[A]<Blood of Arathor>[RP] 'Till the Wind Dies

I'm looking forward to it, Kaz. I'll try to carve out some time to come round and join in during this busy weekend.
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The Widening Gyre

Llyr watched the play of clouds through the weathered canvas of her tent as she lay on her bedroll, fingers idly curling around the chain of the necklace at her throat. There were moments of sunshine between the clouds, but the clouds always seemed to return.

Winter would be upon them soon, and the nights had all ready gotten colder. Snow had fallen higher up in the mountains, and as she lay there beneath her blankets--not having emerged from her tent for most of the day, she had been thinking about everything that had happened of late.

Alezander was far busier now than when she'd first met him, his late-night strolls out to the oceanside growing less and less frequent. He'd been seen about the camp more, of course, but even then he had seemed distracted--lost in his own thoughts. Some days, she wasn't even certain if he realized that anyone else was there. And some days, she imagined he must have missed the quiet freedom he'd once had.

And then, of course, there was Thaelan.

There was a madness in him--a madness born of years and years of pain and loneliness, and it hurt her to see him as he was. She had considered looking into his thoughts as she had managed with Gethen, but the fear of seeing what might be in his mind had kept her from doing so. Gethen's madness had been enough to keep her from sleeping soundly still; compounding that--even slightly--was not a prospect she wished to consider.

And for some odd reason, that brought to mind Miss Daris' words to her again:

"You are a coward."

Avellia had meant for it to be catalyst--to drive her out from her carefully constructed shield of purpose, but instead, it had served only to haunt her.

She had been considering saying something to Alezander--perhaps even to Father Carres, but then he had spoken to her--he who both terrified her and filled her with wonder. And there was something comforting in his surety--and in the knowledge that he would keep her safe--in spite of, and perhaps by means of, the darkness that surrounded him.

(cont.)
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To Thaelan, though, she was inconsequential; he would kill her if she got in his way. And yet, ... he hadn't hit her with his hammer that evening in the cave when she'd placed herself in its path in order to protect Gethen. And he'd kept from killing her so far. And he had told her things--secrets he bequeathed to no one else.

Was she his conscience? Was she, in some way, a reminder to him of what he was fighting to protect?

She sighed and turned her head, looking about the tent for a moment, her eyes falling to rest on the open music box she'd set on the wooden crate which had become a makeshift desk for her. Resting beside it was the small pouch Sylbor had made for her in which she carried several things which were precious to her.

There was the book her father had given to her--a book that hadn't seen anything written in it since her father's funeral until recently. It had become her own solace when the muse came to her, and a means whereby she could remember the people who came and went from her life--the things they'd told her. But even then, she kept things from it--secrets of her own heart.

Avellia's taunt returned to mock her for a moment, but she pushed it aside. The words would come when they wished to be seen.

There was a magick'd writing quill her mother had gotten for her when she'd gone to join the Cathedral, and there was the other quill that she'd had magick'd that Sylbor had given her one night in camp. It changed ink colors based upon the color of the feathers she touched--though she hadn't used it often. And last, but not least, there was the jade cat pendant which Teach had given her the night before--before Thaelan had found her and the world had become a seemingly endless stream of things that turned her stomach and made it nearly impossible for her to sleep.

He had reminded her so much of Talad--that charming and witty banter that escaped his lips, even when all the world seemed turned against him. But then, Talad hadn't been a thief--at least not of objects. He was a thief of hearts, and whenever he came to visit her parents and stay with them, she would often find him wooing someone--be it a noble's daughter or a simple kitchen maid. He had told her once, when he was far less sober than he should have been, that women were a music all their own, and that when he had learned them all, he would cease being a bard forever. Llyr, in her naivette had commented that it would take him a very long time to know every woman, and she recalled with a faint smile that he had laughed, ruffled her hair, and told her that she was far too intelligent for her own good.

He had sent her away shortly thereafter, of course.

The last time she'd seen him, he was heading out of the city. Her father and his knights were preparing to head north to aid Southshore against the forsaken along with Prince Galen, and Llyr had been left to her own devices--Talgar's knowledge sought with regard to Sylvannas' tactics and methods.

Talad was in the courtyard, checking over his horse when she'd found him, and she had watched him for a short few moments before he finally turned and caught her there.

