As luck would have it...[A Traitor Reborn - POSTED!]

[Kastarakovski]

“I’m afraid I don’t quite follow…how did you become one of Anduin’s closest?”

Laz blinked, recalling the coronation and return of Varian Wrynn, a joyous time for Stormwind to have been a surefire celebration, but her experience of it had been marred.

“That came about after His Majesty’s return,” her voice changed slightly, Tibs realised – the way she seemed to spit the title out said everything. “Talked of nothin’ but th’ extermination o’ the Horde and its races. Nothin’ o’ th’ peace talks he was enroute ta give when he’d vanished. This wasna th’ King ah remembered King Magni speakin’ so grandly of. This was some hatemongerer talking of insanity.”

“But you…” Tibs began, but Amenti silenced him with a paw on his own.

“Hush, Tiberias,” she purred softly. “Let her continue.”

“When did ye get up?” Laz queried.

“Never you mind,” the feline queen’s eyes shone with light merriment. “Go on.”

“Ah admit ah wasna a big fan o’ th’ Horde meself. So much death, destruction, all that blood, innocent livelihoods…an’ then ah realised they saw us th’ same way. It left me hangin’ wit’ a lot o’ queries about me life and how ah’d been raised an’ all. I really shouldna said nothin’, fer ‘e ‘ad me escorted out th’ Keep fer no’ holdin’ me tongue about it all. Can’t say ah really blame ‘im any. I speak out o’ turn a lot these days.”

“Anduin, as I recall, found us on the balcony during th’ firework celebrations. You were hopping mad at being treated like what you were saying was nothing but lies,” Boannan’s voice entered the circle. “He wanted to thank you personally for ensuring his return home was a pleasant one, remember?”

“Bunch o’ stuffy pricks, th’ lot o’ ‘em,” Laz muttered. “Poor kid was scared ta death an’ couldna show it ‘cause everyone were expectin’ a steadfast King with balls o’ Thorium. I didna mean ta be so rough wit’ Ang but ‘e jus’ didna unnerstand th’ kid needed ta be a kid…”

“He understood when I snarled at him,” Boannan’s eyes were shining. “You couldn’t blame him for being an idiot then, Laz.”

“He’s still an insufferable idiot even now.”

“Be nice, Laz,” she chuckled, purring loudly.

“Aye, well, mebbe I was a wee bit harsh on ‘im, but Anduin seemed ta sleep better without ‘em all suffocatin’ ‘im day an’ night,” Laz went on. “What ‘e went through, Titans save us, ah wouldna liked ta have gone through in ‘is place…e’en though ah did offer th’ possibility o’ it.”

“You did what any caring individual would have done or said at that time. You at least aren’t afraid to do so, regardless of how folks envision you as this master hero,” Boannan smiled. “Remember what he gave you?”

“Aye,” Laz nodded slowly, sliding her left glove off her hand. “A Signet Ring of Stormwind.”

The lioncrest ring with its deep amber eyes gleamed in the campfire’s light, a reflection of the glory of the city, and the heroes that served it. Laz saw parts of herself reflected in its glint, parts of herself that had taken many years to bury, burn and rebirth anew.

“Usually only ever given ta those of th’ nobility and the King’s own guard. Titans knows how ‘e managed ta smuggle this out of th’ treasury, but I ‘ave little doubt Bolvar ‘ad a hand in with it.”

“Bolvar said that the Prince rarely spoke to anyone except his father and he himself. That Anduin gave you a Stormwind Signet meant that he clearly trusted you on that same level.”

“An’ ah would honor it fer as long as ah lived,” Laz slipped her glove back on. “M’ loyalties ‘ave…altered…along th’ way an’ ah don’ like ‘ow his father’s changed ‘is tune since bein’ gone, but m’ promise to Anduin sticks fast. Ah could never let th’ lad down.”

Laz leant back against the palm’s rough surface, breathing deeply.

“Ah should get t’ writin’ this letter.”

The trio glanced at one another before Tiberias spoke again.

“Lazona?” he asked, voice quiet.

“Aye?”

“When we were in Wyrmrest a few nights back, what did you and Krasus discuss?”

Laz was silent for only a moment. Lying to her pets about what had been spoken when clearly they’d been awake to hear it all was not a wise idea. “About arrangin’ a meeting wit’ m’ father in th’ past. Chromie seemed eager ta do it and Alexstrazsa was open ta the idea, but Krasus…’e wasnae so sure.”

“The more that jerk interferes with people, the less and less I like him!” Nightshade uttered a low growl. “And don’t ask how long I’ve been up. Who can sleep with all that purring goin’ on?”

“Be nice, stalking one,” Griefstrike cast a warning look at her. “He is the consort to She Who Is Life.”

“You don’t like him either, Grief,” Laz retorted.

“True,” the old worg agreed. “But at least I don’t hate him enough to try and take his face off.”

“Psh!” Nightshade snorted, rolling her eyes.

“Ah personally don’ think th’ idea is thought out on m’ part.,” Laz went on. “We hav’na spoken since Ma died.”

“I think subconsciously, and with what has been going on lately, the time for peace is now, if not sooner,” Amenti stood, stretching, padding over to Laz’s righthand side, before flopping down on her belly between her and Nightshade. “We’ve all felt it, Laz. We all know what you’ve been seeing in your dreams…we’ve been having the same nightmares too.”

Laz flinched slightly. “Ah don’ want t’ believe tha’ what ah’ve been dreamin’ aboot could soon be real.”

“Chronormu said if we delved too deeply, we’d pay the price for doing so.”

“Ah can’t ‘elp it. Summat in meh drives meh to look deeper.”

“One day,” the pridequeen smiled. “You’ll get us all killed with your boundless curiousity.”

