Ryleen's stories

Short little stories not worthy of their own thread. I'm going to try to post a note in the beginning of each one to explain when they happened and what's it about.

Ryleen is facing the fact that she will have to tell the general of the Warsong Blades about her deception.

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Ryleen walked slowly along the docks of Booty Bay. The sun had just risen above the horizon and the bright light was blinding if she turned that direction. She hardly noticed though. It felt like her insides were tied into a painful knot. She was so very nervous, and would have given a lot to know how this day would end.

Last night's conversation with Haradar had left her little choice though. She had made a stupid mistake, and he had found out about Rokalm... She had been forced to tell him the truth. Hadn't she, he would have run off to tell the Blades, and probably had made the situation even worse than it was. She had told him most of what had happened during the past few days, and hoped that he would understand. And he had... kinda. But he had still insisted that she'd reveal the truth and stop lying.

She stepped on the ship to Ratchet, absently tossing a coin to the goblin that greeted her. Ever since this started, she had felt that everything she was trying to take care of was crumbling and falling apart around her. Standing by the ships bow she drew her cloak around her, shivering in the still cool morning air of the sea.

"Perhaps it's best this way..." she muttered to herself. Better to reveal things now, before it went beyond all chances of explanation. If it hadn't already... But by choosing to reveal to thruth, she had the chance to take full responsibility. That was the only good thing she could see coming out of today, the safety of the others.

But how to explain this, which sounded mad even to herself, to what would most likely be an angry and everything but reasonable orc? She wouldn't let it show, or let anyone know.. But she was frightened. Scared of what would happen, scared this wouldn't be enough to keep the others out of it, scared that things once again would make a twist and not go according to her plans.

She sat down with her back against the rail and wrapped herself in her cloak, a miserable little figure in the light of the quickly rising sun. Today would be a very long day...

After the talk with the general mentioned in the last post, and realising that she once again has lost someone she loved and relied on for support.

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Ryleen sat with her back against the cool stones of the altar, not minding the mud that slowly creeped through her robe. She had got exactly what she wanted. But still she felt like she had lost. She tugged absently at one of her braids, very nearly falling back on her childhood habit of chewing on them.

"Is this really how it was supposed to be?" she spoke out into the calm quiet air of the temple. There was no one there but her at this hour of the night. "I won.. Kinda. But it all feels so wrong."

Her previous discussion with the general was still fresh in her memory. He had accepted her apology, and forgiven her. Made a few demands for the future, of course, but really nothing unreasonable.

"They think I'm wrong. But they don't understand... I'm not even sure I do."

Part of her wanted nothing more than to rush off and somehow save Graan. But she knew that she couldn't. That there was no way to keep him safe now. And he wouldn't allow her to. He had said it himself, he didn't want her anywhere near him, if it could put her at any kind of risk.

"It's not fair..." she said in a voice that was little more than a whisper.

The others had told her to go after him. To not put the Heritage in fron of her feelings for him. But they didn't understand. Of course, keeping them safe was one of her reasons.. But not the only one. She couldn't go after him. She didn't even know where to begin looking. And when she found him, what then? She couldn't save him. Once again she had been left behind, left alone. And there was nothing she could do about it.

"Perhaps I'm just not meant to be together with someone..."

Not meant to... She suddenly recalled some of her previous thoughts on a similar matter. She felt cold. It all made sense...

"Did... Did you do this? You must have. But am I being punished? Have I done things wrong again? Or is this just part of you plan for me..."

She had first thought the thought right after Gando disappeared. It had been so sudden. So completely out of his normal behaviour. She wouldn't have dreamed him capable of it. So the step to suggesting the influence of someone else hadn't been far. And at that time, everyone had told her how Shadra had chosen her for a reason, how she had great plans for her. Perhaps Gando just hadn't fit into those plans? Or perhaps it simply was because she had feared her goddess, avoided her and not acted the way she was expected to.

