You wanted more details about this lovely work that's being thrown in your face?!
https://www.tumblr.com/dinthoqaf/821037704326348800/im-posting-this-once-again-because-it-was-brought?source=share
Well good news; I have some!
Transmog Contest will be done in 3 'Themed' Rounds with a "Winner's Circle." Winner's Circle will have the Winner from each previous round make a mog to their heart's desire, and votes will be tallied in order, from highest to lowest to determine 1st, 2nd, and 3rd place winners.
===================================
Vendor Awards!
Winner for 'Most Unique Menu' - 20,000 Gold
Winner for 'Most Suggested to shop at' - 20,000 Gold
Winner for 'Greatest Vendor' - 20,000 Gold
Determined via Vendor/Participation Survey that will be shouted at regular intervals. Given at the end of the night before the final Transmog Round.
=====================================
Shopper Participation Giveaways!
While prizes aren't final yet, individuals named in the final question of the Survey have a chance to receive a 'Random Giveaway'. If you have a great encounter with another player during the event, if you like their mog (Not counting the people in the T-Mog Contest lol), whatever your reasoning is, give them a highlight and name them in our Survey that will be shouted for a chance for them to win a bunch of furniture for Housing!
Determined via the Vendor/Participation Survey, which will be shouted at regular intervals. Given at the end of the night before the final Transmog Round.
( The reasoning behind the delay on naming items are because @zalilirah and I will be making all of these furniture items ourselves. )
You wanted more details about this lovely work that's being thrown in your face?!
https://www.tumblr.com/dinthoqaf/821037704326348800/im-posting-this-once-again-because-it-was-brought?source=share
Well good news; I have some!
Transmog Contest will be done in 3 'Themed' Rounds with a "Winner's Circle." Winner's Circle will have the Winner from each previous round make a mog to their heart's desire, and votes will be tallied in order, from highest to lowest to determine 1st, 2nd, and 3rd place winners.
===================================
Vendor Awards!
Winner for 'Most Unique Menu' - 20,000 Gold
Winner for 'Most Suggested to shop at' - 20,000 Gold
Winner for 'Greatest Vendor' - 20,000 Gold
Determined via Vendor/Participation Survey that will be shouted at regular intervals. Given at the end of the night before the final Transmog Round.
=====================================
Shopper Participation Giveaways!
While prizes aren't final yet, individuals named in the final question of the Survey have a chance to receive a 'Random Giveaway'. If you have a great encounter with another player during the event, if you like their mog (Not counting the people in the T-Mog Contest lol), whatever your reasoning is, give them a highlight and name them in our Survey that will be shouted for a chance for them to win a bunch of furniture for Housing!
Determined via the Vendor/Participation Survey, which will be shouted at regular intervals. Given at the end of the night before the final Transmog Round.
( The reasoning behind the delay on naming items are because @zalilirah and I will be making all of these furniture items ourselves. )
It's that time of year again for another Silvermoon Trading Post!
It's been too long but now that Silvermoon's area has a more stabilized location where angry mobs aren't trying to kill us all the time, it's time we bring this back as we'll be having our next market on September 19th (please see times on the flyer) at the Magisters Terrace!
We'll be hosting nearly 1 Dozen Merchants (who we're currently looking for!), a Transmog Contest (w/ Gold Winnings!), Vendor Voting Prizes, A Food Court (Food Vendor's pending and if possible!) as well as randomized participation giveaways for people who show up in fantastic mogs and just simple shop!
Please get the word out as this will be Alliance and Horde side both as opposed to our last efforts that were Horde-Only!
We look forward to seeing all of you there this year!
Discord: https://discord.gg/42N2vg69E
( Please be aware, this link is only active for 30 days in an effort to keep bots from circling back in at a later date to spam. I'll be making additional posts in the future w/ new links as needed. )
"All across the face of Azeroth hundreds of individuals who were having manic episodes have suddenly disappeared. No scenes of foul play, no messages or letters left behind, families left not broken but missing all the way to their children entirely, even workplaces left deserted and empty with no known reasoning.
Small towns and villages everywhere are beginning to have flyers showing up on their building walls spouting off non-sense about some 'Defiler'.
