Responded! We can’t wait to hear back
The deep dark.
The skittering in the shadows.
An endless void.
Tendrils of ink coiled about the trees of the cursed forest, prying the tightly-woven boughs apart as if they were but twigs. Diving, weaving and burrowing, they forced the dead earth to split, partially eroded hills collapse and this wave of destruction out of insatiable hunger was relentless in its charge.
As if to make a mockery of the past, the coils slithered along the path of the Dead Scar – following the steps of the last disaster that befell the people of Silvermoon.
In their wake, thousands upon thousands of eyes opened; their gaze unending. Even more mouths bared their sword-like fangs, grinning whilst some whispered a long-forgotten tongue. Droning. Drilling. Pounding upon the walls of reality.
The walls fell as if they were paper; a cacophony of screams echoed into nothingness.
Flashes of ghostly forms danced upon the streets, letting loose crimson with veiled blades. Answering their master’s call, the servants who were once seen as kin slew their brothers and sisters, their own features twisted into nightmare. They were elf no longer.
Within a timeframe that felt like seconds, the city was devoured. Yet it wasn’t enough.
Only stronger and emboldened, the unstoppable chaos drained the sea as it made its way to Quel’danas, where the Sunwell lay waiting. The last thing seen was a maw the size of a mountain, encompassing it all.
The High Kingdom was gone.
Erithur awoke with a gasp, panting to catch his breath. Beads of sweat had formed on his brow, yet he shivered as if he’d been laying on ice. His gaze flicked back and forth rapidly, taking in the ruins he found himself taking shelter in; still covered in furs and on his bedroll.
Sighing, the young Sin’dorei covered his face with his hands, attempting to calm himself. It had been a long while since he’d suffered from night terrors. Perhaps his new environment wasn’t helping with that.
The Ghostlands had never been Erithur’s favourite place to visit; forever cast in twilight, cursed and twisted, with plenty of lingering dangers even after the defeat of the Scourge. Still, he had to get used to it – this was his home now, at least most of the time.
His tainted gaze peered through the gaps in his fingers, lingering on the vine-covered, cracked walls. Age had not been kind and nature still sought to claim this place for its own. There was a lot of work to do. It was damp, dirty and smelt of mould, but it was all that was keeping him protected from the Ghostlands’ many residents – beast or no.
Huffing, he clambered out of his haphazard bed and slipped on his boots, deciding to get a little bit of air to clear his head. As he walked out and stood upon the walkway overlooking the waterfall which signified the border of Eversong, he couldn’t help but wish he’d been on that side of the river instead.
The youngling’s ear perked to the sound of snoring from someone within and looking back towards his friends, comrades and family as they slumbered reminded him why he’d agreed to something so crazy as this.
Below, another reminder - in the form of the fountain crowned with the statue of a dragonhawk and a small child upon its back - was gazed upon next. Although he couldn’t read the names of the lost upon the plaques from this distance, his mind did recall when he stood before them. The decoration stood defiant in the face of ruin; untainted. It was a proclamation, a statement.
“The dark times will pass.”
As the cry of his recently bonded sibling called out during her night flight – her shadow casting over him in passing – he couldn’t help but smile.
“Yes… Yes, they will.”
Guild activity update: A massive congratulations to our newly promoted Hawkrider Erithur for his successful bonding ceremony, may Esperance serve you well! And congratulations to Talyn for his bonding with Stargazer!
We also see the appointment of Aiechi as our head of medics - an exciting title in which he will be taking care of us and our terrible tendencies to get hurt along with over seeing our other medics in the guild.
We had a busy few days with some interviews with new members and scheduling ourselves in for some future rp with the Blood Ravens this Monday coming. We want to say another huge thank you for the support we’ve been getting and to the people we’ve been able to RP with.
Expect to see us out and about where we can fully start getting into the swing of things as a guild.
The Ghostlands will tremble! Or get a good laugh while we try to sort out the marching formation…
Hisss. You used the forbidden words.
Just you wait until we run into something suspicious and have to check it out. Just imagine trying to co-ordinate a moving-covering maneuver with half the patrol group not trained in it.
It will be a big pile of green (we will be in our greens too), bows, and a lot of facepalms.
Someone better tell Narmë (The character, not me) about that circus when she come back.
There’s some very simple ways to do that, which work for us in the air. If you’re a good little ranger we might even teach you them
Given how much use we are getting out of them loaned Dragonhawks…
What ya mean “Dragonhawks are never loaned”. How did w- gets the bill for those Dragonhawks
So, guess these guys are pretty cool, or something.
