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Post by Jadey/Ala/Oria on Feb 15, 2006 12:41:34 GMT -5
Being on a roleplay server, you may find yourself stumped on ways to find good or interesting names. If you have lists of neat names, advice, and links, post them here. NOTE: This is not a post for flames and discussion of naming policies. Names from the World and History - www.gaminggeeks.org/Resources/KateMonk/ELVES------Elvish Name Generator: www.chriswetherell.com/elf/Building an Elven Name: www.angelfire.com/rpg2/vortexshadow/names.htmlDWARVES-----Dwarven Name Generator: www.seventhsanctum.com/generate.php?Genname=dwarfnamerList of Dwarven Names: www.ebonskull.org/dwarfnames.htmThe best source of both masculine and feminine ancient nordic names is probably this site: www.ellipsis.cx/~liana/names/landnamabok.htmlBut, if you are curious about meaning, pronunciation, and exact origin of your name, or you want even more names to choose from, you may want to visit also this, more scholar-oriented, site: www.vikinganswerlady.com/ONNames.htm With some research, material collected in www.vikinganswerlady.com/ONNames.htm allows you to construct Old Norse names of your own design. Names like Dragonhelm (Ormkell (M), Ormkattla (F)) or Bloodaxe (Blódrx)... GNOMES-----Gnome Name Generator: nine.frenchboys.net/gnome.phpHobbit Name Generator: www.chriswetherell.com/hobbit/Good for gnomes and fun! ORCS-----Orc names: www.rpginspiration.com/tables/OrcName.iptALL KINDS-----All Kinds of Generators: www.seventhsanctum.com/index-name.phpFantasy Names: www.lowchensaustralia.com/names/fantasylinks.htmNice Generator: (names and more) www.kessels.com/WordGenerator/index.html
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Post by Jadey/Ala/Oria on Feb 15, 2006 12:30:45 GMT -5
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Post by Jadey/Ala/Oria on Feb 15, 2006 12:26:54 GMT -5
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Post by Jadey/Ala/Oria on Feb 15, 2006 16:44:11 GMT -5
Jadey giggles and rushes over to the wee gnome!
"SELOOOOOOOOONA! Oh so good to see you! I um...have cookies!"
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Post by Jadey/Ala/Oria on Apr 21, 2006 11:40:07 GMT -5
The Dead of Night, part 6
The letter left them both grave. Meet alone. Secrets of the Coven. Murders in Darnassus. The name Palemoon remarked on. The misfits lived by a creed to never be alone. And nodding to each other a final time, taking their hearthstones, Theonalas and Oria left to travel. She would watch from shadows as she always had. Sometimes it amazed the poet what she learned by watching Janlith. With a wry grin, he thought briefly upon his own stealthing within the ogre held halls of Dire Maul.
With a flash of light, they appeared within Auberdine, each taking wing in different directions. With a soft touch of hands, they were parted with a promise to meet in Raynehold. The spy would be waiting upon the striking of ten bells, the marking of the rising of Elune in the sky.
Claws dug into the soft leaves and earth of Ashenvale as the pair made their way, Theonalas from Astranaar, Oria from Azshara. Upon arriving, Oria heard the whispers of voices, the warning of movement by her poet. They ascended the stairs together to talk.
The hunt filled her heart, thoughts and concerns of the world burning away with the rise of scent and sight. Marking above her eyes, she caught the mind of Corelua, slinking with the cat in hidden shadows to the top of the tower, settling close to Theonalas. With slitted vision, she followed behind, fingers moving her along the spiral stair to a place of waiting.
"Palemoon, we have much to discuss. Much to consider. I am Azarel of the Watchers." The voice dripped with a sinister touch when speaking Theonalas' name. With a whisper, they considered what this could mean. The way of the Watchers was rumored of only by those too slow to know better. It was not a conversation either expected in the dark of this night.
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Post by Jadey/Ala/Oria on Apr 21, 2006 11:39:02 GMT -5
~written by Zaroth~
Returning back home to Menethil, Zaroth cautiously walks the road in. It isn't nice to be unpleasently surprised by a bloodthirsty gnoll, greedy bandit, or hungy crocolisk when all you want is home, a good meal, and sleep.
