10/10 role-players, would torment again.
3 Likes
Sitting outside the Lodge within Silvermoon city, Itās early evening, the sun is softly setting as the female Farstrider sits with her Bandaged left leg and right arm, her upper torso heavily bandaged aswell, Armor thrown in a pile by the quartermaster for repairs and order of a new bow given since her own got broken to pieces, She sighs deeply before she with some struggle gets upon her feet and moves inside, pulling her light armor on, the colours green since her usual set is out of comission for now, taking a bow from the racks inside the Lodge, she walks with carefull steps towards the shooting range, a quiver by her hip and lower arm brace to keep the string from ripping her arm, a glove upon the other hand to keep the string from tearing at her fingersā¦ she moves into position, pulling an arrow from her quiver, nocking it on the bowās string, she exhales and focuses her eyes on the target, before she pulls the the bow, she aims with her Pine green eyes, sheās done this many many timesā¦ she then draws the string all up to the edge of her mouth and then lets loose, the arrow flies true, and scores a bullseye at the target, she nods for herself before muttering āPain comes and goes, Loyalty is forever, for the High kingdom, for our Peopleā¦ for our survival and legacyā¦ Duty is pain, suffering, hard work and constant keeping one self in proper shape, and I would exchange it for NOTHINGā¦ Quelāthalasā¦ I love youā She nods for herself as she then nocks the next arrow, and so she continues till the day turns to night, No painā¦ no gain, No suffering, no achievements, Glory to the Sinādorei
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Neythen walks towards the Lodge fully equipped, back to his old routine some might say. He checks the desk for any requests before glancing at the notice board all seems clear.
He heads downstairs to the basement taking a good twenty minutes before coming up with two crates between his arms, he sets the crates on the wall next to the entrance before sitting down so he can see who comes into the Lodge
He opens the first crate revealing the used swords inside as he starts taking one at a time angling through his eye line to check for cracks and bents on the blades been a few weeks since he checked the inventory and with the recruitment season in full swing it was now time to check what the new recruits have been doing with the training blades, a few resigning huffs as some seem to be hitting the hard pavement of the City and starts putting those ones he deems damaged to the side seems he is going to have a long day of inspecting and trying to repair them later.
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Diary, 2nd of the 4th Month.
Location: Towlong Steppes, Pandaria.
Purpose: Campaign & On-Duty
Dear Diary,
Today was a fun and exciting day, I managed to see a continent iāve never seen before, beautiful steppes and wonderful plains of a mystical land held by the Pandaren, and managed to experience it with my colleagues and friends of the Blood Ravens. We tried to fly a kiteā¦and failed, but most of all we travelled with no injuries or attacks from foreign enemies which was a first time for us.
But something lingered in the back of my mind still, after all this time it still saddens my heart and hurts me to the core every time I think about it.
the 2nd of the 4th Month, Year 22 ADP was the year I was to be married to my love and my life that I managed to share my Farstrider career with, Raenas Swiftwing, my dearest friend and the love from which I have never since forgotten and my heart will forever long for his return.
We were to share everything, and this was the day it was all supposed to happen, but instead I lost him to the damned Scourge as he fearless fought at the Elrender Bridge to let us and the civillians of Suncrown and Tranquillien escape. Captain Starchaser was there that day, and it still breaks my heart to think it over, how I have done a thousand times.
I still have his ring on my finger, I tried to pull him away with the hand the ring now sits and his blood spilled onto it, from which it still remains, a part of him will forever be linked to me. And it was hard to not crack today during my duties with the Ravens, I felt myself hurting and I felt myself longing for his comfortā¦comfort which I shall never get back.
And further more a fellow Raven shares his looks, his hairā¦everything and it makes me hurt even more to know that heās there, but not the one I knew nor I know. But this ring, I look down and a feeling of melancholy washes of me, but soon it is that of comfort and love when I think of all the times we shared and experiences we had.
If Raenas will one day, somehow is still alive and finds this diary entry I want you to know, that my love for you is undying and I think of the things I would love to do with you again, and to experience this world without you is wrong and will feel unjust to not serve Quelāthalas in your nameā¦
Bandāor Shorelāoran anarāalah belore my love. Raenas Swiftwing.
