therunesonghill - Tumblr blog

therunesonghill · 6 years

Text

Tira Xi Mistwhisper Profile

Lone Shaman; Spiritwalker; Healer

((Don’t know what a Spiritwalker is? Click here for more info! I also have the main text copy/pasted in Tira’s TRP.))

Race: Pandaren

Class: Shaman/Spiritwalker

Eye color: Forest green; they also have a bit of an otherworldly shine to them.

Age: somewhere between 20 and 25. She doesn’t really know.

Height: 5′3″ (below average).

Weight: 250lbs (below average).

Body-type: very skinny for Pandaren standards; she doesn’t eat enough. Don’t follow her example.

Physical characteristics:

1. She’s completely white-furred, save for the bright red streak in her bangs. You wouldn’t be able to tell she was originally red-furred unless she told you. This is due to the stress of being a Spiritwalker (read Spiritwalker notes.)

2. When she walks, she keeps her feet farther apart than what most people would think of as a comfortable stride. Her feet never touch and have a good cushion of space between them. It’s like she thinks her feet are bigger than they actually are.

3. She looks perpetually sleep-deprived; her eyelids usually droop mid-conversation, and she’s been known to pass out if she lies down on a horizontal surface. When she sleeps, she dreams the dreams of her ancestors, and quite a few of them had not-so-nice deaths. When she doesn’t drink her nighttime potion to reduce the dreams she experiences, she only manages to stay asleep for 30 minutes to an hour; when she does, she can get three or four hours of sleep. Very rarely will she fall into a deep enough sleep that she doesn’t dream at all; she is noticeably perkier and more energetic on those days.

Non-physical characteristics:

1. Part of being a Spiritwalker means you constantly hear the voices of the dead. They speak to Tira so much that it makes it hard for her to communicate and live a normal life. Having so many voices in your head makes it hard to keep track of your own thoughts, and this is apparent when she speaks. She will grasp her thoughts long enough to say a few words, but then her thoughts get whisked away in the stream of voices she hears; she knows these voices aren’t her thoughts, but while she tries to separate herself from the stream, she usually starts repeating what she’s hearing - all with the same tone of voice she used at the beginning of her sentence! This can make it incredibly hard to communicate with her if you don’t have experience with it.

((The easiest way to understand this: open a textbook to a page you don’t know, then either a) put on some music with chaotic/fast-paced lyrics, or b) start daydreaming. Try your best to take notes from the textbook for a few minutes without taking a break. At the end of your notetaking session, look at your notes; you may have written down some words from the song or ideas from your daydream. How many notes did you actually take?

This is how it plays out in RP: Let’s say Tira’s trying to say, “There is no one I would like to punch more in all of Azeroth than Garrosh.”

What she actually says: “There is (nothing left for you) no one I would like (you, I swear) to punch (that dragon in the) more in all (three of you, imbeciles) of Azeroth (and the Great) than Garrosh.”

What your character may hear: “There is nothing left for you no one I would like you, I swear to punch that dragon in the more in all three of you, imbeciles of Azeroth and the Great than Garrosh.”

I separate the extraneous “spirit voices” from what Tira’s trying to say so that you, the player, can understand what she’s trying to say. However, this doesn’t mean your character will understand her. It’s up to you if you want your character to understand her. Don’t feel like you need to - Tira can speak slowly to try to minimize the effects of the “spirit voices”, and is in the process of learning non-verbal methods of communication.

2. Like many Pandaren, Tira speaks slower than the average person. Her voice is low-toned, and has very little inflection to it. The best way to describe it is similar to a Tauren’s voice with the “floatiness” of a Pandaren’s voice.

3. Tira’s mind wanders so often that it’s a miracle that she hasn’t fallen into a pit of lava yet. Being a Spiritwalker doesn’t really help in this regard, since she can get so lost speaking with her ancestors and exploring their stories that she’ll forget to eat entirely unless someone “wakes” her up.

4. Tira is fluent in Orcish, Taurahe, and Pandaren. Since the spirits talk to her in many languages, she can pretty much understand what people are saying in the other mortal languages, but replying to them in their language is another story. She would need to call upon a spirit fluent in the language and do a sort of half-possession in order to speak other languages fluently. She also knows a few words in Kalimag, thanks to her shaman training.

Battling capabilities:

Fighting: Tira usually fights as a ranged caster, shooting lightning bolts at her enemies and dousing them in lava. While she is by no means an excellent fighter, she can hold her own in most situations. If a situation is dire, or if her community is under attack, she will forgo throwing lava at her enemies and instead grab her hammers and cave in their skulls instead. In this state, she is often unaware of herself and her actions. Her attacking style here is less “graceful and artful” like her preferred method of fighting, and more “blind fury and an instinct to protect”.

Healing: Tira much prefers to heal others over dealing damage herself. While it seems counter-intuitive, her healing water can mend a person’s wound in less than a minute. Removing a curse, poison, or disease takes a little while longer, since it involves using a special type of nourishing water and letting it run throughout her patient’s coursing bloodstream. (There isn’t much she can do for Death Knights here, unfortunately.) Overall, Tira’s healing philosophy is “reduce the amount of voices she will have to hear, not increase them.”