Near the bridge, he notices some activity. Figures sillouetted in the setting moon. Voices heard but not clearly understood.
He steps silently into the deep darkness off the side of the road.
" .....the Hand.......in the house..............ABC.......Zaroth.....". Pieces of the whole and not enough to fill in the massive blanks.
The sillouettes. Hmmmm....1 male human next to a female night elf.......talking to........another male ? Yes, male.
That voice. Zaroth has heard that female nelf before. Twice before. Once in that distasteful episode in Darnassus. She was a huntress then. Kept company with a scorpion. Fit her personality.
Second time, at the inn Dolanar. She was just starting rogue training then. If she had continued that training, she would be quite an opponent. She was of the cold-blooded type.
Her name.....her name.....what was it. Started with a 'V'....Val..
Valeth
Zaroth waits in the darkness until all of the parties left, one back to the marshes, the other two off somewhere else, both brandishing knives, by the glint of moonlight off their blades.
Hmmm...., Zaroth muses, last time we met she was still linked to Czarvich and the Sable Coven. No real proof, but I've got a nasty feeling that there is evil afoot. Best keep an extra eye out.
Zaroth emerges from the darkness and continues to Deepwater Inn, mind racing amongst all of the possible reasons for her appearance here.
Whatever the reason, it most certainly isn't just a casual visit.
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Post by Jadey/Ala/Oria on Apr 21, 2006 11:33:24 GMT -5
The Dead of Night, Part 5
It was a funny thing, being clean and sober, but Beldram seemed dead set to change things. He was quieter, focused and keen of eye. Without question, he did what the dwarf commander set before them. Clean the wallows? Not a problem. Help that blasted elf with the bilges? Easy.
Sometimes Judman thought his friend was replaced. Did the journey wake him up? Was it the dreams that sent his screaming in the night of the murlocs? Or was it the long walks he kept taking night after night? Returning from his crabbing for the lord's table, he once again found their shared bunks empty. Cursing, he dug in a bag for their old shared flask.
"Enough to send a man to drinkin'."
And indeed Beldram was changed. It all started with a girl. Like all men of low means and brute strength, Beldram was a force with women. With a backhand or harsh word, he had the world laid before him from wenches. Then he met the new help...
Standing by her in the dark, arms crossed as he peered in the gloom, Beldram recalled how his backhand had earned him a slice of dagger deep in that same hand. She was fierce, dark, a soft whisper of hate. They had spoken in turns from that night, those glowing eyes damning him each and every time.
The gravel crunched around them as he stepped forward to block the way for her. How strange it was to protect her, follow her lead. A man such as he bested? He refused to be. Yet every time she demanded his aid, no was lost to him.
"Black Hand, a letter for you." The figure from shadows was muddy, plain, some grubber of the herbs and roots from the marshes. A faceless lost man that no one would notice or miss. Like they all were. Beldram peered hard, trying to find something to mark them by.
Valeth nodded behind her blood red mask. Clad in black leathers, she seemed nothing more than shadow even in the direct light of Elune. Taking the scroll case, she read carefully the words. "Inform the Keystone the hand is now within the house. The Usurper has met with another lord of a fallen house, a gentry of Feir. They spoke of the past and future, of alliances and rebuilding. Such a thing needs watching. Also, gentry of the reporters of ABC now reside in these walls. A Zaroth, well known to the Keystone. And their mistress I believe visits on occassion to the tavern. They are keen eyes, but know us not only of the name Sable Coven."
The peasant nodded to the pair, memorizing all the Black Hand spoke. Hands laying over their hearts, they spoke prayers of leavetaking, disappearing away.
Beldram took hold of her arm, roughly turning the shadowmaster on her heel. "Wait, Val. We need some talking. I think it's time to teach me a bit of what this all means."
Eyes cold as justicars met his. Searching for a moment, she nodded. "To understand our journey, you must know death. Come."
And the housekeeper and stablehand left into the night, blades pulled, a pact to be made in blood.