“And then ye’d tell me it were all worth it, aye?” Laz scratched Amenti behind her ear, the great tawny head arching in immense pleasure.

“Every single second.”

“Ah try not ta look,” Laz went on, her voice hushed and worried. “Ah try ta turn away, but ah see that…beast…rising from the molten deep and ah can’t ‘elp but look. And ah don’ feel nothin’…like m’ soul does’na exist down there. It’s…maddenin’ ta say th’ least…like ah ‘ave no control ovuh anythin’ ah’m doin’. Ah’m jus’…standin’ there…nose to bloody plated nose wit’ ‘im…and th’ next second, ‘e…”

Laz trailed off, wincing at the lingering memory of the nightmare.

“Ah knoo Chronormu well enough ta know she took it personally when ah said ah’d been havin’ these dreams. She may no’ ‘ave said it in anythin’ but her normal riddles an’ such, but she implied others’ ‘ad been ‘avin’ ‘em too, that she’d been seein’ a number o’ folks comin’ t’ th’ Temple plagued by these…visions.”

She brought her other hand to the side of her head, rubbing it gently.

“She implied ah was one o’ th’ few who’d come so close ta…ergh…” she shivered. “Ah couldna be sure, and even she weren’t neither, that th’ dark shapes ah saw in th’ center o’ them summoning circles were all of ye...’s prob’ly why ah felt nothin’…”

Tiberias, hearing enough, rose from his prone position. He nudged the journal off Laz’s lap, batting the quill from her hand, staring up at his mistress with his arcanic blue orbs. Her eyes filled with unshed tears, he closed his eyes and inclined his head up towards hers, fur brushing against soft skin.

“He can torment you with images, he can make you feel like you’re one of his. But I know this from the depths of my soul…” Tiberias’s voice was a quiet snarl. “He will never get near you. It will be when the Wetlands freeze over and Stormwind falls before I…before us…let anything come for you.”

Laz wrapped her arms around Tiberias, shivering from both cold and fear.

“Ah’m scared,” she whimpered. “Ah’m so scared. Ah’ve seen nothin’ but nightmares since we felt th’ first tremors an’ ah wish ah could stop seein’ ‘im.”

Boannan, Nightshade and Griefstrike abandoned their positions around the campfire, choosing instead to rally around their Huntress with Tiberias and Amenti, a circle of warmth and comfort.

“You need sleep, Laz,” Boannan laid a paw on her mistress’s shoulder.

“I agree,” Griefstrike nodded.

“What ah need ta do is ta go home,” Laz whispered. “Ah need ta knoo if he’ll forgive me a’fore…”

“Stop it, Laz,” Amenti commanded. “Just try and get some sleep. We’ll plan ahead in the morning.”

Griefstrike nudged the journal closed with a paw, picking up the quillfeather in his maw and dropping it over the cover. He glanced at his family, each returning the look with a quiet nod. As their mistress drifted off into an uneasy sleep, they knew the nightmares would return, but all they could do was be there for her, provide themselves and their warmth and love for her to overcome whatever that overgrown molten winged lizard had planned for her in the depths of her worst nightmares. One by one, starting with Griefstrike, the pets fell asleep. Tiberias lingered on the edge of the consuming tiredness and his growing concern for Laz’s estrangement from her father. She had told him many moons after his awakening, that her father once dreamed of taming a beast of the heavens but had dismissed the idea later on in his life. He quietly wondered what would be his reaction to know his daughter had achieved what he had percieved as sheer folly?

The spirit beast quietly formed a plan that consumed his dreams...


{TBC}

[Sonata]

*slaps herserself*
Freaking I have missed TWO updates...okay this is embarassing. Both new updates are wonderful!
Yay Anduin makes a appearance.
Hmm I wonder what Tiberias has in mind for Laz.

[Victorelle]

hehe nice I like it ^^

[Nefretiti]

I just love theses stories Kas and Laz both has sort of come alive for me, VonGoosewing makes me laugh and Banshee actually made me get a spider pet, not Zarakh but still a spider

keep up the good work

[Kastarakovski]

She had chosen the path of sail, a journey that took three days or so to crest the shores of Menethil Harbor. Why she simply did not select to step through the Ironforge Portal from the innermost heart of Dalaran bothered Tiberias, but then again, she was famous to him for wanting time to think for herself, to plan ahead for the events to follow. Though she didn't say it in so many words, he knew she was delaying her trip, trying to dissuade herself from it entirely; given the circumstances and had it been up to the pack, he would have voted against the idea, knowing full well he and Laz would be sorely outnumbered four to two.

They were pathing down a long stonemade tunnel, one Laz explained had existed long before her birth. As Tiberias had never set foot in the older world, everything here was fresh and new for him. Where he was accustomed to the chirping of cicadas, and the breeze through palms carrying the scent of laden blossoms, here the wind spoke of silence, of calmness and solidarity. As snowfall crunched under his pawpads, the vast whiteness of the scene before him took his breath away momentarily. Before him stretched a seemingly endless stretch of snow, of laden pines groaning under the strain of cusping the white snow in their branches, of boars searching for grass beneath the mass of ivory, and of the patient, slow walk of a Mountaineer approaching them. Tiberias stood by Laz's side as he approached, weapon cautiously drawn. She raised a hand in greeting, the guard raising his hand in a similar fashion.

"Aye and what be bringing ye back this way, lass?"

"A long overdue visit...Aradun."

The Mountaineer blinked, eyes wide at being addressed by his first name. He stared at Laz, trying to place the face as it were. Tiberias watched as the guard's face broke into a grin.

"By Magni's own beard! Lazona!" he cried, laughing. "Little Lazona! Ye've come home at last!"

