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Post by ironwood on Feb 15, 2012 1:03:00 GMT -5
The glimmer of the cat treads softly in the overgrown marshes of Loch Modan, with only the swaying grasses to reveal her path.
She steps wrongly on the mud and her hip grinds in pain. She snarls to herself. Mortality, why did we have to come to this? Nordrassil's explosion echoes in every sinew and aches.
Buzzards fly against the sun, casting shadows as they circle dying crocs. Dying. It is possible. The cat stops, sniffs, waits for the wind to shift, and the stench from dying creatures and slime filled water is almost overwhelming.
Calculation. The energies of the sun and moon have nearly faded to nothing. She will strike as cat, take what healing she can and conserve that precious resource that seems only to become more inadequate each passing day.
Go out fighting. The cat leaps from the shadows and strikes a buzzard as it comes to land. Growling, tearing, slashing, leaping, the bird tries to bite and claw and fails, a puddle of bloody mud. The cat pants in exhaustion. A bit of healing energy is dared, and then after the moment the cat reasserts its energy and shape. An odor almost sensed, the cat's hair stands on end.
The crocodile rushes in. The filthy brown teeth look like death. The cat rakes hard against its eyes and it lunges back as the bite of the cat sinks deeply into the crocodile's scaly neck. The cat shakes its prey roughly, until the spurting filthy blood is still.
---
Moonglade. The lovely, but aging elf bows deeply at the elder druid who hands her the precious gift of an ancient robe of the ancestors.
"Aesinara of Isildien. Excavators exploring the ancient ruins found this in a vault, and sent it to us. They wanted you to have it."
"No... so long. I am not... I sleep in a lair under the ironwood tree, I don't keep the airs of civilization anymore."
The beautiful silk brocade, royal purple and finely woven with the threads of arcane and moon blessed patterns, gives off a faint glow.
"Besides isn't this sort of thing... forbidden?" The aging elf looks up at her teacher with fear.
He smiles and presses the silken gown into her hands. It is smooth to the touch, like warm flowing water. She embraces it like her long lost grandmother and weeps. It is useless as armor, of no purpose. It is memory, when memory is beginning to fade. Finally Aesinara stands straight at attention and speaks firmly. "If anything ever happens to me... please gift this to the young tauren healer who studies with you. In her short life she already has found something I never will. She does not let her mortality give her regret."
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Post by ironwood on Feb 22, 2012 6:30:40 GMT -5
The sun hung low over the ocean, green and red with the falling sunlight. The sea lion rode one cresting wave to the next, then dived and swam along the bottom, weaving, searching. Wreckage from a human town littered the floor, mixed with sand and pieces of sunk boats. The sea lion paused, and waited.
A shark swam directly at it.
The sea lion pulsed brilliantly with the light of a hundred stars and changed form, elfin, the deadly pulse making its way across the water to the shark. The shark charged the female elf. She was gone, and a huge cat attacked the shark's eyes. The struggle was over in moments. Shark blood began to float in the water.
The sea lion rushed away and again began zig zagging on the ocean floor.
There it was.
Tiny, iridescent, scaly, beady eyed. The most dangerous enemy of them all.
The murloc.
Its teeth sneered in a parody of a smile. The cat charged the murloc, bashing into its skull and raking claws across beady eyes. The murloc cast a spell and the cat recoiled in pain. The murloc ran. A lightning sharp crash of moonfire struck the murloc and it staggered. It looked back at the female elf floating in the water and roared as it died.
MMRRRGGGHHLLLLL!! I AM MURLOC!
The elf bobbed with the rolling waves, laughing with delight in revenge.