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Post by Jadey/Ala/Oria on Apr 21, 2006 11:30:50 GMT -5
The Dead of Night, Part 4
The pair had caused quite the stir brought in muddy and gnoll gnawed. Militia men took the bridge, taking note of Tolliver's reports of rising activity along the waterways, eyes bright and attentive with a new lord leading them. The folk of the port town nodded or waved, calling out greetings as they wended to their homes for suppers and sleep.
To Beldram and Judman it seemed a paradise. Comely women who would not say no, docks for fishing, nothing fancy, everything simple. The Light must really be on their side for once.
Darcy nodded to the gathered as Oria helped drag Beldram to the inn's door, followed by Tolliver and a muddy Judman. She was a fine lass Tolliver had tried his charms upon before. But giving him a wry look, Judman could tell it would not get far with this one.
Wiping her hands on her apron, Darcy gave Tolliver a wry look. The two had their moments with ale when the occassion presented itself. But she was quick to know this game. Many a pirate once called this home.
"What ya bringin' me, Tolli? Seems the murk done spit out more lads traveling at times best spent in homes?"
The Arcanist grinned calling magics to shake away the mud and grime. "Evening Darcy. That I am. The Lord declared a watch of the roads. Seems these two didn't know what they were getting into."
Oria grumbled, rolling her eyes as she led the men into the warm light of the tavern. Judman watched his friend from over her shoulder, worrying about the way he hung his head. Yanking open a pouch, the elf began working with herbs that wrinkled his nose from pungent scents. With a splashing of water, rubbing of the poltice, she had Bel cleaned up and wrapped with enchanted bandages as quick as any field medic.
"Is he well? He's got a bad knee too. Those things swarmed up from no where!"
The hunter nodded, tossing aside her helm to get a better look over them both. "The gnolls have been pressing further south. We don't know why. But if you need rest, the Lord won't turn you away. What brings you this way in the dead of night?"
Clearing his throat, Judman found it hard to stare in her eyes. It felt like staring into the eyes of a savage wolf. "Beg pardon, jus' heard there be some work out here. Your house was kind before, when Bel was in trouble. We thought maybe we'd come and see what a new life we could have."
Crossing her arms, Oria regarded the drunk and lay'about. "I'll let the Lord's men know. They handle such things. And fair warning, stay in the walls at sundown. The night is not meant for such as you in the wilds."
The door creaked open as Tolliver entered, eyes grim. "Oria, something's been found near Ironbeard's tomb. We need to go."
Laying a hand on his friend's good shoulder, Judman watched them go wondering if maybe this journey was not such a good idea. The windows rattled briefly from a growing storm. Moving to them, Judman peered out into the night. it had seemed misty before, perhaps a bit wet from being in the swamps, but here he did not see a cloud in the moonlit sky.
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Post by Jadey/Ala/Oria on Apr 21, 2006 11:26:32 GMT -5
The Dead of Night, part 3
Judman and Beldram trudged their way along the roads. Their boots had long fallen apart in bits as the hard journey pushed them. Yet, every few hours of the many days spent walking, one or the other lifted spirits.
"Ale. When we get there, the lord's bound to give us ale, Jud. They were kind and all before. They should remember us."
Judman rubbed his hagard face. "Jus' you wait'n see. They'll see us 'n yell, good ol' Bel and Jud!" With a piercing far too sober look, and cuffed Bel on the arm. "What a ninny sense! That ol' lord and his cronies won't recall us at'all."
And with an equally furious look, Bel shot back. this lead to a scuffle and rolling in the ground. Normally, it would. But now, in these forsaken marshes, they just did not have the strength for it.
Gloom and the sounds of night crowded around them. Eyes along the road, the men secretly wished they had not followed the other. In the distance, a lantern light wavered, as if a nightwatchman walked the paths.
Judman shook Beldram, pointing ahead with muddy fingers. "Look, Bel! Seems the lord sends men on the roads after all. Les' seek 'em. Find the way?"
Bel rubbed his unshaven jaw, lack of real food starting to gnaw at his sense. But what did they know of the wilds? Something about it reminded him of the wars. "Alright. Just take it slow. No yelling out in the dark."
