Unremarkable Tales and Musings of a Blood Elf

World’s End Tavern: Role-play and Fan Fiction
((Ooc: Hi everyone! This will be a kind of journal for my character Wilaryn. It's been a very long time since I did any forum rp or in game rp. I'm a newbie yet again, so hopefully this will help me improve. I hope you like her stories, some will be short and some may be long. Though they may not be anything special.))

Wander Lust:

Wilaryn tilted her head to the sky, watching rays of the sun hit the tree’s around her. Their leaves shone a brilliant gold color and danced in the breeze. She was resting beneath one of them, feeling the cool soil beneath her body. Nearby her dragonhawk companion, Sol, flew about aimlessly and at a slow pace.

Day’s like this are what Wilaryn lived for, peace and contentment in Eversong. Hunting lynx, practicing her trade and sleeping beneath the stars… She let out a long drawn out sigh. Eversong no longer brought her peace. The memories of this place, or rather lack there of, brought her pain and the hole inside her was causing her spirit to grow restless. What few friends she had were now gone, dead or in other distant lands.

Closing her eyes she relished the warmth of the sun on her face, and breathed in the scent of the forest. For a short time more Wilaryn would continue her hunt and do odd jobs in Eversong, for nobles and citizens alike. Perhaps she would even spend sometime in Silvermoon.

The elf cringed and laughed at her self, Silvermoon. She hated cities, crowds, and the smell. Wilaryn knew that those cities are where the money is. Not that she need much of it, but she could probably find work there and an opportunity to wander the lands. Hunt other beasts, meet new challenges, drink new ales and get into brawls in far off taverns.

The idea lifted her spirits some. Sol flew to her side and nudged her with his nose. She stroked his head gently. “We will stay here for awhile longer Sol.”
Holding My Breath:

An old man waited patiently for me at the Farstrider’s Retreat. I call him 'old man' but he is Sin'dorei and old only by our standards. He gave me a once over and arched an eyebrow as I approached. “You look terrible.”

I shrugged and grinned at him, passing the package he had asked for. Some freshwater kelp fell off me and landed at our feet. “It’s dry I promise.”

“Mmmhmm.” He checked the package over, it was indeed dry. Absentmindedly he passed me the coin owed. “Was it difficult to obtain?”

Gliding over the shores of Lake Elrendar, Sol and I made out way out of Troll territory. The package was secure and in the only water proof bag I owned. I was hoping to avoid confrontation with the Trolls of Tor’Watha.

The night air was invigorating and we ran like our lives depended on it. I was sure of the path my feet followed…until I stepped on something that hissed and knocked me several feet onto the glassy lake surface. My body made a rather spectacular splashing noise as I hit the water.

Sol chirped in a distressed manner on the shore as I swam back. “Shhh!” I whispered patting him on the neck. He moved into a defensive position and we both stilled.. The shore and the forest around us were silent. After a few moments passed, there were only bugs and animal noises so we both relaxed.

Trolls. Are. Heavy…He barrelled into me at an immense speed knocking us both into the lake. (If you have ever been hit by a cart, it felt a lot like that.) For the second time that evening I found myself back in the lake.

The Troll and I were deep in the lake. I recovered from the hit, and unable to find footing swam to the surface desperate for air. Breaching the surface I gasped and choked only to feel something wrap around my ankle and pull me down again. The water was too dark for me to see the Troll but his hands were on me trying to pull me down. I kicked out to no avail. My lungs were burning. In that moment I couldn’t help but think, I should practise swimming more often.

Something sharp tore across my right calf muscle, I cried out under the water, releasing what little oxygen I had left. My hand went for the dagger at my belt and I plunged it downward into the darkness. I hit something solid, there was a cry muffled by water and I pulled the weapon back out. Freed, I kicked off him. Struggling to the surface, I once again spluttered for air.

I swam to shore, Sol was there. He had taken care of a second Troll and had been waiting for me anxiously at the edge of the lake. The Troll in the lake did not resurface and I breathed a sigh of relief. I took quick stock of Sol’s wounds. His were minor, and with that I made the decision to get out of there. We hobbled away from Tor’Watha. (Well, I hobbled. Sol soared gracefully as always.)

When we were far enough from Tor’Watha I took care of Sol’s wounds. Before tending to my own I fed him a piece of lynx steak, it was soggy but my Dragonhawk seemed grateful. I was grateful for taking a first aid course in Silvermoon. The heavy linen bandage I wrapped around my calf was also wet. (I really need another water proof pack.) I shrugged and looked into the intelligent eyes of my beast. “Graceful wasn’t I? I was certain that was a rock!” I laughed at myself. “Baby lake snappers…” My laugh turned into near hysterical giggles, and once those died down I stood up. “Let us leave this place; we don’t want to be late.”

“No, not at all.” I told the old elf with another grin. After all it wasn’t a lie. He nodded and walked out of the Retreat, forgetting to give his thanks. Another day in the life of one who does odd jobs…
Ethereal beauty marred by the foul stench of the Scourge.
This place, so terrible and wonderful at the same time.
A luminescent wilderness…where death waits within every shadow.
Here the hunter and the prey are one and the same.
Survival is the game in the place where the sun does not reach…

…it exhilarates me.

- The Ghostlands
A Journal of Travels

Wilaryn sits in a tree by the ocean, watching the moon rise. The sounds of nature calming her heart; Trying to forget the hordes of Scourge threatening to tear her apart in the Dead Scar, trying to forget the other horrible things she had seen in the Ghostlands. Though, not all about that place is horrible. Glowing warmth rises from beneath the tree and her two Dragonhawks Sol and Silverwing float around a small fire. Next to her pack, lies a leather covered book with a simple and rather boring look. A quill has been tossed carelessly beside it. The book is open to the first page.

“This is the Journal of Wilaryn.

A gift from Soren, an old friend, who has been fighting in Northrend. He decided to send me this with a letter stating a Journal of my travels will be handy in me remembering what I have done and experienced. He also spouted some nonsense about it helping me get my memory back, but I’m fairly certain that will never happen. I look to the future for answers not to the past.

Soren does know how to bore someone with words. I’m sure I sent him one sentence that said ‘I’m leaving Eversong.’ He gave me a very long lecture on how I wasted my life hunting in Eversong for the last 8 years, and on how I should’ve been there in Northrend hunting along side him.

I like hunting alone. Soren forgets that. Don’t get me wrong. I will always help someone in need, I just prefer solitude.

The Ghostlands have given me that. They have made Sol and I stronger than ever before, but it is time for us to move on.

I do not have much more to write about the Ghostlands…only this: I hate killing people. I hunt beasts for food and for leather…and admittedly the thrill. There is no thrill in hunting down and snipering off those that have families, regardless of race or allegiance. Not even for a marksman like myself. Killing the Trolls was bad, the Kaldorei worse. The Darnassian lives I have taken in the Ghostlands will haunt me forever...

…Well, on that happy note I will take my leave. I have never written in a journal before and do not know what else to say.
Oh! I remembered something! Sol now breathes fire. I am so proud of him; he gets stronger with every hunt! Also I have recently learned how to ride…it hurts the legs and makes sitting rather difficult, but is far more efficient. There that is all I needed to say.

Happy hunting and goodnight!"

The huntress in the tree sang a Thalassian lament long into the night…
((O Wow, very nice, great job so far, i can't wait to read more))
((Wow, I happened across your page by accident. Some very good stuff. Looking forward to more))
((Wilaryn, you certainly have a way with words, and I await more from you and your journey. Top Drawer!))

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