Due to the raging Voidstorm in the northern Eastern Kingdoms and the activity of the Twilight's Blade, authorities have been too busy to follow up on these reports.
If you have any valuable information, please be sure to report to your closest guard post!"
- World Wide Azerothian Times
[ The Next Chapter of The Sanctum of the Forbidden officially begins today! ]
The Winter Veil Season is fast approaching and the Silvermoon Trading Post is gearing up to bring you all your holiday gifting needs! If you are a vendor you still have time to snag a booth and peddle your wares! https://discord.gg/9JU2SCE4
Just a reminder, with all the love that SMC is suddenly receiving! The SMC-TP is still looking for Vendors, and we'd love to have a Charismatic sort be our Transmog Contest Gaming Host for this!
Please be sure to join the Discord to sign up!
Check out the Silvermoon Trading Post community on Discord - hang out with 30 other members and enjoy free voice and text chat.
[ This is a direct continuation of the previous story, A Return to Sender. This possesses the same TW warnings, including gore and body horror! ]
A bloody, barbaric scream erupts from The Defiler's throat as Zalilirah helps to drag the limping elf into the room. Frozen Nameless locking eyes in horror from the depths of their hoods, watch as the man's throat bulges as something cuts off his scream. Zalilirah lost hold of him, causing Dinthoqaf to stumble and crash against a table placed in the center. A bowl and various tidbits went flying as his hands took hold of it to try to steady himself, as his jaw began to open wide, impossibly so, to the point flesh began to tear and splash down his front and across the lacquered surface he was holding onto for dear life.
His eyes clamped shut as blood started to roll from their corners, as the sound of cracking cartilage could be heard as -something- began to push its way out. First, it was a singular nub, one that looked akin to a fat grub attempting to wriggle its way free of a corpse before others joined. Three, four...
These were not some kind of tendrils, maggots, or anything of the sort, but -fingers- wrapped in green goblin flesh and curcled and hooked underneath his jar. A sudden jerk and push down causes a sickening crack as his jaw snaps and teeth break loose from gums and bone. Another arm comes to force its way up and out, and following with it a necrotic limb belonging to one of the undead, all fighting to escape from the gut of their devourer. His jaw hangs, flopping by a thread of torn sinew as the sound of incorporeal voices begins to pour out of him, so similar to that of the Forsaken who had lost their abilities to use their tongue or mouths. The Will of the Forsaken was transcribed to those of Goblins and a Rotter.
The Defilers' grip tightened, and the sound of wood splintering filled the air as the table started to bow in the center. He pressed down on each side in a grip, and fel and necrotic began to spew across the surface. Murphy and Wilhelms' tainted essence were resisting the assimilation, and Fikkle was simply being a stubborn dick, not to be unexpected, really, in his case. Dinthoqaf's eyes open before tremors begin to course through him, and his balance is lost, sending him to the floor, only for the mess of limbs and bodily fluids to writhe as each individual tries to recreate themselves and dig themselves free as the mess begins to steam and eat away at the floor beneath them.
Zalilirah, left unprepared and even less so explained to about the possibilities of such an endeavor, watches in horror as her husband seems to be losing a battle he'd brought upon himself.
Nezzok.
Oh, how she loathed the smug bastard, and despite his anger with the recent settlement that he had been tasked with destroying, rubbing his moss the wrong way, he was going to be needed for this. An effort to reach out to him via the Sanguine was cut short as the source of it, now fought to remain in control of himself, not only the forces within him. It would not work.
She turns to one of the Nameless. "Get the Collector. Now."
This was not some request, a short, curt order that left no room for dawdling as The Defiler began to flop and kick as his seizures grew worse until he'd finally somehow end up on his knees with his spine arching and twisting as his arms went out to their sides. His throat cheeks had split clear back to his throat at this point, and the two halves were beginning to hang back behind his shoulder blades and down his chest as numerous arms tried to reach through the hole in his torso that had once been behind his collar bone. The Sanguine fluctuates with an intensity as power washes over it, threatening a full-blown overload and hijacking.
