A different kind of hunt.

It's happy hour, the alcohol is flowing. It's time to pull up a tankard of ale, bottle of wine for the ladies and regail tales of heroism and grandeur.

Topic/Postby Sven » 20 Mar 2015, 13:55

A different kind of hunt.

<< This was a little longer than I expected it to be, you don't have to read it all. I'm not a good writer but I was bored today and thought I'd give it a shot :/ >>


The sun had set a few hours ago and the dip in temperature was already noticeable, Northrend was always cold but at night the chill in the air would be enough to grip your bones and shakes your body right through until the dawn, you could feel the freezing air right down into your lungs. Sven had hunted here a few times before; in truth it was one of his favourite spots. But hunting at night was a completely different ball game to hunting in the day, it wasn’t only the cold that could kill you but everything that crawled through the snow or swept through the skies was also a potential predator from the savage wolves to the unholy gargoyles that circled above him like vultures looking for their next easy meal.

He takes a sip from his hipflask as the brandy burns the back of his throat and sets a fire in his belly, it was no secret that he was dependant on it everyone back in the city knew that if Sven was around he’d be found in a local tavern, normally whoring it up with the women of the night or unconscious on a bar table somewhere. But on the hunt his mind was focused, it’s the only place he feels free and he’d make sure to only drink enough to steady his failing alcoholic hands and try to keep himself warm for the night. Keeping warm might have been near impossible for him, especially as he had decided against lighting a fire tonight and risking alerting his prey, however keeping warm didn’t seem to be a problem for Tyson who was currently rolling on his back in the snow with his long tongue lolling from his mouth, he had been Sven’s loyal companion for years and one of the best Gilnean Hounds that Sven had ever hunted with, he was practically family.

“You’re an idiot, Tys” Sven muttered quietly, the dog replied with just a twist of his head, he never was one for conversation. “I know, I know. You think we should have started in the Plaguelands. I’m not having this argument again” The pair had dug a little shelter into the snow and covered it with branches from the few spare trees around them, it wasn’t the luxury the tavern had previously given them but with a little luck it would keep them both warm through the night and most importantly hidden from anything that might want to kill them. “I did tell you, you wouldn’t like it there. It’s much better here” Sven nods knowingly to the hound, he’d been there once or twice normally just passing through but it was a disgusting and rancid place and he had no intention of travelling there without good reason. “Besides, the Argent Dicks weren’t giving me anything to work on.” He had spent the better part of the morning asking around the local outposts for anyone that might have seen her, she certainly stood out against the crowd but everyone was suspiciously tight lipped about it. Even the promise of bringing back some venison wasn’t enough to get them to speak, whatever the reason for her disappearing she certainly didn’t want anyone following her. He wasn’t sure if that made the hunt more exciting or if he felt ashamed for going against her wishes, truth be told he was too cold to feel or think anything right now. “Come on, let’s try and get some sleep. We’ll start out again tomorrow morning with the sun” with that Tyson pulled himself from the snow and hopped over to Sven’s side, he didn’t think the dog actually needed to share any of his body heat but he was thankful to have something warm next to him for the night.

The night had given him no real rest, a few hours here and there but before he knew it the sun was creeping up over the horizon, the snow glistening and blinding his sleepy eyes. A sip of brandy and a bite of the stale bread they had packed two days ago was breakfast, a quick piss and a check of the remaining supplies was all they had time for before setting off again. “Weather isn’t bad, we’ll make good progress in this” Sven gestures ahead of them to the sun and sky, it was a clear day and the wind was gentle, he hoped there wouldn’t be any more snow today. “Right, let’s take a look at Commander Tristeen’s map” Sven chuckles to himself as he pulls a tattered map from a pouch on his leggings, he’d like to think Tyson would laugh too if he could, he had fond memories of watching Tyson chase the commander around his camp giving him a distraction to pocket the map. When unfolded what he held in his hands was a map of recent undead activity in Dragonblight, there were four areas marked with crosses which indicated the largest and most dangerous pockets. “That’s not bad, should make the first one before nightfall. Who knows if we’re lucky we might bag a deer on the way and we won’t have to dine on this shit bread anymore” at this Tyson’s ears perk up and he begins bouncing up and down in the snow.