"Good to see you too, old friend," Laz smiled, surprising Tibs for he had only ever seen her smile like that with him and the others in their pack. "I trust Imli is well?"

"Imli will marvel ta see ye again, child! Hard to place th' wee hunter who left with her 'ead held high!"

Laz fell silent, remembering. Aradun noticed the shadow crossing her face.

"Ah'm sorry, I didnae mean ta bring up such sorrow, lass. Imli still works at tha Inn. And Harlan...well...he took ta the keg after yer mother died. Ah guess tha' shouldnae come as no surprise."

"Nae, nae surprise."

"An' who's this masterful creature?" Aradun knelt before Tiberias in reverent respect.

Tiberias looked towards Laz who answered with a simple nod. Inclining his head towards Aradun, he allowed the Mountaineer to stroke his fur, revelling in the touch.

"This is Tiberias," Lazona introduced. "A Spirit Beast from the Sholazar Basin. And has been my friend for many moons."

"Ah! I 'eard tell of th' League categorising a section of tales upon them in th' Library," he grinned, cusping Tiberias's cheekfur. "Aye, he's jus' like ye were when ye were but a lass...full o' th' devil and courageous ta boot!"

Aradun returned to his feet, grasping Laz by one shoulder. "Lass, it were none o' our business when ye chose ta up an' leave, but, as per yer wishes, we kept an eye on yer ol' scoundrel. 'E spends most o' his days drinking and sunnin' 'imself in the Explorer's League..."

The last part made Laz's head jerk upwards, "The League?"

"Summat ta do wit' his innate fear o' th' Dragonkin," Aradun went on. "But enough o' my yammerin'! Get on with yer journey child! Imli will be overjoyed."

"She never let go, huh?"

"Nae. Ye were like our own daughter a'fore..." Aradun coughed. "Well, no sense in me dwellin' on th' past. Enjoy yer stay for howe'er long ye're ta stay. It's good ta see ye, Laz."

"I'll buy ye an ale when ye're done with patrols."

"Ah'll be holdin' ye ta that!" Aradun waved and then returned to his patrol along the cobbled stone path.

In certain parts of Northrend and for that matter the Eastern Kingdoms and Kalimdor, it was customary for a hunter to be seen with all five of their tamed beasts. However, within the boundaries of the capital cities, under strict orders from the ruling bodies, it was restricted to one only. Magni Bronzebeard had never been a stickler for such details, however in his wishings to not rock the boat of the Alliance, and for that matter come to blows with King Varian Wrynn, he had reluctantly agreed to this rule too. Within the safety of the Inns however, all five beasts were allowed free reign, as long as four were left behind when a hunter conducted business outside their boundaries. Magni had explained the beasts were there simply as 'collateral' for the Innkeepers should something happen, something Varian had agreed to and left at that. Whilst it bought him breathing space, it did not shine fortune upon Magni's favour with his hunters, but over time, many had simply accepted it as the norm. Tiberias had questioned Laz's decision to not summon the others in the family as they made their way towards Kharanos, but as she had dismissed, she had only need for his presence at this point in time.

Kharanos was a small carved stone town, awash with strange scents. The strongest scent was barley and hops, the scent of the ale Laz chose to indulge herself in rarely as they mounted the steps and entered the Inn, the "Thunderbrew Distillery". The Inn was fairly quiet, almost empty had it not been for a few half-drunken miners. Laz removed her cowl, noting the stern gaze of Innkeeper Belm soften as he recognised her. He disappeared into the kitchen as Laz and Tiberias made do at a table close to the entrance. Tiberias settled himself at Laz's feet, purring softly. A chilled mug of Dwarven Stout was set down before her as Belm took up the seat across from her with a mug of his own.

"It's been too long, ye know that, lass?"

"Aye. Ah'm sorry ah never wrote, Belm."

"Ha! Ye're an adventurer! Not writing is a famous talent 'fore ye!" he slurped characteristically before setting the mug down and belching contentedly. "But ye're still a loved daughter o' Kharanos! Imli's downstairs, ah told ya ye'd returned."

"Ah hope ye broke it gently?"

"A'fore she broke me best plates in 'er shock or after?"

"Ne'er ye mind then."

"Hahaha!" Belm laughed uproariously. "Ye'd be a sight for Grif, ye be better'n 'e is!"

"Oh give over! Ah'm no' that impressive!"

"Oh aye? Dragonfriend? Diplomat? Ambassador! Ye're well-known Lazona, don't ye deny that!"

Imli appeared from the kitchen, arms laden with with a tray heaped with beer-basted boar ribs, fresh sausage and cut meats all from the Inn's pantry. As she set the tray down, she turned to Lazona and embraced her.

"When Belm said ye were 'ome," she began, voice thick with emotion. "Ah can't begin ta say 'ow much ah wanted ta cry out..."

"Ah'm sorry I never got th' chance ta tell ye..."

"Oh pish," Imli wiped away her tears with her apron. "No adventurer writes 'ome. But...ye 'ad me scared when reports came onta th' frontlines tha' you an' yer guild went aftah Nefarian..." Imli's attentions were drawn away for a brief second to load a plate with the biggest hunk of ribs Tiberias had ever laid eyes on, setting it before the stunned spirit beast. "Ah 'ope 'tis satisfactory for yer young master."

"He eats anything," Lazona smiled as Tiberias's fangs sank into the lovingly cooked meat, his chops smacking in delight. "If ye're not careful, he'll start thankin' ye next."

Belm patted Laz on the shoulder and went to attend to the drunken miners, opting for the refill route. Imli took Belm's unoccupied seat.

"How has 'e been since ah left?" Laz asked, sipping her ale.