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Post by ironwood on Feb 22, 2012 6:55:29 GMT -5
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Post by ironwood on Feb 22, 2012 16:04:32 GMT -5
(( inspired by www.youtube.com/watch?v=1Dj7p3h03qQ )) The cat raced across the green forest, leaves scattering under her feet as wildlife rushed away at the sound. She hardly could see where she was going, her mind was so filled with memories. Beautiful Eldre'thelas, city of sorrow. When we fought for you beside Goldrinn and not even that mighty wolf could stop the rout of our forces and the dying. When evil consumed the survivors one by one I fled but still returned.The ruins of Isildien were bones jutting from green earth under a canopy of jade. The cat searched for the lovely watercourse she had built among gardens of jasmine and mageroyal. Centuries of erosion had buried it under dirt and the footprints of ogres covered the surface. The cat kept running. The hazy rainstorm broke open and she found she was in Stormwind. The press of humans was chaos. She dived into the canal and swam, trying to reach a place of quiet. Fire seemed to burn behind her eyes. "Aesinara. Come inside, it's cold here." The Priestess of Kel'theril raised her lamp and fire lit the frozen lake. It was strewn with corpses and wisps. A gale force wind picked up the snow and hurled it with the spirits of the dead directly at the cat. She ran up the steps and out of the canal, running to an apple tree where she stopped. She stared into her reflection in the apple until focus returned. These episodes happened less often, but every few years one would strike. She knew then, it was a symptom of her slow death. The unreleased spirits of the dead and once immortal Highborne clutched about her soul like a silken veil of the arcane. Aesinara realized then that there would be only one escape. When that time came finally to die, she would have to accept it.
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Post by ironwood on Feb 23, 2012 8:20:22 GMT -5
A small boat of trolls rows slowly into Stormwind Harbor, holding aloft the flag of truce. As they draw closer, the flag of the Cenarion Circle can also be seen. They dock and wait for a Stormwind guard to approach them.
The leader and only female steps forward and speaks in broken Common.
"We be bringing ya words of sorrow, mon. Your druid called Ironwood fell fightin' de Witherbark trolls. Dey be worthy opponents, and she killed many before dyin'. Tonight de fires burn for her. She told us not to rebirth her, so we did not. But we will dance.
"Bad spirits held her soul. Now she be free, mon. I pray to my loa and she tell me Ironwood be reborn as Mironna. De curse be over."
The guard nods in acknowledgement. "I will bear word to the druids of Stormwind at once."
The troll smiles sadly and salutes. She boards the tiny boat, and they heave off and disappear in the morning fog.
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Post by ironwood on Aug 26, 2012 21:07:41 GMT -5
(Mironna became Myronnae, 3/30/2012)
The bomb fell toward Thal'darah Grove.
My school. My friends - two years younger than me.
It fell toward the great tree.
Druid students ran erratically between the buildings. Some crouched to the ground and cried. Some screamed and called for help.
One young student, enough younger than myself that I did not know her name, stood by the moonwell waters and looked toward the sky, an expression of peace on her face. The crescent moon of Elune glowed on her brow.
The bomb fell.
The great hippogryph on which I rode sensed the danger and fell toward the ground like a stone, muscles straining in her back, desperate to save just one more of the hatchlings while she could, crying in pain.
The bomb fell.
I did not know where my best friend Danalaia was, perhaps in a room in the great tree. She was gone. Tears obscured my eyes.
The bomb fell.
It touched the great tree. A shock hurled the great hippogryph in a wave of brown dirt thrown into the air, and I clung as she tumbled, clung to her, to Master Thal'darah, to the roar and the explosion as the hippogryph tumbled screeching, away from the thunder and toward the ground.
She righted herself and flew aloft, landing by the flight master at the inn. Rescued students reached out to me with words of gratitude. It was all a blur. I fell to my knees and wept. So many of my friends - where are you now.
I hated the Horde. They destroy all beauty and everything they cannot understand.
I ran inside the inn, toward Master Thal'darah, who stood shell shocked at the edge of the room over the vast cliff, staring at the gaping crater where our school once stood and the great tree.
I ran past him and over the cliff. My life coursed before my eyes and landed in a crumple on the cliff face.
I did not know how, but I was alive... I cast rejuvenation and then the spell to reach the Moonglade.
As I went unconscious, huge Tauren hands lifted me up.
I awoke in a bed in the inn. Master Thal'darah and the young Tauren Muuiina looked down at me. She had been - my friend? She sensed my anger and drew back.
