It was a beautiful autumn morning. The leaves were beginning to turn yellow in Thelsamar, though plenty of green was left on the conifers that dominated the landscape. As Ellister stood on the porch of his small home, cradling a steaming cup of tea in his hands, he wondered (not for the first time) whether he was truly insane. Preferring to not answer that question, he finished his tea, returning inside to pack a few last-minute items before leaving for Pandaria.
Thoran walked through Stormwind, his steps heavy and tired. His body still ached from days spent running, but it was getting better. He kept his eyes on the ground for the most part, heading to the Dwarven District.
He did indulge himself though, and stop off at the barber shop. His beard had grown out of control and his hair was entirely too shaggy. Closing his eyes, he let the Gnomes do their thing and relaxed as they lathered his face and combed out his caramel colored hair. He thought about possibly meeting Natharai down the line and his belly flipped nervously. He’d have to see the other Worgen soon though, and with Etharion.
His mind wandered back to Grav’s letter. He wondered if the Elf would be in Stormwind. With what had happened over the last few days, maybe the druid come monk would have some insight. Etharion was convinced Thoran wasn’t going ‘feral’ in the classic Gilnean sense (and wasn’t Thoran grateful for that?), but rather…becoming more animalistic.
Which made no sense to the big Gilnean. But, at least he’d shown himself he could be non-violent. That gave him hope. As the Gnomes finished up, he pondered how such a small four letter word could shine like the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel.
He left the barbershop, smiling as the Gnomes went on excitedly about the tip he’d left them and looked around. He wondered if Grav was in town, and if so, where would he be? Feeling more like himself, he turned and headed toward the Dwarven District once again, this time holding his head up and scanning the crowds.
The Dwarven District was as busy as usual, as it was the city’s main hub for industrial projects such as stonecrafting, masonry, metal smelting, and so on. A bevy of shippers, traders, and workers milled around the streets, and, per usual, the air was heavy with the smell of smoke, burning coal coke, and metal-tinged steam.
Though one thing was for certain, there were very few elves in this place. Any that Thoran managed to catch were usually clerks or one of the very few Kaldorei smiths that have been teaching their craft as well as learning new techniques for themselves. Graveryl and his distinctively tattooed face were nowhere to be seen in the throngs of people present – but last time he was not in the District proper, but beyond it… Perhaps he would be again?
As Thoran passed through the gateway arch that separated the District from the Rural quarter, the oppressive smells of the foundries and craft houses began to mingle with fresh air until they were barely a hint on the breeze. Old oak and sycamore trees towered over the dirt roads and shade-dappled ponds and the people who were seen beyond the main city were far and few – namely people on break and enjoying lunch, groundskeepers, and farmers. Though there was still no sign of the elf he sought…
That was until a familiar voice was heard overhead, coming from one of the high boughs of a gnarled sycamore. “…Hello, Bear,” the elf said pleasantly in his heavily-accented Common, seemingly pleased to spot the Gilnean from his perch. There was little delay on Graveryl moving down the branches, his swift and fluid movements befitting of a forest dweller as old as he, before his booted feet met the ground with a heavy thump.
The smile he wore dimmed ever so slightly as he approached, concern replacing much of his expression as he reached out to rest a hand upon Thoran’s left shoulder. “…I take it that you received my letter.”
Soon after the portal to Draenor opened, Vandrysse became plagued with a series of visions that compelled her to find a way through. After analyzing their options, Ellister and Vandrysse took on work at one of the garrisons in Shadowmoon Valley. During their forays for alchemical components, they ultimately found themselves in the Spires of Arak, where a series of Unfortunate Events occurred. So haunted by the experience, Vandrysse claimed to have a relapse in order for the couple to be sent back home to Thelsamar. But the darkness has to take one last parting shot.
The damage deposit was sadly forfeit. The innkeeper could have let the claw marks on the threshold go, and did not entirely mind the several torn sets of bed sheets. But she drew the line at the absolutely insidious infestation of shed worgen fur that had worked its way into everything. The baseboards, the curtains, the pillows, the rug…no surface was spared from the winter worgen fluff. It would take days to completely rid the room of it! It was with no small degree of embarrassment that Ellister readily agreed to pay for damages, and he offered to help as best he could before they departed. The innkeeper gave a somewhat tired look as Ellister apologized; they weren’t the only worgen in the garrison, after all. She did accept his offer to help, and Ellister spent a good couple of days prior to their departure cleaning up as best he could.
