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.

A soft raind drizzled down on the roofs of Booty Bay. Ryleen lay awake, following the faint ray of moonlight shining in through the door and it's slow march across the wall as the hours passed.

She had murdered someone tonight.

It wasn't the first time... But I had been different this time. She hadn't been angry at him, or afraid. But she had known he had to die, and she had done what was needed.

No, that wasn't true.

She had been angry. She had given him a slow death, when she had been perfectly capable of ending him instantly. Why? Why wasn't it until afterwards that she had questioned her own method of killing him?

"What are you doing to me?"

She whispered it into the darkness, not expecting an answer. There never was. But she had been given other answers this evening. Afterwards, back in Booty Bay again, she had been alone with Taupod. She had been near tears, trying her very best to hold it back. She had asked him "Will it ever get easier?".

"Yes. Unfortunately, yes."

And there had something about the way he said it, that scared her more than anything else tonight.

What would she have become, by the end of this war?

Ryleen sat watching the moon over Booty Bay. She felt restless, the remains of all the magic she had used earlier still running through her body and preventing any tiredness. She glanced over her shoulder in through the door. The big tauren was still sleeping on the bed, and she didn't have any plans on waking him up for several hours yet.

He was going to live.

The evening had been chaotic, she still hadn't managed to think it all through properly. She had thought at first that she had gotten rid of Daidrax easily, and that perhaps a small show of kindness would help in the future.

Oh, how wrong she had been...

The shock at realising not only that Taupod had been shot with that poisoned arrow, but also that it had been aimed at her, had been bad. She didn't remember exactly what had happened. She had been so angry... She remembered flames, and trying to get to the elf. But there had been two of them, and Taupod had been hurt. In the end, she had dragged him through a portal to Orgrimmar, leaving the two elves lying on the ground. She didn't think either of them had been dead, but at least not in any shape to pursue them.

She leaned back and closed her eyes with a sigh. It had been worse when they got back, realising how badly poisoned Taupod actually was. How had Haelas known about the attack so fast? How did he find them? And why did he choose to help them? Something wasn't right.. But at this moment, she was mostly just grateful that he had saved her friend.

He would live.

She relaxed, almost enough to feel tired. Then it came back to her... What she had done to get the spider venom needed to save Taupod. It hadn't been planned, but it was the first thought that came to her when Haelas told her he needed a poisonous spider in order to save the tauren.

Somehow, she had known just exactly what to do. She couldn't remember ever being told, but it was all there. She had left, finding a large fire to kneel by and speak to her goddess. The right words had been there, knowing exactly how to ask in order to get a response. She didn't even recall drawing her dagger, but she knew that a few drops of her own blood was needed to make the request valid. And it had been answered... The spider had appeared in front of her, docile and tame.

And the only reason Shadra did this was because of what had been promised in return of the favour... But that was a later problem.

The important part was that Taupod was safe.

((If your patron goddess is a spider, then getting spider venom should not be a problem. ))

((True.. But Ry's relationship with her goddess isn't the best. She had to promise to give something in return for the help ))

Ryleen woke up early. The light of dawn was colouring the entire room golden. She didn't move at first. Memories of last night flashed before her eyes. Corigo, his life slipping away under her hands.

There has been no other option, she told herself again. It had been the right thing to do. She sat up, carefully freeing herself from the embrace of her lover. He was still deep asleep, and she saw no reason to wake him yet. Instead she dressed quickly and went outside on silent feet.

She'd go buy food and prepare a nice breakfast for the two of them. Outside was what looked like the beginning of a nice, sunny day. The memories of the horrors of last night faded a little as she walked. There was still things to do, but they could wait until later.Before going to get food, she decided to stop by the bank and the mailbox, checking if anything had arrived for her.

"I was starting to wonder if I'd have to send someone out to deliver these to you! You need to check your mail every day, this is no storage facility!"

Rickle the banker was his usual grumpy self, and slammed a stack of envelopes down on the desk. They were tied together with some strings, and some of them seemed to have been really badly treated somewhere on the way. Curiously, she picked the stack up and pulled the top letter free. It was adressed to her, and she recognised the handwriting immediately.