#Tira #character profile #world of warcraft

1 note · View note

therunesonghill · 8 years

Text

A Vindicator’s Sacrifice

Blackhand’s cruel laugh pierced through the chaos of the battle like a spear through paper. For the first time since the battle started, Tira looked up from her current healing target-Yrel- and to their combined foe.

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to play –“

“-with fire?” Nicholas Anoren grinned as he felt the wave of green fire erupt from his hands and seek the iron armor and weapons of his Horde enemies. Like moths to the flame, he thought idly as his wave of fel fire melted and fused the skin and fur of Orcs and Tauren alike to their metallic armor-

“GET TO COVER!” she heard herself scream. For a split second, she saw Yrel’s head turn back towards her with confusion crossing her face.

“- with fire?”

In an instant, an explosion of heat and flames erupted by Blackhand himself, immediately raising cries of pain from the warriors close to the Blackrock leader. The inky black smoke produced from the explosion raced towards her, obscuring the sight of the flames that accompanied it. As she felt the wave of heat race towards her, she grasped for tendrils of the spirit realm that she was so close to and closed her eyes—

A red, swirling vortex was all that the Sin’dorei saw, now that he was caught in its grasp. In an instant the unbearable pain he’d been feeling disappeared, as did the pressure on his knees from kneeling and the smell of ash and burning flesh. For just a moment the flames parted enough for him to see the Scourge agent smiling at him before darkness clouded his vision—

The roar of the flames subsided, only to be replaced with a soft, empty ambience, similar to that of the wind rustling cloth but not quite the same. The constant wails and memories of the fallen within her mind dissipated for the first time in a long time. As she opened her eyes she was greeted with a scene where the various hues and colors that were there moments before were gone. Everything—even her paws, she dimly noticed—became differing shades of dull gray, blurring together as they shifted. The smoke and fire that surrounded looked much more like a wave of two-colored fog now rather than the harbinger of death that it was earlier; the heat from the fire seeped into her, filling her cold body with a sense of warmth rather than outright burning her. The dome of gray that had obscured the other fires was thinning now, slowly revealing black shapes of one person standing and others fallen—

Wait.

The longer she stared at the dome, the more she got the feeling that something wasn’t right. She numbly got to her feet—only noticing just now that she had fallen on her rear sometime earlier—and stepped forward, reaching out with her senses to try to find the spirits of those who had boarded the ship with her.

One, two, three, four. Four spirits. One weakened, though still grasping on. Good. Everyone was accounted for. As the smoke dissipated the black forms became clearer. There was Orgrim, still face-down on the metal deck, his spirit having left moments after his death. Who she figured was Durotan was on his side a little ways away, his axe a few feet away from his grasp. A large figure, larger than even Durotan, was the only one still standing. Blackhand.

So where were Yrel and the Vindicator? She felt them nearby, but she couldn’t see them.

An impossibly bright light revealing itself answered her question. Although it was still partially hidden within the smoke, it was as bright as the Azerothian sun. Blocking the light with her hand only helped so much, as it continued to become brighter and brighter as the smoke cleared away more and more. She extended her senses one more time to find the two missing Draenei, hoping that she would find her answer in the light.

Yes. One spirit—Yrel—was within the light, the other—Vindicator Maraad—right beside it. So they were safe. Good.

Tugging on her spirit alerted her back to herself. She couldn’t stay here for long, with one foot in the living world and one foot in the spirit world. As she prepared to return to the realm of the living, the light’s dimming caught her attention.

The light gray figure of Yrel and the darker figure of the Vindicator showed themselves as the light died away completely. Yrel reached out towards him, opening her mouth to say something the Spiritwalker couldn’t quite hear.

Oddly enough, she heard the Vindicator slowly exhale in response. “In the Light…we are one.”

In that moment, as the Vindicator’s body relaxed, she felt the weakened spirit let go.

Before she could even think, she found herself running towards the Draenei, her feet pounding silently on the metal dock. Screaming silently up for him, she reached towards the translucent spirit steadily rose towards the white vortex in the darkened sky.

Everything hurt. His burned body refused to cooperate when he demanded that it get up and continue the fight. He could hardly breathe in the acrid smoke that had followed the fiery wrath. All he could do was watch as the last vestiges of his strength faded away, revealing that his spell had not been cast in vain.

She would survive.

The spirit of Vindicator Maraad looked down at her, as if hearing her silent cries. For the first time since she had seen him, his face wasn’t contorted by anger. In fact, he was smiling down at her.

In the back of her mind, she heard him speak.

“I have done my part, Speaker. She will survive, as will you and the others.”

She felt herself stop. “But what of the Alliance? What will they do without you?”

The Vindicator just kept smiling. “They will survive.”

With that, his spirit disappeared within the white vortex, never to be seen again by the living.

Tira fell to her knees, eyes brimming with unshed tears as his voice joined the countless others in her mind.

