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Carrying The Torch

It had been many years since the Holt family had all but dissolved, leaving an unlikely cousin to carry the torch of the once great house. He had joined the ranks of the Legion of The Dawn, fighting alongside his new comrades.

But now as everyones eyes were on the skies, and the dead were making their presence known, Tiom could not help but wonder how long it would be until he saw some familiar faces..

#imback #householt #legion of the dawn

“A Donation.”

Cedrick felt the rough ground beneath him as he was dragged across it. His clothing was now ripped and tattered, and his head was covered by a black linen sack. He had no sense of direction, and was barely able to keep himself awake. Whomever this was had already beat him once to accomplish these things, and he had the feeling there was much more to come.

After a few more long moments of nothing but clanking armor and dragging, they came to a stop. The two men tugging Cedrick along held either arm, one on each side. From inside his sack he heard, “We got ‘em. Open up.” No more words, only what seemed to be like a thousand locks and the creaking of a massive metal door that was being opened.

The dragging resumed, as did the talking, “Admiral Wolfe is gunna be pleased, mates. Ye’ nabbed a good one. Venreena’s bitch.” The men all laughed out, very loudly at that. Their conversation continued on throughout the duration of their walk, until finally they reached what seemed to be the end of their journey. At least for the time being. Both men dropped Cedrick’s arms and one turned to kick him in the back of the head. The nobleman grunted and then fell completely to his back, head thudding to the stone ground.

“Admiral,” One of the men greeted. There was silence for what seemed like at least five minutes to Cedrick, when in reality it was mere seconds.

“Good evening, Alder.” Presumably Bronson responded. Blackhowl snickered quietly, “We have retrieved one better than what you asked for,” he sneered. The Admiral turned, or at least Cedrick assumed he did by the sounds of boot on stone. “Oh?” He questioned, “..and who exactly did you bring me?” The man’s voice sounded out. It grew closer with each step and word.

“Cedrick Holt,” Alder said, a clear tone of pride intertwined with his words.

“Is that so?” Bronson questioned. By this time, it was clear to the nobleman, even with his ever so present daze that the man was right beside him. Within that moment, the bag was ripped from his head, revealing Cedrick’s bruised and busted face. He looked exhausted, yet his will was not broken, nor would it be.. not without much more work.

A knee was taken by Wolfe. He took the Holt’s face in his hands, turning his head each and every way, as if looking for something specific. A sigh escaped the pirate’s lips, “Tie him up. Hang him from the X... and retrieve my plated glove.” He pushed Cedrick’s head from his hands, causing him to knock his head back against the stone again, and forcing yet another grunt from the nobleman. The pirate reached to pull a gnomish device from his enemy’s ear. He spoke into it, “The Anchor thanks you for your donation.” It was then immediately crushed in his palm and tossed to the stone in small bits.

Cedrick stared up at Bronson with his weak eyes, but he didn’t speak. He knew better than to speak. “You and I,” Wolfe said, a smirk resting on his lips, “..we have much work to do.” Bronson said as he replaced the black sack.

Before he knew it, the rogue was tied up from this “X” they were speaking of, and mere moments after that....

CRACK!

....CRACK!....

CRACK!

(( mentions: @venreenaholt @holtandthornetradingco @householt @levvnightfall ))

(( others involved: @rian-kestavin @adhelin @alliesweetsong-wra @jacob-holt @lorraine-lemieux @vladimirbaustent @alexkestavin @alexinathorne @elizebella any others I missed. I don’t have a lot of your tumblrs. ))

