#xodius

“...”

“Oh, fuck.”

“...”

“Can I loot her?”

( @mitebite/ @sweetlittlechaos99)

very quick doodles from out dnd campaign

It is early morning and the inn is full of sleeping bodies. Compared to the past week yesterday was docile. I slept most of the day after being up most of the night with Mystery. I left for bed before I had a chance to ask him any questions. The night had just been so long and my mind so tired. I slept fine, waking late in the evening and moving to this table to sit a few moments.

The Fire Pup flew in through the window, apparently I had startled him as he’d not noticed me sleeping in one of the back beds earlier. We sat and spoke this time uninterrupted by the smell of near death. That in of itself was refreshing. The conversation itself not so much.

I was under the assumption the Fire Pup and his elemental were of separate minds, and they very well may be. I think I can see the difference here between him and the Dictator now; the relationship between them and their bound. I suppose after my communication, faulty as it was, it was no secret to the fire elemental my abilities, and I was questioned on them.

Fire pup of course did not understand. Shamanism is a necessary discovery by the Broken Ones to keep their mind intact, to give something back to their race. I poorly recounted huddling together atop the mushrooms in the Marshes after the destruction of Shattrath. Watching others, strong warriors, mighty paladins, even just common women slowly losing their minds, their bodies deforming. The fear that struck the camps of who would be next what was the cause of this. They were sent away, afraid the rest of us would be infected by whatever ailed them.

I have trained as a priest for centuries, and while I was never the best at what I do using the elements as catalyst for my connection to the Light does not make me any less a priest. Some may have embraced the Broken ways but I am what I am. I have been and always will be a priest.

I was short with him, I realized after; the north is also riling my temper like never before. Even in writing this I feel my blood warming to anger, I am bad at following my own advice. Perhaps I did not get enough sleep over the day. Despite that thought after he left I gathered myself for a trip to Dalaran. I needed to access a bank and sell a few things as well as gather supplies.

I stopped in the Lounge and had a drink and worked on the puzzle some. I recall being startled by something suddenly and couldn’t shake the chill from my spine. Some deep voice, I don’t even recall what was said, but there was no one there. Dalaran is dead compared to what it used to be, I suppose with the war on the Lich King done it has returned to its past state.

The trip back to Dragonblight was a bit calming, the gryphon takes a path that avoids flying over the war zone luckily. After a meal and a couple drinks I could feel that I was indeed ready for sleep once again. I noticed Maewood and a couple others in the inn, they were surely busy with their own business.

I went upstairs and sat here at this desk for a while and apparently nodded off till now. I woke suddenly in a cold sweat and stood knocking over the chair I’d slept in. I was breathing quickly and felt some irrational fear. I think I heard someone in one of the beds behind me stir a little and it took me a moment to realize there was nothing to be afraid of. Some dream or nightmare maybe, I don’t even know what it was.

The cycle continues, war and rest, war and rest. We gathered momentarily in the inn after returning from the front lines. Marksman, Little Miss, the Fire Pup and his Little Pup. Brother Jamus was there, Dictator, Maewood. I spoke with Jamus for a while, tried to comfort him, everyone wonders at some point or eventually; “What is the fighting for? Is it worth it?” He has seen many battles, maybe more than I; I do not know what he did in his time before he took up the call of the elements. Maybe he was a great warrior. Regardless, he is restless and with his tiny charges lost he aims to wander when he is no longer needed.

I try to be wise and say the right things, try to say what people need to hear. I even know that it will not help them the moment I say it, but I only hope they will remember it on down the line and the things I have said will be something to hold on to or help them make the right choice.

I did not know what to tell Brother Jamus, oddly the more time I spend up north the less sure I have become of my abilities, and the more scattered my thoughts and what I would think of as generally confident words.

It is very easy to give advice, but hard enough to take it. What would I say to myself? Slow down, relax, and breathe. Try not to worry; worrying will only make things worse, cause poor decisions. That is good advice.. only I think I am following it. Past...recent failures or just uncertainties weighing the mind...they are harder to let go than just simply saying it.

I was struck again with the sheer uncertainty in what to do this past night. I was on the back porch of the inn lost in thought on these same things when the Fire Pup joined me. We spoke a moment; he inquired what was on my mind. We did not speak for long before he was alerted to something, we hastened to where his nose lead us only to find a familiar man. Already I had been reporting on the guild stone and it did not take much to get Maewood out there as it was close to the keep.

The man was a mage I recognized from a long time ago, Mystery was his name I think. There was a hole through his hand and chest. I should have jumped to action, but again I found myself stumbling around in uncertainty and self-doubt that paralyzed my actions. At the first sign of release, an instruction to flag down the approaching help I left moving to the edge of the mountain towards the keep and waving down Maewood as she approached.

She and the Fire Pup, who seems himself to be an excellent healer, mended him well enough to move him on the back of her hippogryph. The pup transported me back and we met the Marksman at the keep with another red haired male. I looked on as they healed him, mending flesh. Looking at his hand further, I noticed only the flesh had been devoured and the bones undamaged. It was some kind of magic; the mage later said it was shadow magic.

I offered to stay with him the night through and fetched soup and water. He would need it to regain his strength. They spoke back and forth about who the assailant might have been. The mage roused enough to talk and against our wishes of him exerting himself, spoke of who it may have been. They called him many different names X something; I remember one of the names, Rex.

They described him as a cultist a man with a mask whose face no one had seen. They hypothesized on why he was here. Everyone seemed to know who they were speaking of but no one could tell me about him. The red haired man, a Scout, was going to be sent to find the assailant until they realized who it was. He said it would be like walking into a trap. They left for the inn, I stayed and chatted with Mystery until he fell asleep.