On and on they followed the bobbing light, not realizing the road was long since lost. It was too late as their feet sunk in the mire as Beldram realized this was a will'o'wisp.
The mocking laugh of gnolls exploded around them. Screaming to rip their throats raw, the men ripped and clawed at the mud, seeking any solid ground to escape on. The wicked talons of the snarling dogmen scratched dug into their flesh. Snarling maws snapped to taste their flesh as they war cries to the camp.
Beldram felt the scarlet pain as a fire on his shoulder, eyes snapping open wide. Old training took over as he brought up a found branch, smashing it into the gnolls face. But in his mind, it was a murloc he envisioned. Terrible and fierce, the year of wars against those foul creatures. The ones that had imprisoned him, feasted on his slowly. It would never happen again.
Fires exploded around them as Judman reached out to aid his friend. The whine and howl of the gnolls filled their ears as something truly terrible threatened their lives. Beldram continued to thrash and rail, branch held before him. Laying a hand on his shoulder, Judman peered into the rising and falling flames. "Easy, Bel. Easy. No 'locs are here."
"You men! Are you well?" The voice was cultured and raised, cutting through the chaos of dying gnolls and sloshing men. Peering into the mists burning away from the scorching, they spied a man upon horseback, dark hat pulled over his eyes.
A few scouts ran about, led by some elven woman. The woman landed on the backs of writhing gnolls, the fire not touching her for the dragonscales. With a snarl, she sliced through necks, ending their lives.
Beldram fell to his knees in the murk as his friend walked forward. "Sirs, ye' be of Menethil?"
The arcanist as he could now see from the robes and staff gave a nod. Tipping back the hat, grinning in the reflected light, he gave a nod. "That we are. I am Tolliver, Arcanist of Kenafin. We protect these lands. Come, this is no place for good folk to be lost."
Despite the pain, Judman grinned wide. With a shaking and pulling, he pulled Beldram to his feet. "See, Bel. I tol' ya that house was here. And here they are. We was comin' to join and help in Menethil good sir. Name's Judman. This is Beldram. We're straight from Stormwind and could use some ale and soup a might bit."
The elven woman slit her eyes and nodded. Sniffing at them, which seemed so strange, she neared Beldram, pulling his arm over her shoulder as she leaned. "He's biten, Tolliver. I'll take him. The smell of his blood will stir the crocks."
The arcanist nodded offering the back of his horse to Judman. "Take him and be careful, Oria. Let's ride, good sir. Ale, food, and tending. Easily met. Welcome to the Wetlands, protectorate of Kenafin."
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Post by Jadey/Ala/Oria on Apr 21, 2006 11:25:45 GMT -5
The Dead of Night, part 2
May the Light shine in places caught eternally in dark.
Timothy sighed from his shoes, moving his hands in those motions Gunther taught him. Hard circles, press in the middle and then softer out. Like trying to rub a dent into the armor. Don't fear the metal, it won't bend. He spoke it as a mantra not noticing as the Lord entered the adjoined room. The scuff of Clearchus' boot sent the boy into vapors as a tried leaping to feet long ago fallen asleep.
Instinctively, the paladin reached out to steady the lad, for a vertigo moment wondering if Demerzel felt as such when he first looked upon he and Tanor so long ago. "Timmy, you have missed the evening meal again. Do not make this a habit."
The Lord grinned wide, eyes warm, yet for a moment the boy was hesitant. Soon enough, he grinned, nodding his head to run off as young lads do. Dropping his eyes to the armors of his station, Clearchus could see his reflection, changed, not so hagard or thin, yet...
"You're thinking too hard again. It's giving you that mark between your eyes. Should I rub it out like he did that Light awful stain from the dragonkin you received last eve?"
Any regrets or harsh thoughts flew from his mind as Thenra slipt closer. "My lady, I cannot help but wonder of the future. Of all that has come. All that shall be. All--"
"You haven't changed, only grown. You worry too much, my husband. Far too much." Her presence calmed him, brought a sense of peace. Without her again, the beast of his rage, the monster that he restrained with prayer, would rise again.