And now this... How big was the chance, really, of something like this happening as soon as she had found someone else? And in this utterly defintive and permanent fashion? Then it suddenly hit her with full force, the realisation that she would most likely never again see the one she cared for. That he would die alone, far away, the day some bounty hunter finally outsmarted him, that she might not even hear about it.

She cried. Helplessly, desperately. Wrapping her arms around her legs and curling up with her back still against the cold stone of the silent altar, with each sob making her tremble.

And she was so dreadfully alone.

Late one night, after continuing her efforts on finding a way to save her orc friend, she is reminded why a mage needs a strong mind and to pay attention to detail.

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She was so very tired. It felt like the very bones of her body were protesting as she walked towards the elevator that would take her to the surface. But even more crushing was the weariness of her mind. Everyone seemed to think she was doing the wrong thing, and they didn't hesitate to lecture her about it. How many times had she been told that she was heartlessly abandoning her love now? More than she cared to count.

And they were wrong. But no one wanted to hear that. Instead they happily kept preaching to her about never giving up on one she loved. One had even gone so far that suggesting that if she died in her efforts of saving Graan, it would be better than staying back as she was now. No one understood anything.

She stopped for a moment in the courtyard of what was once the city of Lordaeron. There was a night breeze rustling the leaves of the half dead trees, and while it's smell wasn't exactly pleasant, it was better than the air down in the city. She had spent two hours discussing with an decidedly unpleasant old man who ran an inconspicuous looking little bookstore in Undercity. His interest in her reasons for wanting the books she had ordered was a little unsettling. He had at one point hinted that he might be able to put her in touch with people who could teach her first hand what she wanted to know, and she definately didn't want that.

Finally, they had agreed on what books he might be able to get for her, and the price. Her purse was considerably lighter now that she left, but that wasn't really in issue. She tilted her head back to see the stars, but all she was greeted with was dirty grey clouds. With a sigh she heaved herself back on her feet and started to cast the spell that would take her home. She went through the gestures and worlds almost mechanically, she was pretty sure she could almost do this in her sleep by now. She finally felt the familiar surge of power and ghostly tugging that was always there at the start of a teleportation.

But something had gone dreadfully wrong. The process of teleporting had never been pleasant. The first few times she had done it, she had nearly thrown up once she emerged on the other side. But this was different. While there was always an abstract feeling of motion as she slipped through the Twisting Nether towards her destination, she now felt like she was twirling aimlessly, like a dead leaf caught in the wind. And she should have been out by now.

But when her eyes adjusted enough to see, she realised she wasn't. Her surroundings were chaotic to the point where nothing made sense. She had been right about twirling. She was floating aimlessly through a big dark, that occassionally was lit up by bright flashes of multicoloured light. There were objects floating past, but she moved too fast to get a real look at what they were.

There was a brief moment of panic when she realised she was still in the Twisting Nether, and floating helplessly through it at a high speed. But then she calmed herself. Years of training kicked in and she closed her eyes, once more speaking the words of her teleportation spell and going through the motions despite no solid ground beneath her feet. She paid close attention to detail this time, and the spell was slightly different from what she ususally cast. When she released it, the wave of power nearly knocked the air out of her. It was amazing! Overwhelmingly so. Once she regained her senses, a few moments later, she felt the familiar sense of pulling and direction as she was moving towards her original goal.

Only seconds later, she popped out of thin air on Azeroth again. But not in Orgrimmar, as she had intended. There were rocks around her, and trees. But that was about all she had time to notice before it became very obvious that she wasn't alone. Something hit her hard in her back and knocked her over. She felt numerous sharp things digging into her back as she struggled to get whatever it was off her. Her hands closed around something covered in thick, bristly fur, and she managed to toss the creature off of her.

She got up on her knees, not having time to get her feet untangled from the robe enough to stand. She was facing the creature now, already drawing in power to create flames. It was about the size of a dog, but had little similarities to one. There were too many legs. And shiny foot long thorns growing along its spine. It was for the most part covered in the bristly deep red fur she had felt when she grabbed it, but it's underbelly looked like it had scales. Each one of it's many paws were clawed, that was undoubtedly what she had felt when it attacked her. On it's blunt forehead sat three more thorns, these thicker and somewhat curved and looking more like vicious horns. It's eyes were burning, glowing brightly as it growled at her with a surprisingly high pitched voice.