"Oh Myronnae, I am glad you are alive!" She was weeping, huge teardrops running down the end of her enormous nose. She sniffled. "My cousin was sent here as a runner to tell us. He saw it... saw the bomb fell. They killed my aunt Masha, accused of treason! The world is gone dark!"
I tried to sit up, but Muuiina pushed me back down. My hip didn't feel right.
"Now Masha is vindicated, but it's too late! At least you are alive... I thought for sure you were lost... I can't imagine..."
I reached up and embraced Muuiina. "The world is dark... very dark. I have to... I have to do what I can to stop these people."
"I understand. And I won't hold it against you at all, what you have to do. But you have to wait here and rest."
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Post by ironwood on Aug 26, 2012 21:10:53 GMT -5
(Myronnae died in Silithus and is reborn as Myronie. 6/16/2012)
The sun set over the walls and towers of Theramore, golden orange, resplendent.
I disembarked from the boat and led my faithful dawnsaber onto the dock. She seemed as in awe of the beautiful sky as I was. It was good to be in Kalimdor, if so far from home. The peaceful humans busied about their errands at the end of the day, doing what they could in the last of the daylight.
A cold breeze came across the harbor and the choppy waves began to crest and send cold spray against my meager leathers and bare legs. Without knowing why, I sensed something was going to go terribly wrong here, that my efforts, whatever they might be, would somehow be ultimately wasted. I did not know what gave me that strange feeling, but I had learned to respect it. My dawnsaber pushed up against me as if to lead me away from danger. But the ship was not due to leave until the next day.
"Let's go to the city and report for duty," I whispered to my feline friend and to no one in particular. The cold wind blew hard against the waves and for a moment it seemed it carried with it the faint sound of orcish and tauren drumming in the distance.
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Post by ironwood on Aug 26, 2012 21:12:16 GMT -5
(Myronie. 6/16/2012)
I knelt beside Karnum Marshweaver under the dome of the moonwell. The energies of the waters calmed me and energized me. The moonlight broke through the trees overhead and lit my hands on the marble.
"I ... thought I heard this at the harbor of Theramore. What does it mean?"
I tapped out a drum rhythm against the marble stone.
Karnum looked down sadly. The moon shaft slid out from the tree and illuminated his aged Tauren face and his grief. "It is war," he said. "Hot heads have prevailed. Good intentions and noble conduct are not always enough. Sometimes evil must be met with strength to keep safety in the world."
He looked at me kindly. "You do not have the strength now, but in the future you will, after a great sacrifice. What did you do in the city?"
"Helped out with political propaganda and hunting for the cook," I said with a smile.
Karnum chuckled. "You're not the strongest feral fighter I've ever met, you know." He thought a moment. "But you know better now than to take a fight before you are ready. Will you do something for me? There are whirlwind stormwalkers that must be silenced."
"I will do it," I said. Walking in quiet under the desert stars would give me some time to think.
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Post by ironwood on Aug 26, 2012 21:14:10 GMT -5
(Myronie. 7/1/2012)
Imagine with me now, a processional of the past.
We begin at the lake at the city of Eldre'thar, bearing flowers from the mountains, and weapons and flesh seized from our enemies in battle. Fine trollish weapons of steel are carried by Sentinels accompanied by escorts of armed guardsmen with emerald spirits flying aloft. We will give these heathen weapons and flesh in sacrifice to Elune.
The triumphal procession ascends the peaks, laughing and dancing, playing stringed music and drums. Beyond the peaks it descends to to the great Temple Complex, holy to Elune. She is Holy, and Her enemies will be destroyed.
The procession dances along the winding forested paths verdant with spring blossoms.
It stops first at the great palace and blessings are given at the Runestone of Storms, and the feast of the Night is celebrated. Gems created by the Runestone are given to the greatest of the warriors, weapons capable of delivering them from every enemy.
The next night we set out, to Elune's brazier of purification. The flesh of our enemies is sacrificed to Elune, and a haunting melody of spirit emerges from the flame and the sweet incense envelopes us. We are granted a divine endowment of vitality and health.
