Archive for July, 2012

Odynae Dawnhammer gathered her things in the pre-dawn quiet, tilting an ear to the sound of the river’s flow and the reedy nighttime crickets.

It was a familiar ritual, one she’d engaged in as routine for years, now- the packing, the leaving. So many bits and pieces of her lifetime had been left behind, forgotten or abandoned out of necessity for traveling fast and light. Idly, she couldn’t help but wonder if she’d return here again.

She rather hoped she would.

In the back of the lean-to they’d made using the broken beams of what had once been Spicer Manor, a rather under-sized bronze whelp was curled atop a pile of ragged blankets, Gaell resting quietly beside him. Dyna frowned, trying to shed the uneasy prickling of wariness in her spine; she was going to have to make some explanation for the whelp’s presence. It seemed unlikely that Tristen would fail to realize the signfigance of her new traveling companion. Yet there were many secrets- no, stories, she corrected herself- that would need to be unraveled if she was to elaborate on why, precisely, she was playing nanny to a denizen of the Bronze Dragonflight.

Still, it was a bridge they’d cross when they got to it, she supposed. Dyna was one who liked to keep her secrets to herself, in spite of all the Bastion’s attempts to change the habit; she’d been too long involved with the time demon, and found herself regretting less what she never said in the first place. It was simpler this way; cleaner.

Fewer people got hurt.

Her gaze roved to her travel pack, a signifigant item bristling with weaponry she couldn’t quite bear to part with- then to the great pole she’d scavenged in the ruins, soon to bear the McAllister penant. In spite of her misgivings, the woman felt a smile at her lips at the thought of something so normal, so noble, as a ranging journey through the different Argent outposts alongside her knight-master. This was the sort of venture a younger Dyna had dreamed of, had yearned for with every earnest fiber of her bleeding heart; she couldn’t deny the excitement that seized her, that played along her limbs like static. This was what she’d thought she was meant for, the first day she left the Abbey.

Yet the path she’d found had never truly intersected much with the one she’d imagined in her wild youthful daydreams. It felt strange, to do this now. She was older than her years, muscular form riddled with scar tissue- she could feel the changing of the seasons and the coming of the rain in the thick knotting of pale scars. Her shoulder was stiff in the mornings, her joints arthritic… and the temperence of pain had been painted also with the innate suspicion of one who’d been betrayed and played the fool too frequently to trust anything at face value.

She didn’t seem like a woman of one and twenty years… but then, it had been a very long time since she’d felt her own age.

With a faint sigh, she set about to penning the notes to those who might be impacted by her absence.

Dear Eddrick,

I don’t know where you are but I assume you’re on a mission with the Legion, if last night’s brief glance was any indication. I’m heading off with Sir Tristen McAllister, to whom I have mentioned I am presently squired; I’ve taken Roger and Gaell with me, I’m leaving Newt to fend for himself. If you get a chance, give him a rub down, aye?

I’m not certain when I’ll be back, but I intend to have regular contact with miss Diane Marviere through her book. If there’s anything you need, just speak to her.

Please don’t get within fifty feet of miss Lansing, I’d really rather the hut not smell like goblin piss.

Also, show Kanniffler his new workshop, if you get the chance.

Light watch over you, brother,

– Odynae Dawnhammer

To Miss Fallowbrook,

I am presently engaged on mounted patrol with Sir Tristen McAllister, but he has been appraised of my need to venture north at a moment’s notice; please inform miss Diane Marviere to contact me when I am needed. If she is not available, Talonn can also meet me- should you be able to overcome your dislike of highborn.

Again, I stress, I very much desire to be a part of that mission; I have the feeling I will be needed.



I hope this note finds you well in your endeavors, and that plans have gone accordingly since last we spoke.

At present, I have been called upon to perform my squirely duties as a paladin and as a soldier, but when I return, I hope to find a moment in which to speak to you regarding Vice.

I feel that he would benefit from additional tutelage and the chance to leave the city for a bit; I’ve a fondness for the lad, and I would be more than happy to provide escort for him to visit some of the many wonderful places a growing boy might enjoy. We can speak at greater length once I return, if you are willing.

– Dawnhammer

This note is penned inside a book, the twin of which rests in Diane Marviere’s satchel; a magical oddity, it would seem the book allows instantaneous communication between the two parties. Whatever is written in one book, may also be found in the other.