Most of Dragonblight was a vast wasteland, miles and miles of snow with nothing to be seen do not make for an interesting journey so as usual in times like this the pair try their hardest to keep occupied, an hour spent throwing a ball for Tyson, an hour taking note of how many different birds they could spot, how many different trees they came across, eventually an hour of seeing how many steps they would take and then comparing it to the next hour. Anything to keep their minds off the cold and off the boredom. In the sixth hour Sven eventually breaks the silence with a question “You think she’ll be angry?” Tyson as ever has very little to say on the subject peering back at Sven momentarily before shifting his attention to a finch that had landed on the snow to rest. “I hope not, but it’s hard to tell with her.” Tyson ducks down into the snow, his movements careful and deliberate as he slowly stalks towards the little bird. “She’ll probably be angry, you’re right” Sven nods as he stops walking for a moment to let Tyson have his fun. “You’re never going to catch it you know” and with that Tyson launches into a sprint, his legs hammer against the snow causing a miniature snowstorm for the tiny bird, fortunately for the finch however Tyson is a clumsy beast who ends up with his head embedded in the snow as the bird simply takes flight, Sven has always been good at reading animals and if he had to guess he’d say the bird was a lot like him, laughing at Tyson right about now.

Eventually the pair reach a large hill, in the distance the faint but familiar noise of battle rings out into the air. “That would be our pocket of undead activity then.” Sven clicks his fingers and immediately his faithful hound is at his heel, they both crouch and slowly begin to climb to the top of the hill. “Remember, we’re just looking now, no getting involved.” As they reach the summit as if on queue the sky cracks open releasing a torrent of snow upon the combatants below, it looks as if the battle has been raging for quite some time as what was no doubt pristine white snow at one point is now a thick red sludge boiling beneath the feet of a hundred or so soldiers. Blade hits bone and arrows fly, screams of pain and bloodlust mix around them as the battle rages. Undead forces with no more purpose but to kill push onward with sword and shield against a wall of unyielding Argent soldiers, their holy magic’s turning the foul beasts into dust and fire. Sven lowers himself into the snow and pulls an spyglass from his pack, he places the glass to his eye and watches the battle. “Where are you?” he mutters quietly to himself looking through the fighters and the dead. Minutes pass before he lowers the spyglass and rolls onto his back looking up at the sky he exhales a large breath watching the cold take it up into the air. Sven wasn’t a soldier, he’s not used to this onslaught and the sight of dozens of men being butchered in combat takes its toll on him. “We sang songs and drank mead” he mutters to himself “We celebrated, the scourge are defeated, the lich king is dead. I remember it like it was yesterday. The speeches and the medals, the brave soldiers back from war who survived it… I knew there were still undead here and the fight would still go on but this is …” he leaves the sentence unanswered turning back once again to look through his spyglass. “She said that she didn’t think the undead would ever truly be gone, that means … this? Forever?” he shakes his head a little looking through the glass once more. “Where are you?”

The battle raged for around an hour, he took regular breaks to stop himself from vomiting at the carnage. As expected the Argent soldiers were victorious and at the end they burned their dead alongside the scourge corpses that remained. The whole time he watched he caught no sight of her, her sword or her armour. For all he knew she could be a thousand miles away, it was just a gut feeling that brought him here. The battle had been exhausting on him even if he was just watching, he had wept for the first time in years, most probably for the first time since Gilneas fell. “We’ll camp here tonight, I can’t be bothered to move” and with that he drew the pipe from his pocket and began to fill it with tobacco. “Theres another three locations in Dragonblight at least, then maybe Icecrown or … I don’t know, we’ll see.” Tyson had walked over and collapsed in his lap, he suspected it was boredom that was draining the dog’s spirit rather than exhaustion. Tyson was used to chasing and flushing prey, not sneaking around all day. Sven rubbed his head “We’ll do some hunting tomorrow, I promise. I’m sick of this damn bread anyway” he lights his pipe and takes a long and deep breath of the soothing smoke. The sky was filling with stars now and for a moment the bloodlust behind him faded into the beauty of this land. “Let’s set up camp, we’ll see what tomorrow brings us.”
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Topic/Postby Gergel » 20 Mar 2015, 15:26

Dammit, Sven.