Whether it was this sensation or the Nameless sent accomplishing his goal, Nezzok finally arrives through a tear in reality as he showed off the roots of his old Shadow Hunting skills. To say he stood over them as a twelve-foot, four-armed, undead behemoth would be putting it lightly, as his milky, dead eyes came to find Zalilirah trying to hold Dinthoqaf, hugging his chest with limbs thrashing from his thoracic inlet (Hope I got that right, but didn't want to reuse the description again!).
"What tha fuck did tha dumbass go an' do 'dis time?" Nezzok calls, tongue moving a massive, overly burnt cigar from one side of his mouth to the other with his tongue as he lumbered but a few 'short' steps over to try to grab the limbs that were quite literally tearing The Defiler apart.
"I don't know! Just help me keep him under control!" She shouts!
A guaranteed thing to make The Collector and Weaver work together, The Defiler needing them to do so.
Bones in his ribcage begin to crackle and snap as black tar begins to erupt across the entirety of the three and Namless, out of fear or concern of containing the image from anyone else, suddenly slam the door shut and begin to barricade themselves on its other side. If something truly vile happened, it would be contained, and one would know what happened here.
Nezzok roars out in irritation as limbs, slick with blood, bile, and fel, begin to worm their way loose, although his grip was crushing bone into powder.
"We gotta do sum'tin else dis ain' goin' ta end tha way ya be hopin'!" The troll's words rumble out despite the wet commotion and incorporeal screams of three individuals trying to worm their way loose.
"You think I don't know that?!" The Weaver calls back. Her clothing would be ruined entirely, yes, and if Dinthoqaf pulled through of this, she'd make him pay for them a hundred times over after beating him for it in return.
With no rhyme, reason, or announcement, a sudden sickly crunch occurs as a snap within his chest occurs, followed by another, and then another. Nezzok grabs hold of the Weaver's shoulder and jerks her back just in time as a black boned jaw snaps shut, shearing the limbs jutting out as if they were nothing but grass before a scythe. The Defilers ribcade splits wide open as something darker, something deeper, begins to manifest and devour what was trying to escape its fate.
The jaws began to snap with a snicker-snack, and claws formed that began to catch and scratch. Every motion, even from detached limbs, came to get away, even in a flopping wriggle that was drug in to be devoured by something within. A meal of consumption made from the attempt to escape. Each crushing bite, each audible gulp, and every wet clap of unseen flesh crushing squealing meat caused more of the manifestation to take form. Bones, hands, torso, head, bit by bit, more and more things came to light, and The Collector would let go of the mess-soaked Weaver.
"Da bastard's such'a show off, ya call'd meh ovah 'ere fer nuttin'."
"He's in so much trouble when he puts himself back together after this... I'm making him take me shopping and I'm using his money."
Instantly, a groan comes from Nezzok at the threat. As if she didn't get her way already, as it was.
"... And no Dessert for him for a month either."
"Gross."
The elven frame falls to the ground, causing a wet splash before it pushes itself to its hands and still-forming knees. A coughing hack occurs as organs start to form and take shape. A rasping hiss occurs as a tongue begins to waggle and hang from an incomplete head. "That'shj sho unforchenat." The pronunciation warped due to reconfiguration, but it was coming along.
Empty eye sockets look up at the two as nerves and muscles begin to fill the gaps in bone. "Don'chu know hew dat makesh mej feel?" A tone of sarcasm was attempted, which only aided in making things sound worse than they were. He opts to try to stand, losing balance to hit the floor again as his hands shoot out. One of each is coming out to catch the grip of Zalilirah and Nezzok.
Skin and hair slowly begin forming across his skull as lidless eyes begin to fill their proper voids and lips start to move properly. "And look at me, bringing you two together."
A joke was made at their expense.
If the look he got from them both could kill him, he'd have done it twice over now. Moments pass in silence as The Defiler continues to reassimilate his body, finding full control over it now and the contents within. "I know, I know. I'm in trouble and foolish, we both know I'll do something like this again, too. So let's jump to the conclusion." The Defiler looks down at himself. Made full and whole, albeit naked, he nods in approval before smiling at them both.
Zalilirah wasn't having it, no matter how he'd try to charm her.
Nezzok however?
"Gross."
( Tagging @zalilirah and @nezzokthecollector proper! )
Introducing The Trading Post!