"He go' worse a'fore 'e got ta this stage. Started throwin' things, summat nasty like. Got thrown outta 'ere more'n once in a night. Right glutton fer punishment."

"So what made 'im change?"

"He started changin' raight back after ye'd had that altercation up in Booty Bay. Started blamin' 'imself, blamin' ye fer bein' as stubborn as 'e was. Ah'd a raight mind ta believe yer ol' man was jealous."

"No real surprise," Lazona muttered. "He openly admitted 'e was ta me."

"Mm. Ye knoo, ever since yer momma died, ah got ta thinkin' maybe it was th' wakeup call 'e needed. She ne'er complained tha' ye were gone. She somehow knew ye were off pertectin' what was raightfully yers from them folks who'd try an' do us all 'arm. She ne'er wanted ta worry ye. She said ye'd unnerstand. An' ye did...s'just...yer daddy...ne'er did."

"I appreciate ye and Aradun watchin' out fer me old man. Ah really do."

"Ari would have 'ad me 'ead if'n ah 'ad let anythin' a'fall yer old man while ye were gone. Stay a few nights a'fore confrontin' 'im," Imli went on, a hand on Laz's own. "See what's changed, spend some time catchin' up wit' Grif. Yer ol' room's upstairs. Ah left everythin' as it was a'fore."

"Thank ye, Aunt."

"Ye know..." Imli got up from her seat. "Sometimes ah wish ah had bin Ari's sister. But yer me niece regardless. Eat. I'll see ye upstairs when you're done wit' dinner."

"Knowing yer good food, ah could be here a while!"

"Haha! Ye knoo too much o' how ta make a dwarven woman proud, Laz!"

Lazona and Tiberias returned to their meal in the comfort of the Inn, her mind already planning the days ahead.

[Kastarakovski]

Been sketching a few things of late, Nightshade's popped up more than once or twice within the bulk of the of stuff I draw.
This one's pretty old (was digging through the archived folders on my external HDD), but I still like it. It was for a project I ended up having to scrap due to the old computer finally giving up on me.

I'll post more to this thread shortly <3

Nightshade (Uncoloured)

LoS___Nightshade_by_DangerousRadical.jpg (446.79 KiB) Viewed 1466 times

[Nevar]

Amazing! /applaud

[Kastarakovski]

Tiberias's eyes opened in the darkness.

The moon shone in through the window of Laz's old room in the Thunderbrew Distillery. He stood, mindful of where he was and the floorboards that creaked slightly under his pawpads. Something had shaken him from slumber, something...ethereal. He took a deep breath, nose to the chilly air, arcanic breath exhaling outwards. As his eyes adjusted to the dark surroundings, he saw the bedroom door was ajar, only slightly. Instantly his head whipped back to the bed. No, Lazona was still under its quilted covers, form rising and falling with her peaceful breathing. His eyes darted to the floor, whereupon the ethereal paw prints, etched into the wooden planks, led down the stairwell towards the dining floor of the Inn.

He found her, seated upright, a purple spirit-like haze beset by stone and wood through her very being, staring into the dying light of the fire. His presence made to her, she flicked an ear in relative kind, eyes alight with fondness when her matriarchal features turned to him.

"Gondria..." he breathed, taking in her ghostly splendour.

"No, no not quite," she purred with merriment, voice a soft echo in his ears. "An astral body, one that can only be maintained by myself alone. Hello, Loque'nahak...or should I take to calling you by the title your mistress calls you now?"

Tiberias bowed his head in reverent respect before seating himself beside her massive astral form. "What brings you here?"

"There is trouble afoot," she replied, dipping her head. "Har'koa cannot guarantee the safety of the Trolls that remain uncorrupted. The Gods are all gone, this you know and know clearly. Your children still remain burdened with the vile mastery that claimed them."

The apparition raised her head at him, eyes aglow with worry.

"My safety too is threatened. Har'koa has granted me sanctuary but...as guardian...I too am hunted."

Tiberias's ears flattened, "They're after you too?"

"I left the sanctuary where your mate resides, for fear of attracting too much attention. I have several dens but, since the Trolls learned of my deception, they have destroyed them. I am running out of time...and hiding places."

"Come with us," the words escaped Tiberias's maw before he realised his mistake - their family could only have six, a huntress and five familiars.

Gondria smiled sadly at him, shaking her regal head. "Even if that were possible I fear it would put you in even greater danger."

"Danger be damned!" Tiberias growled. "You protected my mate, my kin, my children! You deserve the same protection!"

The ethereal body flickered and Gondria started, head whipping behind her, fur alight with panic.

"I have been discovered!" she turned eyes of gold towards her friend. "I must leave!"

"Where will you go...?" Tiberias began, reaching a trembling paw towards her flickering ghostly form.

"I have fulfilled all of your desires, my friend, all the promises I swore to you," her paw passing straight through his, ghostly tears awashing her muzzle. "And if you value your safety, and the lives of your family, please, please don't return to Gun'Drak!"

"Gondria!" Tiberias cried.

"My King in my heart," she smiled, closing her eyes.

She faded completely from sight, leaving Tiberias panting from panic. He stared at the floor, head bowed, heart filled with conflicting emotions. Her pawprints were fading from where she had appeared and he placed his own atop the disappearing mist. There was still the matter of Laz's father, Harlan, to deal with. They couldn't leave Kharanos until that was over, and settled...for the most part. Gondria had warned him away from Gul'Drak, and if they were growing out of control, he had to make sure she was safe. She had done so much in his absense. If ever Laz could expand their family, it was she he wanted more than anything.

Tiberias would remain seated by the dying embers until the morning light.

[Sonata]

Poor Tiberias!
Oh I hope Gondria is alright and the trolls don't capture her!
Sudden urge to tame Gondria instead of Loque for my babe draenei hunter now just so I can save her from demise!
Love that sketch of Nightshade really clean and neat lines!

