|Behind the Stacked Mugs
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A great pixelated video from Junior Senior.1 comment | post a comment
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Haha! I love it!
I was recently asked to list my top 20 movies, TV shows, books, comics and games. I don't have them in any particular order, and I'm sure I've missed some that I'll be headslapping about later, but I thought I'd share.
Bold for true, italic for what-i-wish-was-true, add one thing at the end, tag five peeps
Wull, it's been entirely tae long since I updated th' ol' drink tab here... Sorry aboot thot.
Scrollhaven blinked, and the blurry shapes started to coalesce into faces, backed by something large… and wooden.
This particular entry is written by the player who plays the dwarven asassin Svanhilde, reprinted with her presumed permission. You can read the original post in the entire Motions in Shadow thread (if it still exists), here.
((Backing up just a bit))
Scrollhaven waited impatiently for Svanhilde ta get ready. “Ach, lass! Wot’s tha holdup?”
“Qviet, ye! Ye cannot rush perfection. This blasted black leather be skin tight an don’t just slide on like yer baggy britches.” Actually her delays had nothing to do with the magical black leather armor Scrollhaven had gifted to her, and everything to do with the insane number of weapons she was trying to hide within it. Finally, she buckled the belt with its convenient pouch full of her latest potions and poisons and was ready to go.
“Ready, lad,” she said as she walked out of the bedroom. She sauntered over to Scrollhaven and gently closed his mouth and gave him a kiss. Laughing, “Glad you like tha armor on me, lad. Ve best be off.”
Outside she stopped at the post and saw there was a package for her. “Hey I gots some mail. Vhat a surprise. It be from tha Andi Lady believe it or not. Musta sent it afore she got inta vhatever mess she be in.” Svanhilde wondered what her new guildmate would bother to send to her since she had never even met the woman. Paranoid to a fault, she inspected the box carefully before slicing it open while Scrollhaven watched with stormy impatience.
Inside were the two most beautiful daggers Svan had ever seen, with shiny pearl handles and blades so sharp the edges were almost transparent. She picked one up and dropped it quickly, her fingers sizzling with fire and pain.
“Ach, lass. Careful there. Andi sent ya some fine weapons but ye clearly need ta do some trainin before they’ll let ya touch ‘em. Them magical blades be fickle like thot, ya know.”
Svanhilde’s eyes were wide as she looked at the daggers. They were so beautiful, it was painful to look at them and know she couldn’t use them. “Vell I vill not be trustin’ tha bank vith these.” She carefully tied the daggers in their jet black sheaths around her boots, safe and out of the way.
“Now, can we please be off?”
“Aye, Scrollhaven. Ta Stormvind vith us!” Svan was determined to help this Andi person, if only to thank her for the deadly gifts.
((Insert Scrollhaven’s post about entering the Slaughtered Lamb here.))
A blizzard of thoughts raged through Svanhilde as she watched her love beaten and bespelled by the assembled warlocks. She liked warlocks. Hells bells, she worshipped them. They were always understanding to her and mostly helpful. And those imps were *so* cute! But watching the voidwalker claw at Scrollhaven’s handsome face and seeing his silver beard covered in blood sent explosions of rage through her, shattering what little was left of her sanity. She did not care if she died, if everyone in the world died, but not Scrollhaven, not the one person who had ever made her feel worth more than the slime on a slug. No. Not him.
As she watched Scrollhaven fall, she prayed, already on her knees at the warlocks feet, like some groveling pet dog. “Dark lord, vonce ye took me soul an’ promised me vengeance ‘gainst tha hated dvarves o’ Ironforge. I vish ta trade tha’ dream in. Fer me soul, I vant me beautiful lad’s precious life… tha power ta save ‘im from these, me own dark friends. I am yer servant an’ I beseech ye ta hear me now. An’ if ye don’t, ta hell vith ye.” And as the prayer ended, Svan saw what must be done.
“Oh please, mistress, dinnae hurt me. Dinnae send me ta the Dark Mistress.” Svan groveled at Miss Cloyce’s feet, ignoring the arrogant cackle of the succubus. “ I vill do anythin’, anythin’! Ye cen have me soul if’n ye vish. I vill pledge me bein’ ta ye forever if ye vould only promise not ta send me avay.” Had she always been such a subservient peon? Svanhilde’s storming insanity whipped higher as a wave of self loathing hit her, but a groan from Scrolly was enough to renew her focus.