Farstrider Mylathandris Goldpath-Sunbow of the Blood Ravens
1 Like
Damn, those are some really cool screenshots. Looks good! Your uniforms are quite the peak aesthetic.
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Cheers mā dears! We are currently living it up in our Snows though, trying to survive this campaign.
Rate my camouflage 1-10
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Diary, 5th Day of the 4th Month
Location: Binan Village, Kun Lai Summit, Pandaria
Purpose: Campaign & On Duty
We embarked on the longest trek since we arrived at base camp, leaving early morning and crossing into Kun Lai to investigate possible incursions and getting a feel for the battlefield first hand, getting a true sense of the conflict and the enemy lurking underneath us; The Void.
We crossed many mountainside paths with pillows of snow blanketing them, ascending hundreds of meters high until we could no longer see the peaks, and then at the bottom lay crimson-kissed hills and and vermillion soaked craters where previous conflicts have existed before. Our first location was a ransacked and ravaged Pandaren Village, many of them hacked to death and put in half a dozen pieces, possibly by axes.
We thought of a possible Mogu threat to the area, as thereād been over fifteen sets of prints that could only have been Mogu, the large print and the four claw-like marks digging into the sun-dried earth. But one feeling never shook me, a feeling Iāve felt beforeā¦in Ghostlands, in Silvermoon and now here.
The Void.
Itās tantalizing whispers and sensation that runs through you like a melancholy song. Itās darkness that only grows louder the longer you hear it, and the whispers offer bittersweet promises of the unobtainable, when you know deep down that you are a slave to them the moment you give in.
It may have taken my little brother, but it shall not take me, nor my comrades that I love dearly, whatever the threat. We of the 15h Ranger Group shall face it head on, and without mercy.
Mylathandris Heradaris Goldpath-Sunbow
Farstrider of the 15th Ranger Group
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Diary, 7th Day of the 4th Month
Location: The Burlap Trail, Kun Lai Summit, Pandaria
Purpose: Espionage & Demolition
Diary, today has possibly been the most exciting and also most terrifying day iāve ever experienced since joining the Blood Ravens. Our task on paper was simple, Mogu reinforcmeents were coming from the Valley of Emperors through the Burlap Trail, our job was to stop them via explosive detonation on the mountsides of Kun Lai Summit, trapping and hopefully killing them in the process, leaving the forces in the valley below without reinforcements and likely to be defeated.
The issue was still ahead of usā¦climbing to the top of the Summit.
There were six of us tied by ropes in groups of three, and we began to slowly but steadily climb the summit, lucky for us we had our thermal snow eqquipment, but that didnāt stop us freezing to the bone every time a gust of icy wind came to strike us down with every inch of ground we gained.
Steep ascending cliffside almost knee deep in snow, but eventually we made it to the peak of the summit, the drop below was incomprehendable as imminent death were to follow if one of us fell, but i quickly remembered of a special necklace that the Captain had given us prior, would allow us to fall slowly.
My job was the worst of all, and the most terrifying.
I had to climb around the edge of the summit, which below was a steep drop of at least a mile before you reached the ground again, plant the explosive and climb back towards the ledge, using the ropes given and tied to us for grip. I dug a small hole for the explosive to be placed, and part of me wanted to run as fast as I could to get to safety, but I knew that if I did thatā¦well Iād be taking my whole team with me to the bottom of the mountain.
Mylathandris Heradaris Goldpath-Sunbow
Farstrider of the 15th Ranger Group
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The morning was warm and pleasant, casting soft light on the spiked huts and layered rock walls. The sun hadnāt yet risen over the eastern precipice overlooking the Valley of Strength. Firelle felt uneasy. He wasnāt exactly sure why, but the city seemed unwelcoming to him as he moved along the packed dirt road leading west.
After a steep hike up the ramps his gaze roamed up to the huge gate marking his destination: the Valley of Spirits. Loud goblin voices peddling their wares drifted over from beyond the gate, which was adorned with two enormous Horde banners. However, he strode past the goblin district with all the haste befitting a sinādorei on a mission. A sinādorei with more refined tastes than gaudy bling.
At the end of a broad wooden bridge he turned toward his supplierās workspace, but to his surprise, it was empty; the platform had been stripped of all the usual wicker baskets, pottery and skulls adorning the shadow-walkerās perch.
āYa need ta go further on down,ā a voice said to his right.