She mumbled a thank you to Rickle and left immediately. Lyranne... She hadn't seen her sister since that day in Silvermoon, when she had been too busy to have time to talk to Ryleen. It had hurt, to see her sister rather talk to those other people than her. But at the same time, it had given a bit of hope. Perhaps she'd be fine, after all. Taupod's words were still fresh in her memory, how he had explained that it was probably best for all if she just let her sister leave. That no one would win anything by her forcing the others to accept her, making her stay despite the conflict it caused.

She hadn't liked it, but knew he was right... In the long run, it would be better for all. So she had let her sister go. She wanted to see her, but had no idea where she had went. She had waited for her to make contact. And from the size of this stack of letter, Lyranne had tried..

She had now come back to her house, and sat down on her usual place on the balcony. She opened the first letter, and read it.

I find myself drifting. Trying to find my place in the world as a forsaken. And thus far have had little success. I was accosted by a goblin who asked me questions about myself and the Tribe, including the fate of Corigo and an altercation between you and a House of Sylvanas representative.

I can only imagine that my constant movement has hampered any attempts to contact me, as the alternative doesn't bear thinking about.

Goblin? Sounded like it might have been one of those reporters. But so far, she hadn't heard of any articles like that... She pulled at the string to free the other letter, but they slipped out of her hand and fell to the floor. She gathered them up, but had no idea in what order the had been. She picked the next one at random and opened it to read.

I still care about my family, and if ever any harm befalls them, I shall make it my priority to return to them with haste. It's been so long sister, since I've had contact with anyone approaching a modicum of decorum.

I digress, and for that I apologise.

She felt a pang of guilt as she read. Lyranne still thought of them as family, despite having left them the way she did...

I often lay awake at night, looking at the stars from my forsaken eyes and wonder if this is indeed what Shad'ra wished of me, or if there was some nefarious scheme in place to curse me to this existence. Is it for us to question the loa? Mayhaps, I know I still feel her embrace. My tattoo pulses rhytmically at times, almost as a way of reminding me she's still keeping watch.

Shadra... The little elf had always had a better relationship with their shared goddess. Ryleen couldn't believe what had befallen her was the work of Shadra, or any other loa. They wouldn't do anything like that. Not to her.

So, it's been a little longer now, and I again wonder just how to get out of this situation. I don't want to be forsaken, but the alternatives are death or taking anothers body. I refuse the latter, and part of me is still too determined to allow myself to fade away.

Death. The memory of Corigo begging her to take his life, to save him from what he had become, came back to her. Would Lyranne ever end up like that? Would she ever hate her existance so much that she decided to end it? Her hand trembled as she reached for the next letter.

It's been another week, and I'm starting to wonder if these letters will ever reach you. I'm still holding on, and I hope you're well. So too do I wish the tribe the very best, and hope they're thriving.

I had a dream last night. It was vague but I swear it involved Quin. Maybe I'm losing my mind?

I am sure you're not ignoring these correspondence and am hoping beyond hope that they're merely slow in arriving. I've spoken to few people, though Kadris has still been comforting. Despite knowing I'm alive, she has protected me from the House. Even though it's a risk, I fear what will happen if she decides I'm too much trouble to leave alive. She referred to me as being beautiful as forsaken. I think she's trying to affect me...

Maybe not.

The letter slipped out of her hand and fell to the floor. Kadris. So she really had turned to her for aid. But why? Why would she turn to one of the very people that have caused her to become what she was now? Why would she turn to one of them, rather than to her family, her sister?

And she knew the answer, but couldn't bring herself to put words to it. Instead she opened the next letter.

It feels like much longer than I'm sure it has been. But one can't help losing track when away from easy-to-reach outposts or else civilisation. I've spent some time meditating, contacting Shad'ra and other Loa in a desperate plea. I want to know what I'm to do, sis. All feels lost in a sea of woe. And as trite as that sounds, it is the truth. "Suffer well" they say to me, when I walk past my new brethren. Oh how true those words are, I do suffer -so- well.

Tears were running down her cheeks now, making her vision blurred and the letters hard to read. With each sentence she felt pangs of guilt and regret that verged on physical pain. And still she had to read them all. She ripped the envelopes open of the last three letters.