Round and round the captain,
Skyguard springing into action,
One, two, three, four,
Deaths knocking at their door.
De’vontae stared out into the darkened streets of the city from the lofty height of the gilded coins balcony. The Skyguard, Blood Ravens and Dawn Patrol had returned from patrol that very night with some wounds but otherwise successful in their duties. But the young Captain’s face bore none of the signs of a man who should be content with their excursion. A shadow had found its way across his face, pulling otherwise soft youthful features into harsh serious lines. His eyes usually so wild, now seem haunted and subdued as they watched the emptying walkways beneath him. The felhazed shroud before his irises swirled in an activeness that the rest of his body lacked.
He had been sat upon the chaise longue since returning to the city from their battle. Half of his black chainmail had been discarded to the side of his circular penthouse room, leaving his body bound in the crumpled black linen shirt and trousers he wore beneath, feet still bound in their high legged boots. His body lay in an equally haphazard fashion as the chainmail in the floor, leaning against the back of the chaise with his right leg raised and arm leaning atop of it for support. His hand pushed across his mouth, knuckles tightly pressing against the flesh.
Welcome home -Captain-.
The vicious voice he had put aside a year ago seeped into his mind like a vehement snake. In response he pressed his knuckle in tighter until it pushed his lips aside and rested against his front teeth.
How does it feel to be in the position I always gloated you’d get? Readying for the repeat of history?
Of course this new point in his life would bring back his demon, the forked tongue beast that revelled in his suffering. Ever since that time…
Yes, we have known each other for a long time now haven’t we Firecloud? I’ve been your only friend at times when everyone else had abandoned you and yet you sent me away. But I’ve never truly left. I’ve always watched you.
He reached across to grab his glass of wine that sat on the nearby table and took a deep tasteless gulp.
You don’t truly think you are capable of this do you? After all, how can you keep your fliers safe as a Captain if you couldn’t save them as just a flier.
De’vontae flinched and slammed his glass back to the table, sending the furniture into a shaken frenzy. His mind swam back to the light fractured picture of Alaris, his hair the colours of the sweetest nectar and eyes that shone like emeralds. The weight of the sorrow in his chest doubled like someone had placed a sinking ship upon his sternum.
Did you think by burning that picture you could forget and forgive?
De’vontae pushed himself up and brought his hands across his face to hide the cracks of despair that his demon had summoned from him. “Leave me alone…”
Leave you? But you always want me to be with you, my Firecloud. Make no mistake I will always be here. Watching. Unlike your friends who abandon you and distance themselves now you are Captain. Our love is timeless, isn’t that what you said before you drove your dagger into my chest? Yes… I’m part of you now.
“Watch me then as you will, Alaris… I already failed once and I will not fail again. I’m not who you once loved.” The voice stopped like the ocean after a passing storm, never before spoken back to. The Captain lowered his hands and gripped the chaise with eyes burning brightly, now looking to the embroider surcoat of the Skyguard, mind reeling over their faces from these last two days…
The faces that marched alongside the Blood Ravens. That shared the fires of the Dawn Patrol. Yasmyr… fierce and maternal. Erivana… dunce and yet so strong willed. I’len… kind and reliable. His officers. Then the faces of the brave men and women that inspired him below, Erithur, Talis, Verthanis, Daisy, Aiechi, Gaxxius, Ranthos… Hell even Sylestra the bleating cow.
Even those he just recently walked with - Aeranthiel, Aide, Colleth…
He knew then what it was that Stargrazer once spoke to him “You have the heart of a Dragonhawk Firecloud. You will protect your family to the ends of the earths.”
He was no longer the Ranger that flew Ashran, he was Captain Autumnvale, abandoned sin of a spineless lord and a human loving egg dispenser. Son of a Skymaster. That one guy with a lot of explosions. And member of the Skyguard. And this. Was his beginning.
Visits AA page
Apologies, that is my fault as I’m waiting on artists to forward art for our page and do not want to forge ahead until that’s delivered.
Been RPing with this lot for quite abit this week and its been a great deal of fun. Members are also very welcoming and laid back so I’d recommend them for anyone intrested!
Have a bump!
Might hop on over to the Ghostlands on my proto-dragon sometime soon…
Thank you to you both; we have exciting times ahead of us as we look to embark on the time aged tradition of naming one of our fliers for their 10 kills in air to air combat and also bond two cadets!