#Tira

2 notes · View notes

therunesonghill · 8 years

Text

Dissonance

He was on the battlefield once more

It had been a long time since he had donned his proper armor. He had almost missed the heavy weight of the cursed metal on his shoulders, the mystery his great helm provided. When he wore the helm, he was hidden to the world. He was just like all the other knights.

He saw a figure nearby. It was a poor little thing, a shriveling ball of gray fur and tattered, bloodstained leathers. Curled into a fetal position and clutching at her stomach, the young woman – bovine? – almost seemed oblivious to his presence. He knew, though, that despite her focus on herself, she knew that he was there. She always knew where he was.

You are shackled by her. Unable to stay, yet you cannot move on.

He knew the voice was right. His King knew all about their connection. He knew everything.

Will you stay imprisoned? Or will you take the power and break the shackles?

Something part of his mind screamed no, I can’t lose her, I need her, she’s my best friend. The other part screamed for the power that his King was offering.

The battlefield was silent, save for the bovine-woman’s labored breathing. Green light curled around her thick fingers, healing some of her less-serious wounds.

The unforgiving wind cut straight through his armor as it always had here. It didn’t bother him as much as it should have. He had no need for warmth, not with the power his King had already bestowed to him.

There is more power to be had through me.

And what did the bovine-woman have to offer him?

Nothing. She only hinders you. She keeps you trapped within the past, when you should be moving forward.

Anger flared within him. For once, it was not anger born of his inability. How dare she? She knew that he treasured his freedom of mind above all things.

You know what you must do.

Yes, he knew exactly what to do.

His gloved hand reached back and grabbed the hilt of his great sword, slowly pulling it out of its sheath. The blade was almost as big as he was, and he was by no means small, even for his own race. Runes were etched precisely and deliberately into the cold metal, and they flared a bright blue for a moment as they were exposed to the chilly air.

Slowly, as if he were approaching an unsuspecting rabbit, he made his way towards the bovine-woman. When she felt the air temperature drop, she hesitantly turned her head towards him.

He stopped before her, drinking in the intense fear her eyes displayed. He would have stayed there all day, just watching her shiver from the cold and pain if not for the sizeable wound within her chest that was gushing blood.

He didn’t know who dealt the blow, but he wanted to kill the person that did it. Whoever the person was, he (or she? Did his once-friend have female enemies?) had ruined his kill. When he would deal the final strike, the otherwise beautiful kill would be marred by that stab wound.

It was designed to torture the victim until they bled out – and it was doing its job very well. If he had wanted to, he could probably stick his arm, gauntlet and all, into it without touching anything but blood. He could barely see the notched bottom of the ribcage within the hole.

He could see the light fading from her eyes. He wouldn’t allow his kill to go to anyone else – it was his, and his alone.

With one metal-clad boot, he kicked her over so that she was lying on her back. Though she looked scared for her life, she didn’t attempt to get up, surprisingly. Not even when he touched the blade to her neck did she move. All she did was look up at him with glistening eyes.

“Shel…you said you…didn’t want to be…like the Scourge. What…are you going to…be when you…do this?”

His body froze up, his mind locking up. He wasn’t a Scourge. He wasn’t even dead! He was free – the Scourge were shackled by the Lich King. Why would she be comparing him –

In that instant, his body regained the ability to move. But he wasn’t the one controlling it.

He tried to cry out, warn her that something was wrong, that he couldn’t control himself. But no sound came out, and none of his thoughts reached her.

He tried to close his eyes so that he wouldn’t have to look, but they stayed pried open. He could only watch as his blade descended down.

#Shelvea #Syrannis

0 notes

therunesonghill · 8 years

Text

Burned

He was floating.

Not in water or air, actually. He was hanging in space above the misty ‘ground’.

He wasn’t sure if it was really solid ground or not. Beneath the mist, it was a clear gray color, just opaque enough to see that something was below it. But with his weak, normal eyes, he couldn’t tell what was underneath it.

He figured he should at least be curious as to why he was floating, or even scared about the situation. Why was he floating? Why did he feel so weightless? Where was he?

Instead, he felt nothing. Well, if he dug deep enough, he may have felt a little shock, a little fear, a little curiosity. After all, just a moment ago, he was in the ruins in his homeland. He glanced around, but his eyes found nothing but mist and ground. He was alone. Here, nothing could bother him as he rested for all eternity.

Wait.

His eyes, raking across the ground, caught sight of a small form sticking out of the mist. He watched it as it slowly, almost apprehensively, approached him.

It was a little bovine girl. She looked a lot like one of his old friends, actually – gray fur, green eyes, little white horns coming out from other side of her head. The only difference was that her eyes had an otherworldly shine to them, like they each contained a spirit or essence of life.

When the little girl stood before his floating form, she looked up at him with curiosity shining in her big eyes. He could understand that – not many of her kind saw someone like him.

She just stood there for a few minutes, staring up at him with those big green, shining orbs. Why were they shining? No eyes should shine like hers were…

Finally, after those long few minutes, she spoke in a very whispery voice, one not befitting a young girl such as her. “Why are you here?”