“Oh, ye be such a good doggy, Svanhilde. I don’t know why Mel ever let you slip away. Maybe I’ll allow you to fetch my mail for me sometimes, eh? Now let’s see this soul of yours, shall we?” Drawing out a purple crystal from her elegant crimson gown, Miss Cloyce bagan the ritual Svan had witnessed so many times before, the purple energy leaping out to hit her chest and begin pulling out her soul…. if she had one.
Surprise lit the woman’s face almost immediately. “Wha…?”
And then a sizzling, low voice reverberated through tha room. “How dare you try to take something that belongs to me!”
“No, master I did not mean to.” Suddenly it was Miss Cloyce who was on her knees, begging. “It was a mistake. How was I to know this she-dog was bound to you so closely? Please forgive me I beg you.”
The voice boomed over her and shadows crept up the walls. “Do you *know* the price for trying to steal from me? Do you?” The other warlocks around the bar cackled and sat up in eager anticipation, while Cloyce’s students came forward, demons at their sides to intercede.
The purple beam reversed it’s flow and struck Cloyce in the chest, her face lighting with horror as she realized what was happening. “You are mine now, warlock, for all eternity,” said the Dark Lord.
“Here, allow me ta speed ye on yer vay!” Svan cried out as she drew a dagger and buried it in the warlock’s throat. Blood and purple energy exploded from the wound, dousing Svan in gore as she ripped the dagger free and struck with her other hand, slicing open the woman’s gut in a rush of slick blood and slimy entrails. Miss Cloyce slumped to the floor and the purple gem, now glowing with the woman’s soul, splashed to the ground in the growing pool of blood.
The succubus arched one delicate, slanted brow, giving Svan an appraising look. Then she cackled, cracked her whip and was gone in a puff of smoke.
Svan turned to face Cloyce’s students and their minions, rushing her to avenge their fallen mentor. All her hidden weapons left their scabbards in a flurry as knives flew around the room and Svan whirled away from the voidwalkers fiersome claws. Warlock after warlock fell in lifeless heaps around the room as Svanhilde, filled with the demon’s blessing of vengeance, unleashed her fury on the hapless summoners.
Finally, surrounded by glaring warlocks and preparing for her final stand, Svan realized that none of the imps were attacking her, or else their fireballs would surely have burnt her to a crisp. But there was no time to wonder why. Grabbing a handful of potions she downed them all at once, knowing that the sudden rush of magic would either kill her, which was about to happen in any case, or give her the boost she needed.
Her left eye twitched as it always did when she lived like a rat in the sewers as the potions took effect. Troll’s blood, Swiftthistle, healing, protection and strength mingled and sent a rush of energy through her.
Svanhilde drew her only remaining weapons, the daggers that Andi had made for her. Just for her. A gift beyond any Svan had hoped for or anticipated. Her hands sizzled and began to smoke as she held them, but she did not care. The blades glowed with power and she grinned evilly in their green glow.
Unseen and unheard, a night elf rogue slipped into the front door to see the carnage all over the bar, almost losing her grip on the shadows in her shock.
A warlock coughed. Another slipped on the blood drenched wood and cried out in horror as he landed in Cloyce’s steaming entrails. A whisper. A nod. And then they charged.... post a comment
"Cor... Nivver realized th'ar wuz a neighborhood like this in th' mage district."
Scrollhaven looked around the through the doorway of the Slaughtered Lamb, drawing many counter-stares. Robes were adjusted, cowls were drawn forward, and dark and demonic eyes glowered and glittered from the shadowy corners. "'Ere!" cried the dwarf, "Whot're ye lookin' at, mate?"
"A horrible specimen of a drunken dwarf." came a muttered reply, as a completely shaven and sinister-eyed man in blood-purple robes slipped around him and out into the evening.
Svanhilde was engaged in a muttered dialogue with the bartender, when a new flood of darkness seemed to flow into the tavern from the back of the room. Blue-ish candles flickered, and Scrollhaven swore he could hear the chitter of bats or worse from somewhere.
"Mistress Cloyce!" Svanhilde gasped, and before the paladin could blink, the dwarven lass had dropped to her knees, cowering and groveling before a sinister lady in red and black, greenish flames seeming to slowly burn off her shoulders.
A low growl began to emanate through Scrollhaven's beard, and his large fist clenched around the haft of his curve-bladed ripper. His eyes darted about, but then stretched up as he stared at the hulking form of the largest Voidwalker he'd seen in a long time. The creatures glowing malevolent gaze made his face burn, and it's large, gauntleted claws began to slowly flex and unflex.
I could take 'im, Scrollhaven thought to himself, but it'd take me a hell of a long time tae wear 'im down, an' it would shore hurt in th' process.