[Kastarakovski]

Lazona had not questioned Tiberias’s absence during the night, nor had she asked. Truth was, her slumber hadn’t come easy the previous night either, plagued with dreams of Arietta, her mother, in happier times. She had awoken after the most vivid vision of all to find her beloved spirit beast amiss from the room, but simply rolled back over and settled into an uneasy slumber. She believed the almost unearthly chill that had coursed through her dream had been connected to him, and that he had felt it too, leaving the room and taking it with him.

They had supped together in silence, both ill at ease of the transpired events. Laz had, by all respects, put to rest her unspoken goodbyes to her mother, but Harlan had not. Whatever would transpire today would have great effect on her tomorrow. Tiberias had merely met eyes with her, soft blue aglow with quiet worry and concern. They had left the Inn and trudged along the road with Norbert, her White War Talbuk, towards Ironforge, both concerned with their own thoughts. A guard at the front entrance had greeted them, pointing them in the direction of the Explorer’s League’s Quarter, and with a heavy heart, Laz had walked with Tiberias through the bustling crowd of travellers and adventurers towards the huge library opposite the Throneroom of Magni Bronzebeard, King of Ironforge.

Laz had considered stopping by to let the King know of what had happened to her guild and to that of Arthas, but she knew it would be delaying the inevitable meet with that drunken fool she called her father. She urged Norbert through the ornate hall, Tiberias following at her side, as the relic-adorned Explorer’s League stretched out before them. Historian Karnik, tending to a traveller bringing in several relics from Uldaman, noticed the armored white beast before he saw her and Tiberias.

“A War Talbuk?” he questioned, voice echoing in the massive halls. “What---?”

Karnik stepped forward and caught sight of Laz, his searching eyes trailing down to Tiberias. There were questions in him and Laz knew they were about Tiberias, but he merely shook his head and pointed a finger towards a table adorned high with stacks of books, several undrunk mugs of ale, and a hunched figure poring over an open text.

“He’s been here for the last four years,” Karnik told them in a low voice. “Hasn’t slept, nor eaten well. We’ve…we’ve coped.”

Lazona nodded as Karnik quietly stole away, ushering the traveller and his fellow colleagues to the Inn across from the Library. She led Norbert to one side of the ornate pillars and left him tied there. Tiberias flickered an ear as his mistress walked towards the muttering figure seated across the way. Her hand atop his head told him it wasn’t wise she approach with him by her side. He sat by Norbert, the war talbuk inclining a lazy tongue down to the beast’s ear, a gesture of both affection and worry.

Lazona steeled herself before approaching Harlan’s hunched, mumbling form, breathing deeply. It had been almost a decade since she’d been home, spent time with her ailing mother and half-crazed father. Harlan hadn’t been that much of a father, but she still felt that he was her responsibility.

“Father.” She spoke in a voice she hoped sounded stern.

Harlan stopped muttering, eyes firmly fixed on the texts before him, but the voice had shattered his hazy, jumbled train of thought. It was home. It was back.

“Ye’re back, uh?” Harlan’s voice was slightly slurred, no doubt a testament to the empty vessels of ale strewn about the desk.

“Father, we need to talk.”

“Oh aye?” Harlan let out a harsh, drunken chuckle. “Ah’m sure we need ta! This be more’n ye’ve talked ta me in ten years!”

“When ye weren’t beatin’ Momma and I senseless, maybe it is more’n ah’ve HAD ta say in a decade,” Laz answered back, voice a sneer.

Harlan winced, mind’s eye picturing a trembling, bruised but steadfastly brave Arietta with a young Lazona, eye blackened from spilling a drop of his beer, clinging to her skirts; wide broadsword in hand, defending against his drunken tirades – a memory dredged up from under all that ale – with sickeningly blunt force.

“Be quiet,” he muttered, weathered hands gripping the tome.

“Nae. Ah won’t be. Ah won’t be with this petty selfish drunkard a’fore me!”

“Be. Quiet.” Harlan’s voice had taken a dangerous edge.

Lazona knew that tone of voice, known it all her life. It preluded a fight, preluded something or rather Arietta refused him, or when she had done something wrong by his standards. He would lean in, breath a stale shell of ale and anger, gripping her by her arm, by her hair, nose to hers, quietly snarling like Snowfall did when they went hunting and she had sighted her prey. Then he would ball his fist and the whole world would go black and blue. Lazona however was no longer the child of ten years old he had extracted his sick pleasures upon, she was a grown woman, hardened by wars and battles, of fights and tames, and despite her shaky beginnings had moulded herself into something Harlan could barely look at.

“Look at me,” she growled.

Harlan pretended he hadn’t heard her.

“Where’s Snowfall? And Queldran?” Lazona questioned, voice still angry and hard. “Where are th’ pets ye so claimed were yer only loves? Answer me!”

Harlan remained silent, gripped hands veining and red from quaking anger. How dare this traitorous bitch speak to him as if he was nothing more than a mere child!

“Snowfall loved me from th’ second she laid eyes on me, even if ye didn’t,” Lazona went on. “And Queldran? He stood by mother when ye beat her half ta death, but because ye were his master all he could do was shield her, stop ye from landing blows on her! And me! And all th’ while ye cursed them both! Cursed ‘em fer betraying ye!” Lazona’s eyes were raw with fury. “An’ ye kept sayin’ ah made ye th’ proudest father alive…ye lyin’ bastard! King Magni ‘imself had ta pull ye off me! Don’t ye remember? The Choosing Ceremony?! Ah said ah wanted ta make Momma proud of me an’ become a huntress…and all ye saw was red!”