It pounced at her, clawed paws extended and howling with wrath... or hunger. But she was ready now. The air around her lifted hands burst into flames and she hurled them at it. It was hit in the chest, with enough force to stop it midair and make it drop to the ground. Not a moment passed before it was on it's feet again. Its fur was smoldering and a few scales looked almost melted, but it launched at her again with no signs of feeling any pain.

But that short moment had given her time to prepare another spell. The light swirling around her hands now was no longer firey red and orange, but instead brightly multicoloured and light enough to almost be mistaken for white. It massed together into a ball and flew at the beast at great speed, gaining force as it went until it was nearly blinding to look at.

The impact this time was enough to send the creature flying several yards away from her, little bits of scales, fur and flesh scattering around it. It was smoking when it hit the ground, and this time it didn't rise again. She still sat on her knees, hands outstretched. She was trembling and her heartbeat was so loud in her ears that it was the only thing she could hear.

She knew what the beast had come from. It had slipped through the portal she had made to get her. But it was a small one. Though the wounds on her back burned like fire from whatever substance had been on the creature's claws, it wouldn't have been a threat at all if she had been prepared. But if something larger had managed to come through... She would have been dead. And responsible for yet another monster unleashed on this world. She had made yet another mistake, it seemed. But this time of a whole different nature than the others she had done lately.

She sat very still on the ground. She hadn't moved since the creature died, except lowering her outstretched arms. The world around her was silent now, except for the sound of the wind among the cliffs. She seemed to be in the mountains somewhere. Half an hour after the fight, she felt that she could trust her legs enough to walk, and moved over to the nearby cliffs. There she found a protected little corner between two rocks, where she curled up in her cloak to try to get some sleep and to wait for dawn.

Eep! never a dull moment for Ry eh?

Last one was really interesting! Seems even Troll mages, once tapping into arcane can as well go into the lust for more.

It was a logical side effect of her current state of mind. Dealing with the arcane is complicated, and one needs to be strong minded and focused. She is neither right now. And I always felt that teleportation/blink/portals are among the most dangerous spells, since they include taking "shortcuts" through the Twisting Nether.

And to answer you, Shadow, I quote the four basic laws of arcane magic:

Magic is Powerful. Magic in the Warcraft RPG (/World of Warcraft) is the difference between a slave and a master, a foot soldier and a king. Few races and nations can operate without powerful mages and warlocks. The use of arcane magic is growing; historically, each time this has happened before, a great disaster shortly follows. However, even though the history of the arcane is well known, mages and their patrons invariably come to the same self-serving conclusion. It won't happen to them.

Magic is Corrupting. Magic corrupts the soul: if the humblest person on Azeroth became a practitioner of the arcane, by the time that practitioner reached the higher levels in her art, all traces of her humble roots would be lost. Magic breeds pride and arrogance. Magic corrupts the body; it ages the caster before her time and hastens that the world inflicts on things fair and beautiful.

Magic is an Addiction. When one feels the power of an arcane spell coursing through one's body as it's being cast, resisting the urge to cast it again is difficult.

Magic Attracts the Twisting Nether Like Flies to Honey. The Burning Legion has invaded Azeroth three times, drawn by the power of the Well of Eternity and those who employ it. Magic is a literal gateway drug that allows dark titans such as Sargeras to bring evil influences to the world. Those who employ arcane magic must deal with demons and other servants of the Twisting Nether.

I knew most of it but thanks for that info, some of it was new This said I guess its just a matter of time till troll warlocks show up, I believe lore wise it could be possible but if Blizzard would introduce them is very doubtful as they try to keep anyhow the so fragile balance in the game.

Troll Shadow Priests are pretty much the same thing lorewise though.
Ye don' mess wit' da voodoo, mon, or da voodoo will mess ye up!

After the battle to defend Sen'Jin Village and Razor Hill, Ryleen wanders off on her own.