"Klauzok!" Miss Cloyce reprimanded, snapping her fingers. The voidwalker seemed to shiver, briefly, then floated to the side, back into shadows. The Warlock gestured a little. "Come inside, lightwalker, perhaps we of the shadow can aid you." She was taking obvious delight in the paladin's discomfiture.
"So, Svanhilde, you lovely wretch," the mistress continued, purring, "looking for more work? There are always... undesirables, those distrustful of our ways..." at this she took a long and slow gaze up and down Scrollhaven's stout, muscled form, "...those whom we would love to see...eliminated."
Svanhilde cowered some more, and her eyes flickered hotly. "Mistress, please. Ve seek only information. Knowledge of the dark." She refused to turn around and meet Scrollhaven's furrowed gaze.
"Ha! You cannot do much good in this world, if you have not tasted the cruel knowledge it can offer, can you, paladin?" She laughed, a light and hearty laugh that may have been pretty once, but had long grown bitter. "There will be a price... there always is."
The paladin muttered as he fished through his coin purse. "Wull. May've I've go' a gold piece er two..."
"Oh no." The warlock replied, "We have little need for gold here, silly dwarf, not when there are prettier things you harbor." From the backs of the tavern could be heard some chortling and whispering, and the occasional crack of a whip. "But first, let us see what it knowledge it is you need."
"I've a friend," Scrollhaven muttered, suddenly concerned about the direction his investigation was going. "She's in trouble. I think she's attracted something sinister. Mayhap somethin' tae do wit' ye folk, more'n likely." He cast accusing glares around the room. "An' I'll take each an' every one o' ye tae hell tae help her, mark me words!"
He heard Svanhilde let out a quick gasp, and stifle it with a gulp. The tavern had grown silent once again, with the occasional hiss.
"And your friend, who is she?" Miss Demisette Cloyce whispered malevolently, clutching at her staff tightly.
"Er... I've a picture, here." Scrollhaven fished about, and finally produced a gnomish snapshot of him and Andi and Rane, laughing around several tankards of ale at an outdoors party. He stared at it for a few moments, unable to hand it over, then reluctantly showed it to the warlock mistress. "It's, er... th' redheaded lass th'ar. Wit' th' armor."
The Warlock stared at it for a few moments. Her brow twitched, and the corner of her mouth flickered into a malevolent smile.
"Yes indeed, I have seen her." She looked up at Scrollhaven, who raises his eyebrows. "Almost... just like her. Only in robes, without the armor. And certainly not looking happy like this. She seemed to be harboring... many secrets, I think."
Scrollhaven pursed his lips and snatched the picture back. "Andi, a warlock? Yer out o' yer skull, woman. I'd b'lieve a charitable goblin afore I'd b'lieve somethin' like thot." He caught a glimpse of Svanhilde wincing.
"Oh but there's more..." the Warlock smiled, seemingly unconcerned about the paladin's slight. "I know where she is. But again, for a price."
"Whot's that, witch?" The dwarf frowned.
"A piece of your soul, perhaps. Or hers," she looked down at the skulking rogue, "wretched though it may be."
"Wretched? Like hells!" The sharp sound of the Curve-bladed Ripper as it slid across his shield snaked across the tavern interior. Scrollhaven yanked Svanhilde behind him and waved the axe around the room. His glare caught Demisotte's for a brief second, and they matched wills before a loud snap was heard and Scrollhaven felt a bracing pain as his arm was yanked, the axe flinging across the room and burying itself into the wall next to a hapless gnome spellcaster, who found himself coughing and spitting out his wine.
The dwarf stared down the length of his arm and the whip that had ensnared it, and at the taunting, flagrant swagger of a succubus.
"Ooh!" taunted the demon, drawing her tongue over her lips. "Whatever will we do with the swaggering dwarf? Can I play?"
Scrollhaven heard several malevolent whispers in the darkness, and suddenly felt a curse weakening his strength. A large, blue blur suddenly blocked his vision, and he cried out as the voidwalker's claws slashed across his head, sending his hat flying. Blood seemed to cloud his vision, and he felt the numbing pain of agony as shadow magic worked insidious spells on him.
"Take them down to the crypts," he heard Coyle's voice, slowly fading with his consciousness. "There are things down there... that need feeding." Other voices cut in, as he felt himself being dragged across the floor.
"What of his dwarven cur, this asassin?"
"She has proven useful, in the past."
"Maybe we should let her go?"
"Someone find Melicity, perhaps she would like her back. To play with, perhaps?"
Darkness fell. post a comment
"Cor! Good grief, lass!"
