#caideyn

[Part 4]

The barreling monstrosity lit up like a great ball of rotting fire. It thrashed on the ground, limbs disintegrating as it screamed an unnatural bleat. Thrashing soon turned to struggled, twitching movements. The surrounding trees glowed bright orange in the bonfire's light. But amidst the putrid flames, crickets began to chirp once more. Owls began to hoot. Squirrels poked their heads out of nests in the bark. The surrounding wildlife seemed to celebrate the creature's demise.

A green light whisked out of the burning remains. Then one light became many. A flock of green wisps fluttered out, garbled voices blending in a cacophony of laughter. The wisps raced away like a swarm of ghastly fireflies.

"Caid!" Remy lowered her pistol, sliding it back into her holster with a flourish, but her yellow gaze kept locked onto the flickering remains. "Ya all right? Yer hounds okay?!"

For a very wonderful elf. <3

“…I think ya just messin’ with me, Wolf.”

Danaael huffed, rolling his eyes through a voiceless snickering wheeze. Two big blue-white hands each veered a hard swish to either side; decidedly negative, along with a clattering shake of the beads around his head.

The shaman straightened some. One of those great scarred palms came to rest on Caideyn’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze as he dragged the elf a little closer to his side. His bright smile glimmered almost as bright and as lively as the river rush did before them; he squeezed again, drawing his palm in a smooth track up and down the blood elf’s spine, and the free hand tap-tap-tapped just at the lobe of his own ear.

Caideyn peered upward, eyes narrowing with playful disbelief. “Ya want me to listen to them? Ya know I can’t just–”

No, no. A hearty smack of a palm to his own chest. Smack-smack.

“–Ohhhh.” Caideyn shuffled in place a little, grinning lopsidedly. Probably should’ve gathered that, heh. But the shaman was a nightmare to understand on the best of days, wasn’t he? The elf cast another uncertain look across the river’s glinting surface, then hunkered to a squat beside the rush. “So, what’re they… ya know. Sayin’, then? –About me, I mean.” The elf reached out as if to touch the water… then froze. 

Something akin to realization dawned upon him, and he whirled to set a wide-eyed stare onto the towering Draenei.

“Wh– wait a minute! I’ve been naked in these rivers!” Caideyn quailed with such a startle that Danaael froze as well. Blink-blink. “Gods’ teeth, they’ve seen my…” The elf sputtered, sidestepping embarrassed around the word. “–They’ve seen your…” That whole experience suddenly felt very different, once one realized the waters could talk. Oh, feckin’ hells. “–Do they talk about that?!”

A blink, then two.

Danaael, still half frozen himself, just gaped at poor flustered Caideyn in a wash of disbelief. … And then he belted all of that out into a half cackle and half scoff, squatting down beside the elf to bury that laughter in the scruff of his beard. Great thundering gods, of COURSE the spirits see.A bristly grin full of cheek and a little up-ticked nod confirmed Caid’s fears, to another groan – and another dry, rumbled wheeze, breathless as it was amused.

Poor Caideyn. He’d get used to it eventually.

Danaael drew back, tossing the flustered elf the most knowing of cheeky bastard winks– and, grinning wide, scrubbed a rough palm through his hair.

For Caideyn…

VISUAL ATTRACTIVENESS:   💗💗💗💗He’s shorter than I am! … but his skin reminds me caramel, and I bet his beard tickles… He must spend so much time on his hair. I don’t think I’ve seen many people wear it like he does. If I had to sum it all up… he’s the deep forest walking.

FRIENDSHIP LEVEL:  💗💗💗He’s nice to me. I don’t see him very often, but he always smiles and waves when we bump into one another. I want to be a better friend to him. He deserves it.

SEXUAL DESIRE: 💗💗💗 I bet he has strong hands. I’m not a very good leader… but he seems like he would be. Maybe some day… Gods, I don’t even know how I would ask.

ROMANTIC INTENT:  💗I– don’t want to ruin anything by pushing too hard. I’m sure that he already has somebody… I mean, I’m not the best at picking up signals, but… I don’t think he’s interested.

Uhh uHH 

1. Animals, both living and plushies!

2. Music, festivals and lightshows.

3. ALL MY OC’s, especially my trolls and furries (thats all of them >>)

4. Affection. Warm hugs. Love. 

ABCs of your OCs

A: Aptitude1. What are your OC’s natural abilities, things they’ve been doing since young?

Being a Shal’dorei, Seilune is naturally gifted in the arcane arts, particularly in enchants. From an early age she was able to manipulate objects and some people just by giving a certain look. While training to be an arcanist, Seilune was introduced to illusionary magic by her mentor, Lord Luceis Vistaris, and began studying this school of the arcane alongside enchantments. As an aristocrat, she has been in the public eye all of her life, and with that has come the ability to speak publicly and to keep a good appearance for herself.