Embracing her, the scent of steel and her light perfume reached Clearchus as he silently vowed they would pay for all they had done.
----//*\\----
Within the gleaming light of torchlight and friendship, they gathered in the feasthall. Elves, gnomes, dwarves, and men, friends and brothers, all those of the oathsworn of Kenafin. Rising from his station as Lord, Clearchus moved forward with Thenra and Tolliver taking up places near to his sides.
So many eyes looked to him, shining in their admiration and support. Some were new in their arrival. Others ancient comrades long held in the bonds of war and peace. Yet each was known to him, in some close way.
Voice rich, rising to fill the room, Lord Clearchus Gla'Nath welcomed to the many kindred souls. He gave prayers, bestowing the strength of the Light upon their souls, santifying the very ground of the Keep with his calling. And for the briefest of moments, he felt it... The soft observance of some dark malovence.
On into the night he led his House, promoting friends, accepting sworn oaths, raising another unto the ranks of leadership. They discussed the wars of the Coven, the rising tide of darkness around them, the many victories.
Something feral felt close, strange and predatory. Torchlight seemed to flicker and change. As if the night itself was coming to life. Yet in such glow of the Light and its hand of power within the young lord, none within the hall felt it, sensed it...not even the silently attending warlock Zaroth.
Horses whickered in their tack as a strange howling seemed to move about them. Attendents though it nothing more than storm, calming them with a leading to fires and oats.
And in this dead of night, upon the rising rocks of the hills overlooking the marshes, thin grasses caught in a rushing inferno to die away as quickly set. Shadows spilled all the darker around the pair, of demon and raptor borne.
"Ahh nearr everr near Tchann. The herbb you seekk." Eyes casting over the land, they neared the old tomb to take what they would. A guard gave cry, seeing the brazen act of the Horde. Leaping from raptorback, Tchan's mace gave a deadened crunch upon the stunted body's back. The cry was swift, the whimpering long becoming a keening wail as sharpened splinters and blades danced in the ritualist's hands.
Alabaster grinned watching Tchan revel in his work. Tilting her head, she spied something of interest. "Hiss tabardd, givee it to mee." The cloth ripped with a snarl as the troll flung it to the warlock's talons.
Despite the blood, the mark of Kenafin was easily spied. "Ahh so...the youngg lord hass retinuee here. Carefull in the killingg. We needd information."
Tchan's eyes lit with an inner fire through the bone mask. "Mah pleasuah."
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Post by Jadey/Ala/Oria on Apr 21, 2006 11:25:11 GMT -5
The Dead of Night, Part 1
The coming of some end...
She had his eyes within her own. The way of fear and lure of passion was such a delicious thing in elven eyes. The soft glow would pulse, as if twinned moons caught in bone and blood. They could roll and shift, widen and slit yet always the intensity of Elune was in them. Such a force of life. They could mezmorize her for hours.
The blood dipped stone hanging around her neck pulsed with Tchan's disdain. He wanted to kill this elf, or perhaps it was the dead around him he wished ground to powder. But Alabaster knew such a concoction would end up within a pipe or drink for visions. It was no longer a personal thing.
Backwards and out, the elven rogue slipped away. The book was working its slow magic upon him. "Just a matterr of timee now..."
The gruffness of a snort sounded as Tchan neared. In a cracked skull, with the end of a dark iron capped bone, he ground something of his herbs and magics. They had come for supplies, and a sending of messages.
The bones rattled from the emblazoned voodoo robes as Tchan shook in his fury. Rubicant eyes delved into the dead glow of Alabaster's. "Why choo let dat one live?"
"He iss within ourr garden. We cann pick him any momentt we wishedd. Andd now he knowss this. But beyondd that, he iss a seeker."
Tchan thought on the words and grunted. "He be nearing de pickin', offerin' himself, ya? De old ways o' ritual? De willin' sacrifice."
Turning again to the broken stairway up from Sepulcher's depths, she nodded with a soft, motherly smile. "Iss it nott lovelyy to watchh them grow?"
They both cackled at such a decadent thought.