I'm finally dipping my toes into the Server Event arena and have opted to create a Market for September 20th @ 9pm WRA Server Time. (That's 6pm EST.)
The Trading Post is aiming to be a server event for both Moon Guardians and Wyrmrest Accordians within The Bazaar in Silvermoon Itself. While this may limit some people's abilities to participate, we're hoping that it will bring some attention to the city itself as a way to help foster RP outside of Orgrimmar itself.
The Trading Post is looking for:
Vendors! A Transmog Host (Details below)! And a Barkeep!
We're aiming to offer several hours for our Vendors to showcase their wares, and about an hour after opening, we'll be hosting a DJ for Live Music in the Wayfarer's Inn, while also hosting a Transmog Contest in the Bazaar.
Vendors have an opportunity for a Gold Prize based on community votes, and the transmog contestants have a chance to win between 10,000 and 30,000 gold, depending on the crowd's favor. They win!
Whether you're coming in to shop, to show off your fashionable skills, dance the night away, or if you're here purely to help support Community RP for the game, we'd love to see you come out!
DJ Services will be provided by the same gentleman who provided services to the recent Big Bombs Goblin Party in Undermine as well, if you were a fan of his work!
Please be aware that right now we're working on the server's details, but for those interested, you're welcome to join us and take up a booth location! Booths are first-come, first-served, and if we end up needing more, Silvermoon has plenty of room to offer!
Check out the Silvermoon Trading Post community on Discord - hang out with 10 other members and enjoy free voice and text chat.
(Im sure theres a TW somewhere in there for something so continue at your own risk)
Nezzok moved throughout Zul'Mashar like a cat slinking in between shadows as it prowled the alleyways in the deepest parts of the night. His movements deliberate and slow as he came upon a dead end wall. Placing his hand against it, he slid his palm the stonein an itricate design as soft words were mutterd causing hidden runes to come to life with a faint blue glow. Once the last rune was activated the wall groaned and shuddered as it pushed backwards and pulled to the side just enough for Nezzok to pass through. Once he did the wall closed behind him with the same shudder and groan, locking into place till he decided to depart.
The shadows of the dimly lit chamber stretching long around him. The air was thick with the heady scent of pungent, earthy incense that swirled upward from sconces along the stone walls. It created a choking cloud against the high vaulted roof of the chamber that might have been far too over powering to those who still needed to breathe but not for him, that weakness had long since departed from him an now the heavy cloud bothered him no more than the smell of fresh shorned grass bothered those alive to enjoy it.
Soft almost silent footsteps took him deeper into the chamber, onwards to the dim golden glow of something in the midst of the darkness. An altar, small with in the vastness of the room but once upon it, it was tremendous in comparison to Nezzoks bulking frame.
Mingling with the earthy scents on the incense were deep floral notes of purple and black blooms scattered along the walkaway leading up to the altar. Sparse at first but the closer he got the scattering of petals became bundles of blossoms caught in full bloom, frozen in the time of their reaping, forever beautiful through some sort of magics.
The candles that not only surround but laid upon it swayed gently causing them to cast a soft, flickering light that danced across the dark fabrics that were draped over the altar. Rich blacks and shimmering golds. If one were to inspect them in detail they would find their texture and colors to be deep and luxurious as if someone had taken great pain staking care in its weaving. Trinkets made of silver amulets, delicate precious stones and pearls as well as glass beads along other small adornments of forgotten memories rest upon the altar’s surface, each one imbued with meaning only known to himself.
At the heart of this sacred display rested a statue of a Troll woman. Her marble form was crafted in an elegant and relaxed pose. Draped in sheer fabric that clung to her form, that shifted and moved ever so slightly around her like an ethereal veil with each light movement of air within the the chamber. The woman's features radiate a quiet, powerful elegance, locked in a moment of almost sad serenity. Nezzok’s eyes lock onto her and something in the air shifts as he steps closer.
He reached forward, thick fingers trembling with a mixture of reverence and longing as he gently caresses the smooth surface of the statue. His touch is soft, almost as if he feared disturbing her delicate form as his hand works its way upwards from the statues ankle, along its calf stopping just after the curve of its knee. The coolness of the stone matches the chill of his dead skin, yet it feels as though his touch began to breathe life into the marble. His fingertips glide up the sheer fabric draped across her body, tracing more of the contours of her form with devotion, as though trying to connect with her beyond the physical realm.
