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Consequence

Nivathostin watched from the floorboards as the dark figure stepped away. His head throbbed, pounding, the entire world spinning around him. He tasted the metallic twinge of blood seeping into his mouth, and not a muscle moved no matter how much he willed it. How pathetic he must have looked.

And yet Vynlorin’s wrath spared his life once more.

Each step echoed through the floorboards like a mallet. The beaten rogue fought to remain conscious, and he saw only the blurred outline of Vynlorin’s feet stepping out of the room while followed by the demon who acted as the instrument of the lord’s passion -- and what a passionate man he was.

The world darkened around the rogue. The sounds of the doctor scrambling to get to him slowly turned to silence. The pain of his punishment pulsed within him, and still the dog smiled. Nivathostin recognized the consequences of his actions before he made them, and now he hoped one other would share in these consequences as Vynlorin set off toward Valtieri Manor.

( @shandaumath )

#roleplay #from oblivion #wrath #consequence

Of Ledgers and Limbs

Kelthier groaned as he stretched his left arm across his chest, hugging his elbow toward him with the crook of his right arm. He breathed deeply into the knot that had been tightening in his shoulder while he toiled away. The bead of sweat accumulating at the edge of his hairline finally gave way to slide down his temple when he released his arms to fall by his sides. He almost howled the relieving sigh that escaped him as he relaxed his posture. The disheveled druid peered up at the four corners of his repair project with a glint of pride in his eyes and a tug of joy at his lips.

All week he had been at it, working away at repairs and improvements to the greenhouse afforded him by Lady Duskbinder’s bestowing the Grounds Master’s home under his name. A tentative gift, he couldn’t help but think due to the quickness in which it was presented to him. Though it wasn’t quite a gift as much as a transaction, for the dwelling so suited to Kelthier’s lifestyle came hand in hand with the responsibility and title of Grounds Master of the Lost Woods.

And so it was under that looming expectation he’d set diligently to seeing some improvements made to the otherwise abandoned home he’d been given. Surely if he produced results and showed his earnestness, the arrangement would settle its roots and Kelthier could ease into the relief of having found a stable home.

In fact, the greenhouse was already abuzz with earnestness as honeybees bumbled to and fro between the diverse flower beds already thriving within the sunlit space. Fresh planks of wood with a shade less weathering could be spotted by the keen eye in the sections Kelthier had made repairs.

The arched trellis on the far back wall of the greenhouse appeared to be grown naturally in and of itself, made up of thick crisscrossed vines formed into the traditional structure. Climbing its length were three different species of ivy with respective hues of green, teal, and red in their own vertical lanes beside each other.

My bet is on the teal, Kelthier thought as he ran his fingers gently through the leaves of the central ivy. Cerusani’s violet features came to mind as he glanced between the teal and green options. He pursed his lips curiously. Almost certainly not the red.

He pivoted on his heel to take hold of the ladder that had been leaning against the rafters above, and he unfastened the latch which allowed it to fall down in quick order to half its length. The druid’s gaze lingered above on the beehive tucked up into those rafters, and his smile widened to a childish degree of excitement. He snickered to himself happily as he lifted the halved ladder on its side and under his arm, making his way out from the greenhouse paradise.

Outside, a certain gloom seemed to dwell in the air, though such was a common trait of Duskwood in which the duchy of Black Rose fell. The sun was out in full shine for the moment, though it wouldn’t be long until a cloud or overcast drifted through to dampen its splendor. Kelthier hummed contentedly to himself as he carried the ladder across the way toward the barn his grounds were adjacent to. He raised his hand into the air with a passing wave as one of the potato farmers in the distant field paused from his work to watch the Grounds Master. Kelthier chose to believe the man dipped his hat in the druid’s direction and not that it was just an idle adjustment while he stared.

When Kelthier reached the barn, he took a care to announce himself as he peeked in through the door, though it seemed all were out in the fields. His shoulders lightened in the relief of being alone and he set the ladder where he’d found it. Tucked away in a corner of the lofty space was a work bench he’d been told he was welcome to use in tending his duties. Kelthier swung the satchel which hung across his shoulder over onto the wooden table with a thud. He tugged the nearby stool toward him with his foot and took a seat while he rummaged the satchel for his ledger, ink, and quill.

Once he was settled, Kelthier flipped through the first few pages of his ledger which were already considerably filled with notes. Once his title had been bestowed and the directive had come from Cerusani to meet Ms. Foxthorne’s recent accounting request, Kelthier decided his first order of action would be to commune with the surrounding settled lands of the barony of the Lost Woods, and to take notes of his findings. In that dreamwalk, he had paid particular attention to discerning the health and contentedness of the barony’s crops. Chief among them were large swaths of potatoes, carrots, and onions. Nothing glamorous. Very simple.

Unlike Lady Duskbinder, he trailed in thought away from the pages of his ledger. What was it she said? That she was much more than her reputation. In fact, Kelthier found her rather elegant and careful with her words. Whatever mishaps or faux pas she alluded to in their meeting, he couldn’t fathom were significant enough to outweigh the natural admirable qualities he sensed in her. But there certainly is something else there...

He glanced back down at the mundane ledger accounting the happiness of potatoes and a blank space left to record the current and projected harvest yields. He scanned over the quickly jotted ideas he’d scribbled in the margins. Something... more, his mind insisted as he looked up out of the open window before him and into the dark impasse of the edge of the forest deemed the “Lost Woods”.

Something more important, more exciting, more… to make of these crops, of Cerusani, of the potentials hiding in the depths of the Lost- his thoughts ceased as his eyes connected with that of a large wolf’s beyond the tree line, glowing amber from within the darkness. Clenched in its jaws was a pallid arm severed cruelly at the shoulder and riddled with clumps of dirt. Kelthier sat frozen in his seat as he watched the creature watching him. The hairs on his arms and the back of his neck raised as time stood still. It was a peculiar omen, he thought, made more peculiar by the timing.

“Oh, and don’t worry yourself with any skeletal remains that may find their way onto the grounds,” Lady Duskbinder’s words found their way to his mind, “The wildlife have a habit of bringing their prey to these woods from beyond our borders.”

#from oblivion #mine #kelthier thorn

A Symphony of Letters Upon her desk at the Keep, a stack of letters addressed to the Lord High Prosecutor sat in wait. This past week however, the politician ceased to exist. In Icecrown, she was a daughter of the Kingdom that fought with her brothers and sisters. Her bruised face and battered hands proved that.

Some letters went unanswered, though not ignored, and she made sure to write to the people she urgently needs to meet with. The only letter she didn’t pen was to Lord Ravenwing, who became a memory in that damning moment on the battlefield. The thought alone caused her to retch, and it had nothing to do with the insane amount of questionable liquor she numbed herself with after battle.

Leaning back in her chair, her chin lifts to the ceiling where she voiced intimate thoughts in the privacy of the empty room. “Do I pray to you now, you? Is that how this works? Are you my Patron Saint of War? Well send me back to the battlefield, the undead are easier to deal with than all this shit.”

Ared was back in the city from Icecrown. Just one battlefield to the next.

#SLP Project #From Oblivion #Warcraft Conquest #In Death's Shadow #Lord High Prosecutor