He only kept staring down at her. His mind had been empty, but her voice seemed to trigger something. Slowly, grainy, grayscale pictures began to float around in his mind. Even as he tried to grab onto them, they slipped away from him.

Why?

“Are you afraid?”

His mind sluggishly processed the words, gleaning meaning from them a few moments later. He tried to speak, but his tongue was dry, his throat was aching, and his lungs were burning. He chose to shake his head slowly instead.

“What are you feeling, then?”

Nothing. I feel nothing, except for pain. But he still could not speak. He shook his head again.

“Why aren’t you speaking? Are you mute?”

He blinked sluggishly, his mind not comprehending the words she spoke. He gave her what he thought was a confused expression.

To her, though, his face remained blank. Only the slight tilting of his head let her know that he was trying to respond in some way. She raised her hand. “Look up for yes, down for no.”

His head unconsciously followed her lowering hand. Why did it move? I did not tell it to.

As she raised her arms towards him, his head once again followed the movement. But, rather than asking another question, she gently took his hand.

He knew it was supposed to be a kind gesture, for soothing someone. But instead of soothing him, the touch sent scorching fire up his arm. It was the kind of consuming, blazing fire that made you want to scream, to cry, to yell, “Make it stop!” He would have done that, too, if his lungs hadn’t still been burning and if he could find any tears. The tears felt like they had been burned away, just like his ability to speak. His eyes burned, too, as if they had been scorched by the same flame.

His mind acted quickly – quickly compared to the previous events, anyway. After what seemed like an eternity of agony, his arm acted on its own, jerking his hand out of hers’. In reality, his hand had been in hers’ for only a second or two.

The pain, while still torturing him, quelled a little. The pain-sensing neurons, which had been ‘woken’ by the touch, slowed the pace at which they sent the messages to his mind. Instead of racing to his brain as fast as they could, they took a more ‘leisurely’ pace – still fast, but not as if he were in an emergency situation. Still, the flesh on his hand and arm felt like it was being seared off. The first inklings of fear entered his mind since he had first woken up in this place. Slowly, as if fearing what he would find, he bit down on his tongue and look down at his hand.

A long, long time ago (or, at least, it seemed like a long time ago), he had looked down at his hand and saw soft pink flesh, calloused from work yet still soft from being young. Now, however, he saw no pink; rather, there were big, angry blotches of reds, whites, and occasional blacks. The skin in the red and white areas was no longer smooth; they were hideously scarred and marred by huge blisters and hardly-healed scabs.

The black was harder to look at, though. While the pain signals had passed through the red and white areas astonishingly fast, there was no feeling in the black. When he lifted his other hand to gently touch at the black area, he only felt the pain spike in the fingertips of the prodding limb. The black area was dead, no longer responding to anything.

As his mind processed the pain, it slowly began to unfreeze. He was now aware of other pains, not just his hands, throat, or eyes. Everywhere hurt. The same signals the hand had sent were now coursing through every part of him, every atom that made him up. And even he felt like he was being set on fire, no words or sounds came from him.

The little girl, however, simply smiled. It was a soft, gentle smile – one that caretakers and mothers used often to calm someone. But, while she did have a gentle aura to her, he somehow knew she wasn’t a caretaker. And she certainly wasn’t a mother, due to her apparent age.

A few moments passed before she spoke again in that soft, whispery voice. He barely caught it, as he was too focused on the pain coursing through his being, his soul.

“Does it hurt?”

Yes. Everything hurts. I want it to stop.

The little girl nodded, as if she had heard his thoughts. “If you join us, it will stop. Let go of everything.”

But I don’t want to let go of everything.

“You’ll have to eventually. Everyone has to.

It will lead to peace. You will have no more pain.”

What about my family?

The moment the words formed in his mind, pain flared through his body again. This time, his body reflexively gasped – but with the damage done to his throat, the gasp turned into wheezing and painful coughs.

A different pain suddenly made itself known. Instead of fire burning its way through his soul, invisible icy claws sunk into his chest. His wheezing worsened as he felt himself suddenly having a hard time breathing.

He felt his flesh begin to go numb, but, on the inside, it was very different. The claws were ripping deep into his body, almost as if they were trying to get at his heart. If he had blood, he imagined it would be spilling out of him right now like a miniature red waterfall.

They seemed to have caught onto something, because he felt a tugging sensation from within. A wild shiver went through him as he ground his teeth together. His vision blurred slightly, making everything look fuzzy.

“We can repair it.”

The little girl approached him, a small sphere of water resting on each of her palms. Fortunately for him, when she touched his back, it didn’t send fire racing through his body this time; rather, a calming cool rippled out from where her hand lay, dampening some of the pain.

She began to rub his back soothingly, and the coolness radiated out further. Some of it reached his throat, where it stopped his painful coughing. “Shh,” she whispered. “You breathed in quite a bit of smoke. Try to relax it.”

“Something is holding it back.”

“Try another one.”

Another set of frozen talons ripped into his body. The numbness spread to his shoulders and legs. The tugging became stronger. His vision blurred more. His body tried to react with a scream, but all that escaped him was a pathetic croak.

The little girl’s eyes became worried. “What is wrong?”