A deep sigh escapes his lips as his gaze lingers on her face, where he finds both peace and yearning. Her features, though carved from stone, seem to respond to him in the flickering candlelight in the moment, alive in his presence. His heart would have beat heavily in his chest were it still there to do so. The weight of lost feelings pressing down on him as he stands there wrapped in the smoky haze of incense, lost in the silent communion between him and the figure before him, making him just as much a statue as she was.
The moment of communion was broken as fingertips came up now to rest upon the statues face. Once closed eyes fluttered open to let the soft blue glow of lich light emanate from them. Their stare was lazy, like those in the first few moments upon waking up as one lies in bed coming out of their nights dreams. But it was not long before the panic set in and the statues eyes now darted around trying to figure out where it was. No breath came but Nezzok knew if it were still capable it would be ragged and fast akin to that of a prey hunted to the point of near exhaustion but still on high alert.
"Shh. Theres no need fer that." his hand smoothed over her face. "I could explain but I wont. Ya not her but ya will suffice and have sufficed" his words trailed off as his hand fell from her face, traveling along the slight curve of her neck, down past her collar bone only for fingertips to trace along her sternum before lifting off.
"No..not her."
These words seemed of solace to the statue as its eyes went wide with a thousand cascading words that would never be heard.
And then he turned, leaving the way he came. This time though two blue orbs would be left to join the golden glow of the candle light until they disappeared once more perhaps in acceptance of their fate or lack there of. He didn't care either way. Perhaps the next time he returned he would let obsession run its course and spoil all of his hard work. Or not, he would have to see what the moment held for him.
A few days ago I had cause to attend a magical discussion in Eversong Woods. It was well attended, with your usual cadre of elves from various magical persuasions. I did not notice any other priests there, but I could feel a few other Light users. I made certain not to gravitate towards them, staying near to Lord and Lady Bloodcrest who also attended.
Part of the discussion was on the topic of the addicting nature of arcane. Certainly relevant, though I admit my mind did wander a bit. It was nothing I did not already know. But it was a good jumping off point, I felt, for the other topics.
A Darkfallen, Rana Voidmoon, gave a talk about the use of blood magic for healing wounds. I admit, I have never even considered doing this. In Stormwind, such discussions are not only discouraged but expressly forbidden. Blood magic is expressly forbidden and those who even attempt to talk about it are often shunned. It is a switch to live in a place where, while not exactly accepted, one can at least *talk* about the subject without being banned from the Cathedral on principle.
I found myself fascinated by the demonstration, aided by a gentleman with a small wound on his arm. Miss Voidmoon used a bit of her own blood while essentially moving her volunteer’s blood to the wound. It seemed to knit right back together. It was a bit thrilling to watch.
I renew my decision to investigate and learn sanguimancy. Or I believe they call it hemomancy. Less threatening, perhaps? Or just a simple difference in words? I am unsure. Yet another thing I must learn, in a subject that isn’t easy to learn without assistance.
I will reach out to the Defiler and Lady Bloodcrest. I am loathe to use the Sanguine. I have tried to determine why, and I am concerned that opening myself up to it allows others to see into me, which I do not allow. I get into people’s minds, not the other way around. I controlled the rune network Angeline gifted me with, and could control the flow of power and information within it. I do not control this.
Perhaps that is the issue. I have been out of control in ways that I find incredibly uncomfortable. I am just now coming back to myself. Just now settling into new power and new ways of living. It’s exciting, in some ways and frustrating in others. But it is foolish not to use a tool designed for the express purpose I need. So I must bend my own rules I suppose.
Bend, but not break. I can only allow so much change before I feel I become someone I am not. I will not do that. Not again. I am becoming *more* of who I am, not less. The trick, I think, is allowing myself to journey to places I have never been without holding myself back by being to unwilling to bend.
So, I will bend. I will learn. It is all very exciting.
@dinthoqaf @zalilirah (If anyone knows if Rana Voidmoon has a Tumblr please let me know so I may tag her!)