Dear Diane,

I’m sorry that the first thing I’m writing is the news that I will be absent of Stormwind for a time; but I hope to know what goes on through you and this clever book. I still think it’s a brilliant idea, and I do hope you haven’t lost yours…

I am going on a tour to the Argent outposts with Sir Tristen McAllister, the man who squired me- I don’t recall if that’s something I’d mentioned, but then, it hasn’t been a large fact in my life for some time now. I’ve left notes for Edd and Shalaara saying that they may contact you to reach me. I hope this okay, as Shalaara may have something very important for me soon, and Edd is- well- Edd.

This is the sort of thing I used to think I’d do all the time, when I was younger and felt sure that I would be a knight someday. Maybe next time, it’ll be you and I doing this journey; do you suppose you’d like that? It would entail a great deal of camping… and could be dangerous, though the enemies I anticipate are undead and thus your curse would not extend to them.

Do you remember that large worgen who introduced us to his daddy, the man that fixed your legs? If you see him, you should ask him to join you for cherry drinks. I think he’d like that, and that you’d be a good influence on him.

I’m sorry I didn’t come say goodbye directly, but hopefully I won’t be gone for too long.

All of my love,


This final note is left pinned to the door of the O’Donnelly house in Lakeshire, long absent of its denizens- including the woman who left the note.

Dear Myk,

If you find this, it means you’re home- and that many of my fears were for naught.

Sir McAllister and I are off doing a tour of Argent outposts. If you need reach us, please find Diane Marviere, as I have given up the Bastion’s colors and no long possess a comm stone.

Wherever you are, I hope you are well and I pray for your safe return,



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Far away boys

The air was cold, the night was semi dark in the way that summer evenings often were- as if the sun was never so far from reach that the sky should find its blackness wholly. She’d left Stormwind both drunk and sodden, her heart sore from recollection and one prayer trapped fast behind her gritted teeth- I want to go home.

But the fact was, she had none. Gilneas was gone, and what remained was little more than a skeleton of the land it had been. But even a skeleton was better than Stormwind, was superior to the reeking canals and the pompous Light-wielders who strutted about like they owned the place- of course, in actuality, they rather did; a fact which only sharpened the anger in her breast.

So much of her time had been lately spent in drunken hazes, there was little left that had been untouched by the Witch’s abuse of liquor. Her attempts to sober up for more than a few days had found her in foul moods- without the booze, the world seemed such a harsher place, after all. There felt to be little to laugh about, little to light her mischievous grin- only shit and more shit, piled atop itself in a reeking mass. Eidrin was gone, Archie was still an asshole, Caleigh was nowhere to be found- at least Indi had discovered her happiness in Kalen, however bizarre that was. There was Lorcain, too, but she couldn’t tell just how to categorize that one- friend? Drinking partner? Business partner? Punching bag? He had an unfortunate tendency to sneak up and slap her upside the head, which she administered righteous, proper punishment for- but lately it just hadn’t been enough.

There was, of course, the hollow statue filled with gold; but what good was gold when the only thing you wanted couldn’t be bought?

And of course, there was the Legion- but after Tia’s little display, Ashtivar felt little inclination to help them- not that she’d been much use or help before that, mind. The drinking binges had led her far from Stormwind, on adventures and tavern-brawls in the far south of Kalimdor. It was there that she’d been forced to be accountable for just a fraction of the destruction she’d caused in her liquor-soaked adventures. This, in turn, had led to her indentured employment as a scullery wench- ‘tits too crooked to be a serving wench’, they’d told her, and then she’d added further medical bills to her debt by showing the goblin in charge exactly what she thought of that notion.

She hadn’t ever finished paying that debt; a drinking contest with a traveler and she’d stolen his fare after he’d passed out beneath the table. Ashtivar had come to on a boat to Northrend with a hangover no one would could envy… Northrend and the Sons had been good for her. But it still wasn’t home.

She’d been drunk when she’d flung herself off the Harbor parapet, barely able to keep altitude with damp feathers, but she was sober now, as the stormcrow skimmed low against the waves. The bird was well aware that this was a stupid plan, had been a stupid plan last time and would be a stupid plan next time; even so, she was drawn here. Gilneas would always be home, so long as her heart beat. Granmere’s abandoned homestead was the compass her soul pointed for.

The skies were grey, the wind was hard and the ocean waves seethed beneath her, veined and capped with foam. She could feel the thunder as it rolled over the sea, and she knew she was home, though she didn’t know why, or when she’d return…

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