With a wayward motion of hand, she gave the bone scrollcase to one of the many in Hallistra's employ. "Forr now, the Herzogin is informed. Andd we cann continuee ourr journeyy for that which wass taken. Iss the powder readyy?"
Tchan shook his head. "We be needin' someting from dat city again. Der be a root."
Alabaster's soft voice was venomous in her delight. "Theree alwayss is. Comee, and lett us continuee our gathering for her bitterr lastt night."
Tchan grunted again, taking up his packs and ghostly mask. With a soft rubbing between claws, the warlock lifted a tied piece of black hair to her nose. Pulling hard on her thin lungs, she forced her body to smell the strange scents of old dried sweat, blood, and fear. "Ahh roguee, I am comingg."
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Post by Jadey/Ala/Oria on Apr 21, 2006 11:20:55 GMT -5
The Way of Mists, Part 5
"I know nothing of these journeys. I hunt in a far different way. This is your arena, flower, what should we do?"
It was but an hour before she gave the call. It was time to move on the orders of Clearchus. Theonalas continued his research, scouring what information he could. For now, she needed to learn this way of seeking, this art of the shadowmasters.
Janlith removed his tabard, a strange dullness coming to his eyes. As he pulled the hood tight over his face, he became another person. The eyes reminded Oria of something old, from a dream of the past that simply had faded to nothing over the ages. She felt a sense of fear within, a need to turn away and find safety. He was not of a hunter...but a killer. It was a mask of acceptence, to do what must be done.
As they rode upon the tors, seeking a cliff overlooking Tarren Mill, she watched his back in wonder. What had he sacrificed, experienced, endured to change so? To become this man? Despite their centuries together, there was such a sense of mystery. He made her feel so very young and wayward in these moments.
Shaking free of her thoughts, the way of hunting rose between them. And as in the olden days of their travels, they stood upon the mount.
Taking hold of a spyglass, Janlith looked over the city. "I mark a few sentries. The buildings seem in disrepair..." His voice faded as he turned to look at Oria.
Her eyes stared wide, a strange snarl to her lips. For a moment, she seemed as the hawk in flight, diving to kill. With whispers, she hissed to him what she saw...smelled...as if she was truly walking among the dead below.
"Many to count. Forsaken scourge. Those of the city life. Those of war. A ghost. An Orc. I smell poisons, decay, and a strange sweetness from the orchard. Dead men, rotting from too long in the sun hand over doorways. And...a man. In robes. I...I do not know what."
Nearing her, he laid a hand on her shoulder. Whispering into her ear, voice velvet in its calm yet edged with a demand, he urged her for information. Slowly he learned more of the place...and knowledge of something else. "That robed one is an inquistor. Nobility. Why here? Watch my back and be ready to move."
Slipping to shadows, he moved as the unseen among them. Oria fidgeted among trees, as close as she dared. And there within the halls and homes of the Forsaken, Janlith prowled. His step was ever so well placed. Until he neared the inquisitor.
Eyes of pulsating yellow meet his. The Inquisitor watched the living one before him, adorned in robes edged in gold thread, worn yet still coveted in finery among their kind. A harsh, simple word in their gutteral speech left his lips as guards unsheathed swords and advanced upon Janlith.
With deft parrying of blades, beads of sweat stung his eyes. So many at once was a dangerous thing. A sense of worry touched his stone. For a moment, he thought to kill them all in a flurry of death, yet he knew she would come. And if she did, such a horror would be hers to see.
Even in his way of killing, that was one experience he would try to keep from his leaf if he could. With a blast of powder, he was gone.
"They watch. They move. But these are more agile than we once thought, leaf. Listen to what I speak, note it. The Lord must know."
It was time to consider other places...other lands. And as they rode, the questions remained. What of the dead in Darnassus? What of this Hallistra? Would they find something of the Coven here? Were any of the forsaken scourge of the coven?
Unto the hills of Silverpine they arrived, the next village of their visit the place called Sepulcher. Old records kept by the Red Hand in Stormwind afforded them a great deal of information. Graves tended by the dead. Once protected at all costs by those of the Horde as if a great secret laid within. The magister Kami had written scores of volumes upon such things.