[ This is a scene I'm -long- overdue in writing I'm afraid as it was supposed to be something done directly after our last major guild event a month ago. As that is the case, it's an important one for Dinthoqaf's self-reflection and I wanted people to see a part of him that's been so shielded and blocked that it's even been forgotten by him. I hope you enjoy it. ]
[ Slight TW; Mentions of Childhood Trauma/Abuse though exact details are not given or provided. ]
The Fallen Reliquary was quiet today, not uncommon as many tended to prefer the physical location of The Damp in the world as opposed to this mental shelter made real with need and that was okay, especially with a day like today.
Today the Reliquary's form was that of a massive transit station of sorts, a place Dinthoqaf could only imagine was a hub of some forgotten or lost city where carriages and various convoys came and went under the shelter of the massive dome above his head. He found himself here by some stranger feat of simply walking with an old beaten violin in hand, the likes of which was one he hadn't touched in years but suddenly felt gravitated towards with a set of new strings that now coiled about the pegs and pegbox with a need to be cut and trimmed. For now, they were to be ignored as he tampered with each peg, listening carefully for tones and tunes he once had memorized to get it close to where it needed to be.
Finally, realizing he had been walking for... hours? Days? The Reliquary was never a place where time was kept straight; this instance was no different and this was his realization of the place he was in. People of all races and some he had never even known or seen the likes of before walked about, tricks of the mind, perhaps? Things or people to come to meet in his future sending echoes into the past, his present, that he would meet? He did not linger on it long as The Reliquary was as much its own master as he was its. Their phantoms would continue on about him in their meetings, arrivals, and departures as a bowstring was pulled across and fingers began to work across the fingerboard.
Music begins to slowly echo into the station.
At first, it was low and quiet, the likes of which were like walking across sheeted glass, cautious in case a string threatened to snap from the pressure and lash out as Dinthoqaf for daring its use but confidence built with both player and instrument alike, and the two began to quicken their pace and the intensity upon which both played or were played. The Reliquary, connected to The Defiler as much as he was to it, began to flow and respond in turn as the air and sky above took on a sullen, depressive blue-like hue and rain began to fall. Images of The Defilers youth filled this station now, intermingling where visions ran past and through the echos of others and at times, causing mixed plumes of energy that quickly consolidated back into memory or echo to continue on.
Voices soon came to flow with these memories as things long since forgotten, or more so long since buried to forget, bubbled and boiled to the surface with each string manipulated with the bow.
She's dead because of you! You killed her and you're cursed for it!
You're an abomination!
You should have never been born!
It would have been kinder to leave him for dead.
You shouldn't even be here!
The voices of young boys, a boy older than Dinthoqaf with red hair, Ammaelin surely, the curser of such words, and others Krownos, his father, the speaker of others. Visions twisted and contorted as his lips parted in a snarl and pain came to his features. Beatings from his family, close and otherwise. Playgrounds where he was alienated thanks to the rumors of his curse or what was said by his family or about them. A child beaten, spit upon, treated like some horror from the start, and oh how he hated them all for it.
The pitter-patter of rain beyond and over the transit station continued on as his memories fled through the years of his youth. Days turned into weeks, months into years, of neglect and abuse, mental and physical beatings followed by the constant pain brought on by his family's magic of their Holy Font. The sound of piano keys begins to fall as The Reliquary responds to the pain that was causing a dire heartache that The Defiler had thought he had once forgotten and looks upon the source, a crimson silhouette of his Other Self. This was his place and within it, he'd let the music flow and for this solitary moment, he would drown himself in his pain and self-pity.
The two parts of him now played in concert as the music began to fill this place and flood outward across the realm of The Fallen Reliquary and even the Halls of Remembrance with all its memorials filled with the sound of stacked centuries of pain and anger. Pain for his mistreatment, pain for the loss of what a child who should have been loved and cared for now turned monster became, and that monster mourning the loss of potential lives never to be returned. A monstrous anger boiled up within as the truth became more and more a revelation of acceptance.