#cedrickholtstories #holtandthorneshippingco.#householt #storyline

An Evening at Home A steady rhythmic thump comes from the little one room home above the Alchemy shop in the Mage District. Serelia throws herself into her workout, fists making contact with the canvas bag filled with straw that hangs from a beam. Nearby a half empty bottle of wine, brought from Silvermoon, one of the few she has left. A mix of solutions to her frustration at the evening’s events. One last punch rocks the bag, sending it swaying back and forth, before she moves to sit heavily at the small desk in her room, taking the bottle of wine with her. She unwraps the protective cloth around her hands, tossing it aside as she pulls her writing supplies and parchment from a drawer. First day as a part of the Lionsguard for House Holt. It isn’t the same. Maybe I’m still bitter that over a century of loyal service was thrown out by the void. It’s easy to be bitter right now though, the voices encourage it. I’m trying to hold that back, think and write positive. Not today Void. Different, but so far relatively positive. I think I could find satisfaction in protecting this family. Doing what I’m good at again feels comfortable. Working helps keep my mind straight too. Still, I wish I could have done more. Sere rests an elbow on the wood of the desk, and tips back about a quarter of the bottle of wine. A bleary eyed glare at it, and she wipes the back of her hand across her eyes, blinking a few times before looking back down at what she’s written. “Light I’m all over. Focus up Sere.” She picks up quill again. Break down the evening’s events. It helps to make a clear picture. 1) I was standing guard out front of the Embassy, first shift. I was speaking with the Worgen. I think his name is Val? Also a Death Knight. His name sounded like Mortuary or something, I will need to re-learn it. 2) Levv arrived with another Ren’Dorei woman. Des? We were making introductions when a request for aid came over comms from Cadence. 3) Cadance arrived carrying a bleeding woman. Zalra? There are so many new faces. Names are not my strong suit. Writing them helps. She says Zalra was attacked, Cadance rescued her. 4) Valdim. Worgen. He looked over the injured woman, determined she was potentially poisoned. Cadance said the man who had stabbed her offered an antitoxen. Val asked me to retrieve it. 5) I arrived in the basement of MI:7 where the attack occured. Saw the backside of a man bandaging his injuries. I should have attacked him immediately. I called out instead. Benefit of the doubt. 6) The man had the Antitoxin, asked me if I was there for it, if I represented ‘the curious Ren’Dorei’ he said. He meant Zalra I think. He said they could have taken the antitoxin and refused it, asked why he should give it to me. 7) I mouthed off. Bad habit, I told him because I asked nicely, and because I didn’t want to have to ask not nicely. He said she deserved to suffer, and smashed the vial before vanishing in smoke. 8) I reported back, retrieved the remains of the vial and Cadance’s pistols. Returned to the Embassy. We did what we could, Zalra will live, but I can’t help but feel I could have spared her some suffering. 9) Lady Emilia seems like a genuinely good person. Her care in this matter was refreshing. Serelia drops her quill, glaring at the parchment for a moment. “Don’t beat yourself up Sere. New faces, new post, you’ll get there.” She takes another drag from the wine bottle, and glances over at the red wrapped package sitting on her desk. Her prize from Lady Emilia after the arm wrestling contest earlier in the day. A smile passes her lips. “Could’ve been worse. Not a bad first day.”

#householt #valdim-heyworth #penumbral-whisper #levvnightfall #mender-emilia

A Letter

This missive arrives with a split seal. On the left half, the lion of House Holt in gold-flecked royal blue-violet wax. On the right, where the lion’s mane should be, a rearing dragon overtop an angled poleaxe in deep crimson.

To Lord Percival Alois von Gacy,

Your offer for aid is recognized and appreciated, especially considering the hardship between yourself, your men, and House Holt. Given our current troubles, we have begun consolidating and organizing to fully and properly react. Once we are prepared to do so, we may indeed take you up on your offer. Now, however, we regretfully cannot do so.

In the interest of cooperation, however, this is what we know of the threat so far.

They are prepared. They are strategically inclined. They have both magical capability at least stemming to portals and very likely concealment, as well as no qualms about killing with both blade and firearm. Infiltrators are not only possible, but likely. No demands have been made of us regarding the abduction. The implication of that, I needn’t tell you.

I know it was difficult for you to write to us. Whatever your opinion on nobility or the House, know that I hold no lands, have no people who owe allegiance to me, nor have any title granted by the authority of the crown. My kingdom is dead. I fight for what is left.

If or when we need you, we will call, and a debt will be owed.

Regards, Ceruszael Castellan of House Holt

(( Tag lineup; @percy-von-gacy @householt ))

#ceruszael #percy von gacy #householt

Mornings

The early morning sun came in through the windows in the room, shining through the dark red curtains that covered them. It bathed the room in a red light, a red light that seemed to be at war with the half of the room that remained bathed in shadow.

A fragment of light fell on Ladistrae’s face. Her red hair was in wild disarray and clashed strongly against the pale skin of her face. Her face looked sunken, adding a gaunt look to the woman. Her eyes were open, the moss green irises slowly roaming over the room that contained all of her possessions. Her mind lagged behind as it tried to piece together the alcohol filled haze that was the previous night.

She vaguely remembered a brief run-in with a certain dark haired mage, before said mage had been called away to help another member of the House. Then, she remembered a drunken stagger through the streets of Dalaran as she grew tired of waiting for the mage, and retired to her rooms with a generous amount of alcohol. She saw the empty bottle of fruit brandy on her desk and frowned.

