Written by | Posted November 19, 2013 – 4:46 pm Deconstruction

Bad things are happening in Stormwind – and beyond.

The Hand of Lothar, they call themselves.

Yva Darrows was their first target.

Tirith and Aely were their second and third.

They have since… expanded their reach and escalated their methods …

filed under Feature, Guest Posts, Roleplay
Guest Post: The Drag
comment Comments Off Written by on March 11, 2009 – 10:28 am

A few weeks ago, I introduced the first Friday Five-hundred – a ficlet about your character getting mugged.  Wynthea, the full of win, from over at World of Matticus, sent me a response to use as a guest post if I should ever need one.  Which I do, because I am totally up to my eyeballs in house debris!  Anyway, I hope you enjoy this little bit of Hordeside RP, since I rarely post in character from that side of this crazy World of Warcraft we play in!

*****

The glowing halo atop her flaming Mohawk gives the impression of a Troll on fire. Wynthea’s bare feet pad down the steps from Jo’mah’s inscription shop in the Drag, as Thrall’s Orgrimmar seethes with the sounds of crackling braziers, practice-combat, and bustling trade. And a dagger unsheathing.

The dark alley surrounding her explodes in a sphere of shimmering light, exposing a stealthed assassin – a tiny, masked bundle, preparing to launch himself at her throat.

Berserk before the first strike, the Priest forces herself inside his mind with a primal scream – sending her attacker fleeing as she curses his body with terrible pain. Spells and blades flash – searing fire from the heavens against steel from the earth.

Minutes later, a netted Rogue on the ground, Wynthea calls the life back into her slashed limbs, and thanks the shadowy fiend at her side before sending it back to its world of nightmares.

“You don’ mess wit’ de loa, little one. Why is you attakin’ a Priest-ess of de Darkspear?” she mutters at the unconscious form. Deftly rifling through his many pockets, she discovers a folded sheaf of documents. It’s all Alliance-writing, which Wynthea has never mastered, but she does notice glyphs that look similar to the name of the Warchief.

Uncrouching, she drags the Rogue towards the Valley of Wisdom and Thrall’s advisors as the smell of roast pig wafts out of the window of Borstan’s Firepit. It smells delicious – so much like her favorite meal – all but forgotten since the Darkspears joined Thrall’s Horde, and bound themselves by his rules.

Wynthea pulls two small, gnawed bones from her pocket, and rolls the Troll-dice.

She sighs.

“You gon’ make it to Trall in one piece, little one.You best hope he let you stay dat way.”

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