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The sand under her feet was still warm from the day's sun, and the feeling of it brought back memories of days spent on the beach many years ago. She was walking slowly, with her hands clasped behind her back in a gesture of deep thought. But in actuality she felt like running, shouting and jumping high into the air. Her mind was still swirling with what had happened tonight. That, and her magic. The wonderful magic.

Unable to hold herself back, she twirled on the spot in something of a pirouette. With her arms outstretched she spun around and around, like a playing child. With a laugh, she formed sparks, rainbows and little flashing lights, all of them pouring and cascading from her fingertips. For a moment, the entire world seemed to be rainbow coloured and sparkling.

Then she tripped over her own feet and fell flat on her back in the sand, just barely out of the reach of the slowly rolling waves. The world felt like it was tilting, like she would fall off at any moment. Her lights and sparks were gone, only a faint shimmering in the air showing where they had been. She looked up at the stars, a peculiar and sudden calm overcoming her as she waited for her head to stop spinning. The stars.. Ever moving but never changing. Her constant companions, wherever she traveled. Always the same, be it over a misty jungle or the clear, frosty air of snowy mountains.

"I did right tonight, didn't I?"

She was still spinning, and it felt like the memories of tonight were too. There, a flash of one of the scouts reporting back to her before the enemies arrived. There, the dwarf armed with a bow writhing in pain and flames as she had thaught him not to shoot arrows at her anymore. There, Alaster asking her (her!) what his task would be. There, the fallen form of Corigo, and the brief pang of fear before she realised he would be all right. There, the gathered fighters after the victory, all listening to her. Someone saluting her. The back of an enemy as he fled for his life. The thrill as she heard the shouts "They're coming!".

This night had been amazing. She knew the victory had been an easy one. The attackers had been outnumbered at least three to one. But still, that wasn't what mattered. People had treated her with a kind of respect she wasn't used to. She knew most of them would have managed just as well without anyone leading them, but they had still referred to her, being sent out to scout and giving reports and things.. She probably could have done better. But that was not a thought for tonight. Tonight, she was victorious.

All the pain was gone. All the grief. This time, everything was right. Everything had gone as it should have, and she had succeeded. She was happy. She was overwhelmed.

Perhaps it was just the arcane speaking, the magic still running wild through her body, asking her to release it into firey death once more. But she didn't care where it came from, not now. She felt good. She was whole. That was all that mattered tonight.

After meeting Lyranne and finding out what happened to her during her absense.

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Ryleen sat at the lookout cliff, her feet out over the edge. The waves of the ocean moved far below, almost far enough for the sound not to reach her up here.

She was trembling, but didn't notice. Part of her was still in chock over seeing her little sister in the state. She would never forget the the feeling when touching her cheek. That cold, dead skin, with no life and no heartbeat within. Teared skin.. Injuries that wouldn't heal. Eyes filled with the eerie glow of undeath, rather than the pretty green they used to be.

Undead.

Forbidden, horrible, disgusting.. Something she had been thaught to fear since childhood. Something that must be destroyed. The worst thing that could ever happen to a troll, worse than death itself.

But it was still her little sister. Her beloved little elflike little sister, who used to be so pretty and alive.

The waves below her became blurred and she realised she was crying again.

It was one thing to accept the dead ones. To see that what had happened to them was not by their choice, to give them a second chance at life. She would give Lyranne all that as well. But that didn't make it right. Didn't make it acceptable to do it to someone. Didn't make it any easier to accept that it had happened to her sister.

Archnazg. Sudden anger filled her as her thoughts moved on to them who had done this, the guilty ones. The House of Sylvanas. They would pay for this. They wouldn't get away this time, they wouldn't get away with paying gold coins to get out of their guilt.

Corigo had been right in his rage, this demanded blood.

Death.

Revenge.

The rain was coming down in a light drizzle, hardly enough to obscure vision but plenty enough to get one dripping wet. Ryleen walked along a scarcely visible path through the golden forest of the Eversong Woods. She knew the shortcut well, having traveled it many times in the past.

