What can I say? Writer’s Block sucks and I know better than to force it. Of course I have things I could write about… but it’s an angsty thing right now to put words down in a cohesive order. However, it’s best not to fall too far off the wagon and I shall have a post by the end of the week. Even if it’s about my Mechano-hogs.
Yes, I said hogs. As in plural.
((A Hallow’s End treat for you all! A little early as I expect the holiday to keep me busy with my family. Enjoy!))
The reading room was small but luxuriously appointed. Ezma preferred to visit it for it was much quieter than the bigger library Dalaran boasted. She could spend the long, dark hours of the night quietly reading, catching up on her inscription work or writing in her quickly filling journal. The walls were lined with shelves stuffed full of books and antique tables and chairs made up a large portion of the floor space. Most of it was scattered in small conversational groupings except for one lone rocking chair placed in a corner. The ancient rosewood chair was finely carved and over the centuries the wood had been polished to a smooth sheen. It was a lovely piece and Ezma avoided it, opting instead to sit in an armchair across the room. Even though it appeared empty, the rocking chair was always occupied.
Night after night, a human woman rocked her infant in the chair. Night after night, Ezma listened to her sing in an exceptional alto. The words were in a language she did not understand but the tune was familiar. Her song shared the same soothing cadence all lullabies possessed, expressing a maternal love as old as the mountains and as deep as the sea. The minor key was haunting, leaving a chill along Ezma’s spine.
The departed often did not care to be disturbed and it was second nature to Ezma to ignore the presence of mother and child. Past experience had taught her that lost spirits usually saw only what they wished and it was best to leave them be. Weeks went by and she watched from the corner of her eye. One night, in search of a book, Ezma wandered closer than she usually did. As the rocking stopped and silence descended, Ezma was almost afraid to look. Half turning, Ezma glanced towards the corner. The woman was staring straight at her, her baby protectively cradled gently against her breast. Unsure what else to do, Ezma apologized.
“Pardon me, I did not mean to disturb you.”
The ghost nodded and returned to rocking, though her song did not start up again for a while. Ezma, having retreated back to her area of the room, breathed a sigh of relief when it did. The spirit was not inclined to turn wrathful, it seemed. Already she appeared lost to her endless routine. Ezma decided to stay away for a bit to allow the woman to truly settle.
A few nights later, upon returning to the room, Ezma was surprised to be greeted by the spirit. Just a pause and a nod before she returned to what she was doing. Usually equally ignored by the dead, the death knight was caught off guard. Before she could stop herself, Ezma politely returned her greeting. The lullaby lilted through the air as Ezma set up in her usual place but a new awareness had been formed and ignoring each other was no longer an option. Occasionally, there was conversation, though it was usually an odd thing. Like many spirits, the woman was self absorbed and her awareness would often vacillate between understanding of her situation and the restless belief she was still alive that kept her coming back night after night, repeating these simple actions.
“One day, my son will be Lord.” the woman said, placing a gentle kiss on the unnaturally still infant’s head. Ezma remained silent. She had nothing to say. With a sudden switch in demeanor, the ghost looked her in the eye and said “Do you know why I’m here?”
Unwilling to lie, Ezma said “No.”. The ghost went back to rocking and singing.
Weeks went by and the nights grew longer with the changing of the seasons. Hallow’s End approached and Ezma watched, waiting for the day the woman asked again. The ghost gave her hints in odd statements and little signs. Ezma would be ready. The holiday seemed to bring some strength to the woman. Her form was slightly more corporeal and her awareness slightly less fuzzy. Still, almost every night she was there, rocking her child and singing the lullaby that sounded as old as time.
Hallow’s End passed, the Day of the Dead dawned and the moment Ezma had both anticipated and dreaded came. Her song temporarily silent, she raised her eyes to Ezma’s and asked the question. “Do you know why I’m here?”
Unwilling to lie, Ezma said “Yes.”. The chair stopped rocking and silence descended.
“Tell me…”
Drawing in a shaky breath, Ezma started to speak. She wished she didn’t have to. “You killed your baby. Strangled your son. Even now I can see the marks upon his neck. When you realized what you had done, you killed yourself as well. You took a dagger and ripped open your wrists, bleeding to death.”
A ghostly wail rose through the room, chilling Ezma’s soul. It was primal grief in it’s purest form, horror and pain distilled into an outcry as old as the mountains and as deep as the sea. Terrible loss condensed into one word, chanted over and over. “Why? Why, why, whhhhhhhhhyyyyyyyyy?”
Squeezing her eyes shut, Ezma wished she could hold back the tears. She whispered “Because sometimes the dark is bigger than we are. It swallows our soul.”
The echoing sobs of a mother in pain continued for a while, eventually tapering off. Silence descended to soon be replaced by a lullaby singing of a maternal love as old as the mountains and as deep as the sea.
Dawn Vigil, my 10 man raid, killed Algalon this morning! As a result, they are all sporting a shiny new Starcaller title.