A most delightful celebration follows.
The next night, we ascend the pure mountain bearing the waters of our cities and are hallowed by washing our faces in the Cup of Elune at Her Sanctuary. We commune with the ancestors.
The next night, the weapons of the enemy are given to the great statue of Elune's Handmaiden, her eyes aglow with the moon and great arcane powers. As we throw the weapons into the basin carried by the statue, they are vaporised in bright flashes of light and we are infused with power. The waters of the basin then disappear into the stone as if they did not exist.
Death is no more for us, for we are immortal.
On the final night, we go outside the boundary of the city, to the ancient tablets of memory. The most honored who have fallen in war, are laid to rest here, and we spend the night and the day in silence.
---
Now, if any of this seems impossible - well, it seemed that way to me, too. Until, that is, I stumbled across it in the desert, when Vahlarriel Demonslayer asked me to make certain the relics of Elune were safe.
I was struck by the barbarity and the power of the rituals, so unlike anything we do today. We have all seen wisps and spirits before, and the powers held by priestesses and our allies who are still willing to be mages. But I was not prepared for what I saw in the ritual path. Something in all this has changed me.
What other lost powers have left us and are in the past, and are they all necessarily wrong? Are we still whole, or have we lost some part of ourselves trying to avoid the traumas of the past?
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Post by ironwood on Aug 26, 2012 21:17:22 GMT -5
(Myronie. 8/22/2012)
The moonstone still stood in the tower by the abandoned Temple of Elune in Isildien. It seemed to radiate a soft healing glow, and I felt drawn to it, mesmerized. I stealthed carefully through the door and into the cool room of the tower, stepping carefully around fallen masonry down a tiny path toward the stone.
Two wisps rushed at my eyes and I closed them reflexively. When I looked up, I had been knocked out of cat form and was looking at two ghosts.
I recognized them only from a painting of the druid students gathered in the Moonglade for the Lunar Festival. Myronnae had been a young student of Master Thal'darah, and died on Cenarion Circle business in Silithus. Aesinara, who was nicknamed Ironwood, was an elderly mage who had escaped Eldre'Thalas and had persuaded the druids to accept her as a student. She had died under questionable circumstances to trolls in the Arathi Highlands.
After a surprised silence, Aesinara was the first to speak. "You couldn't save him, could you?"
"Save who?" I barely could find my voice.
"Estulan's apprentice. Yes, I know. Shandris Feathermoon tolerates the training of new mages because the Twilight's Hammer is camped nearly on her doorstep." Aesinara's contempt and arrogance was icy and intimidating, and I could not respond.
"Myronie." Myronnae's tone was comforting. "I know you tried, you wanted to save him."
"They should have left with Dath'remar!" Aesinara looked at the stone with anger. "I should have left..."
"But you would have died in Lordaeron," Myronnae pointed out.
"You mean, sooner than I did anyway?" Aesinara laughed, almost hysterically. "So at least I'm not tied to this plane anymore unlike some poor fools."
"But you came here," I ventured.
"It's my city," Aesinara said. Her stare was like being cut with a knife. "You could NOT save him. I suggest you set down that foolish idea you have of becoming a sorcerer someday."
"It's not a foolish idea." A tiny gnome in giant pigtails rushed into the room. I thought I saw a void walker lingering outside, but I could not be sure. Myronnae turned into a ghostly cat and hissed.
"Hey!" said the very much alive gnome. "Knock it off! I belong to this committee too!"
"How can you see us anyway?" asked Aesinara.
"Allow me to introduce myself, since these rude ghosts won't do it. I am Byronie, fearsome warlock of Gnomeregan! Oh, and you're going to die."
"I couldn't save him," I said bitterly, almost in tears at the memory of that young elf sprawled dead on the stone cold floor. "It's a fool's errand. I've spent the past several months in ruins, chasing down relics of the past, trying to save people who want to revive pieces of the Highborne powers but don't think before they rush in. I've been nearly killed by naga and tried to help save Andorhal only to watch the Alliance commander walk away from it. I'm tired."