Can not leave well enough alone, can you? Just walk away. It is safer for you.
What kind of sick individual burns a book full of perfectly good dark arts?!
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Topic/Postby Lilandris » 21 Mar 2015, 17:13

Sven never was one for backing off, was he? :P


Double post merged on 21 Mar 2015 17:13

Also, forgot to say :X :

The writing was okay too. Not bad at all. :)
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Topic/Postby Sven » 21 Mar 2015, 17:31

Lilandris wrote:The writing was okay too. Not bad at all. :)


Thanks Lil, it's been well over a year since I wrote anything :D
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Topic/Postby Lilandris » 21 Mar 2015, 18:22

Well, this here section of the forums is here for everyone to try and test the water as much as they like :)
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Topic/Postby Sven » 21 Mar 2015, 21:11

Well there will be a Part 2 coming soon and Thelarwen will be writing up Part 3 :)


Double post merged on 21 Mar 2015, 21:11

<Unfortunately my writing skill has dramatically reduced for the second chapter, sorry>

Chapter 2
It had been another freezing night in a make shift shelter, the trip was finally starting to wear at Sven’s mental and physical health. “Tyson?” he called out noticing that the dog wasn’t sleeping next to him, the hound must have woke before him this morning as he rubbed the sleepy dust from his eyes and glances outside of the shelter he noticed that the snow had picked up again during the night. “Tyson?” he called again, venturing out into the snow and pulling his fur cloak around himself to shield against the cutting wind. There was no sign of the dog which was unusual for Tyson he normally spent all of his time at his master’s side, a quick glance across the ground revealed fresh tracks that had yet to be buried by the onslaught of snow so it couldn’t have been long since he left, perhaps he caught the scent of a deer or an elk and his hunger got the better of him. Placing his bow on his back and not forgetting to pick up his pack he set off after the tracks, Northrend was not the place for Tyson to be wandering off alone.

It only took five minutes to catch up with him, as expected there was a stag on the horizon and Tyson had started to stalk it, he looked back at Sven with an appreciative glance no doubt thinking that dinner would soon be theirs. “Alright boy, get moving” Sven smiled the first genuine smile since they set off on their journey, just because they weren’t here for the hunting didn’t mean they couldn’t enjoy it and nothing raises the spirits like a good hunt, an elk this close to their camp might as well have been a gift from the gods. Tyson set off through the snow, his head down low and his shoulders showing the muscles of his breed as he stalked closer and closer to the stag, he was a natural predator but he had been trained to flush prey perfectly and instead of charging straight in for the kill he naturally took a wide curving arc to the Stag, whom at this point remained munching on what little grass or plant had managed to poke through the snow. Sven slowly but smoothly reached around his back and pulled an arrow from the quiver letting his thumb gently run across the feather flights as he notched it against the string. “Atta’boy Tys” he whispered as Tyson began to shift into position, the Elk had no idea he was there.

The storm was kicking up a noise which no doubt helped to muffle the dogs approach but Gilnean hounds aren’t just known for the size of their bodies but the size of their lungs and when Tyson was ready to flush something you knew about it, a thunderous howl to start followed by a loud serious of aggressive barks. The elk’s ears shot up and he immediately started moving away from Tyson right into Sven’s field of vision. He pulled the string on his bow three quarters of the way back waiting for the Elk to hit the right spot “Little closer” he whispered, the string of his bow pressed against his cheek. “Little more” then with one last pull he released the arrow which sailed through the air carving its way through the snow and wind before sinking directly into the side of the Elk. It was almost perfected, most likely a lung shot. The elk let out a dying scream and scattered into the snow, it would no doubt make a few yards before it collapsed. Sven let another smile creep onto his face, despite the cold this was turning into a successful day – perhaps he’d stumble across her his intended prey today as well.