Gratz, guys!
I can’t actually give you an epic play by play. I was tending a sick child instead of raiding. There’s always next week though, right?
I am not usually an achievement whore. I don’t nergasm over nerd points as a rule but still I find myself debating.
Should I go for Loremaster on Ezma?
It seems like such a huge amount of work, really. As a death knight, she has done practically none of these quests. But still.. Loremaster! With tacky tabard to go with it!
Ugh.. so torn.
It’s not you, it’s me.
I had heard the cliche, the tired old phrase. I always thought it was an excuse. Uttered to make one feel better about making someone else feel bad.
But he stood before me, a wall up. His easy, open smile erased as he clenched his jaw. His warm eyes had grown hard. His fists balled. When he excused himself, I let him go with merely a nod of my head as he stalked away.
What could I say?
I fear closeness. I fear the overwhelming rush of emotion. I fear him.
Damn Katanya for forcing the issue. Damn him for forcing this discussion. Damn me for forcing those words past my lips.
“It’s not you, it’s me.”
Holy crap, what fun!
I’ve been PvPing my 24 shaman, Tikla, and my 47 druid, Silversage, in the ol’ Battlegrounds for XP. It’s like the old days have returned. I think I hear birds singing…
Once upon a time, there was a little priestess. Freshly rerolled from Alliance to Horde and interested in the new Warsong battleground, she started her journey. Many months were spent as a battle medic, usually queuing with the same people night after night. Dissonant dinged 60, practically fully leveled on PvP token turn-ins. There was great mourning when the incessant crying of twinks meant that Blizzard revoked XP gains from Battlegrounds.
The new changes means twinks have literally fled from the Cyclone battlegroup. Heirloom gear is the new sexy in there but level limits on enchants are keeping really hard hitting twinks down to a minimum. It’s fun to enter at lvl 24 and have a real chance at affecting the outcome of the game. I’ve capped flags. I’ve returned flags. I need to give in, grab my druid’s leather spellpower gear and spec resto for all the healing I do. A healing Enhancement shammie is rather amusing.
Now to quit trying to hit Ghost Wolf on Ezma…
For me to play a character to the point I cap them, I need more than just the class. I have to have something more, a compelling back story. To keep playing them beyond cap, I need strong continuing RP to build on that base.
For four years, my Forsaken priest, Dissonant, was my go-to girl. Sure I had alts and I enjoyed them but she was The One. She was the one I raided and the one with the most elaborate RP. But I’ll admit, towards the end of BC, there was a creeping dissatisfaction. She had become stagnate, we were both in a rut. I’m pretty sure months of spamming Circle of Healing in Black Temple and Sunwell didn’t help. ( I was one of the few priests all for a cooldown on that spell. Weep, Holy Ones!!! Weep!!!)
I had a twink priest I would fool around with on occasion at that time. Even though I eventually levelled her into Outlands, Ezma never really took off as a character. She was a bit too wishy-washy and passive as a character for me to get into. She was easily outshone by her sister, my rogue Avaryce. So when they announced Death Knights and BC drew to a close, I killed her off. Rerolling her to a DK was the best thing I’ve done.
Funny how that same passive, wishy-washy personality became an asset when twisted by undeath.
My old main, the one I levelled first come Wrath, was soon shoved on the back burner. I was held to her for longer than I liked really. Held by guild and raid obligations forged when I had more passion for that class and character. Eventually, guild drama and work obligations worked together to allow me the door to step down from it all and slide Ezma into my main spot.
I guess this comes about because there has to be some magic between RP and class that makes a character stand out and become the one you want to play full time. I talked yesterday about my mage, Juriza. She could have been a main if I had truly loved the mage class but as much as I’ve tried, I just don’t. (Not in the face, Pill!!!) So, I pull her out for RP, jewelcrafting and the occasional heroic where someone needs DPS.
So now, Ezma outshines her sister and I’ve even fleshed out Dir a bit to complicate it all. Diss, sadly, gathers dust. She is still precious to me though and maybe one day, I’ll find that hook that will draw her out of her stark, comfortable monkhood.
I am so happy to be back. Of course this means I’m behind in like… everything I wanted to accomplish this past week but c’est la vie.
While down and unable to raid, I rolled a new character (cause I didn’t have enough…). A troll shaman named Tikla. She is a refined lady.. you can tell by how genteel-like she picks her nose. She’s not too bright and a total tomboy. She thinks “hygiene” is something you can catch. Tikla’s hobbies include scratching in public, belching and tormenting the “pinkies”.
I may write an RP story for her and my troll mage, Juriza… it would be awesome characterization for them both.
I love my mage, Juriza. She is an awesome character and alot of fun. However, I am just not fond of the mage class. She’s 80 by dint of being a great character alone. If they ever allow rerolls of established characters, I will totally do it. It would really breathe life into her.
to COMCAST!!! Forever!!!
I hate this company with such a vile, impure hatred. They think three or four days of service interruptions a week is acceptable customer service. Every time.. EVERYTIME… we are told we can expect slowdowns during peak hours.