"So I guess you caught me," he offered with a smile, looking a little sad around the eyes.

"Trying to sneak off without saying goodbye again," she returned, grinning as she moved forward to give him a hug.

And he had obliged her, gathering her up in his arms and twirling her about--making her laugh, as he always did. When he set her back down, he'd sighed, the smile slipping away from his face.

He turned back to his horse, checking it over one last time as he spoke, "I never have liked goodbyes, you know."

And there was something in his voice that was more serious this time--more final. "I know," she'd replied solemnly, not understanding then what she understood now: he wasn't ever coming back.

"But we'll see you again soon; won't we?" she had asked, that hopeful light coming to her face as it always did.

He hadn't looked back at her. "Soon enough," he'd replied.

She'd nodded and smiled, then, in that not understanding way. "Be safe, then."

And he'd looked back at her with that same sadness, a smile finding its way to his lips as he regarded her. "Always."

(cont.)
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Then he'd mounted up, given a wave, and was headed off once more as he always had so many times before. And she'd followed behind him, playing a game as old as his visits to their home had been--she trying to catch up to his horse, he pretending that the horse was running away with him, and always ending at the gate to their home with his lamenting farewells, and the promise that as soon as he could stop his horse, he'd return again.

The memory was the sort that made her smile and her heart ache both at once, and she found herself sighing a moment later, looking back up at the canvas of her tent.

Every little trinket and bauble he'd brought to her had been lost in their flight to Stormwind--like so many other things.

And for a moment, she wondered if he'd made it--if he were somewhere else now, wooing and charming his way into the heart of some woman or other. And a part of her rather hoped he was.

Why Teach had so reminded her of Talad, though, she couldn't say. That night she'd met Daviid on the Cathedral steps had been the same. There was just something in the way they carried themselves--the confidence and the self-assured manner. She couldn't help but feel a little envious. They made it seem so easy.

She laughed a little to herself, closing her eyes and relaxing.

So many secrets....

Sighing, she pushed herself from the bedroll.

There was no point in thinking on them, though. They would only weigh her down, and people needed her to be ... Llyr--simple and uncomplicated, trusting, and full of faith in spite of whatever else the world might say.

And so, she bagan washing away the darkness of her own thoughts--to begin a new day.
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And Llyr's story forum is back!
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>.< Oh hush, you.

You should write more. *poke* And stop pestering me. *nods*

*runs off laughing*
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No, that's your job! O:
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(page 14)

Tucked into the crook of the page is a wildflower that's been dried and left there, preserved within the book's pages; the page smells of wildflowers.

You Remind Me

You remind me of days when songs filled the air,
When stories were games, and we had not a care;
You remind me of nights near the table and hearth,
When my thoughts would wander to days in the garth,
And the sound of warm voices would put me to sleep,
And my father would carry me up staircases steep
To my room where the moon through the window shone
And the wind caught the tree limbs and made them groan;
There to the bed, he would tuck me in,
Press a kiss to my forehead, and a story spin
T'il my eyes were shut tight, and I made not a sound;
Then he'd smile and leave me with the dreams I had found.

You remind me, too, of a dear friend I lost--
A bard whose path and mine once crossed;
You remind me of him, and the games that we played
When the world was much brighter and seemed less decayed;

So thank you for flowers that speak of my home,
That remind me of happiness I once had known,
And thank you for reminding me that even in sorrow
There is always a little flower (a little hope) for tomorrow.
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These forums move too fast >.>
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Happy Thanksgiving, everyone. <3
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90 Human Rogue
5150
.
Edited by Petrovka on 12/7/2012 1:41 AM PST
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Happy Thanksgiving, everyone. <3


I don't mean to brag, but I made the best pumpkin and pecan pies ever for yesterday's Thanksgiving dinner. Ok, I do mean to brag. :-D


One day I'll learn to cook properly.

For now, 2 minute noodles away!
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90 Human Rogue
5150
.
Edited by Petrovka on 12/7/2012 1:40 AM PST
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Innocence Drowned

She woke in her other self, an emptiness surrounding her.

The world seemed as dark and as cold to her as the day when word had arrived that her father was lost.