The weather annoyed her. She hated being cold and wet, and the mud on the ground clinged to the hem of her dress as well as the soft fur on her feet and legs. An unsuspecting and probably totally innocent mushroom growing in her path recieved an angry kick, reducing it to mush. Mush that also stuck to her fur. With a muttered oath in zandali, she tried to stamp her foot to the ground to get it off, and she of course managed to hit a hidden puddle in the moss and ended up wetter than ever.

This really wasn't her day.

Not that it was the weather alone causing her foul mood. Actually, it was only the last drop. The recent events had much more to do with it. The murder of her little sister filled her with an anger like she'd never felt before, and she was almost surprised she hadn't destroyed anything major yet. And to add to that, the others foolish prejudices and superstitions, causing them to say such mean things to the now undead sister. Causing them to want to kill her. When one of them had refused to admit it was really Lyranne, and referred to her as "it", she had nearly slapped him in the face on the spot. But she couldn't do that. She had to be calm, handle this well.. Rage, no matter how overwhelming, wouldn't help her with protecting Lyranne.

And there were others more deserving to be the targets of her wrath. The image of Archnazg appeared in her mind, that foul rotting corpse with his fancy words and superiour attitude, and about as trustworthy as Dambala himself. Him, and all the others.. Corpses and elves, lined up in pretty straight lines, all of the convinced of their own invincibility, their right to do whatever they felt like with no retribution. They would learn...

Her feet stepped on dryer ground now, though not cleaner. She had reached the Dead Scar. The ground was black, burned and diseased. She barely looked where she was walking, her feet knew the way and her mind was filled with thoughts. She snapped out of that though, when a groaning sound was heard just a few feet behind her. She spun around, flames whirling around her hands almost before she had realised that she was reacting.

The now badly burnt corpse of a zombie of some sort slumped to the ground, now completely dead as opposed to the undeath that had driven it to attack her moments before. She stood over it for a moment, looking down at it's once human.. or elven.. face. Then she smiled. It did bring a certain satisfaction, though it wasn't the undead she really wanted. She turned around, looking for more movements across the scar. There were plenty. Some of the shuffling around aimlessly, and some moving in her direction.

With a chilling grin she uttered a short word, causing her hands to be enveloped in fire once more, and started a slow walk down along the scar. Anything in her path found itself obliterated. Burnt to cinders, exploded from the inside or simply set to flame to slowly burn to ashes. The fire around her resonated with something inside her. It felt right. The heat of the flames, enough for both her fur and robe to by now be almost completely dry, felt familiar, homely. She knew very well that most of her victims were completely mindless, capable only of trying to kill any living thing getting too close to them. But it was a start. It was something. Better this, than lashing out at her own people.

Soon, there was a trail of charred and smoking corpses behind her, but she didn't slow down. Far away, she had seen a better target. He.. or it.. loomed high over all the skeletons and zombies of the scar. It was huge, built out of the pieces of who knew how many creatures. It's multiple arms all held weapons. There was a gash across it's belly, no doubt the traces of a past effort to kill it. It didn't seem to mind or even notice the fact that it's entrails hung out almost dragging on the ground though. She remembered hearing whispered talk about this one from back when she was just a student. Warnings to watch out, to run for your life if you ever saw it. But that was back then.

She moved closer, weaving a more complicated spell as she walked. Multicoloured flares of energy burst forth from her fingertips, flying in a high arc and descending on the huge beast. They scorched it's skin, making numerous new wounds all over it. But it didn't slow down. It did however notice her presence. It slowly turned and started at her, moving fast for it's size. That was quickly changed though, with yet another spell. It soon looked like it was trying to make it's way through syrup, and she had plenty of time to prepare her next spell.

Her fingertips left faintly glowing lines in the air as she weaved the spell. She could feel a tingle in her fur, as if the very air around her was charged with the magic she gathered. She held it like that for a long second, right at the very edge of how much power she could hold without losing control. Then she released it.

