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'Resurrection' - 2Thunder struck again; the grey clouds overhead were billowing with rage, and a coarse hail pelted down upon the shore. Not fazed in the slightest by the ill weather, a dark cloaked elven figure loomed atop the scaffolding of the abandoned Shadowfang Keep. His cold blue eyes watched the sea as they had only a few days beforehe was waiting.
Three more cloaked figures appeared behind him in a plume of black smoke. Before they could announce their arrival, the man's wind-bitten lips parted, setting free an icy breath. "You are late, Djannica."
"Y-yes, Yer Excellency, I" the woman at the front of the group attempted to explain.
"Silence, knave!" he retorted. "I do not wish to hear your excuses." He still gazed out over the ocean, never turning to look at the other arrivals. "Did you bring the materials?"
She strode silently to his side at the railing, peering out at the storm as well. "I did.
"A Drink" - 13Fizzlefart was waddling slower than usual. He had just finished his much anticipated interview with Lady Mynora Moryggan of the Shan Tel'dorei, and despite the fact that he had received all the information he needed and more, he was quite displeased.
There had always been some glimmer of hope deep within his mind that Berufeng would still be alive. He had been writing a biography of the man's life, and part of him had always wished (and assumed) that someday he'd get to meet the man that he had been studying for nearly three years. And then he found himself sitting on the stone steps of the moonwell in Stormwind, with Mynora's tale crushing his hopes.
The Blue Recluse was nearly empty, as always. Joachim Brenlow was polishing glasses with a ragglasses that more likely had grown dirty from dust than from use. He spotted the pink-bearded gnome the second he hobbled into the bar, and a grin crossed his fa
'The Perfect Location' - 1Scirius drew breath through his nostrils, and exhaled frost from between his wind-bitten lips. Like icy blue marbles, his eyes gazed over the railing and across the vast northern sea. Behind him stood the silent castle of Shadowfang, filled with packs of mindless worgen, and before him stretched the very sea upon which he had sailed many thousands of years beforethe sea into which he and a dozen others had been thrown overboard, throats slit and blood running.
The quel'dorei were leaving Kalimdor, abandoning their ungrateful brethren to begin a new life across the vast sea. They had been exiled by the kal'dorei, and so they set sail in magical ships to cross the maelstrom into lands unknown. Scirius and his followers would not be left behind; true, they were of kal'dorei blood, but it was the quel'dorei with whom they shared ideals. They, too, were followers of Dath'remar's beliefs, and had shunned the ways of druidism.
"Unwanted Parcels" - 12 A week had passed since Berufengs departure, and Mynoras anger had yet to quell. Several of the Teldorei had asked her why he was gone, and she told them simply that he was on a mission that he considered more important than his guild and his fiancée. Every time someone mentioned his name, her heart went through an agonizing swirl of emotions: anger, love, abandonment, loneliness, helplessness. Half of her expected him to reappear any given afternoon, smile on his face and with a vow to never leave her again. The other half of her, however, the part that made her stomach twist up in knots, knew that he wouldnt be waiting for her around the next corner he was gone, possibly forever.
Tremendous rains poured down all over the great tree Teldrassil; Elune was cleansing her peoples homeland of any remnants of the
"Saying Goodbye" - 11 The recent days had been a challenge for all of the Shan Tel'dorei, and indeed the rest of Azeroth. Horrific scenes unfurled on every street corner-- in places once thought to be safe from the hatred and evil of the world. It had yet to spread to Darnassus for now.
It all began with a shipment of crates in Booty Bay. The goblin officials who inspected the crates fell ill, and within a day or two, were infected by The Plague. The Scourge. The very infection that had decimated all of Lordaeron only a few years prior. The next day, outbreaks began occurring elsewhere by the end of the week, all over Azeroth people were turning into ghouls and slaying their family and friends in a gruesome fury.
Then came the Necropoli.
To depression, for creating days without endWake up to the realization that you've been awake
for seconds, minutes, hours.
You've been awake in this warm, dark room
and you don't know how long it's been
but now you're conscious
and it starts again--
the pain, strong and steady, in your chest.
You gain consciousness in this too warm morning
and your thoughts whir in endless loops
because it's either that or face the weight in your chest.
Light breaks though the window, soft and unwelcome
but you take it as a reluctant gift--
a new distraction from the feelings awake in your chest.
Awake, but not conscious.
So you think yourself in circles a little while longer
waiting for those quiet pains
(the constant reminder)
to gain consciousness.
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