He glanced over. The warlock who spoke was clearly mid-ritual; sheād barely turned her head to address the blood elf, her hands weaving and twisting around an emerald-green orb floating in front of her.
āThanks,ā he answered and deemed it wise not to inquire further.
The Valley of Spirits consisted of permanent wooden floats and platforms suspended over the waist-deep water that filled the entire basin. Trolls worked, talked and walked everywhere. Firelle didnāt know his way around these parts well and alertly looked out for the shadow-walker. He felt a hint of worry; why had the shadow priest moved his business?
At the valleyās far end he saw a new addition to the straw-roof huts, one with a pile of humanoid skulls neatly stacked up outside the door, and he knew heād reached the man he needed.
Before entering, Firelle paused to go over todayās task.
He would step inside, talk to the troll, request dual Light-and-Void enchantments for the amulets in his backpack, pay him handsomely out of the Farstridersā pockets, and be on his way back home to Silvermoon before lunchtime. A few hours later theyād sorely need those extraordinary amulets for a deployment into the most Void-corrupted area on Azeroth.
Drawing a breath he called out āHello?ā and entered the hut.
*****
From the bright daylight he walked into a darkened room, where the air was dry and smokey with the scent of incense; it took a moment for his sensitive elven eyes to adjust.
Sheer veils dyed in various colours draped down from the ceiling and along the walls, giving the hut an intimate atmosphere. The only furniture in the round space was a small cluttered desk and a single chair, but it didnāt feel empty; half a dozen altars and workstations filled the area, each littered with candles and small tokens of the Light.
A hot yellow fire roared in a centrally placed brazier.
āCome inā, a female voice said softly in Thalassian.
His breath briefly hitched in surprise. The elven woman stood calm and upright behind the desk, long pointed sleeves connected at the front to hide her interlocked hands. She was so motionless that he hadnāt spotted her in the dim hut. For a second he wondered how she could have stood up so quickly; heād only been inside for mere seconds, yet this woman seemed to await him with all the patience in the world.
āShadow-Walker Zuru is not here,ā the lady followed up in that same quiet tone, ābut I will help you with what you need. Come closer.ā
Firelle stepped up to the desk separating them and glanced along the possessions and tools arrayed on the surface. There were many wooden bowls filled with assorted ritual items: sea shells, thin gold coins, unidentifiable dark liquids, animal bones and so on. The largest objects were a hookah and a heavy opened book with spidery handwriting. The priestess sharply spoke his name. Sheād noticed that he was trying to read the words, upside-down, and instantly drew his puzzled gaze back onto her.
Her aura revealed that she was devout, a shadow priestess like Zuru. But rather than golden or green, the sinādorei priestess had full white vision without any pupils. The ladyās blind eyes gave him a fleeting once-over, after which she nonchalantly turned away and strode toward one of the altars, the rim of her multi-layered brown garments sliding behind her.
āI know who you are,ā she breathed by way of explanation. āAnd I knew you would come back.ā
With several questions fighting for priority in his mind, Firelle frowned and opened his mouth to speak, but found himself unable to do so as the whispery voice cut him off. She stood on the other end of the hut now with her back toward him, yet he could hear her clearly as if she spoke directly into his ear.
He knew that the Void granted such āgiftsā - they take your eyes, but grant you visions - and suspected that this white-haired elf had traded her voice away in the same manner.
āIt is safer to devote oneself fully to the Light these days,ā the lady said without prompting. āYet you are here for my shadowy magics. Very well.ā
Firelle stiffened. She was wrong. This mysterious stranger wasnāt who he had come to see. Yet it seemed that she could apply the dual enchantment he wanted from Zuru, and moreover ā somehow, this seeress knew things about him. He wanted to know more. Sliding the backpack off his shoulder he stepped up to her and moved to take out the amulets, but she gently lowered her hand toward his wrist to stop him.
āYou have questions,ā she said under her breath as she pressed a soft hide purse into his hand. Indicating the central brazier. Still cautious but understanding what she wanted him to do, Firelle strode over and took out a pinch of the powder, sprinkling it onto the calm yellow fire.
Violet tongues of flame shot up to twice their normal size.
As the purple flames danced wildly above the brazier, the huge flickering shadows they cast into the dark hut seemed to come to life. Without another word the priestess stepped up next to him, and together they watched a vision unfold in the flames.