Harlan remembered. Oh gods, did he remember.

Lazona had been the only girl in that generation’s line of ten year olds, many, many sons of fellow dwarven warriors and hunters, paladins and priests. She was nervous but confident, despite her pronounced limp, his actions, the night before. Arietta was there with him, but at arm’s length away, proud of Lazona, but at the same time god-fearing of his anger. Their marriage was well-known to the other groups, events that transpired when he got toasted on ale however mere hushed and rumored idle gossip, his grim look silencing the whispering wives of the other clans and families.

Arietta had hidden her bruises with a long, flowing dress, one Lazona had never seen but Harlan had, way, way back in their courtship days. She had told her daughter to hold her head up high and choose her own future, regardless of his reaction, within his earshot he had noted. He had quietly locked that event away, storing it for what he would do when she refused him later that night, fists silently balled by his side. Grif Wildheart, his mentor and friend of the family had edged him and his wife closer to Arietta, as had Imli and Aradun, a Mountaineer and fellow guard who had married and taken up running the Thunderbrew Distillery. He had not cared if they had seen his fury. No one would keep him from his wife and child, not Grif, not Aradun, not even Magni and his advisors themselves.

The sons had each stepped forward when addressed by their King, Magni proud and welcoming as he had always been. Lazona had chosen to dress like one of the boys, unfamiliar with the Huntress’s way of attire, and Arietta had chosen not to discuss her choice with him, let alone even hint to the direction Lazona was inclining to pursue. But he knew. Oh hell, he knew. He knew enough to know what she wanted more than anything.

He and Arietta were Hunter stock; she the daughter of one of the Blackbeard clanswomen who had chosen to marry a Hunter (a Wildheart cousin) in their early courtship years, and he the proud eldest son of the former generation of Steelshields, guardians, rangers, quartermasters and proud warriors of Magni’s Elite Guard. Harlan had prided himself on his strength and courage, wisdom and power – but had found the charms of Arietta Blackbeard too powerful to resist – she had turned him into a twitterpated mush of his former self. She had been working to help her father, Falstaff, a rogueishly charming Hunter, and mother Amaria, a sly, cunning but devoted Rogue who had fallen hard for Falstaff’s quiet appreciation for her, when they had chanced to meet by sheer accident. Falstaff and Amaria had approved their union, as had his parents, and in time he and his new father and mother-in-law had been called to serve in the War of the Shifting Sands, leaving Arietta heavily pregnant and in the care of his cousin, Mistina.

Harlan almost choked on the memory, his last, of Falstaff and Amaria.

[Kastarakovski]

Both had perished on the battlefield, struck by silithid wasps. He had stood there, frozen to his core, as he watched them die, consumed with bloody fury. Something in him, on those blood-stained sands surrounded by the dead and the dying, corspes and husks of twitching bugs, friends, colleagues, companions and brothers-in-arms, had snapped. The Dragons, as he put it, had done nothing to save them, even though their kin filled the sky and put paid to the swarming legions before them. He had smothered his own failure with the failure of their most-powerful allies. When he had been returned home, an order given by Shiromar herself out of fear for his sanity, he had felt nothing but misery at being unable to save Arietta’s parents, consumed by the thought that she herself, his beloved wife, blamed him for not giving so much as a damn as they had fallen on the sands. He was also enraged by the existance of the Dragonkin, so-called guardians of the world. If they were what they so claimed, why couldn’t they have saved his in-laws?!

He had returned home not to a son, as he had prayed and offered and wished for, but to a daughter; a whelpling, a gender his family had birthed as seconds, but not firsts. The fates themselves had betrayed him!

He had chosen a fitting title, one, in the words of the Old Gods, was apt for this whelpling Arietta had birthed. Arietta however was no fool, and had denied ever giving her daughter such a cruel name. They had come to blows, and she had crawled out beaten to a bloodied pulp for her insolence, but she had survived and befitted their child with the name Lazona – named for her grandmother who had died when the War had begun. The title was bestowed upon their daughter before Harlan could react – this final act of Arietta’s defiance sealing their bonded fates. And now, there Lazona stood, before his King, before his Council, his ultimate betrayal slipping from her lips to follow in her mother’s footsteps and not his own.

All Harlan saw was bloodied rage.

It had taken all of Magni’s Elite to pin him down, Lazona clinging frightened to her Royal Sire as he protected her, shielded her from his crazed being. Arietta had been swept away from him by Aradun and Imli. His low act had branded the Steelshields as perpetrators of wayward sons, and the Blackbeard Clan had come to blows with them for his actions. The rumormill had gone into overdrive as the other clans, borne witness to this degrading act, spread filth about him around the great City. Lazona and Arietta were forcibly severed from his side at first, later Arietta had begged Magni to reconsider, her loyalty and love for him overturning the decision to keep she and their daughter away from his side. Despite all his cruelty, all his hate and viciousness, and his eventual remorse, Arietta had gone to the grave still as in love with him as she had been on the day they had met.

But this bitch, this whelping that stood behind him, voice raised like he was a mere child cowering with his playthings, was still the same traitorous dog Arietta had birthed! There was no way she was his child. No way he could find feasible to call her Arietta’s daughter. Nails clawed the heavy leather cover of the heavy tome as he rose swiftly, chair screeching the iron plates of the floor, and hurled the book at her.

It missed.

Lazona hadn’t shifted from where she stood behind him. As the book sailed past her, landing with a distinctive bang on the steps outside, she stared dead at the panting, crazy, rambling old man that trembled from the exertion, eyes ablaze with cold fury.

“Try again ye cross-eyed bat,” she retorted, voice a growl. “Or has age, decay and ale ruined whatever sight ye have left in ye?”