Get them out of me!

The little girl blinked slowly, and then closed her eyes. For many moments, she did nothing to help him while the claws continued to dig into ravage through him.

Why aren’t you helping me?

At that moment, her eyes snapped open, and a frantic expression took hold of her. She took her hands away – his body shrieked in protest at losing the cooling sensation – and grabbed them, pulling and tugging at them.

But the claws were strong, and their summoners were stronger. They hardly budged, try as she might.

“Ah, a Spirit Walker.”

“A young, inexperienced one. Easy enough to steal from.”

Two more talons grabbed at his shoulders, digging into the charred flesh and pulling. He could no longer see clearly; whether it be from tears or magic, he didn’t know. The numbness spread to his head and approached his hands. The fuzzy gray blob that was the little girl screamed.

“No! I will NOT let another one be taken away!”

“Leave caring for souls to us.”

“How can you call yourself a Spirit Walker if you cannot save those you are supposed to protect?”

When the voices addressed her, the little girl could hear them for the first time. “It is not your place to take them! What you do is unnatural – you were never meant to have these sort of powers!”

The voices did not respond to her this time. The spirit, unable to do anything but float there, looked to the Spirit Walker with desperate eyes.

What is going on? Why aren’t you helping me?

A large, cold, bony hand closed around his throat and squeezed, cutting off his air. His body reflexively choked out, and his hands reached up, gripping at the attacking hand. Trying his best to not to pass out from the searing pain racing up his arms, he pulled at it, hoping that he could muster the strength to rip it off.

But either he was weaker than the Spirit Walker or the hand was much stronger than the claws, because no matter how hard he tried, it would not loosen. Black began to spread from the edges of his failing vision.

A current of violet energy began circling slowly around his waist. The Spirit Walker became panicked even more, hurling bolts of lightning at the dark energy. Each and every one she threw simply passed through them. More energy rings circled him; one for his ankles, one for his legs, one for his chest, and one for his neck.

He felt his own hands lose their grip on the choking hand. Right before his vision was completely covered by the black, two more violet currents began to circle his arms.

Faintly, as if she were far away, he heard the Spirit Walker scream.

Right before he lost consciousness, the spirit heard a much closer, much more frightening voice.

“Arise, new champion.”

#Shelvea #Death Knight Awakening

0 notes

therunesonghill · 10 years

Text

Tira Update

Since the Siege is now over, Tira’s free to leave Orgrimmar. She still goes there and Light-knows-where-else during the day, but she mainly spends her nights on the Hill with Syr, Rysta, Pad, and I.

Before the Siege, when she would spend the nights here, she’d constantly be having nightmares. She’d kick and scream at whoever came near her, and she got so disruptive at one point that none of us got any sleep. Well, I technically don’t need sleep, but that’s beside the point.

Now, though, she drinks this weird potion before she goes to sleep each night. She claims that the recipe is from a fellow Pandaren named Sen, and its made of herbs native to the Outland. Syr now makes special trips there every once and a while to gather the herbs needed to keep a steady supply of the potion.

This potion is supposed to calm her down enough to let her sleep peacefully, but she occasionally has her episodes. Nothing even close to what it was without the potion, but maybe once or twice a week. Every time she has an episode, I’m usually the one that tries to calm her down (probably because I’m the most resilient of all of us). Most nights, it ends up with me holding Tira like a baby while she sobs. When I look back on those times, it makes me think that history’s repeating itself: it’s like I’m taking on another Syr.

Besides that…there isn’t much for me to write about. Ever since the Siege ended and Vol’jin’s our new Warchief, life has been pretty calm and normal.

There’s been so much going on lately. A break will do us all good, at least until the next dragon wrecks the world or something. I’m honestly expecting it now.

I probably shouldn’t talk about stuff like that. After all, a lot of people died, and tons of families and communities were ruined, but I hope they find some semblance of normal life.

#Shelvea's journal

0 notes

therunesonghill · 11 years

Text

Siege Thoughts, Body vs. Heart

Well, Vol'jin's Rebellion has finally reached Orgrimmar. To be honest, I'm surprised it took them this long - after all, he has most of the Horde on his side.

As much as I like the sound of rebelling against Garrosh and fighting him, I know the battlefield isn't for me. While I have a warrior's body, I don't have the heart. It kind of sucks...it's like wasted potential.

But I can't exactly be sad about that, right? It's who I am. Personally, I don't see why I was raised into a Death Knight, but the necromancer that raised me probably saw potential in me as a heartless killer.

Eh, but it's all in the past now. Trying to look in the present and future is hard (since I've always cared more about the past), but it's getting easier over time.

Anyway, back to the Siege.

While I haven't been fighting, I have been helping in other ways. While I'm not considered a real healer, I've been using all the Windwool Cloth I have to make bandages for the injured troops. They're not the best, but I hope that I'm at least doing something helpful. I've also been putting my poor Jewelcrafting skills to use by cutting a variety of stones and sending them over. The Rebellion probably has much more skilled Jewelcrafters in it, but whatever.