A broad-shouldered male elf with braided hair drew back his bowstring, aiming keenly at the training dummy and releasing the arrow. It impacted with a quiet -thwack- that was quickly drowned out by a rumbling thunder strike. Firelle felt a rush of nervous excitement as he immediately recognised the moment ā that was him, merely a few days ago, practising in the square during a rainy thunderstorm.
Heād been pondering something at the time and couldnāt work it out, so heād opted to leave the lodge and get some training in. The awful weather didnāt bother him. His clothes were quickly drenched and hung heavily around his limbs, and the frequent flashes of lightning distracted him while aiming, but heād considered it good practise and honestly found it thrilling as well.
As the ranger in the flames nocked a new arrow, the ranger in the hut recalled the thoughts heād had during that particular archery practise.
Back in Pandaria, the captain had asked who was experienced with explosives and heād said yes. Somehow he didnāt have to see the mechanism to know exactly how it worked. How to set the charges and detonate them, how smooth the dull gray clay called seaforium would feel under his fingers.
Firelle had never seen or touched the substance in his life, yet somehow on that day in Pandaria heād had the knowledge. And he was sure that it wasnāt intuition or common sense. He KNEW. How?
During that shooting session in the rain, as he mulled it over, a tingling feeling of worry had bloomed in his chest. It felt like the moment right before getting an inspiration. A realisation was just out of his reach, like a word at the tip of your tongue, but the feeling had made him uneasy so heād pushed away the concern. In real time, Firelle watched the purple depiction of himself lick his lips and focus on the target. Thwack.
His pale-haired companion snapped her fingers, and the vision disappeared as the violet flames gradually shrank back to their original size and colour.
The sounds of the storm faded as well, but like the weighted, tense silence between those thunder strikes, his feeling of trepidation lingered.
āI have answers to your questions. Look into my eyes,ā the blind elf whispered next to him.
He hesitated. The display of his memory, her request, and the whole situation put him on edge. His stomach was clenched, the hairs on the back of his neck rose and he felt nervous, watched, as if he was near someone else standing just out of sight, holding their breath. Smoky incense tickled his nostrils and weighed on his mind, dulling his senses with its heavy aroma. Yet a different part of his spirit stirred.
As he felt the need to clear his throat he realised that a lump had formed. He silently pushed it down. The seeress, who had been silently facing in his direction for a little while, lisped a single word.
āRemember.ā
Rather quickly the anxiety eased, swept away by a sudden sense of reassurance, optimism even. This would be all right. The priestess was an ally who would help him solve some tough questions heād had for a while. He exhaled. The pupil-less blind eyes of the seeress peered at him ā no, through him, straight into the depth of his soul. And Firelle peered back.
In those milky white globes he instantly lost grip of reality and the passing of time. This time, he didnāt watch himself from the side; like a dream, a scene from the past played out in the first person.
A forgotten memory.
*****
Startled, he parried a quick dagger strike and sidestepped out of the snarling elfās reach. The attack had come out of nowhere; the assailantās many thin braids swung wildly with every move, not quite as gracious as elves were said to be. This was no honourable duel, it was an unexpected fight to the death in a dark enclosed environment. An ambush.
Heād been drugged. His own movements were sluggish and his limbs ached while his elven opponent was taller and more clear of mind. It wasnāt fair, but that thought didnāt even cross his mind ā against this sudden threat his only concerns were the practical matters of defense and well-timed retaliation.
Survival.
As he was unarmed and unprepared, his instinctive goal was to restrain the attackerās arms before heād get slashed to shreds. He trapped the strangerās knife arm into the crook of his elbow, fingers grasping around the back of the elfās belt for extra grip, and stepped in close to clench the knife harmlessly between their bodies. But the other still had his left hand free.
The attackerās fist bashed into his mouth in a blinding explosion of pain and blood. The smash was brutal. It broke three of his teeth including the fake one. He didnāt swallow them, nor did he spit out the tooth shards because the elf kept up the pressure, already squirming his hand free to skewer his guts. He deflected the weapon with haste and broke away, backwards, panting.