She thought to herself, her internal voice bitter. ‘That certainly explains this damnable headache’

She looked around the room. Her eyes widened as she finally noticed the other presence in the room. Her eyes landed on the Elf that sat at her desk, and they flickered to the still-open window a few feet from him. She sat up, causing the blanket that had been around her shoulders to pool at her waist, exposing her small breasts to the early-morning air. Her frown deepened, but she made no move to hide herself from the now smirking Elf.

She let out a small sigh, one that was filled with equal parts sadness and Anger. “What the hell are you doing here Aradu?” She turned and climbed from her large bed, further exposing herself. She walked to the dresser that held her clothes along the eastern wall of the room and began to pull an outfit from the top drawer.

The Elf’s eyes roamed over the small woman’s form as he watched her walk across the room. He took a few more moments to enjoy the view before he responded, his voice coming out in its trademark melodic tones. “Here I was thinking that you’d be happy to see me.” Aradu dropped his feet onto the polished surface of the woman’s desk, the two dull thuds echoing around the room for a second before it was once again bathed in silence.

Ladistrae pulled on her brown robes, not being able to find her purple suit of clothes. She spoke in an icy tone, one that would have made Arthas shiver. “Here I was thinking that you were going to have an intelligent thought. Let me know if it happens.” She tied the sash at her waist before she turned back around, her green eyes covered by blue flame. “I suggest you leave.”

The Elf’s brows furrowed as he stood, his black leather armor creaking slightly. He pulled the small dagger from the sheathe on the inside of his left arm and strode slowly towards the priest. He spoke in a quiet voice, one that was full of a barely concealed rage as he poised the dagger against the woman’s chest, letting it slowly trace a scare that each of the two knew well. “I own you...You seem to have forgotten that.”

The priest’s eyes glossed over for a moment as she was forced to remember a night that had occurred almost twelve years ago. Images flashed through her mind. An alley. Blood. Crates stained red. The blue flame in front of her eye wavered before it flared to life, brighter than before. The priest extended an arm suddenly. An arrow of blue flame shot from her hand, striking Aradu in the stomach. The angle of the magic caused it to shoot through his ribs before it came out of his back, leaping from him and leaving a wound between his shoulder blades.

The Elf’s eyes widened as he fell to the floor, the attack coming too quickly for him to scream. The priest in front of him kneeled to the ground, cradling his head in her hands. Her hands glowed with white light as Aradu felt his wounds begin to heal. He spoke in an unsteady voice. “I almost thought that you were going to do it...” His voice trailed off as he took in the priest again.

Instead of tears and fear on her face, he found a glare sharper than any blade. Her lips curled up into a sneer as her eyes were once again shrouded in dark flame. She raised her right hand to his head, savoring the look on Aradu’s face as he understood what was abut to happen. He struggled weakly against her hold, but her small arms held him in place with an iron grip.

In a moment more shadow magic erupted from the priest’s hand as she let out a terrible laugh, one devoid of any mirth or humor. The last thing the elf saw was a wave of blue as his mind was torn apart. His mouth opened to let out a scream, but the priest’s hand held his throat shut. A wheezing sound escaped his throat as his world faded away.

The priest continued to laugh a horrible laugh as she dropped his head to the floor, the collision making a heavy thud.

She stood and raised both of her hands into the air. They were shrouded by a thick cloud of shadow, and ladistrae began to breathe heavily with the exertion from her spell. Aradu’s body began to wilt before it began to disappear. The priest was sending him to another plane, no easy feat for any priest, let alone one months out of practice.

Despite this, the magic around her hands swelled and flared as the spell complete. Her body fell to the ground as she inhaled loudly, gasping for air. Her breathing quieted before her eyes closed slowly, her body forcing her to rest and regain her strength.

#wrymrest accord #wyrmrest rp #householt

CURRENTLY HIRING House Holt is looking to hire a full time physician, one that has in-depth knowledge of practical and combat medicine. This individual must be of sound mind, tolerant, tenacious and exceptionally trustworthy. We also ask that the individual be of the Eastern Kingdom and reside within Stormwind proper.

Interested candidates are welcome to pen Lady Adhelin Holt directly with your qualifications, only those deemed capable will be contacted.