Also, I've been managing to send some letters via Sky to Tir. She says that she's essentially bound to the Durotar area due to her 'job'. She says there's so many restless dead that she's practically working overtime. She can hardly leave Orgrimmar, too, because of the intense security with the Kor'kron.

I just hope she doesn't kill herself by overworking. And I hope that we all don't get killed by this fiasco.

#Shelvea's journal

0 notes

therunesonghill · 11 years

Text

Scrap of Paper In Tira Xi's Tent

(The following text is from a scrap of paper within Tira Xi Mistwhisper's tent. If someone were to go looking in her tent, they could see a mound of disturbed dirt in it. If the person were to dig into it, they would find this dirty note.)

Tiravia Tiravia tiravia Tiravia Can't forget tiravia Tiravia tiravia Tiravia Don't get lost Tiravia tiravia Tiravia Keep focused Tira X Tiravia Tiravia Tiravia tiravia Tira Tiravia tiravia Tiravia Ran tiravia tiravia Randol Tira Tira Tiravia Tiravia sanity Tira Tir Tiravia Tiravia Ces Tiravia tiravia tiravia tiravia

TiraviatiraviatiraviaTiraviatiraviaTiraviatiraviacestoTiraviatiraviatirtiravia-

(The writing abruptly stops.)

#Tira #Hidden on the hill

0 notes

therunesonghill · 11 years

Text

Tira(via)

(The following page in Shel's journal is heavily smudged in ink and isn't readable in some places. It looks like it was scrapped before it was finished. A person might be able to find this page buried somewhere on the hill.)

With the ___ of Kel’s being _____ revealed another _____ - Tir.

I haven’t ____ her for a ____ or two. Time _____ fast when ______ dead. I thought that ___ was in Twilight Highlands this _____ time, trying to ______ peace to the __________ and _______ there.

When I got ____ to the hill last _____ (_________ my meeting with ___for the first time _____ she’s been _____), I was surprised to find another ____ on the ____.

The ____ on the ____? “Tira Xi ___________”.

Inside of the ____? A sleeping ________, dressed __ an elaborate ________ robe and an undershirt.

Syr was _____ with me, but ___ didn’t seem ________ to see the ________ there. Actually, she looked..._____. She explained to __ who she was, ___ she was there.

Tira Xi ___________…was Tiravia ________.

She had ______ a new ____ and had been ______ to be a ____________ shortly after I last _______ her in Twilight _________. With her new ____, she could go between _____ and ________ easily to give _____ to the spirits of the fallen on ____ sides.

Syr told __ that she had ____ a few days ___, when I was in ________ for a while. She said that she had __________ her immediately - her _____ -

(The page ends here.)

#Hidden on the hill

0 notes

therunesonghill · 11 years

Text

Kel's Cured!

(The following is a journal entry from Shelvea.)

I seriously feel like I’m behind on at least one thing all the time.

I mean, I literally just found out a few days ago that Kel was cured from her Death Knight-dom. I’m not sure how long she has been cured, but, still.

I’m not trying to sound like I’m not happy for her. In reality, I’m extremely happy…and envious, I guess. But not very much envy. I mean, it would be cool to return to my life prior to my killing and resurrection, but it just doesn’t feel…right.

I’m not trying to say that Kel being brought back to life was bad! No, no, no. I’m stoked that she was. She seemed like she wanted to return to life, and that she would do anything to do it.

A year or two ago, I would have been the same way. Well, I wouldn’t sacrifice Syr, Rysta, or my father, but I’d do anything else. Wanting to be alive again was my driving force - the only thing that was keeping me ‘alive’.

But now I’ve realized that hoping for a return to my old life is…foolish. Living in the past does nothing to help you - it only hurts you.

I just hope that Kel doesn’t start hurting.

#Shelvea's journal

0 notes

therunesonghill · 11 years

Text

d o n t f o r g e t a b o u t m e

You think that I am gone. You think that I am just a part of your past, a fragment of you that was destroyed a long time ago. You think that I am simply a voice in your head, no longer a person.

You are wrong.

I have been watching you. Through your 'Spiritwalker' friend, and through our connection. You have heard my whispers. You have felt my attempts to control you. You still cling to your life, unwilling to submit to the Master.

It will not be long before you submit, I assure you.

I have met with your friend, Kelryssa Hawkfrost. She was the first person I have talked with in a long, long time. I couldn't just let her go. You would have thought the same thing, Shelvea Runesong.

She stayed with me for a while. We talked, fought. She lost. Broken, bloodied, and bruised. She would have stayed with me forever if your friend had not come.

I am prepared to do more when next we meet. To the 'Spiritwalker', Kelryssa, and you. The Master is calling for your deaths because of your interference and being traitorous.

He does not take traitors lightly, Shelvea Runesong, Kelryssa Hawkfrost. And He does not like it when others interfere with the dead, Tiravia Mistmane.

I'll be waiting.

Come play with me?

#Shelvea's journal

0 notes

therunesonghill · 11 years

Quote

I know I cannot atone for the sins the ‘other me’ and I have caused, but I will do my best. That is all I can do.