And upon seeing it, they could understand why. "Easily defended. High ground. High perches. One road in. Two paths beyond it. And an underground to seek."
Oria fidgeted beside him. "What of the graves? Do you think they would rise from them? As the dead in the troll ruins did?"
Janlith quirked a brow in thought. "That would be dangerous. An army held in the earth to rise on command. Devious within a graveyard as well. Let me near as you watch. Do not worry."
Again he slipped into shadow. Yet here were none of the Inquitor's ilk. It seemed simple folk seeking simple things. All...but one. "Oria!" She jumped as the stone warmed. "The White Tree! A seller here is so marked by it."
"What does he do? Are you certain? The one of Hallistra?"
Janlith curled his fingers tighter on the blades. A sense of passing cold neared him. A flash of familiarity. Turning his head, he saw nothing. Again to the right. Again a turn to see nothing but hollows and dust.
"Yes...the white tree of Kenafin's past. He seems to simply sell things to those that visit. I know not why..." His voice faded as the chill revealed itself.
A thrill wound about his spine as when he read the book as she neared. Talons of ivory clutched a staff glowing like the sun. Eyes the soft white of elves peered upon him. The robes of indigo and death hung from her shoulders. The robed one from Hallistra's home. The one that gave him the tome of magics.
She watched him as he stood transfixed. With a nod of respect, she moved near...and past...a tap of claw touching his blade ever so slight. A sense power moved through him, or perhaps it was just his nerves.
Still held in shadows, he backed away to return to Oria. "Yes, a man in the garb of the tree...and nothing else."
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Post by Jadey/Ala/Oria on Apr 21, 2006 11:19:14 GMT -5
The Way of Mists, part 4
Donyal Toval, first rank of arcanists in Stormwind, minor lord of his house, and keeper of the royal library sat perplexed and worried! All of his assistants it seemed had an experience he found disturbing. Someone had been in the records. And that someone it seemed was asking about House Kenafin.
Settling back in his favorite chair, a glass filled with a mulled wine of an old vintage, he laid a hand ever so dramatically over his eyes. "The last such a thing was sought, Dibbs, the Lord Clearchus and Sherrif Thenra went missing! The commissioner Izul was found beheaded in Darnassus! And my finest works upon Dalaran pillaged! I cannot stress how this is vexing me to know someone else is yet again delving into the very documentation of our city's masters and their loyal subjects!"
Before Loremaster Dibbs could get a word in, Donyal continued at a jabbering pace that fully revealed his worry that the Lady Preston would have his heart and head on matching platters. With an irritated sigh, he waited as patiently as he could.
"Donyal...but you must...there is probably...DONYAL!" The master librarian looked with wide eyes, quickly regaining his control. "Do you know who was seeking?"
"Well, no hence the worry."
"Only that someone delved into the past and histories of Kenafin?"
"Well, yes."
Steepling his hands, Dibbs regarded the fluttering man. "Could it have been someone of their order? Perhaps the Lord giving order for them to seek such things?"
With a heavy sigh, Donyal shook his head. "No, the Lord is very conscious of such things. A young and rather overwhelmed man, but true to his word nonetheless. He is of the Silver Hand you see."
Dibbs likewise sighed and nodded. "Very well. Then there is only one thing for it." Rising, the Loremaster took up his satchel, slipping various documents and a wrapped round of cheese into it.
"You are going? At a time like this!?"
Gruffly, he silenced the lord. "You will carry on the investigation here. I must do...what must be done for the safety and security of the crown. I am off to Menethil to speak with the lord." Clapping a hand on the librarian's shoulder, the elderly keeper of scrolls left into the gardens.
Nearby it seemed whispers were bandied in shadows, eyes meeting then slipping away. Something was not right in the capital. But it was beyond men such as he to fight it. Leaving the keep for a gryphon, Dibbs knew certainly who could be trusted.
"Lord of the Silver Hand, your heart better be as true as the vows you gave." Leaving into the night, Dibbs made way to warn and speak in confidence with the Lord Clearchus.