Oh man, so…I generally hate every picture I try to draw of Tandava, my druid. I think of her as the most beautiful and elegant of my characters (sorry Rou, you’re cute but elegant you are NOT) but her scars are freaking hard to capture and I always flail at tusks when the head turns a certain way etc. Plus her hair is a pain and just, gah. I can never seem to get it.
Well, by jove, I think I’ve got it. It’s coming out so well I’ve started drawing her other forms around her and eee, wow! I’ll post the pencil when I’ve gone over it and cleaned it up more, plus the bat is kinda eh, but otherwise I think I’ve got the first picture of Tandava I’ve ever done that I don’t hate. Hell, I may even get my lazy ass to color it.
I have like 4 other drawings underway I’m bouncing between. One is a line-up of all my relatively ACTIVE alts and characters and it’s all so small I’m like argh. But it’s still neat to see. Another is something Rou and Ellister (aka Doctah T) will likely never ever tell anybody about. XD Least not sober.
I’ve been in a very wanna draw WoW stuff mood. Drawin mah toons while we catch up on Netflix stuff XD
[Vandrysse and Ellister have finally found the location from the visions and have made contact with the Talonpriests of Veil Terokk. The Talonpriest has made an offer that they cannot refuse: drink the potion and all of their questions will be answered…]
A plume of smoke exuded from the phial, its cloying scent wafting away on a cold breeze. The smell of it evoked memories it had no right to remind him of: staggering through an alley in Gilneas City after imbibing far too much brandy; the first time a patient had died in his arms; the sound of Vandrysse sighing as she fell asleep after they’d been intimate together. All of these visceral moments made him feel alive, yet he was ashamed of the pleasure he derived from them. But was it truly shameful? To enjoy what life has to offer? To find a thrilling rush when toying with the edges of death? A shiver passed through him as he brought the phial to his lips. He was standing on a precipice from which he could not return from. But he was not alone; his connection to Vandrysse thrummed with vibrant energy and he knew everything would be all right.
It tasted acrid and dry, instantly dissolving from his tongue and desiccating his whole mouth. Ellister coughed, but no air expelled. He tried to breathe in, but nothing drew into his lungs; panic began to flutter through his chest. The dry desiccation raced down his throat and into his gut, a freezing cold fire lighting a path in its wake. His vision swam, disorienting him and fueling the fear that was mounting and threatening to overtake him. He could hear voices, a cacophonous chorus of shrill shrieks and insistent whispers digging into his ears and burrowing into his mind. Nonsense rattled around his brain and he clutched at his head. The frozen burning sensation had coursed through his body and settled heavily in his limbs. Glancing at himself he could see through his bloody arms! – a silent scream reverberated through the shadows of the void.
((So Ellister has decided he’s sick of having crappy knees and is seeking replacement joints. Right now they’re deciding how to safely anesthetize a renal and heart disease patient, and this is what he comes up with XD ))
“The idea that I have is potentially dangerous and may not be compatible with what you need to accomplish during the procedure.” He interlaced his fingers, holding his hands together to prevent further fidgeting.
“I suggest an epidural for anesthesia.” He waited to see if the implications would be caught by his Gnomish colleague.
At his last suggestion, the tinker blinked. Even the dim sapphire light of the clockwork eye flickered.
“We’re still talking about knee surgery, correct? I don’t think an epidural will adequately cover … oh. Oh.”
Nozz looked him up and down, seeing Ellister in a new light. A small smile began to grow. “You’re one of those types?”
His reply came from a particularly well-foliaged bush of Nagrand arrowbloom, as he was seeking out seeds from the deeper branches of the plant.
“I could trim back some of the existing plants, Light knows the hydrangeas are getting a bit out of hand.” Ellister emerged from the brush triumphant, a lovely full seed pod held in his hand. He relished his victory for a moment before dropping the pod into his bag and continuing on to the patch of Starflowers.
“There is unused land behind our house, surely the town would not mind if we acquired it from them.” It was an idea he’d bandied about before, and it really depended on how busy they would be once they returned home. Ellister smiled at the thought; he knew exactly where he’d grow a Starflower plant next to the porch.
Vandrysse wore the look of someone haunted, which she made no effort to hide as it was part of the story, after all. That, she supposed, was the sheer brilliance of it - little acting was required. She did notice, however, that a number of people seemed relieved that they were departing; because they’d spent so much of their time appearing human, it was easy for most people to forget (or not even know) that they were worgen, and her sensitive hearing could pluck out most conversations that the inn’s patrons thought might be on the down low. Strange things had been happening around the inn as of late, just so coinciding with their return from the Spires. Some swore that another ghost had taken up residence. Vandrysse didn’t comment, certain that Ellister was overhearing all of this, too.