It has been a long quiet night and I have done little but work on the puzzle box and now record this for my memory. I feel an urgency to solve this puzzle and see what is inside the lock box. I have learned that this is not the only one, and it would be silly to think that a toy like this would not be mass produced, well to an extent. The Blacksmith’s friend holds one, as does another I met on the grounds of the keep.

The puzzle box has become a point of conversation and I have found the people around me asking about it more and more. I think it is best I do not talk about it or bring it out around others. The Little Miss tried to help me with a few pieces but I still have not gotten very far in it. I would rather I finish it then someone take it and do it themselves. It is just a silly toy, but it is my toy to play with.

I have witnessed one of these puzzles one twist from completion and while it was a great temptation I agreed that completing the one I had myself would be far more satisfying to see what end trinket the toy offers. I was told it contains a path to higher understanding and could open one’s mind to things you might know but never understand. That is well and good and all but I am more worried with an unbeatable puzzle than some enlightening knowledge.

The harder I think on it the more absurd the puzzle looks. Perhaps I have moved a piece in error and should slide twist and move pieces randomly and begin anew. The cold wind whispers and howls though the roof of the keep. After the mage wakes, sleep will be welcomed as the wind is starting to sound like voices, a crazy thought but the mind does strange things.

I have found myself sitting off alone pondering over what has been happening a lot lately. Things come to mind...thoughts, some from I do not know where, some from past and recent memories. Ny'alotha, I have been told is some kind of Nightmare, related to druids. The Emerald Dream? I don't know anything about that why has it come to mind. I was told it has something to do with the Old Gods maybe a N'Zoth. Something to do with the current assault on Wyrmrest possibly.

The worgen from the other day was well enough to see me. I traveled back from Dalaran and met him in the inn. Zatul and the Book elf were there as well. I did not recognize him in his human form and he didn't speak but write. I assumed he was still tired and recuperating from the previous days grievous injuries. We traveled to one of the watch towers so I could ask my questions. I was not even comfortable asking, let alone around others.

He informed me that he required more care that his lack of speaking was due to an injury. The lack of knowing what to do returned but I tried anyway. The being within him helped, assisted, directed me and after an unwelcomed interruption of some priest from Northshire we finished and he was again able to speak.

I did not want to ask, something about it felt dangerous, but I wanted to know. What was that place, that name? He told me the things that I know now, about the druids, and mentioned the name N'Zoth. I am unfamiliar with that, it does not seem as important as I thought it might be now.

I spoke not too long ago to the Little Miss. They had ventured to the End Times and found or witnessed events that could be things that would come of themselves. She was shook up at best. I had a conversation with her to help calm her.

Fear.

Fear was meant to keep you safe from danger. Fear has also recently been used as a weapon. It can keep you safe or it can cause you to make bad decisions. Which kind of fear was it? Fear opens doors, fear closes doors.

'You will be alone in the end.' Where does a thought like that come from. It may be true but why think it? Is that my fear? Am I holding myself back, do I want to know what I would find in the End Times? Do I need to know? Is not knowing cowardice? Is this a memory from the refugee's camp I stayed at for a while? An old undead in priest’s robes approached me and spoke on many things. One thing he said, ‘Everything dies, everyone here will die.’ This is true, it is not something that can be argued; is that where that thought came from?

Are there any Templars in Dragonblight? One of the Captains crew- friends is lost

There is a lamb lost in dark woods.

Pain. He was in the inn in Winterguard. Little Miss and another Templar were there. The air was warm, first glance showed many wounds, some were deep, there was lots of blood. They were already beginning to bandage him. There was something there, there was something missing. It was bound there, like the Dictator's. It was different though they were aware of one another, they were- it was protective of him. His spirit, his soul, half of it was gone, and I did not know what to do. You think you've seen everything, you think you can fix anything. How old am I, how long did I study, how many have I looked after? Didn't know what to do.

...lamb lost in the woods.

I fumbled around off kilter, some word that had come to mind earlier from where I do not know. Ny'alotha. I was told , it was mentioned. It is something important, relevant. No, no maybe not. The other force that was there, was a type of elemental, a fire elemental, like I said same as the Dictator. The soul was ripped in half. The elemental knew what it needed, what he needed. I had ignored almost everything else that was going on around me. Book elf had joined us. I scooped up the cold body and asked the Little Miss to take me to the forge. I threw the body into the furnace, into the fire, and had Nyres shut the door. They didn't try to stop me. I would have tried to stop me. No explanation, just tossed unceremoniously the body of a more than half dead man into a furnace and closed it up.

In the sleeping city of Ny'alotha walk only mad things.

He was engulfed, the fire raged and consumed the body, no, coated the body; healed the body. It was over after a torrent of fire raged inside the…container. We took him back to the inn and laid him out. He was warm to the touch, his spirit was no longer tattered, it was filled, or blanketed with fire. No one else could see. They set to applying salve to his nearly healed wounds and reapplying the bandages. There was no sign that the fire had touched him, his bandages or his clothes, only some of his more grievous wounds, and his spirit his soul. I left after that. I wasn't needed anymore. I had been on my way to Dalaran before hand and so left promptly taking a griffon there. When I got there what I had been going for seemed less important that a good long sit in in the Lounge with a strong glass. Time to think. Did I do the right thing, why did I do that? Why didn't anyone try to stop me? It worked why does it matter...but what happened to his spirit?