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Post by Jadey/Ala/Oria on Apr 21, 2006 11:18:49 GMT -5
The Way of Mists, part 3
"Greetings, huntress. I hear you have been looking for me?"
The words haunted Oria as she wandered through Darnassus. A game of words and moves, they continued a dance that would one day lead to death and destruction. But whose...and how...
Hands curled around her staff, she made a pacing journey of the city, following the tended paths to let her thoughts wander. Janlith brought knowledge of a house, a manor of sorts. Upon it laid the ancient marks Lord Clearchus had given fine details of. The dead white tree. The lost house now held in a zombie's grip.
Moving through the city, her eyes unfocused noticing little of those that hailed her, the whispers at her back, the turned heads. Let them note her, the gleaming scaled armor, the snarling hunting cat at her side, the slitted dangerous eyes. It was a part well played since her youth.
A tumbling of thoughts sought answers. It was only a matter of time as the flower neared his prey. Soon they would all move, dictated by the needs of the house.
"I found him." Nodding to her stone, she whispered softly in return to watch, follow, be ever careful. Her thoughts were correct regarding Czarvich. He was becoming...predictable.
They were waiting for such a thing to be. The next act would be clear, concise, well executed. And towards it, she again checked the ancient tome bound at her side.
A strange scent flowed over her, something at first she did not register. Slipping into shadows, Corelua prowled to find the source as her friend continued walking. Death. The sense of it stopped Oria in her tracks. Old death? The sense from the cat seemed yes.
Slipping aside, past the gardens, Oria followed the cat away from orders rows to the wayward vines and limbs of the great tree. Something loomed here, a rotten core of unease. It reminded her of the spongy bark of Felwood trees, the unyeilding rancor of the Plaguelands dead.
It was another of the furbolgs. Not only was it driven mad by corruption but remained in a strange wandering stance of the scourge. Pustuales and tumors had long since ruptured leaving gapping holes along its flesh. Eyes milk white turned at the life it sensed.
With wide eyes, Oria entered the battle. But the words she told Czarvich and Janlith returned. The game always to lure the Keystone from hiding...the flower upon finding him...and now it seemed a new player arrived.
"The dead walk in Darnassus..." Was it the coven? Or something else?
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Post by Jadey/Ala/Oria on Apr 21, 2006 11:18:27 GMT -5
The Way of Mists, part 2
With a flicking of wrist, Janlith cleared away what refuse remained on the blade. The Inquistor had sent a gift, one with an intent only men such as they understood. With a spin on heel, deft leaping over rocks, he floated effortlessly from the windows and spires of Brill's elite.
Eyes careful, he left the ruins set to him to watch for the roads beyond. A flickering of green, and he was gone. The misfits were gathering and in need of this information.
As he appeared, the words reached him quick and harsh. The intensity of her brought a grin, though it annoyed him that all called her leaf now. It was once a special thing.
"Something's happening. I know it."
Short movements transformed the shadowmaster into the decadent Janlith all the world knew. "Ah Oria, what makes you think that?" He could feel her chewing that lip, teeth grinding.
"The ball. A demon was summoned. And now he is talking to me. Only a select few knew I was hunting him. And somehow he learned it. I think we still have spies in the orders."
He moved through Menethil toward the ships, seeking the others. "Are you certain? Sometimes--"
He a moment he mused the stone heating in his hand from the angry catlike hiss. "Of course I am. I spoke it only before a few. And I begin to wonder."
Settling in the boat, he kicked up his feet awaiting the journey. "You know, a friend of mine overheard that Zeklor and others were screaming your name, roaming Stormwind to find you. They told folk you were hunting and demanding answers of the coven."
At first he though she would continue the angry retorts, but the laugh was priceless. "Then it worked?"
He laughed in return. "It did. And I have information for you, poet, and melty."
"Melty? Oh she will hate that."
He grinned wider. "I count on that. But for now, tell me more of what exactly you found in your hunt."
The musing voice drew him closer. Soon perhaps was the time to make some move. And within the hours to come, they gathered with the others, the misfits of a Lord's hand.
Each looked to the foppish elf, but the lord was still prevalent in his eyes. "My misfits, I have news of Brill. And more..."
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