I fear things have gone wrong. Teeboppity has helped at times, and Til was of some use. But the latter's been away, and so too has Tee now. The two people who were keeping me grounded are gone. And I don't know what to do. I wish the Heritage hadn't become hostile. I wish I'd not felt that hate... No matter, I fear I've not long left before the hunger consumes me.

There's a pain with the hunger now. It's almost unbearable. Still I remain stoic and hope I can somehow beat it. I swear the forsaken are calling me... Taunting, encouraging... I don't want to think about it.

I've been told about the hunger that befalls all my kind at some point. I've felt it, but pushed it deep down. I'm weak, frightened and never felt so alonge. Idon't know if I'll become what Corigo and Jimar called me... I'm fighting it with every ounce of my being. I refuse to hurt another person for my own gain... Nor do I wish to be like a jackal, feasting on the flesh of the deceased.

I wish none of this had happened.

She stared at the last sentence of the last letter, until it was nothing but a grey smudge behind the veil of her tears.

She should have been there.

She should have taken care of her little sister.

But she had'nt... She had allowed them to drive her away, she had allowed her to leave. And now.. She didn't even know where to look for Lyranne. And if she did find her, what would she do? How could she ever hope to help her? She knew that there was no way back, that the dead could not regain life.

It wasn't fair! Why would all this have to happen to Lyranne, who had never done a thing to deserve any such things? Why did it have to be something that couldn't be fixed, something there would be no end of? No hope at all... She gathered the letters into a stack again and wrapped the string around it again, just to do something. No hope... There was really only one way out of it.

The same thing that she had given Corigo.

No! That was not an option. She would never do that, not to her sister! Never...

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It was so dark and cold.

She couldn't see, no matter how hard she tried, it felt like someone had poured her eyes full of little glass shards. She tried to move but nothing seemed to happen, it felt like her body was disconnected from her mind.

Perhaps it was?

There were voices around her. Laughing, mocking her. Telling her that she would never get away, that this would go on for ever. Telling her that she would die, that there was no escape. Telling her that she could end this whenever she wanted.

It was all so very confusing, and she didn't seem to be able to think straight.

Wait... She could end this?

How? Who said that?

"Surrender. Surrender and you can go home, this living hell will end."

Surrender what? There was nothing left of her... She was broken, dying... What could there possibly be left for her to give them?

"Never surrender! They will make your friends and family their slaves! You will betray them all if you surrender! Never!"

With mild amusement she realised that it was the sound of her own voice speaking to her. How did that happen? Was she dead, was that why? Or had the darkness driven her mad?

That might be it.

Then the darkness was ripped apart by blinding white light, all her thoughts shattering into nothing but pain.

She woke up.

She still couldn't see, her eyes were still as if filled with glass shards. Her body was burning. Every muscle and every bone aching, each injury seamlessly blending into the next one.

But she was warm. There was a blanket over her and under her was a soft bed rather than cold stone or snow. Someone was talking to her. A gentle, soothing voice that she didn't recognise. She was given water, the person beside her holding her head to help her drink. There was a bitter aftertaste to the water and for a short moment she thought it might have been poison. But then the pain gradually faded and she fell into a deep sleep as the numbing drug worked.

The warsong shaman stayed waking beside the broken form of the troll warlord all night. Conquest Hold was silent, most of it's inhabitants asleep, only the steps outside of the night guards and the crackling of the fires broke the peace.

Pain was the first thing she realised aas she woke up.

It always was nowadays.

She could guess by the noises from the rest of the building that it was daytime, footsteps and voices revealing that most of the hold's inhabitants were awake.

She, on the other hand, felt like curling up beneath her blanket and not waking up again for a year or two. The pain removing drug was wearing off, but she resisted the urge to ask for more. It numbed the pain, yes, but also her thoughts. She needed to be aware at least for a while and think things through.

She knew Taupod would be nearby, so she remained still and hoped he would think she was still asleep.

He was so kind to her. He tried to pretend not to care, but he could easily have handed her care over to one of the healers. She felt safe knowing that he was there, but at times she felt guilty to constantly ask for his help, for food, water or a new damp blindfold to protect her eyes.