Although his eyes swam in their sockets, he could still hear the strangerās footsteps: the ambusher closed in at speed seeing his weakened target reeling. There was an opportunity to wrestle the knife out of the elfās fist. He closed both hands around the elfās knife hand and pulled in the thumbās direction. The assailant shifted along to stand behind him, and so they struggled briefly for control over the weapon. Their arms strained until the elf won by pushing the trembling blade ever so slowly into the flesh of his bicep.
He screamed.
As the elf stood behind him and curled his free hand around his throat, in this most desperate moment, he gave in to a more primal instinct and screamed again, an animalistic roar. With all the strength left in him he crushed the elfās leather-clad toes below his heel and twisted around the second the pressure around his throat eased off. Not thinking consciously anymore, he swung his knee into the attackerās crotch; when the elf began to double over, he forcefully pried the knife out of his long bony fingers.
The knee to the crotch gave him the opening he needed.
Without hesitation he pushed down and straddled the unknown assailant on the floor, using his knees to pin his wrist and an elbow down and driving the knife into one of the gaps between his ribs. The slender elven body convulsed with a deep gasping cry. Once he was certain the elf was done for, he drew a breath that made him realise how loudly he was panting. Blood dribbled down his chin from the split in his lip, and he pushed the broken pieces of teeth into the pocket of his cheek.
The fight had barely lasted half a minute.
And the effects of the drug coursing through his veins had only intensified. Itād become worse over the course of the short fight and now he felt his pulse in the hot sting of a bleeding stab wound in his bicep. The warm wet spot caused his clothes to adhere to the skin. As he rose to get off of the dead elf, his sleeve chafed against the edge of the stab wound, sending a white-hot needle of pain through the whole arm and shoulder. He bit back a cry. Gritting his teeth and swallowing, he looked up and stepped toward the only object nearby: a small desk.
Star-dotted grey clouds crept up from the corners of his eyes, giving him a rapidly constraining tunnel vision.
He lost his balance one step too early and let the desk catch him. One hand swung up to find grip as he slumped against it, the other hand habitually reaching down to his belt for a bandage. Only to find he wasnāt wearing a combat belt.
As his vision narrowed into a pinprick, he braced his knees against the desk to prevent a hard fall; the last thing he heard before he passed out was a whispery female voice that carried a distinctly gleeful tone.
āEverything comes at a price, my dear. A life for a life. Did you think bodies just appear out of thin air?ā
*****
4 Likes
Diary, 30th Day of the 4th Month
Location: Eversong Woods, Hills of the Eastern Sanctum, Quelāthalas
Purpose: Training & Reflection
Diary, I feel a little bit more disappointed than I usually have, this week being one of the best weekās of my life, has brought my high to a crashing low with the announcement of our de-briefing.
I had high spirits, I was aware of a few short-comings during the campaign we endured, but others that I had not been there for, so some parts I had not been expecting, but none the less the judgement and reflection on our actions during the campaign was sorely needed, and I wouldnāt have trusted anyoneās opinion more than Neythen Sunwhisper and Ellynnia Rivermist.
They are competent and wise Farstriders, reminded me of myself when I was younger, but regardless they laid on us a barrage of criticism, all of it fare and well in meaning, inspiring us all to be better, to do better and be the best Rangers we can be.
But one sinking feeling fell every moment I had the chance to reflection on my own actions.
āBut why have I not done better?ā
I have been devoted to my cause as a Farstrider for over two hundred and fifty or so years, fighting in so many wars for my country and my people, because I love them as much as I love my duty as a Farstrider, and I have never lost my devotion, not even the loss of a beloved could deter me.
My disappointment rushed through my body and my desire to push myself to the next level was required, If I must do better, and be better for the betterment of our unit, for the betterment of Quelāthalas, and to fully prove myself, I have begun a new regiment of training for the remaining weeks.
Morning - 6AM: Training
Physical Fitness and Endurance - 30 minutes.
Climbing and Terrain management - 30 minutes
Agiliity Test - 30 minutes
Combat practice with Dummy or humanoid - 30 minutes
Total Duration: 2 Hours, finish at 8AM sharp.
And then in the following evening, I have then planned another set of exercises that I feel is good enough to prepare myself, and to be the best Farstrider that I could ever be and is as now follows;
Evening - 8PM: Training
Physical Fitness and Endurance - 1 Hour
Swimming, followed by Underwater training - 30 minutes
Climbing and terrain management - 30 minutes
Agility and Stamina Tests - 30 minutes
Combat practice with swords specifically - 30 minutes
Total Duration: 3 hours. Finish at 11PM sharp, straight to sleep and report for morning training regime at 5AM.