I didn’t realize “slowdown” meant full stop for hours at a time. Because our phone is connected to our internet, we’d lose it too. Yes, I have a cell phone but that’s not the point!
It’s this shoddy, shitty product and service that has us moving on. We found a great deal with another company where we get TV, Internet and Phone for half the price we were paying for just internet and phone. It’s DSL too so hopefully, none of the same issues with Comcast.
However, because my husband pissed off Comcast while reaming them out about their shit service they cut our cable a bit early. I am now stuck mooching wireless off our Verizon card on the craptop. I really hate the craptop.
I SWEAR IT’S THE LAST TIME, GUYS!!!
I broke today. How can I describe something so terrifying and so primal? I cannot so I must simply live with it. It was only a cultist. It was no one of consequence… no one who will ever be missed. There were no witnesses but still… I know.
When he turns that blank, milky gaze my way, does he realize what I’ve done to him? Does his lack of understanding make it any more forgivable?
No. May he serve as my reminder.
Depleting the forces of Arthas was an everyday job and the Ebon Blade paid well for the ending of each cultist. The kills must be clean and no hope of them returning to The Lich King’s armies was a requirement. It was easy work that barely disturbed Ezma’s usual icy calm. After all, these were humans who had done the unforgivable. They had turned their backs on any semblance of decency and willingly sold their souls to The Lich King.
Restlessness. Ezma let out a small huff as she retightened the straps on her plated gloves. She couldn’t seem to leave them alone as an unreal energy set her nerves to jangling. The troll death knight who usually handed out the assignments gave her a tusky grin at her supposed impatience. The bits of bone he wore in his braided hair sounded eerily like windchimes as they clacked with the motions of his body. Ezma snatched the scroll from his hand and did her best to avoid any eye contact as the troll snarked, in a hollow rasp, “Ya go getcha some, girlie!” She refused to dignify his statement with even a mutter as she stomped back to Kronk, her waiting protodrake. Routine, and it’s usual soothing effect, was waiting.
Ezma double checked her orders as the massive drake landed near the Aldur’thar gate in northern Icecrown. Even from here, the stench from the Cult of the Damned’s cauldrons reached, their poisonous contents kicking up noxious fumes. Kronk gave an amused snort as Ezma, frowning with worry, shooed him off so he wasn’t exposed to the foul vapors. With a sharp about-turn, Ezma marched towards the massive, spiked structure, sitting in marked contrast to the snow-covered mountains of Icecrown. With the cultists presenting so little challenge, her mind idled as muscle memory took over, dispatching the mad humans with a ruthless efficiency. It was her own carelessness, her own inattention, that allowed one of the cultists she was engaged in to slip in a blow to her ribcage. It didn’t hurt… it was the shock of the hit, the clang against her armor, that focused more than her mind. The taste of rot filled Ezma’s mouth and her vision blurred as dark energy raced through her veins. She backhanded the gaunt man and he lost his grip on the dagger as he fell to the dirty floor.
He was down. He was no threat. Ezma whimpered, silently repeating the mantra as she put down her axe in an attempt to rein in the blackness, to push her temper back behind the ice. The cultist looked her in the eye, giggling. His eyes were wild and insane as he made an obscene gesture. The last of her self-control incinerated in a hot rush and Ezma was barely aware that the mad animal howl that filled the air came from her.
Neither used a weapon but what was a filthy robe next to runed plate? His strength was born of insanity but in the end, he was no match for an enraged death knight. At first the cultist fought back, landing weakened blows on her armor, scratching at her face and even pulling her hair but Ezma continued her relentless assault. Her eyes were unseeing as her metal gloved fists pummeled him again and again. His insane giggle continued, though blood was pooling under him and his bones were breaking under her blows. The black fury raged through Ezma as she beat the cultist to death with her hands. Finally, he choked, his blood-filled lungs wheezing one more time before he died, the laughter silenced.
She shuddered as the violent anger receded, drawing back to allow rational thought once more. Her breath came out in short, hard gasps, her muscles burning and her nerve endings tingling as the warm remnants of the adrenaline-fueled thrill dissipated. Despair and shame rose, occupying the space left behind. Ezma rocked and hugged herself. Her carefully constructed control, gone. Shattered in an instant by something that should have had no significance. Shaky and spent, she regained her feet. Tired, Ezma picked her axe back up and placed it in it’s holster on her back. For a moment, she just stood there, staring at the broken lump that had once been a man. A word, a surge of power, and it twitched. Unable to defy it’s new mistress, the remnants of the broken cultist pulled itself together. Trembling, Ezma trudged through the snow to find Kronk, the fresh ghoul following close behind.
I am a female gamer who plays on Feathermoon Horde. (Lok'tar, Bitches!) I am a heavy roleplayer and raider. I am a woman of many alts but my main is a 80 Death Knight named Ezma.
Ezma Art from http://takisis.deviantart.com.
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