Scrollhaven blinked. The bed had cracked in twain a couple of hours ago, rock dust scattered across the floor, several bookshelves had been broken and books lay spread about the room. Down feathers drifted through the room like snow, and when he staggered up, the dwarf accidently put his foot into the mouth of the mounted Crag Boar's head that had been knocked off the wall.
"Gaah!" He cried, staggering about madly, hopping up and down as he tried to shake off the trophy while single-handedly disentangling himself from the sheets. He stumbled and fell, sliding into the corner and cracking his head.
"Oh fer-" He started to yell, still struggling with the sheets, when he suddenly realized he was face to face with the skull.
"Doom?" It said.
Scrollhaven blinked a couple of times. Something was... there was something... Oh! He bolted up.
"Who?" asked Svanhilde suspiciously, as she languidly sat up from the bed, stretching herself. "Vhat're you talking about, m'lord?" The name sounded familiar.
"Andi! Me friend Andi, ye know... one o' th' top swordmaidens o' our clan?" He looked at her as she sat in the bed, rolling a lock of her delicious black hair around her finger. She glanced over at the tapestry on the wall bearing the sigil of the Heroes of Azeroth. Faint, bored recognition seemed to stir in her face, but then she looked back at him and it was quickly replaced by renewed desire.
"Come back to bed, lord, von't you?" She stretched again, but this time for his benefit more than hers.
"Och! Er... wull... I s'pose we c'd..." He cast about. "Whot time is it anywho?"
He peeked his head out of the door and glanced at the great gears of the massive forge far down the grand hallway, which, if one kept track of, could give a reasonable approximation of the time of day outside the mountain.
"Great thundering axes! We've been at it..." he checked again. "...two days? Ha! Goes tae show, whotivver ye say aboot dwarves, they shore kin... er..."
"Look!" he charged back in, doing his best to ignore Svanhilde's plaintive pout. "We've go' business tae deal wit'. Yer Varlo...er...Warlock friends? Where are they, Stormwind?" She shrugged, then gave a faint nod. He started scrubbing his face and hair over the waterbowl, and looked in the mirror. His room had been torn apart. He had no idea when he was going to get a chance to straighten it up anytime soon.
"O-oh." Svanhilde sighed. She exhaled upwards, blowing the hair from off her forehead. Surely this fuss was over nothing, wasn't it? Curse that skull! And who was Andi to get so upset over, really? Who cares, when there was so much fun to be had inside, just to themselves? She plucked another one of her knives off the cupboard and flicked at the blade. Maybe if she just killed this Andi, then they'd have more peace and time to... Maybe that's the ticket.
Scrollhaven finished scrubbing himself and was slowly strapping on his armor, cursing to himself. Svanhilde sighed again. No, that would just upset her sweet knight, now wouldn't it... She'd better not. Unless she could make it look like an accident? Ooh! She shook herself. No! Stupid Svanhilde! What to do, what to do? Oh, the torments of lust, and perhaps love. Who's to say? Curse his honor, curse his friends, and curse his stupid skull!
Smacking a little and rubbing her eyes, she cracked her neck, and finally looked over at the blackened Defias leggings and gloves he'd worked so hard to find her. Oh well. To work.
"Git dressed, lassie! We're goin' tae Stormwind!" post a comment
Scrollhaven stood waist-deep in the snow. The chain jherkin he'd gotten for his eleventh birthday was too loose, and hung off his shoulders like a poncho. He stood there, watching his breath condense in the cold but clear air of Dun Morogh.
Wull! S'been a busy day er two. Last night a few folk an' I met some friendly hordies over on a hill in th' barrens an' engaged in sports an' other games! Quite ennertainin', an' everyone seemed tae have fun. Afterwards I helped me council-mate Miss Zharia kill herself some Ogres in Alterac, which jest happens tae be a favorite hobby o' mine, o' course.
(( Copied from the Feathermoon forums, the RP thread "Motions in Shadow".
(( Gnomies are still my fuckin' homies. ))post a comment
Wull, I've jest been real busy lately! Me mum's infirm an' needs takin' care of, and she's movin' ferm Ironforge tae Thelsamar, so thot leaves me tae do all th' packin' an' arrangin'. Sometimes she falls an' cannae git up agin, so I'm thinkin' o' cobblin' taegether a walker fer her. Me mate Reynaldo who's a purty cocky mage chap said maybe he could 'chant up a stone er somethin' so she could call folks when she falls. He's also tryin' tae attach soulstones tae devices so thot they kin work when ye claps. Funny idears out o' thot feller.
Wull, here it is. Me first entry.