2. What activities have they participated in?Until shortly after the recent Legion invasion of Suramar, Seilune was a fashion model and socialite in Suramar. She walked the runway and graced the cover of Shalassian magazines for millennia, and she was quite proficient at her job. One may even be able to find old posters of her from those days! In addition, she has been heavily involved in social events, including parties, galas, balls, masquerades, and charities, and her role as a diplomat has her attending various council meetings and summits alongside other politicians.3. What abilities do they have that they’ve worked for?

She has worked diligently to be an accomplished arcanist, and has dedicated her entire life to the magical arts. In order to be a jack of all trades, she spent much of her youth studying the performing arts, which has led her to be proficient in playing the harp and in singing. 

4. What things are they bad at?She is a terrible swordsman, as she has never been trained in using a blade. Any magical school outside of the arcane is completely lost to her, and she would fail miserably if she were to even attempt them.

5. What is their most impressive talent?

Back in the day, this place was one of the safe havens, Orc and Human, Forsaken and Elf... Hell, even the age-old rivalry of Gnome and Goblin had no meaning here other than the mostly friendly debate of which firearm wouldn’t explode upon activation. It was exactly why Remy often visited to simply retreat away from the world’s state of affairs from time to time.

Clink... Clink... Clink...

The forsaken’s spurs gently rattled with each light step. Slowly but surely, the dim light of Trueshot Lodge crested over the hilltop. Remy took a slow breath, letting the chilly, thin air fill her long-dead lungs. She smiled, relaxed, as she exhaled out and saw ice forming on her breath.

Her tireless feet kept walking toward the warmed, welcoming interior of the lodge itself. While the peak certainly wasn’t as active as it was during the War Against the Legion, a few folk still made their home here and checked in from time to time, most often those who had no immediate allegiance to either side, blue or red.

She cleared her throat as her feet met the scuffed wood floor of the place. Her yellow gaze scanned the room. Some eyes flitted toward her poncho-wearing figure in the doorway. The gunslinger extended a clawed hand out and unfurled a poster. It showed some sort of sketched depiction of an unhealthily thin winged goat with red eyes. It stood on two legs like it could walk like a human. The flesh on its face was rotted off, leaving only a macabre visage of bones and eerie teeth.

WANTED - THE DEVIL OVER DUSKWOOD - DEAD OR ALIVE  - 3000 GOLD REWARD

FOR THE THEFT AND MURDER OF CATTLE, FARM ANIMALS, AND PEOPLE

KNOWN TO LURK WITHIN THE DARKENED FORESTS OF DUSKWOOD

APPROACH WITH CAUTION. TARGET KNOWN TO FLEE, SCREAM, AND MAIM PURSUERS.

“Now I’m lookin’ fer a fellow trackin’ partner ta help me exterminate a problem plaguin’ the good folk ‘a Duskwood!” the forsaken bellowed out. “Fifty-fifty split! Fifteen hundred fer ya. Fifteen hundred fer me. Now I know folks are on edge with the war goin’ on, but this is actually when it’s the most crucial ta deal with stuff like this--When the soldiers and guards are away from home. The workin’ folk ain’t got no one ta protect ‘em.” 

Remington panned her vision through the crowd of hunters expectantly, “Do I got any takers?”

[Part 3]

Remy chuckled, air whistling from a small slit in her cheek. "Don't gotta apologize fer nothin', Caid. I know what ya meant. Pops is alive, but he still won't tell how he, ya know, lost all 'a his flesh. He's just a skeleton now. And yeah, family helped me throughout all my life. Owe most 'a what I know today ta pops and ma and a little bit a' gramma Ash and grandpa Julian."

Crazy Pete eyed over Caid. He creaked open the rickety just a hair more, eyeing the two's sides. Satisfied, he shut the door with a loud THUD.

Click, clack, FWIP! Locks unbolted one after the other. The termite-eaten door swung inward, inviting the two in.

Pete was about as tall as Remy, a gray scraggly beard masking his chin. His dirt-stained, stitched overalls were worn, as were the calloused hands holding the weathered double-barrel shotgun.

He tipped his beard deeper into the house, motioning the two to head into the living room. A single moth-ridden lantern illuminated the room. His scratched up sofa had been pushed up against the window, and other cabinets and chairs were barricaded against the door leading to the back porch. Each window and entrance to the house was sprinkled with a line of coarse-ground salt.

"Caideyn. Sure would welcome the help. Tell me," Pete scanned over the two. "When you were on your way here, did either of you... hear the silence?"

Remy looked over to Caid, nodding slowly. “We did. Pete, ya remember mentionin’ ya got livestock clawed up by the thing in yer barn? Stables?”

Pete swallowed, peering out of the windows. He drew the curtains over them in turn. “The barn. I’m keeping the... corpses in the barn. And--”

An inhuman, guttural bleat ripped through the air outside, stopping all other cricket chirping. Both Remy and Pete fell silent. The human’s knuckles turned white as he gripped the stock of his shotgun.

THUD. THUD. THUD. Heavy footsteps rumbled around the perimeter of the farmhouse. And a bipedal winged figure loomed as a silhouette just on the other side of the living room window’s curtains...

Pete’s eyes darted to Caid.

“It’s here,” he mouthed.