Anger boiled as pain wove it all together and through clenched teeth and eyes, tears squeezed free and the Defiler's knees hit the hard stone slab under him. The music stopped and he'd turn to look upon the silhouette that The Reliquary had provided and what he found was no longer himself sitting there playing, but a shifting form of what had once been him, now portrayed as the emerging form of another.
Krownos.
Anger snapped like violin strings under too much pressure and before he could even have a rational thought, he was across the platform and his violin had been swung, connecting to the back of his former self just to send it slamming into the piano keys. The neck snapped and the body shattered, leaving ruins to be dropped before he could grab a handful of hair to begin pulverizing his father's face into the piano.
Time and time again, the elf's head would bounce as keys snapped free from the violent strikes. Blood splattered and soon one face gurgled in grotesque blatherings while Dinthoqafs own was splattered with the crimson illusion of control.
You made me this! You did this to me! Why?! Why?! Whywhywhywhywhywhywhy?!
Each question ended with the ceremonious clang of a face and skull meeting the keys until they spoke no more and the man holding his pulverized father's head in hand quaked. His body shook with a mix of pain and sadness words had lost the ability to properly portray. His shoulders bobbed heavily and finally, the silence was broken with a deep intake of air through gritted teeth.
His mouth opened as if another question was to come but The Defiler simply had his hand fall from his father's bloody hair and he'd hit the floor again, picking up the remnants of his shattered violin only to hug it close. Now, no music came and he would mourn what he'd lost.
In, through, loop, pull and cinch. Repeat. In, through, loop, pull and cinch...repeat. This repetition continued in a meticulous manner, allowing the silky emerald thread to catch the light of the room and cast small glints that disappeared as soon as it had found purchase in the now.
"I dont know why ya stare." the usual gravel in mouth accent was no where to be found as he spoke in plain tongue "It aint like ya havent seen this before. Ya been here long enough to see how this is done." he chuckled "Dont tell me ya still got a weak stomach?" Nezzok glanced over at Tamaku who was sitting across the room, mortar and pestle in hand slowly grinding away at what ever herb lay within the dip of the bowl.
Tamaku twitched a bit in surprise now being in the spotlight unintentionally "Hm, oh, no not at all. Just because I dont revel in all of it dont mean I have a weak stomach for it." he set the mortar and pestle down "Though its not to say it isnt interesting to still watch."
Nezzok shook his head as he pulled the length of thread taught and snipped the end. He laid the needle down atop a stretch of leather that contained various types of needles in sizes from barely visible to hooked and thick.
"I still think ya would benefit from learning more so ya can more properly care for the Mindless Cousins but that is neither here nor there. Ya should know we will have a guest soon enough." he took his right hand and brought it up to his mouth, biting into the fatty part of his palm, black ichorous blood welled up in the palm of his hand. Once satisfied with the amount he began to let it drip on the appendage he had just sewed on, pressing his hand onto it and smearing around the circumference of the limb.
"vutula menga na menga, kanga nsinga yina bo katulaka. " words came from his lips like the death rattle of someones last breath, runes in the flesh shone through the ichor, fading and after a moment the limb twitched and fingers curled.
Tamaku on the other hand would knit his brow. There had already been a Forsaken to come here bringing Nezzok secreted crates and if it were those amongst the Sanctum he would have thought he would have also felt that over the Sanguine, unless his neglected use of it these last years had dulled his ability to feel the others like he should.
"Oh?" he asked without trying to display his ignorance on the matter.
"Mhm, Ya may not know her. Or ya might only ya would know who ya would have met before we were scattered from the Temple when ya mother brought the house down upon us the first time. " he flexed the new limb, testing its range of motion and how the muscles worked to ensure that everything was as it should be, allowing it to complete the set and returning all four limbs to use.
"The mother of millions will be here soon. She's been lurking on the edges of the Sanguine for some time now. Im sure her journey has been long and arduous, which will require her to rest and renew herself before we take her to the Defiler."
"Mother of Millions?" Tamaku cocked his head, not recalling that name.
"Aye. Swarm Mother was her chosen name upon her ascendance."
"That sounds unpleasant."
"Nah she is perfection in many ways and there will be much to catch up on once she arrives." he stood now towering over Tamaku as he closed the gap between them. A large meaty hand came to rest on Tamakus shoulder. "Finish ya work. It wont be long until she arrives and before we must rejoin the flock. We've been gone to long. Gods know what my brother has been up to in my absence."