Tyson returned to his side shortly, a satisfied albeit tired look on his face. “You did good, buddy” he scratched the dog behind the ears as they both pushed their way through the snow following the red blood covered snow. The arrow was buried deep into the side of the elk which was left in a frozen pool of blood. “That’s a big Elk, they grow get big up here” and it was, the beast was easily 250 kilos if not more. Sven pulled his bow back over his back and withdrew a long curved hunting knife from his leg. “Seems like a waste, there’s no way we’re taking all of this with us” he set to work carving the animal up as best he could in the encroaching blizzard and by the time he was finished he was caked in blood but had a good few slabs of prime meat packed away into his bag, Tyson laid lazily by his side having just eaten what Sven expected to be more than his stomach could handle. “No throwing up” he warned him.

A short walk took the pair of hunters to a wooded area, it was good shelter from the storm and if they followed it all the way they’d end up near the next pocket of scourge activity. Luck was certainly on their side today. The pair took a moment to sit and rest from the active morning, a fire was lit for the first time since they left the boat and Sven helped himself to more brandy than was wise. “That was a fine kill” a voice from behind a tree called out, no doubt it was meant to be a greeting but it didn’t stop Sven from scrambling for his bow and pulling a noticed arrow back to his shoulder. “Show yourself” he warned, moving his aim from tree to tree attempting to pinpoint the direction of the voice.

“Woah, easy now. I’m friendly” a man stepped out from behind a nearby tree, he wore old leather armour and had a crossbow slung over his shoulder, blue eyes peered out from a leather hat and his hands stretched up to the sky in surrender “It should be me angry with you, I was following that Elk for miles” the man simply chuckled.

“So it was you that flushed it towards us, was thinking it unusual to just happen across it” Sven smiled and slowly placed his arrow down on the ground “If you want some meat we have plenty, there was more than we could carry” Sven gestured to their fire and the succulent elk meat roasting atop it.
“That’s mighty kind of you, stranger” the stranger spoke with a calm but tired voice

“Sven” Sven replied, checking that the meat was cooking right. The older hunter revealed his name to be Gerald, he was hunting for a local outpost to feed the soldiers and had been stationed in Northrend for a year now. His information on Dragonblight was invaluable but he had once piece of information that would change Sven’s hunt entirely. After they had both shared a meal and a drink Gerald picked his things up and prepared to leave the camp

“Sven, we’ve had some reports of a massive Scourge gathering in Icecrown, Mord’rethar. I’ll mark it on your map and you avoid it at all costs” Sven nodded in thanks, casting a short glance to Tyson and back.

“Thanks, you stay safe out there Gerald” he nodded as Gerald turned his back and left, a belly full of elk meat no doubt improving his spirit for the long walk back to his own camp.

“A massive gathering of Scourge” Sven muttered as Tyson came to sit beside him. “Sounds like our Thelarwen’s taste, doesn’t it?” he smirked before peering down at his map. “Looks like we’re going in the wrong direction” …
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Topic/Postby Gergel » 21 Mar 2015, 21:34

Part 3

That which occurred between Sven and Thelarwen in Icecrown. Quite a big one, but I needed to cram over an hour's worth of RP into it.




The undead were becoming more numerous by the minute. Sven had thought the Scourge was all but vanquished. Clearly that was not nearly the case in these Light-forsaken parts of the world. He and Tyson snuck past many, and carefully and (when possible) silently brought down those that were impossible to avoid.