#Shelvea

0 notes

therunesonghill · 11 years

Text

An Introduction, of Sorts

((This is OOC! Just an introduction to Shelvea. I might make more background pages in the future. If not, well…you have Shel’s.

THIS IS NOT IN HIS JOURNAL OR ANY PLACE IN WOW.))

The name’s Shelvea Runesong. Odd name for a Sin'dorei, huh? Yeah, I guess it runs in my immediate family. My father and I, we both have weird names. The only person I know from the family that has a somewhat normal Blood Elf name is my sis, Rystia. And, my mother, too, I guess, but…I’d rather not talk about her.

Anyway, introduction thing. Alright. Here we go.

As I said, my name is Shelvea Runesong, Shel for short. I was born in Eversong Woods, the home of many of my kind. I was a single child up until age 13, when my mother gave birth to Rystia Runesong. For reasons I didn’t know at that time, my mother suddenly just…disappeared a year later. I kept asking my father (Padrax) why, why would she just leave us? He said he didn’t know, either…but, looking back on it, I think he did. Maybe he was just trying to spare us the pain.

Since our family was a Rogue one (with a sprinkling of Mage in it throughout the years), I was taught the arts of being a Rogue during my childhood, mainly by my father. He was going to start teaching Rysta (my sis’ nickname), too, but he was called off to fight the Scourge one night immediately about a year after my mother left. He wrote a note to us since he had to leave so suddenly, but we never found it; I assumed that he had gone off to find my mother or do something else by himself, and took up the mantle of taking care of both myself and Rysta. I was 15 at the time.

We did this for about five years. My usual day was basically teaching Rysta about the Rogue arts, reading stories to her, ex-cetra ex-cetra, with occasional breaks to bag us some food to eat.

On Rysta’s 8th birthday, we were joking around about how we could be the best explorers in Sin'dorei history. We joked about going past the dangerous Ghostlands and into the lands past that, bringing Sin'dorei civilization to the ‘natives’ past the Ghostlands. Well, I thought I was joking around, anyway. Rysta was actually being serious.

When I realized that, I started thinking to myself. Our father and mother didn’t seem to be coming home anytime soon, and our lives were just getting…boring. You could only stay in one place for a certain amount of time before it got that way, right? I was waaay overdue for moving away from our tiny home in Eversong Woods. So, we decided to pack our things and go see the world.

The things we saw…some were terrifying, some were absolutely beautiful. The first place beyond the Ghostlands was a dead place, full of powerful Scourge and huge monstrosities of flesh and bone and soul. We were ambushed many times by them, and while we were able to escape most of the time, we did get pretty banged up.

We headed west, hoping that the scenery would change and that we would find a Scourge-free place. But, to the west was ANOTHER Scourge-infested place! The only difference was that the ground was more green there than the previous place’s red and orange ground. We hurried up through there, but it wasn’t as bad as the eastern area. We still headed west.

The ground and sky grew darker in color as we entered a more forest-y place. There were still some Scourge around, but not nearly as much. We were traveling a little ways away from a road (to avoid being spotted by the inhabitants of the area), but we could still see it. We almost passed up a figure lying on the side of the road because practically blended in with the cobblestone road, but I noticed it only because it was a three-dimensional figure.

It was a weird sight. A gray-furred, female bovine-like creature that looked like she was going to die from starvation and dehydration at any given second. Despite our rule of secrecy (for at that time, anyway; spreading Sin'dorei civilization had to wait for a while), we pulled her off the side of the road and, slowly but surely, healed her to the point that she wasn’t in dire need of help like she was before.

When she could finally speak, she said that her name was Syrannis Mistmane, a Tauren Druid from a place called Mulgore. She had accidentally left her home city on something called a wyvern, and, in the process, left her sister, Tiravia Mistmane, behind. She was just trying to get back to her, but she didn’t know how, since she didn’t have money for a return trip and she didn’t know the lay of the land. We managed to assure her that her sister was probably fine if she was in a city (because there’s always a place to work and get food in one, right?) and asked her if she wanted to come home with us. After a few minutes of thought, she agreed.

The home trip was definitely easier than the first one, but not a cakewalk. We knew the best routes to go through, knew which places to avoid, that sort of stuff. When we arrived back at Eversong, we took her to our home and cared for her.

We didn’t have any Druids around Eversong, but we did the best with what we had. I taught her some Rogue stuff, and she adapted the skills to her cat form. Watching her spar with Rysta was certainly one of the coolest things I ever saw.

Syr (as we called her) stayed with us for eight years. During that time, in order to keep her secrecy, we avoided all towns including our Silvermoon City. We thought that we were doing good, and that nothing could ruin our 'family’.

Oh, how we were wrong.

The test to see how well Syr could track animals and humanoids came up. She was supposed to be tracking me, following my tracks (different kinds, of course) until she found me at the Amani ruins near Tor'watha. I laid the tracks early in the morning and sat down to wait for her at the ruins.

Lo and behold, someone was already there. I smelled the Scourge stink before I saw him; a Scourge Necromancer, one of the Cult of the Damned members who were keeping the Scourge 'alive’ in the Dead Scar. Naturally, I charged at him, since the Scourge were always a threat.

