#arkaran

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12. Biggest fantasy (Arkaran lol)

Oh man, well Ark would never admit it to anyone, but his biggest fantasy would be to raise horses again. He has thought about what it would be like to start a small horse farm with Hudwen. Of course this could never happen because horses get spooked by the scent of death.

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chrosantha I drew a thing. Ark isn’t happy about it.

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Arkaran tried to sneak a kiss! pyxuspie

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Arkaran had a great time at Byriel and Altairis’ wedding!

Although they seem to be quite done with his drunken antics. pyxuspie pujface

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Arkaran Tries to be Sweet.

Emphasis on tries.

Based on pyxuspie's prompt.

I hope Hudwen isn't to disappointed with this nerd. chrosantha

"Damn it," Arkaran growled as he pushed himself off the dusty ground. Bottles of all types were scattered around him and a box with its lid half hazardly thrown on lay just out of reach. His horse, Phantom, was standing a few feet away, glowing undead eyes giving him an almost disapproving stare. “Don’t,” Arkaran pointed at the horse, “you give me that look.” Phantom snorted, and stomped his hoof in reply. Arkaran ignored him and shook his head, dislodging the dust that had gathered in his hair while he lay, passed out, in the dirt. He reached for the box and removed the lid, dreading what he would find, “Fuck.” He slammed his fist into the ground. “FUCK,” he snarled again as pain shot up his arm. The box was full of half eaten chocolates. Many had only been bitten once and tossed back in. His head fell into his free hand; he had screwed up big time. True to his nature he had went on a binge, drinking until he was black out drunk; and in his apparent drunken state he had eaten the chocolates he had meant to give to Hudwen for the Love is in the Air celebration. The Rogue muttered as he began picking out the ruined chocolates, keeping the few that had managed to survive. He looked down, his heart sinking; there were barely half of the chocolates left. Arkaran sighed and replaced the lid. He looked around for the bow that had once been tied around the box, keeping the delicious candies safe. It took him a moment, but he noticed it crumpled and trampled up the path a ways; he exhaled in a huff and retrieved it. He then pulled a leather canteen from Phantom’s saddle bag and washed the ribbon as best he could, before tying it in a crude bow securing the box once again. “This looks horrible…” he grumbled. “I’m sorry Hudwen,” he said as he tried to clean up the box a bit more. He gave up and swung himself onto Phantom’s back, spurred the horse forward and guided him towards Hudwen’s Garrison.

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Look at these cuties! chrosantha

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Arkaran

A little something I wrote for my Undead character, Arkaran. I've been sitting on this for a bit, guess now is as good a time as any to share it.

Arkaran sat in the dust outside a local pub in Silvermoon. The crowd moved past him, doing their best to ignore him. Once in a while a child would point, or stare before their mother or father would hurriedly usher them away.

    He clutched a jug in his bony hand, taking sloppy pulls from it every few seconds. Grog spilled down his chin, before his tongue would dart out and lap up the escaped droplets. He was taking, what he proclaimed, ‘a well-deserved break’ between jobs. He had just been paid out by his latest ‘client’ and had used the gold pieces to buy himself as much booze as he could afford – before being kicked out of the pub for starting a fight, that is; but he didn’t care much. He had his jug of grog and a few spare coins left over for a bed that night. He chuckled to himself and leaned back against the building, grinning as he brought the jug up to his lips once again.

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Suddenly he was jolted awake by a sharp kick to the bottom of his boot.  “What?” he growled, his milky white eyes flying open to glare at the person who dared disturb him.  A Blood Elf with drawn cheeks and glowing blue eyes towered over him. Hair, the colour of frost fell over his shoulders, and cast shadows on his face, making his cheekbones even more pronounced. “Ah, well if it isn’t one of the Lich King’s loyal dogs. Come for round two?” He sneered up at the Death Knight. The Death Knight snickered, “Proclaims the mindless carrion, dredged up from the rotting pits of corpses.”  Before the Blood Elf knew it, Arkaran was on his feet, dagger drawn and pressed against his throat. The blade was so sharp, that strands of his long hair fell at their feet Arkaran’s voice became low, barely a whisper, “If you ever call me carrion again, Death Knight, your immortality will end at the edge of my blade.” The Death Knight’s sneer remained fixed, and he locked his gaze with Arkaran’s.  The two stood, unblinking, eerily still, almost statue like; then the Death Knight took a step back from Arkaran’s dagger, scoffed and walked off. Arkaran spat at the Elf’s feet, saying nothing, and then plopped himself back into the dust.