[Order of the Elder Orchid] 5 months on MG!

Moon Guard
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The skies were a looming grey, the grass had reserved its greenness, and the distance was but a wild array of phantasm's, the solemnity of the forest having swallowed the horizon. And there He sat, on the sullen stone. What creative ritual the man found for inspiration had perished, and the circle in the dirt had been drowned amidst the fit that some lonely god had compelled the sky to undergo. Now herein, standing on the war-swept plains, a crude mockery was made of life and death, and all of its merry sisters in fate.
"Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;--vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow--sorrow for the lost Lenore--
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore--
Nameless here for evermore."
"Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;--vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow--sorrow for the lost Lenore--
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore--
Nameless here for evermore."

Shadow'd devils stalk the night
'Till lanterns of yore become their fright
ne'er seek death lest death seek'ye
darkness ne'er lest darkness be free.
Shadow'd devils stalk the night'Till lanterns of yore become their frightne'er seek death lest death seek'yedarkness ne'er lest darkness be free.

"And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me--filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
'Tis some visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door--
Some late visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door;
This it is and nothing more.'"
Mind people of the lordaeron variety?
10/13/2012 02:31 PMPosted by Tyraen
Mind people of the lordaeron variety?

As long as there is a legitimate reason your character has to join a group of Gilneans, you're more then welcome to apply! Just throw me a whisper in-game, I'm on 'Avulstann' right now.
"Let's venture further in." Ferenold stated, holding her hand as he stepped upon an untrodden path that led into the Blackwald. It was twisted and sharp, and if it was a path created by man, it bore none of its characteristic hallmarks: No order, no harmony, unpredictability being the path's defining quality. And they were in some manner of cubical prison now, for there was void-drowned trees all about them, being far too dense to step between, and the trees refracted all sunlight, leaving Ferenold's stave the only source of Light amongst the path.

Clutching the fellow's hand a bit tighter, Shennae followed with a dubious expression upon her features. She lifted her skirts to that the hem would not catch on any sticks or become dirty, padding behind him almost soundlessly. There was something about her that brought to mind a doe, stepping forth in caution in close company of a stag after hearing some suspicious noise.

Ferenold lifted his head up, his own eyes wandering about the Blackwald. As he continued on the path, the trees gradually transitioned from their black , still bearing the same colour but now also possessing purple-ish tints upon them. Ferenold's stave dug further into the ground. "I hath nae' seen this the last time I 'ave ventur'd 'ere." The man remarked, and the passage grew all the more narrow, the trees seeming to hem in on them until they were no longer able to walk aside one another, but Shennae had to walk behind Ferenold instead. The path continued to wind through the woods in all its natural disharmony. More paths could be seen branching off from the single one that they took, and Ferenold turned to the right, taking one of the paths deftly and silently, without a rationale. There were sounds beginning to abound, of various creatures, and then they died, and a heavy, deep, humming sound could be heard. The source was not present; it seemed to be coming from all about the forest.

Shennae glanced about distractedly, her eyes darting back to the path as often as she remembered to ensure that she did not stumble. Her pale visage was cloaked in shades as though she wore some rich and mysterious cowl. Undoubtedly, the strange sound taunted her acute senses, for she seemed to be fruitlessly searching for it's source. Unable to remain silent for another instant, she finally whispered something she had wanted to say for a while now but had not the nerve. "Oh, Fer'nold, it does feel like a thousand things is watchin' us-- nae as if we be intrudin' on sum vision… As if we be tha' vision."
4th page????

Quoth the raven, "Only this and nevermore."
Bump for being able to catch group RP tonight (sort of)!
Bump for being bored in the morning. Everyone come online now.
I'm online, but you're afk. :(
Well duhh I'm reading through all the dramz and buttmadness I missed on the forums this week! Deleted threads... closed topics... and why do people like going and deleting all their posts so much?! Those sneaky McSneakersons >_>
Rough, unfinished story-bump. Don't hate!

The teenager sat in the abandoned hayloft, knees tucked up to her chest with her arms snugged about them, insulating herself from the world as she wept silently. The barn was a favorite refuge of hers, abandoned by the neighbors who had packed in and moved on as strife consumed the Northern Headlands. It was a decrepit structure with a shambling roof and half-skeletal sides that were bathed in the golden twilight of the waning august sun. The hay had long since been removed so that moss and lichen had crept up to upholster the rotting wood, slowly drawing the structure, like some ancient member of a dwindling species, back into the earth.

