A Letter to a Friend



I hope this letter finds you safe and well — I’m assuming you’re still out in Sri-La. Even if that isn’t the case, I’m confident in this particular courier’s ability in finding you otherwise. You aren’t difficult to track; you likely have the plate armor to thank for that.

Enclosed in this letter is a piece of amber I came across while off on a job in the Dread Wastes. Along with it, I’ve attached a design with which I’d like you to model the amber after. To accompany it, I’ve added a few gems which seem to hold the same consistency as the amber, in case you might find yourself with the urge to practice, before working on the finished product.

This must be done perfectly — I cannot stress this enough, Luminouse.

I’ll be out to visit you in the next few months; until then, I’ve an arrangement here, in the Woods — one that, admittedly, I don’t wish to tear myself away from.

Remember why we do all of this,


P.S.: Farstrider Alekiah Valeron. Have you heard?”

"Stay…" he repeated in a whisper again, craning his head up to kiss him softly. "Stay…" he whispered again, that mouth now trailing along his jawline and his neck as his arms held onto him tightly now. The single word continued to leave Thaladrius with or without his own knowledge between every kiss that he gave Alekiah’s heated skin.

Moonlit Thoughts



The nights had more often found me wandering the ruins of Lordaeron, my restless soul searching for something among the lost ones. Perhaps I was lonely, and looking for company; there were certainly no shortage of spirits in the damned city.

But the shadows that danced beneath archways and…






It’s 2089. all cops have been replaced by genetically modified dogs that let children pet them, help old ladies cross the street, chase down criminals, never eat donuts, bark at cat-callers, analyze dna, easily track down murders, pee on white collar criminals, and tear the faces off of rapists. utopia has been reached. 

How was this accomplished you ask?
Well its simple
Dogs are colorblind


OOC, but damn! )

Leaves and Leathers

Never in my earlier years would I have predicted I’d turn out a Ranger, much less a committed one. Nor would I have expected I’d find myself outfitted in armor that could easily have me mistaken as a bush.

…The leather is blatantly uncomfortable for the time being. The curing did nothing in regards to comfort, nor did the fitting. I’m used to light, quick, and efficient, not bulky, green and leafy. Even my short trip to Brill today was a bit of a labor.

I haven’t been home in over a week. I passed briefly through the Ruins today, but that was only for a delivery, and I had an arrangement shortly afterwards. I’m just… needed elsewhere, as if my home has relocated itself in-turn by becoming a Ranger.

Not to mention, I’ve other places to be, happily. I’ve learned that home fails to feel so distant when where you find yourself is equally as welcoming, comfortable — when the company is ideal to the extreme. I don’t remember ever having spent so much time in Ghostlands, save for the brief months of training I experienced here.

Farstrider Valeron. I hadn’t seen it coming either.

A Revelation



Ashenvale hardly allowed much time for utter silence, the forest stirring with the life-flow that nature gifted upon her trees and hills in a song that seemed to hold no end. Glancing briefly in the direction of the small resting camp that the three Rangers had decided upon, Thaladrius seemed…

Scattered Thoughts - Ashenvale

imageI’d always considered the fact that I constantly run through the same thoughts, over and over again, to be a flaw. And often, it is; I’ll likely eventually lose my sanity to my own restless mind sometime further down the road.

On this night, however, this flaw has served its purpose as a benefit, in some twisted way that I hadn’t previously seen coming.

In the end, this wounded hand — now functional, again — turned out to be a blessing, instead of the inconvenience I’d originally thought it to be. I suppose it all routes back to Haleera, and the way in which she managed to beat me to not one, but two contracts, the more important of the two being the one in the Ghostlands, on the night I was injured. Having beaten me to my delivery, she managed to delay my return to Eversong just long enough so that I’d encounter the man who attacked — as a result, my injured hand.

Leaving room for ambiguity, and likely negating the entire point of this long, endless thought, my injury resulted in something… extraordinary.

I complain for naught — it never fails: the greatest, most wondrous of circumstances always arise when we least see it coming. Or, at the very least, that’s how it’s always worked out in my own case.

Scattered Thoughts - V1

I think I lean less towards recording my thoughts in a journal, and more towards just thinking my thoughts and letting them vanish eventually. Besides, I fear I might otherwise return to a journal and read over it, only to realize how trivial everything was back then.


For the first night in a long while, I failed to see the moon. It was there, surely — the deathly branches that canopy over the plains of the Ghostlands offer a view of it from nearly anywhere. But no, none of it was visible for me; I slept, comfortably, soundly. Not only that, but I recall dreams of a wonderful nature that I don’t remember experiencing ever before. I feel an unspeakable happiness, and I can’t help but feel fine to hold it in, share it with no one. More for myself. It’s a well-deserved greed.

My hand has nearly recovered, and I realize what little I had been complaining about. There are war-veterans, aged and proud of their years of service, who returned to their families — or lack thereof — lacking entire limbs.

I find myself complaining over a sore hand. Granted, the tendons are torn to oblivion, but that much can be repaired. Skin and tendons heal, return — entire limbs, however, do not.

This is all so wonderfully timed, I cannot stress that enough.