With that he made his way out of the room, silent footsteps belied his huge stature before he disappeared into the darkness of the hallway leading from the room.
Alone now, Tamaku picked up the mortar and pestle once more to finish his work. His mind wondered off idlely as he let the Sanguine become more clear in his being, tendrils reaching out to test the waters of connecting with the others unobtrusively as he could.
I had reason to return to the inn for an evening. I walked through the streets and noticed Silvermoon City looks reborn in many ways. People are stopping to chat on the benches and near the fountains, shopping and even sharing confections and drinks as they promenade through the lovely golden hued twilight.
I find twilight to be one of my favorite times of day. It’s the breath that holds between day and night, that moment of magic, like midnight, where anything is possible. But like all things, it is fleeting. You cannot hold it in your hand for it slips through your open fingers like sparkling water dripping back into the ocean. But the magic is there, for anyone who knows how to recognize it.
Like the first breath of life, death is also only a moment in time. Like twilight, it happens and then we go beyond it, continuing our journey where we are supposed to go. For those left behind, it is a nightmare which you cannot escape. Holding your breath, the dying go beyond our hold, just like the water through our fingers. But what of those who can pull us back from death? Not those, like me, who can restore a spirit after a momentary slip. But those who can truly bring us back?
We do not speak of them. Or if we do, we only whisper for fear they may turn their gaze upon us. The Lich King. Gul’dan. Sister Svalna. Powerful enough to preserve that moment of death forever. For those who aspire to this power, they do dare to whisper the word.
It is Necromancy. And I aspire to it.
I have started to believe this is the reason I hear the whispering of what I think are the dead. No one has been able to disabuse me of this possibility. I do not speak of this to any, though I have finally found those who I *can* discuss with and they will not consider me insane. If they consider me “evil” it will only serve to foster a deeper embrace of fellowship, I believe.
It is my understanding that any cosmic force may be used to reconstruct the flesh and bones of any undead creature. This means one does not have to only use death magic, or perhaps a combination of various cosmic forces in case one would need to supplement the area of magic one might lack.
I have noticed that when I am near a dead thing, there is something akin to a scratching at the back of my magical mind. An itch that I cannot quite reach, a moment in time that, like twilight, slips through my fingers. The whispers become *almost* clear as any voice around me, but there is a block that prevents me from hearing them fully.
I wonder if it could be the Light in its own way prohibiting me from where I want to go, but since imbibing that large amount from the Bloodcrest Font, I have discounted that notion. The Light is simply another cosmic force and cannot restrain my power should I wish to use it. Therefore I strongly suspect it is a mental block and I even further posit that I know where it comes from.
The lingering influence of Drex and Angeline still keenly felt, without me recognizing it until now. Their power seeped into me, and I have unconsciously limited myself. For them. For love and friendship of those who wished me to be other than I am, have always been. For fear of what they may think of me, even though both are gone now and have no conscious hold on me. No more of this. I am shedding the chains that have held me back.
Necromancy is not an easy topic to research. There is very little to be found in most libraries on the subject. It is a forbidden topic by the Church of Light and it is my understanding that most other “legitimate” libraries also prohibit books on the topic from entering the annals of their halls. So what is the aspiring necromancer to do?
Go the Damp, of course, where books on every topic is not only encouraged but included. I also feel certain I could speak with either Varethuun, Zalilirah or the Defiler and find what I seek. I would ask Nezzok but I don’t think I am on his Winterveil holiday card list presently. I hope to see them soon but if not I will reach out over the Sanguine.
This is the first I have written about my desire. The first time I have been willing to acknowledge my interest on the subject. For obvious reasons, even I have shied away from it. But how will I ever reach my goals if I continue to turn from areas of power that I feel are speaking to me?
~ Ask my my character anything you want
~ Confess something you would never say to my their face
~ Send them an anonymous letter
~ Give them unsolicited advice you think they need
~ Tell them one thing you like about them
~ Tell them one thing you hate about them
~ Tell them your favorite memory of them
Anything is welcomed on Anon-Day, as long as it’s on anon!