It was cold. Far colder than any self-respecting part of the world had any right to be. Sholazar was only a stone's throw away (assuming the hypothetical stone-thrower was a titan or someone of the same caliber), how could this pleasant heat not leak over here? Perhaps the mile-high mountain sides were to blame...

And perhaps also the cold, spiky and menacing-looking metal walls, such as the one that Sven just had come across. No wonder the Lich King did not conquer all of Azeroth if he had wasted so many of his resources on these huge saronite walls. Sven lacked the resources to scale this wall, and because he also heard the distant sounds of battle from further ahead, he decided to follow it instead. And as it turned out, that was a most worthwhile thing to do, because that's when he found her.

The stench was sickening. The sight, more so. Countless corpses were strewn in putrid piles all around the frozen ground. Literally countless, impossible to count, each cut into far too many pieces. The word "overkill" came to mind. It should have taken quite a lot less effort to put down any of these ghouls, skeletons, abominations and the like. There was no need to cut them apart so thoroughly.

She was in the middle of it all. He had no clue where all of her opponents were coming from. They just crawled out from behind rocks and chunks of ice, wandered over from their odd decrepit structures and wagons, emerged from the ground underneath the piles of their former comrades. Again, "countless". And she cut them down tirelessly. Every swing of the almost unrecognizably gory twin-bladed sword severed limbs, heads, entire torsos. Blood and more unmentionable fluids spattered the newly-appearing Scourge, the corpses, and the butcher herself. It took a few minutes to even properly recognize the lone steel-covered fighter through the thick layer of gore and guts all over her.

"Thel!" he shouted. Found her at last. All good now. Right! Right?

The death knight did not notice. There seemed to be a small blizzard around her. A frozen aura which changed small droplets of blood into glittering rubies to scatter around and disappear within the corpse pile. Larger splashes caked into solid chunks on her body and occasionally broke off with a crack. Even through the moaning, snarling, roaring and cackling of her foes, Sven could hear her occasionally screaming wildly and incomprehensibly. No, that was not right.

An unpleasantly large group of ghouls descended upon the death knight from every direction. Sven's heart jumped with sudden terror when her quarry disappeared from view. Then one of the ghouls was pushed back, two blades of the sword emerged from its back, there was a godawful crunching sound and the sword drew a full circle through the group of ghouls. Pieces of bodies and limbs scattered everywhere and the opponents were just meat.

"Thel! What are you doing?" Sven shouted again. "This is a death trap!"

This time the death knight heard. She turned towards the hunter and charged without a second thought. Sven barely had the time to roll away from the charge, which clearly was not something that the attacker was used to, because she barreled right along and missed him entirely. She screamed incoherently and swung her sword again. Tyson was too far. He was in no position to make another dodge. The sword came... and missed barely.

Thelarwen crouched before the man in a primal stooped ape-like pose. The end of the sword was resting on the ground. Not much could be seen of her face behind the helm. Just the glow of her eyes, which had a frighteningly red tint.

"Go away, Sven!" she growled. That was not her usual calm and emotionless tone which she invariably used for every occasion, to threaten enemies, confess love and tell jokes. The voice was cold, hissing and full of rage.

"What are you doing here?" the man shouted. In retrospective, not a wise choice considering all the swarming undead around them. "You're going to get yourself killed."

A geist leaped directly at Sven, no doubt attracted by the shout. Thelarwen's sword moved in a flash and two halves of the creature landed on either side of their intended target, splattering the man with blood. The woman returned from her twirl and was now standing properly upright with her weapon pointing almost but not quite at Sven.

"GO AWAY. It is not safe for you here."

Sven grabbed Thelarwen's arm and dragged her away from the battlefield. For a brief moment he wondered if he'd just be cut in half the same way the geist had been, but by the time they reached a calmer alcove in the saronite wall, he was still alive and intact. The woman had clearly regained at least some of her senses.

"Leave me be," she growled in a very stereotypical death knight voice.