Harlan groped blindly at the table, spilling half-mugs of ale and books across, until his fingers closed upon the hilt of his broadsword. He yanked it forward and almost fell flat on his face. The room spun viciously as his over-capacity of ale turned his senses on their heels.

“Look at ye,” Lazona’s voice shattering his hazy veil. “Can’t even stand on ‘is own two feet.”

“I SAID BE QUIET!” Harlan roared, voice screaming in his ears. He toppled forwards to his knees, sword clattering on the metal floorplates, hands to his ears to block out the piercing sound. “AURRGH!”

“Fer four years ye’ve been ‘ere, wastin’ away to practically nothin’,” she went on. “Banishin’ y’self, exilin’ and practically starvin’ fer attention! Ye old fool. If ah didn’t love me momma so much, I’d’a killed ye when ah had a chance. But ah let ye rot in yer own filth, fer that’s way more’n you deserve!”

Harlan’s hands couldn’t block out the disgust in her voice. He heard it, as loud and as clear as the morning wind.

“Ye beat me senseless if’n ah so much as spilt a drop o’ yer ale at th’ dinner table!” Lazona’s voice echoed in the hall, causing Harlan to curl up, pushing himself away from her. “Ye bloody bastard! I went through the Gates of Ahn'Qiraj m’self! I went through those swarms with me mates by me side! I watched ‘em die too! But it sure as all th’ nine ‘ells didn’t turn me into YE! It sure as all the levels of th’ nine ‘ells didn’t make me blame th’ Dragonkin for me mistakes!”

“Shutupshutupshutup!” Harlan whimpered, head almost exploding from the noise. “Justbequietshutupshutup…”

“Nae! Ah won’t!” Lazona advanced on him, drawing her polearm from its hilt on his back. “Ye killed yer wife. Ye killed me mother. Ye killed her because ye couldn’t let go o’ yer hate and yer misery!”

“LeavemealoneleavemeALONE,” Harlan half-whispered, half-choked. “Getaway!GO!Leavemealone!”

“An’ after all that…” Lazona’s voice died away, polearm gripped by her side. “All that’s left o’ th’ man ah was supposed ta make proud…is ye. A pathetic shell.”

Harlan felt the bile rising up, felt the pure hate, felt the purest fear as her boots clattered against the floor, stalking towards him, and the title he gave her rose up from his black heart; rose up from the depths of his memories, his nine hells, and he opened his eyes, crazed with bloodlust, rage and hatred.

“GET AWAY FROM ME, ZYNEZRIA!”

All Lazona felt from Harlan’s outburst was her own blood turning to water. Tiberias’s hackles were up, ears pinned back in fury, snarling as arcanic energy pulsed through him, body aglow with power. Norbert dropped back, foremost hooves striking the floor, causing sparks to fly. Every creature in the world knew that title, an Old Gods name for only the worst of the slime they had warped in the Titans’ images – beast and two-legs alike – it befitted only those capable of murder, of the ultimate sin – betrayal.

“What th’ hell?” she faltered, dropping back from him.

Harlan laughed, a sickening gurgling sound that echoed around them. “That be yer name, whelpling…yer REAL name! Th’ name yer mother denied me givin’ ye!”

“…what…?”

“Ye’re a monster,” he went on, face twisted with furious glee, eyes aglow with sinister power. “A traitor! Betrayer! Th’ fates promised me a son and all ah ever got was YE instead! Ye bitchling! A whelp ah could never consider lovin’ if’n ah was the’ last dwarf left on Azeroth!”

Her polearm clattered to the floor, slipping from suddenly weakened hands. Her fingers that had held the weapon twitched, unfamiliar with the cold brutality seeping into her entire form, chilling her to the bone. Lazona felt as if she would retch, even though she herself hadn’t consumed any ale. Her whole life, everything she had gone through, met and fought and battled for, was her mother’s decision to shield her away from her father’s fury. Her father had given her that name. Betrayer. Monster. Deciever. She had existed these two centuries under her grandmother’s name.

But not under her real one.

[Kastarakovski]

Harlan continued to laugh, possessed by his old demons, sinister and high-pitched, coughing and hacking and retching, but still snickering and giggling and sniggering all the while in the curvature near to the towering wall of tomes. The same words slipped out in his comedic tirade, Lazona darkened by the knowledge of her true name, standing still and silent in the middle of the room. Tiberias stalked in behind her, towards Harlan’s wracking form, his original plans damned to the same hells, form ablaze with raw, blind rage and crackling bolts of arcanic lightning.

“How dare you…” Tiberias snarled at Harlan, pupils a haze of white mixed with arcanic power. “How dare you name her…!!!”

Lazona remained silent, Tiberias very aware of the silver drops of liquid that trembled down his mistress’s cheeks, a rage he never thought he could possess burning through him like a blaze of red flame. His claws sank into the metal floor, melting the iron plates. He had never felt so utterly consumed with hatred. How dare her own father bequeath her the title that only befit the very worst of the elite worst for their traitorous acts!

“Order me,” he spoke to Lazona, voice almost unrecognisable, still staring at Harlan, the beastly dwarf he dearly wanted to kill. “Order me and I will take him from this world…”

She did not reply, but he distinctively heard her polearm lift up from the floor. His tail swatted, low and fluffed, waiting for her command. She did not give him one, and she wouldn’t. All she would do, as he had not expected her to, was place her other hand atop his head – a soft, gentle touch that seemed to sweep all his rage energy from him, and instead transfer it all to her. She would approach the cackling heap that she once called her parent, polearm by her side, tears still awash down her cheeks. Harlan would look up, eyes filled with tears, beard coated in spit and bile, still laughing so cruelly, staring up at the tear-filled, cold green eyes that once belonged to the woman he loved, and would balk in utmost fear of them.