But unlike that day, the only thing she'd lost was a lie--a lie she'd been telling herself in the hopes that it might one day be true.

Pushing away from her bedrool, she sighed and watched as the thing that she'd become dressed itself. She watched as it strolled through the camp, offering blessings to those who asked and sharing the latest gossip with those who knew she wouldn't speak of such in places where their words would be counted as treason. She watched as she ate, and she watched as she drifted back to her tent.

She watched as she withdrew the book into which she'd poured her heart. She watched as the pages turned, and then she, too, stared out toward the distant hills and cliffs.

She wanted to write, but her heart felt empty.

And then her gaze turned back toward that book as she took up her magic quill and began to write.

Empty Heart

She underlined it, staring at the two words for a long time. There was nothing inherently special about the words, yet somehow, they were comforting. For, if her heart were empty, it couldn't feel the pain; it wouldn't hurt, nor would it mock her for deluding herself.

An empty heart was far better than a drowning one.

And then she found herself writing more upon the page beneath that title--words that marked the ache she didn't want to feel.

And when she was done, she closed the book, put away the pen, and turned her gaze once more toward the ruins of what had once been a great kingdom.

And she mourned.
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(page 15)

Empty Heart

The grey mist obscures the treacherous fall,
And as the cries of dismay of those who went before me reach my ears,
I wonder if I will hear them;

Too late, I realize that I am falling too;
And like a fool, I try and conjure false wings that I might fly.

And for a time, while I am falling through the clouds,
Those wings are real,
And I, unlike so many who have gone before me, will not die.

Perhaps if I had believed a little more, or fallen a little less,
The end would not have come.
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(page 16)

To Give You Up

You found me in the darkness
Led to me by the music of my past;
We spoke--words that bound us,
Soul to soul in silvered shadows.
And I find that even fallen
I cannot be free of you.
It isn't because of an oath;
Nor even due to the duty I owe.
It is that whisper--a promise of home
I found within your arms--your happiness.
And it draws me back, again and again,
To you--always back to you.
Unable to give you up--to let this fall end--
I let you follow me and pray that you will catch me
Somewhere in the darkness when all my hope has fled.
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The Wild Thought

Llyr sat looking out over the water from the cliff above, listening to the waves and the wind as they collided with the world. Her hair blew away from her face, and her eyes, though they were looking to the horizon, were lost to thoughts of a night near the standing stones--alone, with him.

His apologies had been like all those shattered dreams that had come falling down around her the night she'd realized the truth--the slivers of their broken edges cutting into her heart. He would protect her; he would always be watching over her, but he couldn't give himself to her. So he had taken what he'd needed--cut her and bled her for a moment's respite in the darkness of his own thoughts.

And she wanted to hate him.

She wanted to. But she couldn't.

Maybe, once, he had wanted to be a knight for someone--those wishes he lamented in his desire for her to hold on to her hope. But time and circumstance had killed the knight, leaving behind ...just a man.

And her heart ached for him.

And so she'd walked away from him--leaving him with the stars and the night and the dark thoughts they'd shared.

She would always love him. But he was no longer a knight.

He was a flawed man with a broken heart.

And he had broken hers, too.

But she could forgive him that--in time.

But would he really always watch over her? Would he really always protect her?

She knew the knight in him would want to be true to those desires of his heart. But desire wasn't the same as truth. She'd learned that now. And it was going to be a long time before she figured out how to put all the broken pieces of her dreams back together again.

((This song has just the right amount of sad bitterness to it; it helped me to write this.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kuC2sc-1CMU

"Youth" -- The Wild Youth by Daughter. It also has some really lovely lyrics. The title of the story is taken from a Yeats poem called:

http://www.poetry-archive.com/y/to_a_young_girl.html

"To a Young Girl".))
Edited by Llyrae on 11/30/2012 3:12 PM PST
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OOC:

I'm not writing a story today.

Today, I am bumping this post.

And I just want to say one other thing:

I have never been in a guild that was so dedicated to role-playing; so open to exploring the lore of the game, and yet, still so careful in its handling of it.

I am very, very glad to be a part of this guild. <3 I love you guys.
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We love you too, Llyr <3
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*stare* You were -supposed- to bump the thread with sexiness! >.<
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