Clang.
The hammer struck down hard upon the metal again.
Clang.
Sparks shot from the green and black substance, gold and green in equal amounts.
Clang.
The hammer came down again, striking the metal as the gloves covering the wielder's hands glowed with a golden intensity.
Trianya leaned back, bringing her hammer up high before striking down once more, a grunt of effort coming from the Paladin as she struck the fel tainted metal on the anvil. Sparks flew away from the clashing of Light and fel as her hammer now smoked at its flat head from the energy it was emitting.
She had been at ir for weeks. Working on trying to purify the felslat
Three Weeks before the final Change
Esria flinched back as she unfurled the scroll. Her eyes, or what remained of them, scanned across the text that was written upon the sheet but she saw more than just the writing. Her enhanced sight saw the work of spells and words invisible to most skittering madly across the parchment, drawing her vision whenever she tried to concentrate on reading. After a few minutes and a growing headache she threw it down onto the table.
"Its no good. I cant focus on the writing."
"It will come in time," Noorin said as he joined her at the table in the small hovel. "Many of the illidari were driven nearly mad by it.
Moonfall 2: The Pain of Change by Trianya, literature
Literature
Moonfall 2: The Pain of Change
Two months before the final change.
Esria huddled over, the shade of the rough tent top shielding her from the sun as the wind blew through the lower city of Shattrath. Pain coursed up her back, throbbed behind her eyes and scorched within her eye sockets. Worse still was the near unbearable itch running along her arm. The tattoos were still fresh and needed to set. She cursed herself for the twentieth time that day. How has she fallen so far? From a sentinel captain to sitting in the gutters of a ruined city.
She resisted the urge to scratch the markings. The last of her gold had gone to some uptight sindorei to mark her with the fel thing
Moonfall 1: The Fallen Moon by Trianya, literature
Literature
Moonfall 1: The Fallen Moon
Esria Moonfall stared into the broken shard of the mirror, glaring at her countenance that appeared before her. She was far from the woman she had been a few years before, and even further from the brave young Kaldorei she had been centuries before. Time, wounds and corruption had settled deep. And now she was beyond saving.
Ten thousand years ago, she had seen the Legion invade, still young and a novice to combat. She had barely survived time after time in the great and bloody war. And when it was all over, and the world had been shattered, she had been one of the first to volunteer as a Sentinel. And so it had gone for thousands of years,
The quill dipped into the ink bottle, soaking in the black liquid. The long white feather returned to the parchement upon the desk, moving elagently to add to the already well filled work. Runes and letters of various languages were drawn upon the parchment, detailing spellwork and powers. The only sounds were the scratchings of the quill tip and the flickering of candles. Until the tip broke, ink spilling out and blotting the parchment.
"Light damn it," Liadreth sighed leaning back in her tall plush chair, holding up the now broken quill, "Another one.." She shook her head as she stood from the desk, scattered with books, both open and clo
Sienya's nose twitched as the aroma of food reached her. She had been working hard for hours now, and the scent of fresh roasted food was tempting enough to draw her away. Of course, to most onlookers at the Shrine of Two Moons, she had simply been sat upon one of the thick stone railings calmly looking down upon the scarred Vale. And while it was true, she had not moved from the spot since before dawn, and while the sun was now nearing its zenith, she had been hard at work.
Her spirit had been in constant motion, soothing and calming the elements of the land. Ever since Garrosh had tainted the land, the remaining Order of the Golden Lotus,
Click. Scrap. Tap.
Click. Scrap. Tap.
Click. Scrap. Tap.
The sounds of Allarnna Coultrie's footsteps echoes through the dark corridor of the Undercity as the forsaken made her way towards what passed as the medical centre of the Undead. The forsaken woman walked slowly, her right foot scraping along the floor after each movement she makes with her dark wooden cane. The slow walking woman looked ahead with a small smile on her cold lips. Dressed in simple trousers and a long sleeved shirt, she looked more like she was on her way to a dinner than tending the wounded.
Allarnna was one of the undead who still cared about making an appearance.
The clash of Steel and Iron echoed across the barren wastes. Battle had ensued once more, or it never ended. Across the whole of the Blasted Lands, the Alliance and Horde seemed constantly fighting or defending against the Iron Horde. And now a small Skirmish along the road had Esria Moonfall once again pitting her axes against several of the blood thirsty orcs.
Both Kaldorie and Orcs were stained with blood, Esria coated in a sheen of orcish blood from the assassin that lay lifeless behind her, while the pair of orcs before her were dripping with a mix of red human, blue draenei and dark elven blood. They laughed at her, they had the upper
Esria sat on the log within the Anchorage with a weary sigh. Her entire body ached as she sat with half her armour removed, from the waist up she was dressed just in her cloth undershirt she wore with her armour. It was still stained with sweat and blood despite the rain that had fallen in the swamp. Her armour was being fixed and treated for some damage, the main of which still stung at her shoulder.
Three times now she had been to the front, each time getting a little more scraped, cut or bruised. But the constant battles were starting to take their toll on her. She ached all over and had not had more than 4 hours sleep a night. And her sh