The girl’s head rose irately from her arms as she hearkened to a child’s footsteps wandering below her, trailing into each stall, searching doggedly for her, no doubt. She tucked her head reluctantly back into her arms to steal a few more moments of solitude before she was discovered.

Two grimy sets of fingers sought purchase on the ledge against which the ladder leaned, and a boy of roughly eight years struggled up into the loft. His eyes lit instantly on his sister where she sat curled up in the corner of the loft.

“Why ya gotta go all tha’ way up here, Shennae,” he asked.

“Ta’ be alone,” replied Shennae, raising her head with resignation. “Yer not s’pposed ta’ be goin’ in here,” she chided him pointedly.

“I know. But I wanted ta’ see where you’d gone.”

“Wel’, here I am.”

“Mum an’ Dad was awf’ly upset.”

“I know.”


Shennae blew a sigh, relaxing her legs a bit. “I done sumthin’ terrible, Donnie,” she confessed.

“Terrible? Like, ye punch Mum inna tha’ gut?”

The elder girl tilted her head, shooting him a look of martyred exasperation. “Nae, silly, not that.”

“Then what?”

“You’re too young ta’ unnerstand.”

“I know. But I wanna know anyways.”
The girl stretched her legs out fully, now, blinking the sting of tears from her eyes. “I’m goin’ ta ha’e a baby, Donnie,” she explained to him at last.

“Tha’s bull!@#$,” the boy replied dismissively, ignoring the disapproving look from his sister. “Mum ha’e se’en babies an’ she dunna’ get any hell fer it.”

Shennae nodded, conceding the child’s point. “With Mum, it’s diff’rent, though. Mum ha’e a husband ta’ look after ‘em.”

“An’ ye don’t,” Donnie observed. “Oh.” His eyes wandered the floor of the loft, unsure of what to say in consolation. “I got this fer ye,” he replied at last, drawing a fistful of milkweed from his jacket and holding it toward his sister. It was a ritual he had observed his father in many times, whenever their mother was upset. Perhaps it was little surprise that his children had inherited his rustic suaveness.

A watery smile quirked the girl’s lips, her eyes burning once again as she accepted the token. “Thank ye,” she told him graciously, “they are tha’ most beautiful flowers I ha’e seen. I shall put ‘em inna pitcher when we get home.”

The child sat back, apparently pleased with himself. Shennae turned the boquet in her fingers, smiling wanly as she thoughtfully fingered the petals. “Can we go home, now,” Donnie asked, breaking the silence after some while.

“O’course,” his sister replied in waking from her reverie. Pushing herself up, she descended the ladder, spotting her little brother, hands outstretched tentatively as he lowered himself down after her. Holding an arm out, Shennae guided him out of the barn when he approached her, letting him forge ahead on the overgrown, neglected trail that led back to the road.

An affectionate smile crept across Shennae’s face as she watched Donnie break into a skip up ahead of her. Catching up to the boy, she snagged him, pulling him in for a sound kiss on the cheek. Squirming away in revulsion, Donnie sprang back to look about for any spectators before wiping at his cheek with his sleeve, glaring reproachfully at his sister. “Aw, why ya gotta do tha’,” he berated her petulantly. The elder girl grinned wider.
“It dunna matter why, Donnie, I’ll do it ‘til yer big an’ fast enough ta run away from me,” she chided him in good humor. “An’ e’en after tha’, I’ll still love ye,” she added tenderly.

An unbidden smile crossed the boy’s face, every bit as impish as that of his sister. Wordlessly, her slipped a small, grubby hand into his, and the two proceeded homeward.
I friggin' love my werewolf druid. And plenty of great RPers around Orchid makes playing Nevermoor all the better...

For the first several months, she had gotten off with relative ease; it was only toward the third month that she began to look even vaguely portly. There was no hiding it now; she was plainly heavy with child with not so much as an engagement ring to show for it. It was a minor ordeal that she always dreaded, to bump into an acquaintance she had not spoken to in several months. Their eyes would drift down to her belly and they’d smile, the beginnings of a congratulations or a well-wishing and then they would notice her hand, unadorned by a wedding band. They would close their mouth and fall silent, either offering a sympathetic smile or a fleetingly loft a brow in subtle disdain. Either way, the comment left unsaid was always the same. She was such a sweet girl; so mature for her age; such a hard worker and never a troublemaker. What a shame. A downright shame indeed.

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