Beyond that tonight we are looking forward to a fun game of hawk tag and further down the line an even more fun hallowseve Gala!
The inaugural Hawk Tag bout was indeed held tonight, with Sunwing beating Starwing 2-1 in a very fiercely fought competition. Here’s to many more games in the future! <3
(We’ll get you next time, Sunwing!)
How long has it been by now?
I look at the verse on the previous page and I suppose it still retains the same sentiment, even if the colours have changed. We were transferred to a new unit. Gone are the lavish lifestyles of heroes; replaced with hard graft and surviving in the cursed wilderness of the Ghostlands. Although the hardships of the Thalassian Skyguard (or simply ‘Skyguard’ as we’re referred to often) are many, comrades old and new strive together to make the ruins we call home… Home.
It feels strange to finally don the greens, browns and golds of the Farstriders – something I’ve always wanted since I was a child – even if I could never quite cut it as a bowman or a survivalist. Although the previous post was technically under that regiment, it feels much more real now.
The journey wasn’t without loss. My previous partner, Surestrike – the Wyvern I’d been entrusted with as I learnt aerial combat – died during a skirmish with the Alliance in Alterac not too long before the transfer. I still blame myself for his death… And for forcing my new Captain to end his life so to save mine. His name takes pride of place upon the fountain of remembrance nearby, though it makes my heart sink to look at it.
Now I have a new partner, in the form of a great silver Dragonhawk named Esperance. I’m not sure what possessed such a grand creature to pick someone as insignificant and least heroic as me to be her rider, but she has. We’re bonded and it is both an eerie and incredible experience. A connection that is so difficult to put into words. It’s a warmth . I have a lot to learn about her, as she does about me… I just hope I don’t let her down, too.
I’ve made many more friends since returning to Quel’thalas, Farstrider and otherwise. I’m close to almost everyone in the unit – especially Talis who is my best friend – and we’re very much like a small family. They have far more experience than me; they were soldiers before and still are. Even though the Captain is younger than me in years, he acts far, far older and wiser than I ever could.
To add to all of this change, there is a shaky truce between the Alliance and Horde. The rebellion won and the loyalists were finally dispersed. I’m not sure what will happen now, but regardless of what Kalimdor becomes our duty is still to the High Kingdom. Whether Amani, Scourge or Alliance, nothing will get close enough to Silvermoon’s walls. I don’t think a ceasefire will change that anytime soon.
Why is it then that I do not feel joy as of late? Surely all of this is good news, complicated faction politics aside? Where has my enthusiasm gone? My joy for life?
I think it’s the nightmares.
They come almost every night now; visions of inky blackness and gleaming eyes. A slithering, grotesque cacophony of words I don’t understand making my head spin. Tendrils the vilest of vile, clutching at my body and my mind; warping the very world in which I breathe.
If it isn’t those visions, it is remnants of the past. Broken and distorted.
They’re affecting me. It was barely noticeable at first, but I can almost feel myself changing. The way I think, the way I look at people. I find myself becoming irritated or frustrated easily and even if no one else can, I can tell that my Chi is faltering.
Now others are beginning to notice it, too. What first latched on as a grievance with one person is manifesting into something else. As much as I am to blame for these ill feelings, I know that they aren’t what I am.
I’m afraid. What is happening to me?
This feeling of being lost.
I don’t know how to explain it to myself, never mind anyone else. Wouldn’t they just see me as mad? See this as just an excuse? Would they think me weak?
They have such high expectations of me. I can’t let them down.
I care about them all dearly, even Firefury, but this feeling of mistrust – I can’t seem to let it go.
Maybe a few days away and some meditation will help to clear my head. Then things will go back to normal. Just as they always were.
Cymria’s head pokes through an opening, brows instinctively knitting together at the sound of a large creak. She takes a small step back, enough that she could partially view the cluttered walkway. A sigh of relief escapes her, gaze narrowing by way of the approaching elf.
“Unscathed?” she asks; clapping off muck from her hands.
“Physically unscathed,” Vianea answers quietly.
“I was not expecting you to come by,” Cymria hums. Without forewarning, she disappears from sight and rummages through a number of items, each bearing their own distinct clink and thud.
“Neither was I, but I figured it wouldn’t have hurt,” Vianea murmurs, certain the words wouldn’t reach her mentor’s ears.