Thank you

#householt #full time physician needed

Memories and Dreams

25 years ago

Serelia stands on a small rise in a bright field. The sounds of battle all around her. Behind, the small town of Southshore, and beyond it the sea. “Ahrelia, are you ready?” Sereila is making small adjustments to her armor. Already the battle is nearing the two of them, the two Quel’Dorei woman preparing to fight. “Have you seen Edgar?” Ahrelia begins to channel the light, casting a faintly glowing shield around her companion. “Human mages, who knows, he’ll show.” Serelia replies, and starts to walk down the rise, calm and confident as a troll breaks away from the pack, rushing towards her with a war cry, a pair of axes raised.

3 months ago

Serelia stands on a small rise in a dimly lit forest. She’s surrounded by silence. The Ghostlands largely no longer belong to the Sin’Dorei. The newly formed Ren’Dorei woman stands alone on the hill, void energy flickering at the corners of her eyes, pulsing through her hair and running along her skin. Not so far away the Amani trolls still continue their incursion, holding their small corner of the Ghostlands.

Serelia tries to focus, quieting the voices rushing through her head, the uncontrolled energy of the Void surging through her. Her vision focuses, one of the Amani running up the hill towards her, a pair of axes raised.

25 years ago

The Quel’Dorei woman moves like water. The first axe flung towards her and she moves, her long practiced martial forms easily carry her beneath it, the subtlest duck, letting it glance off the reflective shield of light around her. Her pace quickens, carrying her down the hill to meet the Troll, another dodge, practically flickering out of the way as the second axe flies, and the Troll hefts a larger two handed weapon from his back to meet her approach.

“Miss anythin’?” Edgars voice sounds as he ascends the hill coming to stand beside Ahrelia.

“You’re late for one,” she replies.

3 months ago

The Ren’Dorei woman moves with purpose and ferocity. The first axe flung towards her smashes into her shoulder, staggering her back a few steps, and opening a nasty gash, blood running down her arm. She swears under her breath in Thalassian, pulling it free and throwing it to the ground as she advances. Her pace quickens, carrying her down the hill to meet the Amani. The second axe she’s ready for, a strong hand snatches it out of the air as it whirls towards her, and she launches it back at her foe, throwing wild. The Troll hefts a larger two handed weapon from his back to meet her approach.

No one stands at Serelia’s back anymore.

25 years ago

The heavy axe flies towards Serelia, and she fluidly glides under the blade, ducking under it and coming up between the trolls arms. A quick motion and she catches one of them, twisting it back until the troll drops the weapon, clattering to the earth. “Relent. I don’t have to kill you.” She says to the troll in the common tongue. When he redoubles his efforts, attempting to grab at her head with his free arm, she uses his momentum to flip him to the ground, pinning him with a knee. A glance up the hill. “Edgar, can you fix this?” “One solved problem comin’ up.” A burst of arcane leaves his hands, flooding the tackled troll, its form twists and turns. A ‘baaa’ and the troll now in sheep form looks panicked and trots off as Serelia rises, brushing off her hands. “Thank you both. Shall we go see if we can help on the front lines?” Serelia grins up at them, bright blue eyes and fair skin, shining golden hair, the very picture of the Quel’Dorei.

3 months ago

The heavy axe flies towards Serelia, and she crosses bracers, catching the haft of it just below the blade. The troll bigger and stronger, slowly forces it down, as licks of purple start to flicker up and down her arms. With a grunt of strength, she manages to throw the blade to the side, letting it thunk into the earth. A quick maneuver grabs one of his hands, and then higher up on the arm, a sharp twist as she dislocates it from it’s socket. As the Troll recoils in pain, she throws herself at him, knocking him to the ground, straddling his chest. Her fist comes down, slamming into his face, stunning him. A hand grips one of his tusks, twisting and pulling before she rips it free in a gout of blood. No friends behind her, no onlookers to stop her. The Ren’Dorei woman jams the tusk through one of his eyes as he desperately tries to fight her off. “Relent. Make it easier to kill you.” Her fist falls, again, and again, and again. “I need to get out of these lands.” Serelia sits on the dead troll, glowering. Empty eyes, a bottomless pit to the void, darkened skin. Violet hair that flickers and twists with the energies of the void. Spattered in the blood of her fallen foe, the very picture of the Ren’Dorei.

Present

Serelia starts awake in a strange bed in a strange room. Somewhere unfamiliar and not home. Her shoulders heaving, her breath quickened, perspiring. She lifts her bandaged hand, blood seeping through the cloth from having clenched her fists so tightly in her dream. She sighs, brushing sweat sticky hair back from her face, pushing out of bed. She fumbles around finding a bottle and an empty glass near by. Who knows who’s they are. “Ugh, better forgiveness than permission.” She pours one and kicks it back before returning to bed. “I used to be so much more.”