How he must hate that task... She had noticed him recoiling as he removed the protective cloth. She must look truly awful. She had never considered herself pretty, but repulsive? At least it would heal. Scars would perhaps be left behind, but not bad enough to make her difficult to look at.

For a brief moment, she wondered if that was why Graan was avoiding her. Was his feelings for her that shallow?

She avoided that though. She had enough other things to worry about now. Alasters words about how she would be betraying her people if she gave in to the pain now still rang in her ears. She had thought it would all be over when she was saved, but after hearing his words she now knew she had been wrong. She still wasn't sure she had the strength.

Actually, she very much doubted that she had the strength.

But that was no reason to give up. If she failed, no one should be able to blame her for not trying. She had chosen to become Warlord... Now she would have to act the part too.

Somehow.

Steeling herself before the pain she managed to sit up in her bed, ready to start making plans on how to end the war, and save her people.

((excellently written once again ))

It was a sunny day, but thanks to the season cool enough to not be unbearably hot. Ryleen sat outside the house she was renting, reading in the shadow. The sound of the nearby waterfall was soothing, and it helped keep some dampness in the air even during the hottest days.

The sound of running steps could be heard, and as she looked up three of the children from the next door orphanage came running up to her.

"Ryleen! Ryleen! Look!"

The oldest boy, a dark haired orc of about eight, was holding something with both hands and held it out to her. In his hands sat a small frog, dark green and with a pattern of light green spots on it's back.

"That's a very nice frog, Mok. Did you find it in the pond?"

"No, I found it! Mok just caught it first" said the girl, Tala. She was a skinny girl with untamed red hair that always seemed to stand out in a wild mane around her head no matter how often it was combed. "It's my frog. I just.. uh.. let him carry it for me."

"No! It's my frog. I caught it. You can catch another one."

"But I saw it first!"

The girl made a motion as if about to try to wrestle the frog from Mok's hands, but Ryleen cut in by leaning forward and inspecting the frog closer.

"He looks scared. He's not used to being out of the pond and being carried around. And you know, frogs need water. He might die if he gets too dry. You'd better set him free again." she said while trying her very best to sound like she knew everything there was to know about frogs. "Perhaps you can catch him again some other day"

Mok pouted and was about to protest, but then decided that he didn't want to risk the frogs life and nodded.

"And how about while you go do that, we'll fix something to eat? I baked cookies this morning and I can't possibly eat them all on my own"

The boy's eyes lit up at that, and he ran off to release the frog back into the pond.

"Tala, will you help me fetch the things? There's a pitcher of juice in the cool box and the cookies are over there." She gestured at the plate with cookies placed over by the kitchen area.

The girl went off to fetch the things, moving with as much ease as if it was her own home. The children had come visiting when Ryleen had first moved in, being curious about their new neighbour. She had welcomed their company and they had spent hours each day there. Since back then she had still been utterly helpless, her hands and feet not having grown back yet, the children had quickly picked up the habit of helping her out.

While Tala was gone the third child, Ubo, came up to Ryleen. The little boy had stayed in the background while the other two were showing off the frog, but now he climbed up into Ryleen's lap. He was much smaller than the others, five or maybe six years old. He was a solemn, silent child, most of the time content to simply watch the other two play with wide, dark eyes. Down the side of his face was an angry red scar which often made her wonder what had happened to him before he got put in the orphanage.

Once Mok was back they sat down at the table. While having a glass of the juice, Ryleen didn't eat any cookies. She had baked them especially for the kids, after all. Mok and Tala were soon involved in a lively discussion concerning how many different kinds of frogs might live in the pond, and if it would be possible to catch one of each. Ubo was nibbling on a cookie and fascinated watching humidity from the air turn into little beads of condensation on the cool sides of his glass of juice. All three of them had been amazed to learn that she had a magical box where there was always ice. It was a simple spell to keep it like that, really, but immensely practical. Having spent most of their lives in the heat of Durotar, all the children were incredibly intrigued by ice and frost, and she was regularly asked to conjure ice cubes for them to play with.

She smiled to herself and hugged the little boy in her arms. She hadn't planned to stay living in this house for longer than absolutely neccessary, but this was certainly something she could get used to.