory drudged itself up from the depths of his mind. Despite the cold ground beneath him he felt no urge to get up, a heaviness filled his body and any desire to move was shoved aside. A groan escaped him as he peeked his eyelids open then shut them again immediately. The bright light caused a stabbing pain between his eyes. His shoulders slumped back against the hardened earth beneath him and he allowed his mouth to downturn at the pain. A dry tackiness in his mouth became apparent when he took a deeper breath; the tang was awful but there wasn't enough saliva to spit the disgusting taste from his mouth. A drink of water, that's what he needed. Thinking about a drink of water set his empty stomach on edge and it roiled with discontent, empty but for the evenings past consumptions. He swallowed hard leaving his eyes closed and forced a hand into his pocket to fumble around. Two coins...too light...coppers...and a handful of crystals. They didn't take crystals here for currency, why did he even still have them at all? He lay for a long time debating getting up, he had no desire to move, for the world to start spinning like he knew it would. He also couldn't just lay there all day though and by the brightness it was already well into the morning if not past. Finally the overwhelming urge to relieve himself forced him from his evening bed, likely where he'd been tossed after running out of money, or carrying on too much or too loudly. He didn't recall any of the past evening and it was likely for the best he thought. He forced himself to sit and nearly toppled over before he could center his weight forward. The draenei swayed as he sat the sound of rushing blood filled his ears at what he thought was an abnormally loud level. His stomach bubbled a second time causing him to feel ill again. He needed to eat, but like everything else he had no desire to do so; the thought of food caused him to feel even sicker. He raised his hand to rest his face against and his fingertips brushed over something crusty above his left eye. He brushed it away, bits of whatever falling into his palm. He forced his eyes open again and squinted to see. Small dark blue crumbles. He raised his hand again and continued to brush at the area till a soft sting registered, yeah it had been blood, a wound of some kind, he didn't quite remember. A pressure in his lower abdomen reminded him why he was sitting at all and he finished staggering to his feet and started to contend with another day. He had been somewhere in...well honestly he couldn't recall the name of the place, some dwarven area. Bearded little boar-like creatures he'd thought of them then, strange looking creatures at the time. They tossed him out on his rear for insulting one of their brews if he recalled correctly, then he had been too drunk to make it further than the trees near the ram stables where his talbuk, Onkuru, had been housed. Though that was the norm for a long time, pissing his money away on drink and forgetting more than half of every day just for being out of his mind. A year or more on Azeroth just being a drunken bum. Why? People only drown themselves in alcohol when they have something they want to forget. The mind is a funny thing; it changes memories, holds back information, protects us from...the truth. Most of the time. He didn't drink because he liked the taste, he liked the burn, it was a punishment almost. A self inflicted punishment that he wasn't afraid of, like some of his darker thoughts.Honestly it was sad to think about now even if at times it was a tempting life to return to and the same dark thoughts surfaced on occasion. Unfortunately, or rather luckily for him, he had things...he had things to worry about...people to occupy his time. He found himself holding one of the bottles now and it was empty. He didn’t recall when the contents had emptied themselves but there was a sweet taste on his lips. Shame did enjoy her wine when she could afford it. He should just wait for them to return he decided and set the bottle back down.

[mosur]

Azeroth Noir; A Character History: Mosur

Had a fiance once, pretty thing, cut down in a raid. Don't like to talk about it much. Lost my best friend in the same raid. Don't like to get close to people now. Worked against me though. Got caught up with some occult brainwashin' shit. People that don't know ya don't know when you ain't yourself, and when no one knows ya... Funny thing is, hardly knew Moose then. Man nailed the problem ‘n never knew it. Just brushed him off though, thought I knew what I was doin', after all. Mind'll take you to some dark places when you're alone, don't need to say much more than that. Covered everything up with enough paper that no ones gunna find out. Burned all the evidence, you might say. Came out with couple of acquaintances; one boy, one girl. Only kept one; the boy stabbed me in the back, literally. Still got the scars to prove it. The girl I kept was a fiery red head. Rumor has it she made a deal with a cult leader, nearly died. Saved by a rogue fire. I don't know nothin ‘bout arson personally... just say she's on top of our watch list when the flames start spreadin'. Been decades since the raid in the old days, finally had a dangerous little thing catch my eye again, but wouldn't it turn out she's some kinda caught up with the family that caused that raid. Say they're clean now, old habits die hard. Owe her though, pulled me through and cleaned up one or two messes more than I care to remember. Think I paid her in full. Took a bullet for her, she wasn't too thrilled about it for some reason, said I didn’t trust her to have her own plan. Messed up some guy bad that used’ta give her trouble. Didn't tell her bout that, she wouldn't have liked it. Besides, pleasure was all mine. Haven't seen her much since then. She likes to pop up as a temptation now and again. Hate to admit it, but works every time. Now I’m just try'n t’ keep my head down and do my job. Women ain't nothin but trouble, anyhow. 'Specially this new one. Was cute to begin with, she even kissed me... Wasn't expectin’ that. Turns out she's Mooses' daughter. He told me she was dead. Can't have none of that... don’t mess with another man's family. Hell, I'm screwed.