"You can fight demons all day if you like," Byronie said. "I prefer to use them."
"But don't you have any conscience? His soul was eaten and I could do exactly nothing!"
"He's fine." Aesinara had lost her anger and had become something different. She looked like a wisp in a bubble. "He's counted among our number, I made sure of it. But you have seen the power and terror of demons too many times to look away. I'm sorry to say this was my legacy to you. What you see now, is destiny. Spirit healers will have nothing to do with us."
I thought back to what Karnum had told me - that someday I would have great power, but only after a great sacrifice. I wondered what it would be. I wanted to die in service to a better cause, but I was not certain warfare could ever be that service. There were too many good people on both sides, elves and tauren alike.
"I know just what you're thinking," Byronie said impishly. "I have an idea!"
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Post by ironwood on Sept 19, 2012 22:09:17 GMT -5
(Byronie, 9/15/12)
The small tunnel door in the corner of the Train Station was guarded by heavily armed, scowling soldiers of S.A.F.E wearing shades glittering with the tell-tale indicators of coordinated radio comms.
"Your clearance, warlock?" The oldest gnome's chiseled face was steel hard and contrasted sharply with her almost squeaky voice.
"Prismatic."
Byronie could hear a voice just beyond the turn in the tunnel snarking, "Wonder how she managed to get that?"
The prismatic card refracted light in holographic patterns, in addition, it had a simple binary code understood only by a few to represent the shared key to the passcode gears, themselves the source of the Prime Number.
The reader was new and both read the card as well as flashing a scan, briefly, across Byronie's retina. A whirring sound and a robot voice answered in the affirmative. The S.A.F.E. officer turned without a hint of a smile.
"Follow me."
Beyond the bend two S.A.F.E. officers stood at attention and allowed the two gnomes to pass, and beyond that, an old terminal stood in front of a elementium and felsteel alloy door pockmarked by the shrapnel from radioactive blasts.
The terminal waited for instructions. Byronie recited.
DO FEL BROTHERHOOD HIDEOUT TUNNEL IF (ULTRAVIOLET) THEN OPEN GATE -THEN EXIT END IF CHALLENGE STATEMENT END DO
The robotic voice obediently asked, "What is the best beer?"
"Olde Fortran."
The gate slid open.
The holdout community had secreted itself in a warren of handblasted tunnels in the years between the trogg invasion and the breakthrough when warlock forces, fighting their way toward the surface, finally were met by a S.A.F.E. team making its way into the city. Led by the benevolent Computer, which was certain that the surface was covered with radiation and too dangerous to enter, the holdouts had adopted Troubleshooting as their way of life.
One of the essential teachings of The Computer was the importance of backup copies. Byronie had carefully created six clones of herself.
The vat room, in a tunnel beyond the communal mess hall that was now abandoned, still contained a few living clones kept in stasis should a fighter need to be replaced with his backup. They were floating in vats of glowing green fluid, hooked up to life support kept going with fel gearing and a Light battery, personally charged by priest medics, attached to a series of luminous capacitors.
Byronie had carefully sacrificed two of her own clones. Their substitutes were almost too large for the holding vats.
They were two identical female night elves.
Byronie placed the soulstone in the receiving port of the more brightly glowing vat. It slid into the vat with a hiss and the fel and Light mixed energies, in a conflict kept from exploding only by the thinnest of felsteel, began enveloping the motionless night elf.
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Post by ironwood on Sept 19, 2012 22:10:24 GMT -5
(Mironna, 9/15/12)(new toon)
The night elf coughed up the vilest of green fluid and sat up. She found herself at eye level with a tiny robot and an even tinier gnome in pigtails. The robot was vacuuming up the green glowing fluid that was spilling out of the open vat containing the elf.
"The Computer is your friend," the robot said. "You have been improved with optimal feline genetics and are now 332.33% (repeating, of course) more effective in combat! Report for duty immediately, Troubleshooter!"
The gnome laughed and began to dance.
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