She flinches each time a new clank is sounded, long ears on the verge of wilting. Gloved fingers reach for the spine of a chair, supporting herself by leaning against the sturdy metal frame; lit by a broken ceiling that allows the sun’s warmth to grace the workspace. Dulled eyes drift from corner to corner with no small amount of exhaustion, lingering on discarded papers and wood shards. A blur slowly begins to overtake her vision and no matter how much she blinks, it does not clear.
Her free hand rises, palm sinking into the socket of her right eye as she winces. A recollection of her most recent flight proceeds in fragments but it focuses solely on the tremble of her hand, on the state of her being that forced her to rely heavily on her dragonhawk. She remembers, clear as day, how the bow had continually gained weight in her grasp to the point where she could no longer bear to use it.
Even with her spontaneous disappearance, little had changed when it came to the skies. Comfort may have tickled the edges of her anxiety, but the perpetual thought of being a liability had rooted within her chest. An undulating ache that spread slowly and gnawed at her skin.
Could she continue to face the others? Was she worthy? Comforting words were one thing, but they would not save her in the skies. It could calm the tides for a short time, but it would not stop the inevitable aftermath. Losing focus could spell the end of her, but perhaps that was exactly why Silah had been so insistent and vocal, to keep her aware of the situation. Vianea feels a frown begin to drag the corners of her lips; knees bending to a moment of weakness.
Like the recollection prior, again it starts anew, only its focus differs.
A green expanse framed by white bark and autumnal leaves, a realm devoid of warmth despite the sun’s presence. The trace of familiar spindly fingers, a cracking caw in the distance; wind whipping against the sides of a sprinting figure, an ache growing too quickly to ignore. Broad purple streaks splayed across a gilded carapace, red wings mottled and spread with overwhelming panic. Sprawling, twisting, shrieking.
Vianea lingers in the warmth until the other emerges, reaching out to grasp the other’s forearm.
“Tell me I’ll be okay,” she whispers. “Tell me I can go back to what I was again.”
Rowynwen’s feet glided across the flower laden field that stretched out far ahead of her. The wind, a normal gentle breeze swung past her light ginger hair causing the strands to tussle and escape the confines of her hairband. The sun swung by in sweeping smudges of yellow light, bobbing about in her vision with the sky beneath it and the golden tree tops above.
The wooden seat of the swing felt warm from where the afternoons rays had glistened against its surface. A chattering cry of a Dragonhawk called up from beyond her peripheral hearing, the sound high in note and trilled like the warbling cry of a bird in the morning. Rowynwen’s hands gripped the rope of the swing, her body leaning all the way back into the air with her head tilted upside down looking towards that topsy-turvy landscape that surrounded her.
“Is this what flying is like yet Pipper?” Her voice called out as she leaned further back still in a daring, yet foolish and childish manner. Her nightgown cast out as the wind caught into the fabric, forming a strange ethereal silhouette against the vibrant grass before her. As the ground came tumbling back towards her, Rowynwen pulled her body up straight, blood rushing to her head causing her a moment of giddiness. Planting her bare feet down to the grass below, the crisp soft padding making for a springy stop.
Pipper, as she was referred to, was the small in size Golden Dragonhawk with eyes like emeralds staring up from her laying position at Rowynwen. In answer to her question she releases a haughty caw and spreads out her wings in a gesture of mockery. Rowynwen rolls her eyes and shakes her head with a smile forming on her cherry red lips “You laugh but one day if you ever fancy experimenting what it’s like to walk on two legs, I will remember this jesting you’ve made of me.”
Inhaling the scent of the earth beneath the grass and the flowers around her, Rowynwen’s smile grew wider “It is nice to be home again after all this time. To use it as it was intended.” Her eyes took to the small humble building that was in the centre of the field. It was a very simple place with just one room, but it suited her needs. Outside on a clothes horse sat her recently acquired tabard, its colours a bright new green with a gilded trim and the logo of the Thalassian Skyguard.
“I suppose, Pipper, it won’t be long until I find out what it is like up there in the air. Do you think I’ll fit in there? With these men and women who willingly live a life of bordering poverty just so that they can defend our homeland and both of our people?” Pipper’s talons scraped the grass as her eyes continued to look at the Ranger. “I meant both of us Pipper! Of course I meant both of us-…”
The golden Dragonhawk pushes off with her lower tail and darts forwards to collide into the stomach of the Ranger who responds with a surprise and laughter as she’s forced to the floor, arms holding the carapace of the beast softly. “PIPPER!”