I misjudged my strength and ability. He had he gasping for breath and trembling with exhaustion after only a minute. I didn’t know what he was going to do.

There was nothing in the world that could have prepared me for what happened next.

One moment I was sucking in air greedily, and the next, I was choking on smoke and feeling like my lungs were on fire. Flames licked at my skin and clothes, biting and snarling at the Necromancer’s will. I could only think he’s burning me alive oh Light oh Light help me I’m dying dying pain pain as I tried to fight through the flames and just get away.

I never managed to. I was left as a lifeless burned husk, hollowed out by the flames that consumed me.

I thought I was going to be at peace afterwards. I never expected to be raised as a Scourge, though I should have.

I woke up in a vile, stone Scourge structure that I later learned was called Acherus. For practically the first time in my life, I felt strong; strong enough to rip people in half, strong enough to crush bones with the simple tightening of my hand. I tried to move, but nothing happened.

Alarm bells sounded in my head as I stood up unwillingly. What the fel is going on?! I asked myself. As my body pushed forward to grab some armor that was handed to myself, I realized.

I had been resurrected as a Scourge. But not just a Scourge.

A Death Knight.

Death Knights were crazy powerful Scourge warriors. They, like every other Scourge, only answered to the Lich King.

I wasn’t in control of myself. Someone else was.

I tried to fight for control many times. Every time, I was hammered down, pushed back into the corners of my mind, not powerful enough to do anything but watch.

It was the only thing I could do. The un-me tore through the Scarlets surrounding Acherus, not giving so much as a single thought to their suffering. He tortured them for no reason at all but to hear their screams, whispered in the children’s ears about how he brutally murdered their parents, watched this brothers and sisters bleed out slowly, then stabbed them in the chest and left them to die and rot. He even killed a fellow Death Knight, a Tauren who he only knew as Grandfather, because the Tauren challenged him to a duel. He didn’t even stop to think that the Tauren didn’t mean to-the-death.

When the Battle of Light’s Hope ended, I was freed. The un-me was burned away by the scorching fires of the Light, and I was left as a hollow shell with practically no memories of my life before being a Death Knight. The only thing I remembered was Eversong Forest.

After being accepted into the Horde again, I went straight there. When I found my old hill-home, Syr and Rysta ran out and tackle-hugged me. Now that I look back, I don’t know how they recognized me; I was a burned mess, even with the Scourge’s dark healing, my hair was black instead of the previous white, and I was just…overall, different.

They helped me remember the things I forgot, but it took a while. Two years, in fact. I turned 30 during that time, but my body didn’t age.

Soon I started getting sick of what I had become. I longed for the life I had before, the peaceful life with Syr and Rysta where it was just us, alone together. Me, being a Death Knight…it just tainted it, somehow. It felt like I was tainting them, my family.

And thus started a string of attempted suicides. I think there were six or seven attempts. Every time, Rysta and Syr would nurse me back to health, tell me that they loved me, tried to convince me to stop. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t rest with the fact that the Lich King could attempt to force me to come over to his side at any given moment and force me to slaughter them in cold blood.

During that time, I had my first death, but it wasn’t from suicide. The first one was because of a different Tauren Death Knight that I had challenged during my suicidal death spree. He gladly obliged and defeated me almost instantly, they crushed me under his hooves.

After a year or so, it finally hit me that I couldn’t die if Syr and Rysta were looking out for me. I usually hung around Eversong at that time, so they were always at least a few minutes away from me. So I decided to move away from them for a bit.

I achieved my first suicide (and technically my third death) when I was 33. I was on the gates of Orgrimmar, listening to a Tauren named Karulon ramble on about hating me. I think what happened near the end was that he told me to go jump off of something if it would end my suffering.

So I did. Right in front of him.

As everything went dark, I heard his panicked yelling and the wingbeats of his personal wyvern rushing towards me. I think…I think I almost smiled.

But, like always, Syr brought me back. I didn’t realize that she was in Orgrimmar, too. And, man did I get a scolding for it. She practically put me on hill arrest.

During hill arrest, time, though, I realized how foolish I was. Even though there was a new Lich King, he wouldn’t be able to control us Death Knights any time soon. I wasn’t tainting my 'family’, either; they were quite happy that I was around, and couldn’t care less that I was a Death Knight now.

So, the strings of attempted suicides stopped. I wasn’t going to trouble the family I already had, and I wasn’t going to waste their love. I started to become more a family man, trying to rebuild the family that I had torn up and beaten down.

…And, here I am now, I guess. The family’s doing fine now; we’ve got a few new additions, namely Naracu Calmsky and Kelryssa Hawkfrost. Syr says that her sister Tira is doing fine and well, but I haven’t seen her in a long time. Syr says that we won’t be able to see her for a while, since she’s busy with her Spiritwalking stuff and the Earthen Ring. We wouldn’t be able to invite her to the hill, either; she would be immediately marked as a target by the Eversong patrolling guards.

The story about her is for another day, though.

Um…anyway, thanks for reading.

#OOC

0 notes