This is the most fitness iāve ever done, and no matter if my body aches, or feels worse than I could imagine. It is all for the good of the unit, all for the good of Quelāthalas. And my determination will not be questioned.
1 Like
at the crack of Dawn as the suns warming rays of light creeped down the high walls of Silvermoon, Illiniel could be seen at the training grounds, doing her morning routine wearing the legguards of her bloods and a red top wearing the Silvermoon sigil, issued by the Farstrider quartermasters, doing her pushups, sit ups, chin ups and lifting weights doing both benchpress and squats, having finished her strength routine she would get on to doing laps, and many at that, sweat dripping down her form as she took a small break drinking some water, before going on to do martial arts training upon the various dummys Part of being a Farstrider is keeping in shape, every Day!
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Iāll just leave the sketch of the initiate hereā¦
https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/692459384252661850/714050771594772480/Bloods_eren_sketch.jpg
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Itās been a busy month in RP despite our total lack of reporting about it here.
Highlights include how the team has lived through an enormously horrific nightmare scenario (gratitude to guest DM Soulbane) and managed to escape it with only one dead team member. Not bad.
After rest and recovery the focus has turned to threats to the kingdom including our ancient enemy the Amani, and trouble rising in the Plaguelands. Thereās also an infiltration mission on the horizon.
First, though, weāve got the Ranger Trials coming up! Looks like Myla will finally get that tabard after all this time. Provided that she passes the challenges.
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Several hours after the exerciseās conclusion three elves were still up and about in the woods, talking into the wee hours. Eventually one said good night and soon after, the one with braided hair departed the hillock, although he didnāt go straight home.
The fiery emotions still smouldered close beneath the surface as he paced toward the river and along the Scar, locating and rubbing out all the charcoal grey markings placed on trees and rocks here and there. Each new sign of the renādorei deepened his frown. His friends had done an eerily good job of getting in character, he mused. Treating the scenario the way theyād have done if they were real void elves. His own team had made no efforts to shoot back, which he had to acknowledge in retrospect as clearly the right call, yet when Firelle had prompted them to respond to the shots, heād sincerely desired to find and destroy the enemy.
Just as heād desired to hurt Erenara.
Did he succeed in the latter goal? A large part of him enjoyed callously trashing the cookās situation, but ultimately the caring side had come out again and heād left Erender with a few consoling words.
He sighed, alone in the darkness. Cool water and charcoal dust stung his hands where it got into the many thin cuts and scrapes on his fingers, his shoulders ached where his packās straps had been biting down all day, and he really wanted to go home and rest.
Quit that self-pity, he began to berate himself as he gradually erased the displeasing imagery of a Void-overran city with its corrupted elven spires.
Then, a branch on the ground creaked behind him.
Like a silky grey shadow in the moonlight, Sierra appeared from the west to provide him company. Glancing aside, Firewalker relaxed, his frown broke and he greeted the lynx with a chirped āHello, darling, back so soon?ā
Sierra looked healthy, alert, unafraid like always. After many months of deepening his bond with the cat Firelle had learned many of her little tells, like the meaning of her tailās slow sweeps, and the way her side-flicked ear indicated that her attention was mostly elsewhere. Nonetheless, she affectionately pressed her nose against his side to nuzzle him, so he squatted down to embrace the large feline and inhale a deep whiff of her scent.
It calmed him down, easing the weight of the past weekās heavy demands on his body and mind. His eyes closed. āMissed ya. Letās go home.ā
Recognising a word Sierra shifted around in his arm, blinking her yellow eyes slowly in a sign of fondness. Then the lynx slipped out and began to dart ahead to the north, often pausing and turning to wait for her sluggish, lumbering humanoid companion to catch up.
Firelle didnāt follow right away, having one more renādorei drawing to clean up. And he enjoyed being in the woods alone with Sierra. The Scar didnāt frighten him and he relished the cool air, felt comfortable in the darkness. Besides, as much as he looked forward to sleeping indoors in an actual bunk for the first time in a week, he dreaded the process of going to sleep.