The hunter looked at Thelarwen. "No!" He pointed at the endless swarm milling around nearby. At this moment they seemed to be mindless and did not appear to be noticing the two sentients. "Look at it out there! That's madness!"

"Yeee-ee-eeessss," she hissed. "Go away, Sven. Leave me alone. This is where I need to be. This death is what I need to have around me. Just... go. I... do not want to hurt you."

"You already did..." he answered quietly. "By leaving the way you did. This is bloodlust, pure and simple. Believe me, I know what that is like. You don't need this. This raging monster isn't you, you're better than this. We can fight it and we don't give into it."

The death knight's eyeglow still possessed a red tint when he looked through the slit of her helm. He said with pathos, hoping that this would work just as well as it did in books: "Thel... It's time to come home."

There was no change in the glow.

She shook her head. "No, Sven. This time I cannot. This time I must stay here and fight through this, until that which is burning and rotting inside of me is all gone. I cannot suppress it. I can only destroy it. I am... dangerous. To you, to everyone, until I have fought enough to find peace again."

"Tell me why? What has driven you here in this way that you need to hurt everyone who knows and cares about you?"

Thelarwen drew herself up and roared wordlessly into the chill of Icecrown. "BECAUSE I AM FULL OF RAGE!" Her voice was only very slightly quieter as she continued: "BETRAYAL! I trusted her! I thought her my friend!"

Sven shook his head in bewilderment. "Lil? This is all just about Lil? That's it? That's ALL? How dare you do this to your friends? To me?! Have you even considered what this is doing to us?!"

He pulled his leather helm off. He was quite angry at this point. "Let me show you."

The man bared his teeth. And the worgen snarled angrily. The change had been so quick and sudden that it was almost unnoticeable. One moment there was a man, another, a beast. He roared at Thelarwen and leaped onto the battlefield. Sven used no bow or sword, just his teeth and claws, to shred and rip the ghouls and skeletons. Where the cuts of Thelarwen's runesword had been clean and straight, the tears Sven made were ragged, huge and brutal. For a few minutes it almost seemed like he was going to clean the place more thoroughly than Thelarwen had done. But he was no unstoppable death knight juggernaut in impermeable steel armour. A slash here, a cut there, and soon he was covered in more than just his opponents' blood.

"What are you trying to prove?" Thelarwen shouted at the bouncing deadly ball of fur, teeth and claws. "That I should stop or you will kill yourself by throwing yourself against these masses of the Scourge? I CANNOT! The rage, the hatred are not yet gone! Let me work this out by myself, and then you can have your old, calm, peaceful Thelarwen back."

The worgen suddenly changed back into Sven, just as abruptly as the first change had been. He was looking decidedly worse for wear. Blood was seeping through his chest armour as well as his arm. He staggered up to Thelarwen.

"Thel, I would never stop you doing your thing... But this isn't your thing, this is reckless, bloodthirsty and wrong."

She looked at him and said in a tone that was almost but not quite screaming, "I KNOW."

Sven stared at her quite calmly now. Perhaps that was just the blood loss. "Thel... How long have you been fighting? Have you ever rested?"

"Ever since I arrived," she replied much more quietly. "I do not need rest. When I fight and kill, the anger within me is diminished. I just... need a little more. Just another week or two. Then I will have peace. Please. Go away, Sven, it is not safe to be around me when I am like this. I lose control. I could attack you without even noticing. I could kill you."

He laughed weakly and placed his hand on her shoulder. "You say you are fighting for peace? Like this? Don't you see how stupid that is? Come home, Thel. We need you, I need you. This isn't you, this is the Lich King's Thelarwen. He is dead, and so is she."

Thelarwen lifted her sword. The tips aimed towards Sven seemed to be shaking just a little bit. "Please, Sven... For your own sake and for mine, just... go."

Sven stared up the length of the blood-and-gore-covered blade. Then he lifted a hand and pushed it aside. "Back in Ironforge, when I changed, I could have ripped your arm off without a second thought. But you reached out to me at your own risk. Well, now I have to reach out for you too."