No flames or sparks came flying through the air this time. At first nothing seemed to have happened at all. Then the gigantic monster halted, and stumbled. With what would probably have been a cry of anguish, had it's vocal cords not rotted off, it toppled over and fell to the ground.

It didn't move again.

She walked a few steps closer, intending to make sure it was dead. But then she changed her mind. She knew it was, she didn't have to look to make sure. Instead she turned around, heading back towards the path she had left. She felt better now. Not happier, not at all. But not as frustrated. She was in control again. She was a firm believer that violence wasn't a solution in itself. But... perhaps pointless killing could have it's uses... Some times.

But she'd never admit that to anyone, of course.

Ryleen sat alone in the morning sun. She sat on her beloved bench outside her front door, where she could watch the harbour and the sunrise in peace.

She had a stack of papers in her hand, all of them covered with intricate arcane symbols and spells written down in tiny script. She frowned and mumbled one of the spells out loud to herself, practising it's pronounciation. They were all awfully complicated, but she felt a pressing need to memorise as many of them as possible.

Never before had she thought she would need to learn these complicated ways to bring death and suffering to others.

Images from the previous night suddenly came to her mind, unasked. She felt a certain satisfaction with what had been done. Watching the arrogant undead elf fall to his knees, the look in his eyes when he realised what she had done to him. But it had all been awfully crude. Improvised and not very thought through. A rash act of anger.

Fire was easy. It always sprang to mind as soon as she was in a stressful situation. It was a good and suitably agressive defense. It frightened people.

She wasn't sure where the idea on what to do had to do to him had come from. To use fire to heat the air and melt his ice shields had been an obvious thing to do. But to start the fire from within? It was more complicated, needed more control. But she had that amount of control, and it had worked.

She had almost been able to feel it as his aged, rotting spine had crumbled to coal and ashes. Carefully controlled and intense heat radiating through his spine. Power surging through her own mind and body. She had easily seen how it disconnected mind from limbs, his surprise as he lost control of his body.

Revenge.

She wouldn't lie to herself, she had liked doing it.

He would live, of course. He was undead, and would probably recieve a new spine as soon as he found one of a suitable size. But still, doing this felt much better than simply killing him.

But it had been simple, crude. Next time would be better. Not improvised, but instead planned and refined. They would learn what it meant to wake the anger of the Heritage of Zandalar. THey would regret what they had done to her little sister.

With a sigh, she returned to her studies. She had much to learn, and no time to do so.

War was already upon them.

((Rawr! let battle commence! ))

What was going on? Where was she?

The last thing she remembered was Corigo. And Raszanath.

Great anger...

She was going to kill the woman for what she had done to her Champion. Then the world had exploded in pain and gone dark.

There had been people touching her, hurting her.. She hadn't been able to fight them off, hadn't been able to scream. It had been going on forever, never ending.

But then there had been warmth... slowly, gradually making her feel better. Allowing her to sleep.

She sat up suddenly, or at least tried to. She didn't manage to rise more than a few inches from the bed before she fell back with a groan. The pain was very obviously not gone yet, though not as severe as in her memories.

She looked up at the roof with uncomprehending eyes. This was a troll hut. But where? She must have been saved, somehow. She felt soft pillows below her, and a warm blanket covering her. She was safe... She fell back into sleep.

The world around her was dark, shadowy.. twisting and turning in impossible ways.

Shadowy enemies appeared, constantly attacking her, and she had to fight them off. But as one fell, two others appeared.

She had to defeat them!

It didn't matter if she died.. She was fighting for the others. She had to keep them safe...

She took a short second to look over her shoulder, seeing the faces of her loved ones, the ones she would always be defending. Her family...

Some were missing already. But she wouldn't allow any more to be lost!

Then she spotted a familiar, but unexpected face. Even in her dreaming state, she stopped to look again, feeling confused.

Quintilius?

She had known the man, of course. But certainly not well enough to count him among her family. What was he doing here?

And with that, she woke up to the morning sun warming her face, finding herself in the safety of the Valley of Spirits where she had been brought by those saving her.