First heād have to get dressed and ready, then meditate for an hour to expand his mindās ability to channel arcane into crystals, and finally itād be time for affirmations. He hated those. Heād been silently saying his affirmations for over a month now, every day for twenty minutes, and every day it was becoming a little harder.
āI am more and more calm with each deep breath I take."
āI am relaxing each part of my body.ā
āMy mind is clearing and I am in control.ā
āMy dreams cannot hurt me and I am in control.ā
"There is a time and place for everything. I will not let my anxiety and fears ruin my sleep.ā
He hated the feeling of dishonesty they gave him, hated the false promises, hated the idea that he, Firewalker, would ever even have anxiety to begin with. He deemed himself above and beyond that. Yet soon heād be sitting in an office to talk about his feelings regarding a non-existent past. Heād have to open up about the nightmares.
Soon, heād be in bed waiting for those nightmares to descend from their spidery loft and crawl into his head, and wake up dizzy and drenched in sweat. He already pictured himself pacing to the lavatories in haste to wash his clammy, unclean hands, eager to rinse off that panicky fear. It would calm him down.
But over breakfast, if some Rangers were to avoid meeting his eye, he would know that he mustāve cried out again in the night.
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Typical Farstriders, slacking.
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The Blood Ravens have returned from the Heart of the Storm campaign on the rainy Isle of Thunder, having teamed up (sometimes uneasily) with Horde allies to stop the Alliance from laying claim on Mogu artifacts. Shout-out to the following participating guilds for fantastic RP-PvP and camp RP!
- The Blackward
- The Ashborne Consortium
- The Sunblade Resurgence
- The Hand of Agony
- Nightfall Brigade
- Silver Accord
- Azure Dawn
- The Three Hammers
- Order of the Kraken
Special thanks to organisers Kyr, Braxton and Gwyddhienne and all the DMs for a super fun campaign, itās been great!
Having enjoyed some well-earned rest & relaxation, the Farstriders and Rangers are now sharpening up our small team tactics and other skills in preparation for a next deployment.
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- The Blackward
- The Ashborne Consortium
- The Sunblade Resurgence
- The Hand of Agony
- Nightfall Brigade
- Silver Accord
- Azure Dawn
- The Three Hammers
- Order of the Kraken
(I am exploited. But as an independant player there, I concur that it was a great campaign!)
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Ranger I.Whitemoon sat outside the Lodge at the Farstrider Square, looking up at the sky as morning grew older and older, sitting with her bow doing her usual daily maintenance, the string of the bow having shot rougly three thousand arrows by now and the sinew of the string had grown soft and weary, she unclasped the sockets holding the strings in either end of her bow, using her stringing tool to assist due to the heavy draw of the bow, and carefully the string was undone, doing this as people came and went from the Lodge, Rangers, Farstridersā¦ people from the Spire with orders and fetching reportsā¦ she sat there in her āBloodsā uniform, the City uniform of the 15th Ranger unit āThe Blood Ravensā smiling for herself as she pulled a new string from itās small packing and gently put it onto her bow, using the same stringing tool to latch it back into place in either ends of the bow, rising from her seat and moved over to the shooting range, breaking it in once againā¦ this bow had now seen seven different strings in itās time of serviceā¦ it was a good bowā¦ a damn good bowā¦ so was the Ranger it belonged to, and the unit in which she serve, The Blood Ravens.
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Late in the evening, Mylathandris would come into the Lodge and head towards the sleeping quarters, checking everyoneās area thoroughly and cleaning any areas that would require so, making sure everyoneās bed was made and bedside tables and storage cleaned and tidy.
At each bat, sheād leave a small pendant decorated in elaborate Elven patterns, coloured a bright yellow entwined with a blood red, and each one resting on the pillow of each and every Raven. One small inscription is around the outside of the Pendant, it reads, āThe FIfth Ranger Groupā and a ranger would be in the middle, aiming itās bow, anticipating an enemy attack
Another small note would be left, copied over and over again and placed next to the pendant, which would be sealed in a small leather bag and tied with silk at the top
"To my closest friends and comrades, I had this made in honour of our progress as a group, I canāt be with you, but my heart and spirit of the Farstriders is with you always, Love Mylathandris Heradaris Goldpath Sunbowā
She took her time, her pregnant form continueing to manifest itself, taking a slow gentle walk that would often turn into a plod, taking her leave and returning to the Spire to conduct more office-work for the Farstriders.
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