He took a step past the sword and pulled Thelarwen into an embrace. Despite the freezingly cold armour, a week's worth of blood and gore, and the possibility of being ripped from limb to limb by an enraged death knight who was not quite in control of herself.

A moment later he was still alive. Quite cold but alive. He dared to look up.

Thelarwen was standing there like a statue. Her eyeglow had returned to its customary icy blue-white. Her arms had grown limp, the end of her sword touched the ground with a small thump.

"You don't have to come home right now," the hunter told her. "Let's just leave this place before we end up dead. Talk about things."

Her voice was quiet, dull and entirely bereft of anger. "Stop. I... will come." She looked around them. The enormous piles of corpses everywhere. Limbs, heads, guts, various unidentifiable pieces. "Did I do this?"

"Most of it."

She looked up at Sven, only then seemingly noticing his wounds. Suddenly Thelarwen was all business again. "You are injured. We need to get you somewhere safe. Tend to your wounds. Take off your armour."

Sven, despite his current unfortunate state, looked interested. Thelarwen followed up entirely unromantically by ripping strips of clothing from her supplies, doused them in what looked like holy water, and quickly produced a reasonably decent field bandage around his chest and arm. It stung a lot, but it stopped most of the bleeding.

"Do you have a mount?"

The hunter was feeling weak all of a sudden. The adrenaline was clearly wearing off. "I came on foot."

Thelarwen nodded and walked back out on the battlefield. She had never done this before, but at the moment she had no better choice. The Ebon Blade mount she could summon from the Nether was not suitable: far too slow and could not easily find a path through the cliffs of Icecrown. So the death knight held out her hand... and bones from all around her began to lift and swirl in the air. It was quite disconcerting to watch, the way these dead pieces bent to her will and formed the shape that could, with some imagination involved, be considered to be similar to a gryphon.

She led the construct to where Sven was waiting. He looked a bit better after having caught his breath.

"You should put your armour back on. I do not want your fresh wounds anywhere near the putrid substances that cover my plate. Can you hold on to me?"

Sven smirked. "Of course! You... might have to help me up," he finished a bit awkwardly.

The death knight pulled the hunter up and on the construct's back where bones were forming something of a saddle. It went against all the laws of nature, and probably a few laws of magic, but the bone gryphon-simile took flight.

The luck did not last for long. Just past Sindragosa's Fall and almost near the Argent Tournament grounds Thelarwen brought the mount down quickly. It hit the ground with an unpleasant jerk. Sven hissed with pain, but quickly saw the wisdom of his chauffeur's decision when the construct fell apart into its component bones.

They travelled to the Argent grounds on foot. Despite some of his less healthy habits, Sven was quite strong and resilient and so he was already recuperating from the blood loss.

The Argent Crusaders did not accept Thelarwen entirely without a comment. "Do go and wash yourself, Crusader, you reek." As for Sven, no one even batted an eye because of how he looked. Clearly terrible Scourge-caused wounds were not something unusual in this part of the world. Before he was carted away to be cleaned, bandaged and healed, Sven confronted Thelarwen.

"If I were to wait until you are asleep and leave again?..." she asked calmly, "You would run off to find me again?"

Sven nodded sternly. "Every time."

"How about if I asked you in a very polite manner to wait for me while I go and... do what it is I do, promising to return by nightfall?"

He smiled. "I can accept that. I meant what I said though. I'm not leaving Northrend until you are."

The death knight placed her gauntlet against the faceplate of her helm with a metallic clang. "As you wish," she responded resignedly. "Now please go and get healed."

And with that, she and her gory, sludgy, squelching armour departed from the tent.

Not the smell, though. The smell lingered...
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Topic/Postby Aroona » 21 Mar 2015, 23:03

*Restrains a Rabid Roo from trying to swim to Northrend to give Thel more hugs than either can handle* :<

(Awesome writing guys :D )
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