Tiberias did not flinch, nor look away as Norbert did, as the blood spurted from Harlan’s chest, impaled by the weapon held by his mistress. Her eyes were closed, still crying, still breathless from the exertion of her decision, of her choice, to end everything that had given her life, and love, to live. Harlan whimpered, then gurgled once, the light leaving his eyes and lids closed, aged, weathered hands twitching once before falling still and silent.

“Ah forgive ye fer bein’ too blind ta see how much ye meant ta me, ta momma.” – were her words as her father, the beast she knew as Harlan Steelshield, died instantly, choked on his own blood – “Ah hope ye find peace now. Ah hope ye never have ta relive anything but this moment…this moment ah lived up ta yer expectations fer me. As yer traitorous daughter, Zynezria!”

Lazona wrenched her polearm back, blood splattering the floor behind, eyes devoid of their shine, of their light and love. Tiberias said little in the ways of comfort, but drew up beside her, nuzzling her leg with his head, pushing his way into her line of vision. She gripped his neckfur as Karnik entered the Library, hands gripped together in some small gesture of peace. She and Tiberias turned away from the grisly remains, only to be met by him as they walked back towards Norbert.

“Ah hope ye find some small manner o’ peace, dear one,” Karnik began, both hands placed upon her shoulders, looking her clearly in the eyes. “Ah would never have yer courage. Never in me wildest dreams.”

Karnik eyed the sight behind her, not in the least bit concerned for it.

“There’ll be questions o’ course, but nothin’ th’ League can’t provide answers fer. Someone angrier than ye got ta ‘im first. They’ll say Ari’s spirit did ‘im in. Suicide. Ye knoo how they are. They’re always ready ta fill in th’ blanks.”

Lazona didn’t reply, eyes impassive and blank, tears still falling. Karnik produced a bit of runecloth from somewhere within the pockets of his robes and wiped the blood from her polearm’s blade, wrapping the stained material up into a neat little square when he was done, clasped carefully in his hands.

“There. Go now,” he inclined his head towards Norbert. “Be with th’ ones who love ye.”

Tiberias nuzzled Karnik’s leg as Lazona mounted Norbert quietly, and turned him away from the Library. Norbert trotted into the dark length of the hallway leading out towards the Great Forge. Tiberias made to follow her when Karnik stepped in front of him.

“Watch o’er her, lad,” he spoke quietly. “And for th’ love of everythin’ her family once ‘eld dear, don’t let ‘er go alone.”

“How long did you know about this?” Tiberias asked.

“Since ‘e came back from th’ War o’ th’ Shiftin’ Sands. It were all ‘e ever talked about. We never thought it wise ta tell her fer…well…it be over now. Ah hope, like she does, all he’ll ever remember is what ‘appened after ‘e finally got it off ‘is chest.”

“Mm…”

“Tiberias!” Lazona’s voice echoed from the darkness. There was a slight tremble to her tone, but her voice was stronger.

“Coming!” the spirit beast called back, staring up at Karnik, still wanting answers.

“They’ll need ta knoo,” was all Karnik said as he turned and followed Norbert’s galloping hooves. “And ye’ll need ta tell them. Ye are all she has left now, and she’ll need ye. She’ll need every one o’ ye.”

Karnik watched the spirit beast disappear along with the War Talbuk and its rider. He turned back towards Harlan’s lifeless body and tutted softly.

“Ye knew it would come ta this. Ye knew giving her that name would lead ta yer own death, Harlan, and yet…ye still gave it ta her.”

He picked up the tome Harlan had thrown at Lazona. Ironically, it was one of the most recently written ones about the Malygos War that had taken place in Northrend some months before. Skimming the page Harlan had been reading, he smiled a small smile at the account given by Lady Alextrasza herself – a mention of a small group of Alliance souls that had bravely distracted the Blue Dragonsire from her summoning circle – an arrow of arcanic flame shot from a bow that had signalled the rest of the main attack force atop the Lady Red’s own drakes to charge him whilst he was aptly distracted.

Krasus had accounted for the bravery (and subsequent stupidity, as he’d put it), saying she had every chance to turn tail like the rest of her grouping had when Malygos had rounded on them, enraged at the trickery, but still she had chosen to draw his ire away from his consort and queen. The Huntress was not a graceful Night Elf, nor a plucky Draenei, but a simple daughter of Dwarven stock. Alexstrasza had spoken her name to Brann Bronzebeard, who had documented this battle from her mouth after it had happened…Karnik could only chuckle softly reading it as he closed the tome on that particular page.

“Ye jus’ couldn’t tell ‘er, could ye?” he asked. “Ahh, Harlan…ye really were an old fool, weren’t ye?”


He quietly began to clear up the mess.

[Nefretiti]

Yoiks o.o
I hope Laz .. or Zyn .. will be allright .. I love reading about her adventures with her furry family

[Kastarakovski]

After stumbling upon Gondria (Lillie) some days ago, so began Ten's hunt for the elusive, vague and shy Loque'nahak. After two failed attempts at King Krush (le sigh), after a heap of annoyance and disappointments and quiet realisation that all those non-tameable rare spawn encounters over the past few days were leading up to something bigger than I thought, guess who surprised me this morning at 2:50am?

Yep...you guessed it! Flailing arms and a nice slice of panic ensued XD

OMFG LOQUE OMFG.jpg (385.21 KiB) Viewed 1466 times

Since Lillie is the name for Ten's pretty spectral riding tigress Gondria; her mate, the arcanic mastery that is Loque'nahak, was named Hercules.
I am proud of my two obsessions like nobody's business XD!

Tencents & Hercules.jpg (94.39 KiB) Viewed 1466 times